Let's Build a Poem

Let’s build a poem
made of rhyme
of barefoot words
that like to climb
out of bounds
beyond the line

words that open
window door
words that sing
words that soar
words that leave us
wanting more



©2010 Charles Ghigna

Little Valentines

The "If-You-Were" Poem®
The Perfect Poem for Valentine's Day!

Here's a fun verse form that everyone can write!
I created this simple 4-line format many years ago
to help introduce students and teachers to metaphor.
It's exciting to see how quickly it catches on!

Instructions:
Think of a person you like.
Compare that person to some thing (inanimate object).
Now compare yourself to some thing associated with the first object.

(Examples:)

If you were a shining star
And I were your midnight,
I’d let you shine above me,
You’d be my only light.

If you were a brand-new kite
And I were a ball of string,
I'd hold on tight with all my might
So we could fly all spring!

If you were a grand piano
And I were a sweet love song,
I’d let your keys tickle and tease
My melody all day long.

If you were the pages of my book
And I were reading you,
I’d read as slow as I could go
So I never would get through.

Here's one that rearranges the "You" and "I"

If I were a lonely lighthouse
And you were a ship at sea,
I'd shine my light all through the night
Till you returned to me.


Now you try it!


©2010 Charles Ghigna

(A Work-in-Progress)

The Chew-Wa-Wa
And Other Colorful Creatures

A collection of zany, quirky, kooky,
silly, off-beat, wacky, wild animals


Poems by Charles Ghigna
Illustrations by _________


~ Contents ~

Sally Mander
Anna Conda
Barry Cuda
Allie Gator
Katy Did
Tory Ranchula
Carrie Boo
Dolly Fin
Kay Million
Chip Monk
Kat R. Pillow
Pellie Can
Taz Manian
Pokey Pine
Armor Dilla
Chew Wa Wa
Lyin’ Ness
Fair It
Rain Dear
Two Can
Pecan Knees
Cheat A
Mall Tease
Dock Sun
Why Me Ramer
Chin Chilly
Rack Coon


***


Lyin’ Ness

She lies
in the savanna sun
for fun

her main
preoccupation
is taking a vacation

her lyin’ days
never cease

she thinks she is
the queen of beasts


***


Carrie Boo

(Illustration of a cute female Caribou
kicking up her heels as our playful little bear cub guide
sneaks up behind her and says BOO!)


Moose-like
and lanky
she never
gets cranky

but when you’re
behind her
whatever you do
don’t BOO!



***




Pokey Pine

(Illustration of a smart-looking porcupine
wearing spectacles and reading a book
and totally unaware of our little bear cub
touching one of the Pokey Pine’s sharp quills
and yelling OUCH!)


Clever little creature
sharp of mind

...and behind



***


Chew-Wa-Wa

A funny little
nut brown
head

with eyes
so very round
and red

and all
she ever
wants to do

is chew
and chew...
and love on you


©2010 Charles Ghigna

A Poem Is A Metaphor

A poem is a metaphor,
A wondrous point of view.
Each poem that you write becomes
A metaphor of you.

The poem’s title is your name.
Its rhyme, the way you talk.
Its meter is your heartbeat,
Its rhythm is your walk.

Your poem is a painting,
A masterpiece creation,
A metaphor of hopes and dreams--
And your imagination.


©2010 Charles Ghigna

Snow Deer

Across the field
of fallen snow
in shadows stands
a quiet doe.

Her silence tells
that all is well
within this hush
of snowy dell.

The only sound
far and near,
the silence of
a spotted deer.


©2010 Charles Ghigna

A Poem for My Daughter and Her Husband on the Birth of My New Grandson

YOU AND THE RISING SUN
for Julie and Scott

You pull back the drapes
and the morning light
climbs across your covers
like Winnie the Pooh
who’s come to wake you,
to warm you,
to welcome you
and your sweet son
into this most golden day of December.

Such love, such light,
such overwhelming joy
for a rising baby boy
born into this world
that has waited so long
for this love song
to sing us all into the choir
of everlasting love love love.

***

YOUR FACE
for Christopher Pierce

Your face
your funny sweet
oh what a treat
face

the face I see
in dreams
in grand
fanta-sees

so much to see
what fun!
my grand
grand

grand
grand
grand
GRANDson!

©2009 Charles Ghigna

The Christmas Tree Trimmer

"It should be twice as tall as a boy,
so a boy can’t steal the star."
--Truman Capote

He stands on tiptoes
in front of each tree,
reaches up his hand
to every angel,
every star,
every trimming
taller than his fingertips,
hoping for a touch of heaven.

He does not know time
will bring heaven to him,
will put it in his hand,
will let him hold its angel,
will let him touch the top
of all its tallest trees
trimmed for the child on tiptoes,
for the boy who reaches for stars.


--©2009 Charles Ghigna

The Perfect Love Poem

for Debra

Playing on this winter white paper
with a new poem going nowhere,
I look up from my desk
and find you in the doorway
staring at me with a smile.

My study is too small
to hold this study of you,
too cold to capture your warmth
on this quiet day of December
when the white sky falls

gently down around us,
sings its whispering song,
lifts me up out of my chair
and fills my eyes, my arms
with you, the perfect poem.


©2009 Charles Ghigna

The Porcupine Poem

Porcupines can raise their quills, turn
around, and run backwards into their prey.

Just when you think
you are done with it,
the poem turns on you,

charges back for more,
pricks you with its
finer points,

reminds you
things are not
what they seem,

that the past is not past
until it turns and shows
its sharp, uncompromising side.


©2009 Charles Ghigna

Winter in the Park

Last night an ice storm came to town
And dressed the fountain in a gown.

Icicles hung from the trees
Like chandeliers out in the breeze.

Each statue wore a fancy dress,
A frozen garment for each guest.

A night of magic in the dark,
A winter ballroom in the park.


©2009 Charles Ghigna

November Leaves

November brings
Gold and brown
November leaves
To the ground

November leaves
Autumn traces
November brings
Snow-kissed faces

December brings
Red and green
December leaves
A winter queen

December leaves
A time to cheer
December brings
A brand new year


©2009 Charles Ghigna

For My Son Who Talks In His Sleep

When my son was born, my wife and I purchased a wonderful contraption that allows parents to listen in on their sleeping babies.

The poem "For My Son Who Talks In His Sleep" was inspired by an incident in the middle of the night when I woke to my son's babbling coming in over that nursery monitor. I listened for a while, then drifted back to sleep.

In the morning over coffee, I remembered that midnight serenade and how it sounded as though my son was speaking in two different voices, like characters in a dream play. The possibility of his having already discovered the joy of storytelling occurred to me. At what age does imagination begin? Are we ever able to fully comprehend our own inherent powers of creation?

My son's babbles sparked those questions – and this poem:

For My Son Who Talks In His Sleep

The babble of babies
rises again in your room
and I wonder what new friends
you are making tonight.

Not yet two,
you have learned the joy of dreaming,
the endless gift, my son, of making
the make-believe come true.

Before you were born
a fortune teller told your mother
we would have an author
for a son.

And I want you to know
how much I love
hearing this story
you are telling tonight.

Exquisite lamb,
you lie awake in dreams
conversing with
the other angels.

Your waking world
will never count you in
as just another sheep.
Creation is yours for the making.


©2009 Charles Ghigna

On Writing: A Mini-Lecture

Style isn't how you write.
It's how you do not write like anyone else.

In order to grow as a writer,
you've got to be willing to risk it all every time you sit down to write.
You've got to be open and brave and curious.

We're all born poets.
We all enjoy the sounds of language.
We're all born with the universal need to sound our “barbaric yawps
over the roofs of the world.”

Poetry is a natural part of our lives.
It's not something we have to memorize and recite in front of the class.

Losing ourselves in a poem
is one of the best ways of finding out who we are.

The act of writing brings us to that point of discovery,
of discovering on the page something we didn't know we knew
until we wrote it.

Don't let reality cloud your imagination.
Look up at the sky and find once again
those long-tailed dragons and sailing ships.

Wake up to the world as though you are seeing it for the first time.
Find the wonder.
Question the way things are.
Imagine new choices.
Write from the child in you.

You don't need a degree to be a writer.
It doesn't take teachers or textbooks to show you how.
One learns how to write by writing.
There is no other way.

Style isn't how you write.
It's how you do not write like anyone else.


©2009 Charles Ghigna

Inspiration

It is every thing
you think it is.
It is the end
of the tunnel
and the light
up ahead.
It is the sound
of the wind
and the silence
of the night.
It is the sun
and the moon
and the memory.
It is the eye
and the hand
and the mouth.
It is the present
and the future
and the past.
It is here.
It is there.
It is gone.


©2009 Charles Ghigna

November

Late November
Time stands still,
Echoes from
A whippoorwill;

Winter sky,
Silver blue,
Maple leaves,
A golden hue;

A hint of snow
Fills the air.
A whispered sigh,
“Is someone there?”

A stranger waves
Upon the hill.
November from
My windowsill.


©2009 Charles Ghigna

A Ghostly Night

Cats and bats and witches’ hats
The color of spilled ink,
Jack-o’-lanterns at each door.
I think I saw one wink!

Echoes bounce from house to house
In waves of “Trick or Treat”
As distant sounds of barking dogs
Come drifting down the street.

An owl questions who we are,
These strangers in the night,
All dressed up in eerie clothes
Beneath the pale moonlight.

A skeleton goes running by
Beside a fairy queen,
What is this happy, haunted night?
It must be HALLOWEEN!

©2009 Charles Ghigna

Pumpkins On Guard

Look at all the pumpkin faces
Lighting up so many places.

On the porch and in the yard,
Pumpkin faces standing guard.

Looking friendly, looking mean,
With a smile or with a scream.

Orange faces burning bright
In the cool October night.


©2009 Charles Ghigna

Cozy Morning Cats

Daddy Cat sat in the windowsill
Watching the sun rise over the hill.

Momma Cat sat on the window box
Cleaning her furry snow white socks.

Kitty Cat sat on the braided rug
Watching a baby ladybug.

Granny Cat sat in the rocking chair
Watching them all in the golden air.


©2009 Charles Ghigna

Autumn Butterflies

One golden late October day
Two butterflies came out to play.

They circled ‘round a maple tree
And as I ran they ran with me.

I knew they soon would have to go
Before the first November snow.

They dipped their wings to say goodbye,
Then hurried past me to the sky.

I’ve never seen such splendid things,
Autumn leaves on winter wings.


©2009 Charles Ghigna

October Haiku

Artist autumn comes,
paints her blush across each tree,
drops palette, and leaves.


©2009 Charles Ghigna

Ars Longa, Vita Brevis

Art Is Long, Life Is Short

Like the sculptor
who chips away
at what is not
the sculpture,
your life
is in your hands,
the pure
imperfect stone
waiting for its
daily touch,
the gentle tap,
the savored strike
toward mass
and space
that form
the perfect past,
your tribute
to the art
of living.

©2009 Charles Ghigna

Wild Romance

I love ewe.
I’m not lion.
I really gopher you.
I never gnu this would happen.
You are so deer to me.
It’s more than I can bear.
Let us seal our love with a kiss.
I will always bee yours.
I will never have any egrets.
You are my one and only gull.
Owl always love you.

from Animal Tracks: Wild Poems to Read Aloud
Harry N. Abrams, Inc., ©2004 Charles Ghigna

Butterflies of Fall

Early autumn
and the chill air
already rains with color;

burnt orange leaves,
butterflies of fall,
cascade across an ice blue sky.

©2009 Charles Ghigna

Something Silent in the Air

There’s something silent in the air
Calling out to you;
It calls to all the animals,
Its voice is soft and true.

There’s something silent in the air,
A secret without end;
Something silent in the swan
That says fly South again.

There’s something silent in the air,
As silent as a dream
That stirs inside the salmon
And sends him back up stream.

There’s something silent in the air
Each year when bison roam,
Something silent in the air
That sends us all back home.


©2009 Charles Ghigna

On the Way to School

I’ll tell you why I’m tardy
And I hope my excuse will do.
I stopped to view upon a leaf
A spider and some dew.

She spun a web before my eyes
With a soft and silver hue,
And when she looked, I looked at her
And whispered, “Peekaboo!”

I think I may have startled her
And so I waved good-bye,
But when I turned around to go,
I met a butterfly!

I almost caught him in my hand
To bring to class for you,
But when I tried to peek inside,
Away my treasure flew.

And that is how I’m tardy,
But I had to tell you why.
It’s all the fault of a spider’s web
And a sneaky butterfly!


©2009 Charles Ghigna

Father Goose Tree House

One Gardenia

one
gardenia
so white
snow white

one
might
dwell
smell

one
heaven
scent
night


©2009 Charles Ghigna

If Words Wore Shoes

If words wore shoes
What kind would yours use?

Would they lace up,
Slip on, or buckle?

Would they walk tall
In boots and high-heels?

Would they slipper,
Or sneaker, or tap?

Or would they
Barefoot dance on the run

Playing tag
With the earth and sun?


©2009 Charles Ghigna

The Worst Bad Word

Try to think of all the words
That you could live without;
Make a list of all those words
And throw the worst word out.

It’s not a very easy task,
You might just rave and rant;
But don’t give up before you find
The worst bad word is can’t.

@2009 Charles Ghigna

...and another "can't" poem:

ANTS NEVER CRY "UNCLE"

Consider the little ant.
He never says, "I can't."
And so it comes as no surprise,
He carries things ten times his size!

@2009 Charles Ghigna

After Class

So much gossip in the hall,
“I wish I were a fly on the wall.”

A fly flew by and said with feeling,
“I wish I were a kid on the ceiling.”


©2009 Charles Ghigna

Authorships Never Sink

They are gone.
Their books, we save.
Authors live
Beyond the grave.


©2009 Charles Ghigna

What's A Meadow For?

My teacher asked, “May I implore,
What is a metaphor?”

I thought of fields of butterflies
And daffodils and sunny skies.
My answer caught her by surprise:

A meadow’s for the cows to graze,
A place I spend my lazy days,
Where spiders spin their magic maze
And bumble bees perform ballets.

My teacher smiled and smiled some more.
“Now that’s an answer I adore.
A meadow’s for a metaphor!”


©2009 Charles Ghigna

Weather Wonderland

As sulky as storm clouds,
As friendly as fog,
As lazy as dewdrops
Adrift on a log.

As random as rainbows,
As sure as the snow,
The weather’s a wonder
Wherever we go.


©2009 Charles Ghigna

My Tree House

Welcome to my tree house,
my free house,
my me house

where I come to ponder,
to wonder,
to look up at the sky

where I come to daydream,
to play dream,
to watch the clouds roll by

where the air is fresher,
no pressure,
where treetops swish and sway.

It’s where I come to look at
the books that
take me far away.

©2009 Charles Ghigna

The Secret Garden

A hidden path of cobble stones,
A fairy sitting with two gnomes,
A bird bath draped in mossy green,
A whisper drifting from a stream,

A marble fountain, a golden swan,
Four tree frogs in a lily pond,
An iron bench, a bronze sun dial
Telling time with a shady smile,

An arch of roses in full bloom,
A bird house orange as the moon.
Like an elf among the flowers,
I could hide in here for hours.

©2009 Charles Ghigna

Wild Flowers

The underprivileged children of the world do not
have the privilege of choosing where they are born.

Like little wild flowers
That others take for granted,
We stand here growing strong
No matter where we're planted.

©2009 Charles Ghigna

Can You Keep A Silly Secret?

Can you give a friend a cookie,
The last one on the plate?
Can you help him tie his shoe
Even though you’re running late?

Can you keep a silly secret?
Can you hold your talky tongue?
Can you count at Hide-and-Seek
With your eyes closed till you’re done?

Can you share your toys with others?
Can you borrow and return?
Can you thank them with a smile?
Can you wait to take your turn?

Can you do these friendly things,
And do them all again?
Then you will always know that you
Can BE and HAVE a friend!

©2009 Charles Ghigna

What's A Poem?

A whisper,
a shout,
thoughts turned
inside out.

A laugh,
a sigh,
an echo
passing by.

A rhythm,
a rhyme,
a moment
caught in time.

A moon,
a star,
a glimpse
of who you are.

©2009 Charles Ghigna

A Poem is a Spider Web

A poem is a spider web

Spun with words of wonder,

Woven lace held in place

By whispers made of thunder.

©2009 Charles Ghigna

A Poem is a Little Path

A poem is a little path

That leads you through the trees.

It takes you to the cliffs and shores,

To anywhere you please.

Follow it and trust you way

With mind and heart as one,

And when the journey's over,

You'll find you've just begun.

©1999 Charles Ghigna

from The 20th Century Children's Poetry Treasury