On A Sunny Day

On A Sunny Day

The sun came out today
and a dark cloud hid its face
when sunbeams cast a light across the blue.
Little lambs ran to play.
A monkey joined in the race,
also two donkeys and a kangaroo.
They skipped and hopped along
like marching in a parade
headed to the main street of Happy Town.
They stopped to sing a song
beneath a tree in cool shade,
and then they played until the sun went down.

© 2015 Freeda Baker Nichols

DSC_0866 - Copy-1Where the grass is greener . . .OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA






This poem is the KERF pattern, 12-lines arranged in four groupings of 3 lines each with syllable count of 6-7-10 and a rhyme scheme of abc, abc, def, def.
My poem turned into one for children, but this pattern works well for general poems, as well. To the poets, I think you’ll like this form. Why not try one?

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

No Room For Flowers

Some apple flowers in an early stage

Some apple flowers in an early stage (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The flowerbed
is waiting there for me
to dig and rearrange and spread
its contents gently ’round the apple tree.
But I must wait
until the rain dries up
and when it does, a likely fate–
the bed provides a place for little pup
to sleep. No flower grows
beside the puppy’s nose.


Copyright, 2013, Freeda Baker Nichols



Please leave a comment below . . .

Unwanted Hickory Nut

Ripe hickory nuts ready to fall, Andrews, SC

Ripe hickory nuts ready to fall, Andrews, SC (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A hickory nut
damp in February snow
hugged the ground
that shielded roots
of its mother tree.

No squirrel
to crack the nut. No one to
choose it for toppings on pies.
Alone, it embraced
the cold earth.

Snow melted. Sun dried
the hickory nut. March wind–
cutting like a lion’s tooth–whistled
and puffed until topsoil
buried the little nut.

April sun,
warm as an iron, heated
on a wood-burning stove,
pointed to earth
with white-hot rays.

Delicate and pea green,
sheltered by arms of the
mighty mother tree, a tiny
hickory shoot peeked shyly
from its shell.

c Copyright, 2013, Freeda Baker Nichols


Book a Flight for Me

This is the last day of January 2013, and today’s post contains the 31st poem I’ve written and posted during this month. Because I missed the deadline to join a group of bloggers writing new poems this month, I decided to write on my own and post daily.  This came about at the suggestion of my  lovely friend, a poet Catherine Johnson      who has a beautiful blog. Her reviews of books, especially children’s books, are helpful and interesting. She’s a good poet. I recommend a visit to her blog.  You will be amazed at her talent and energy.

After today’s poem, I will not be posting every day.  I’ve loved every day of creating a new poem, and I’ll miss posting each day, but I want to get back to my short story, and the marketing of my novel, Call of the Cadron. I’m planning a couple of book signings in the spring.

The poem I’ve chosen for today is a tercet form with varying refrain.

Book a Flight for Me

Watch the river run downstream
where the hot sun sends its beam
and the fish are like a dream
and catch a perch for me.

Feel the warmth of the setting sun
when the day is almost done
where the great race horses run
and make a bet for me.

Look up at the turquoise sky
see the big airplanes go by
how they travel way up high.
Book a flight for me.

c Copyright 2013, Freeda Baker Nichols

Misc. nov 26 -2011-Mar 27-2012 054

Winter Rain and Daisies

The rain in winter hits the ground to run
in rivulets to muddy pool and creek.
The hidden, strong and glaring rays of sun
dare not to draw the veil for one quick peek.
And so it is a weary time, at best
for man within the waves of winter’s rain–
for beasts of burden, birds upon a nest,
for all who shiver but do not complain.
When warming sun removes the veil, at last,
and man is glad at sight of newborn day,
perhaps the worst of wintertime is past
and green-leaf spring is somewhere on its way.
Only the sun can take away the chill
and wake the sleeping daisies on the hill.

c Copyright, 2013, Freeda Baker Nichols


(Shakespearean sonnet, one of my favorite forms to use in writing poetry)