Poetry Makes This Mama's Heart Sing

Last week my oldest daughter attended a poetry camp.  She was pretty private about all of the camp happenings during the course of the week and mentioned very nonchalantly on Wednesday that there would be a poetry reading on Friday.  "How exciting!" I thought.  I knew that I'd love to go and hear my girl recite a poem or two that she'd scratched out during the week, so I arrived with average expectations and left with puffy eyes and a bursting heart.

I think that Emma Carson is a little bit special, and here are a couple of her poems for your enjoyment.  Hearing them read by my girl with cool confidence and captivating expression was almost more than this mama could handle.

An Inspiration

My dad is Christmas pancakes in August. My dad is a ghost-buster on Halloween. My dad brings you a rose at school on your birthday. My dad is unexpected. My dad knows everything but doesn’t boast. My dad is a teaser. My dad is heart-fully sorry that he teased you. My dad will build you a two-story play house from scratch if you help him. My dad will let you watch movies that maybe you’re not quite old enough to see. My dad will ride the wildest rollercoasters with you, as long as they don’t spin. My dad is clever and witty, but doesn’t go overboard. My dad never forgets to tell you, ‘good job’. My dad is not a picky eater; he just doesn’t like raw tomatoes or fish. My dad never gets full, and I’m still trying to figure out if I mean that literally or not. My dad can fit a whole cupcake in his mouth. My dad understands when you’ve had enough. My dad likes the house clean. My dad will buy you that big chocolate shake you’ve been craving. My dad will buy a big chocolate shake for himself too. My dad has a way of knowing every trick and every code. My dad is the black sheep in a herd of white ones. My dad is someone you can’t help wanting to be like. My Dad, an inspiration.

 

A Journey through the Woods

The sun beats down like fire crippling your already blistered skin.

Shade.

You need shade. 

All the leaves are either brown and burned or so spread apart that it’d be impossible for them to block any sun.

You look ahead to find about five trees standing considerably close, their leaves overlapping, forming shade.

Your hot and heavy white trainers pound the ground; each step you take leaves a huge dent in the earth.

Your head is now beating, sweat is trickling from your forehead all the way to your neck.

 One more slamming clunk and you’re sprawled across the ground, under shade.

 Sweet and perfect shade.

But even under the shade the dirt is shriveled and dehydrated.

You lay under the leaf shelter wondering what nature has in store for you as your heart gradually slows to a beat that doesn’t jerk the life out of you.

But now you have a new problem.  Water.  

Nowhere in sight.

You’re so far away from home that you can’t even see the backyard.

Your throat is so dry that it’s impossible to keep your whole tongue wet, so you gave up trying.

 The only sign of liquid is your forehead, drenched with sweat and completely scorched that you can almost feel the skin slowly peeling off.

The nagging thought of merely giving up and going home to a nice, cool, relaxing bath taunts you, but you keep on going.

Each step seems to say, “You do not belong here. Go home to your water that comes for granted. You won’t find any here, we’ll make sure of that.”

After about ten more minutes of slow, hot, sticky walking you’re in no luck, and out of the shade.

The sun’s gotten even more aggressive and your heart has started beating so fast that you feel like it’s about to come tumbling out.

Then you see it.

 A pond, well a puddle rather.

 Gasping you find yourself speechless, but you don’t need words, you just run.

When you reach it you begin you drink the water by cupping your hands, but suddenly cupping your hands isn’t fast enough.

So, you bend down on your hands and knees and start slurping up the water like a dog.

 Even though the water is sizzling as if it’s been in a kettle, you gulp it down like your life depended on it.

 Feeling satisfied and extremely tired you head back home, but adventure is still in your blood; it even seems to linger in the air.

So as you soak yourself in a cool and relaxing bath, you can’t help smiling as you feel fresh blossoms of curiosity sprouting inside you, spreading like weeds, because that can only mean one thing, another adventure.

Do you see what she did there?  Oh, do it again, Emma!

Love from,

Your biggest fan,

Mom