If You Ever Build a Playground

If you ever build a playground                                                            
Make it a place for real playing
Fill it with soft, soft sand                                                                                                   

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Let the children feel the earth
Sand in their shoes
Sand in their socks
Sand between their toes
Let them jump down to earth
And feel earth’s arms
Catching them as they land
Of standing firmly, grounded
Let them push off on the soil
Finding trust in the hand
That gently releases them from earth
As they soar higher
Let their feet bore into the earth
As they push off on the soil
Freezing the swing in motion
Clasping the sand between fingers
Of the sensation of wet or dry
Of generous Mother Earth
Running through their fingers

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Let them walk barefooted
And feel the cradling fingers
Of the hot sand tickling
Their barefooted feet
Exclaiming and squealing
Let them climb and fall gently
Let them communicate with soil
They will be very normal for it
Just be nimble, quick to move
Be the comforter, but let them return
If you ever build a playground
Make it a place for real playing
I saw a scary playground once
It saddened, disquieted me
Completely cemented grounds
Dangerous to fragile bones


--My dream has loved paper so much for so long because it gave influence to the parched voice of a fashionista poet. Finding this outlet, that voice is now replete with expressive sound.

I Ate Georgia First

Heroic northern counties celebrated inspired historical fathers
Cobb, Jackson, Gordon, Madison, Oglethorpe
Lincoln, Fulton, Gwinnett caused pride-swollen hearts
Midrange counties focused Washington with spotlight
Glowing amidst one hundred fifty-nine lesser stars
Double-booked city and county reservations
No wonder all are confused
Edible southern counties reminded naming fathers
Hunger inherent in daunting tasks
Hunger corrupted prideful naming
Hence I ate Georgia unwillingly

One Early morning, Cook dripped Long, Crisp Bacon
On paper plates Miller made and cup to drink Macon
Worth the Coffee poured in Pierce(d) Clay Ware
Baker of sweet Peach cobbler geared for a Tift
Agreed to Clinch the deal with apple pie
A McIntosh yanked off fertile orchard
Delectable Pike from Brooks filled bellies
Grilled with luminous Twiggs raging with fire
Stationed on Banks with a Seminole and a Hart
Taylor sewed, Webster wove Bibb for anyone
Candler and Dooly used to carry our wounded
Who could not sit on the Butt in mess Hall

Our leader, a Baldwin, caused female fainting fits
Forming a Troup(e) and a Dade like children
Had to Dodge fast while Fannin’ our wounded
Not for the fainthearted, no Quitman here
Sharp-toothed Talbot smelled danger near the Stewart
Crossing many Towns, noises near we Heard
Enemies swore to fill us with Jones
And we, unwilling to give in to Burke
Clutched priceless Jasper fiercely
A Muscogee, a Turner sharpened weapons
Defending Liberty, we chanted, “Emanuel!”
Phew! Glad I ate Georgia first
Couldn’t handle all that on empty stomach

©2011Francesohanenye, all rights reserved.
(I read this humorous poem at the Georgia Writers' Association's end-of-year party on 12/10/2011. It contained the names of 56 Georgia counties out of its 159!)

--My dream has loved paper so much for so long because it gave influence to the parched voice of a fashionista poet. Finding this outlet, that voice is now replete with expressive sound.