The barn owls guard their nest in light of day.
At night, they fly and search the woods for prey.
The baby barn owls stay inside the nest
Too young to go, to give a hoot or cry.
They trust the parent owls to do their best
when they take off into the starry sky.
At night, they fly and search the woods for prey.
The barn owls guard their nest in light of day.
© 2014 Freeda Baker Nichols
Another day in a blogger’s life, another goal to reach–day four out of thirty for November. Today I’m sharing a poem in the Lil Ann form. This pattern was created by poet, Carrie Quick, from Missouri who is a member of Poets’ Roundtable of Arkansas. The Lil Ann contains 8 iambic lines with rhymes, as follows: 1a, 2a, 3b, 4c, 5b, 6c, 2a, 1a. The first two lines transposed become the last two lines. This form has a light subject.
BARN OWLS
The barn owls guard their nest in light of day.
At night, they fly and search the woods for prey.
The baby barn owls stay inside the nest.
Too young to go, to give a hoot or cry.
They trust the parent owls to do their best
when they take off into the starry sky.
At night, they fly and search the woods for prey.
The barn owls guard their nest in light of day.
© 2013 Freeda Baker Nichols
The Old Black Rooster
The old black rooster crows at early dawn.
He causes Farmer Joe to wake and yawn.
The crowing starts before the break of day.
At night, the rooster roosts high in a tree.
Joe needs to milk the cows without delay.
The old black rooster crows but not on key.
He causes Farmer Joe to wake and yawn.
The old black rooster crows at early dawn.
c Copyright 2013, Freeda Baker Nichols
(Note: Today’s poem, a Lil Ann form, is based on a poem written by my sister, Yvonne Hall. The first line is from her creation. Not only is she a good artist, she could be a poet, too. The rooster in the photo belongs to our sister, Emma Jean. This poem is reminiscent of our childhood on Banner Mountain.)
I traded eggs still warm for bubble gum
and always gave my baby sister some.
We blew big bubbles, like balloons of pink
until they burst and stuck upon our cheeks.
We both blew bubbles quickly as a blink.
I liked the gum I got from Peddler Weeks
and always gave my baby sister some.
I traded eggs still warm for bubble gum.
c Copyright 2012, Freeda Baker Nichols
poem in the Lil-Ann pattern
Freeda Baker Nichols 