Repeat Performance

Repeat Performance

My little angel dressed in shades of brown.
My granddaughter with ringlets hanging down.
You bring delight each time I see your face.
Your mother grew too big for lightning bugs
but now your laughter seems to fill her place
as you run after them and bring me hugs.
My granddaughter with ringlets hanging down.
My little angel dressed in shades of brown.

© Freeda Baker Nichols


Ercil Form of Poetry

yellow flowers

Like a Chameleon

A summer haze
the temperature high
the air is hot as campfire blaze
the leaves that once were tender, crinkle dry–
we wait for rain
The churning clouds turn gray
no rain appears though clouds remain
then people at the churches start to pray
a rain falls clear and clean
the leaves change back to green.

© 2015 Freeda Baker Nichols

This form is an Ercil: 10 iambic lines with syllable count of 4-6-8-10-4-6-8-10-6-6
Rhyme: a-b-a-b-c-d-c-d-e-e

Poet or not, would you care to write an Ercil form of poem? I found the pattern through Poets’ Roundtable of Arkansas.

The Ercil is an invented form introduced by James Gray, created in honor of Arkansas poet, Ercil Brown.



Pony of Mine

Pony, take me south to see
mountains, meadows. Lucky me!
Take me past the waterfall
trot by woods where trees are tall;
prance along the forest trail
by the stream where leaf-boats sail;
race the wild ones you’ve befriended,
play until the day has ended.
Tell all of your friends goodbye
as the sun drops from the sky.
Make your little feet take flight
homeward bound before the night.
In your stable may you sleep,
Little Pony, mine to keep.

© Freeda Baker Nichols

An August Interlude

Fog swirled before the mountains
hid them as a woman’s veil hides her
countenance. The sun languidly
pulled the fog away.  In the garden, grape
leaves, green the day before,
had disappeared, leaving a bare vine
around the cedar post. Three green tomato
worms crawled there, full-stomach guilty.
The farmer sentenced them as soon as he
discovered them. Four o’clocks in pink,
white and yellow tutus pirouetted like
ballerinas. Evening arrived speckled with
stars and a moon as bright as white magnolia
blooms dressed the darkness. A mockingbird
sang softly to the night.


© Freeda Baker Nichols