This first poem comes from a folder of poems I wrote in 8th grade. I got an A and here's what my teacher wrote: "Samantha - Your perception is unusually mature. Your artwork is juvenile. Together, this combines for an interesting collection. We need to work some more on correct punctuation and we will for the class anthology. I like your work, Samantha.
Neatly typed - every poem has a creative surprise! Keep this collection, Samantha - you may decide to major in writing!"
Yep, not much has changed. I still draw terribly, and I'm admittedly not so good at punctuation - but oh, how I try! Now if only I'd had this folder Sophomore year in college when I couldn't decide on a major!
On this sunny afternoon I walked one day
Stopping to get a drink in a pond near the bay
I crouched down to quench my thirst
When I heard an outrageous burst
A shirt was hanging in the air
And there was nothing attached
Except some hair
I screamed in horror seeing this thing
What could it be? It started to sing
I stared in awe at this amazing shirt
And my ears really started to hurt
I ran one way but it blocked me
I ran the other and it stopped me
It said, "Hello, how are you?"
I couldn't talk, I couldn't move
I stood there feeling very scared
I didn't know how to act with
This thing with the hair
It said again, "Let's be friends."
And on and on my decision depends
I didn't know what to say
This doesn't happen every day
I have no friends I must confide
They just run off and try to hide
"Ok," I said. "I'll be your pal."
And off we walked down the canal