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January, 2008


Father Goose Poems (Excerpt - Kid's Lit)
A small collection of Charles Ghigna's pieces for kids
By  Father Goose

Little Daddy Longlegs

Little Daddy Longlegs played in the sun,
Climbing up the front steps just for fun.
One leg, two legs, three legs, four,
Eight legs later he was at my door.

He sat on the mat looking up at me,
Till I opened the door an inch or three.
I caught him in a jelly jar just for fun
And put him in the window in the morning sun.

But Little Daddy Longlegs curled up small,
Looking like he wasnít even there at all.
He just sat still looking up at me,
So I opened the jar and set him free.

Little Daddy Longlegs played in the sun,
Climbing down the front steps just for fun.
One leg, two legs, three legs, four,
Eight legs later he was there no more.


Pigs are playful. Pigs are pink.
Pigs are smarter than you think.

Pigs are pudgy. Pigs are plump.
Pigs can run but never jump.

Pigs are loyal. Pigs are true.
Pigs donít care for barbecue.


Hippos swim. Hippos snort.
Hippo legs are rather short.

Hippos ears are pink and tiny.
Hippo hide is very shiny.

Hippo tails are stout and stubby.
Hippo hips are kind of chubby.

Hippos stay rather quiet.
Hippos never like to diet.

What Does A Hound Dog Do All Day?

He sleeps. He eats. He chases flies.
He looks for pheasant in the skies.

He barks. He growls. And then he snores.
He wakes and begs for out-of-doors.

He hunts. He howls. He loves kind words.
(He wonít admit heís scared of birds.)

He runs. He jumps. He fetches sticks.
He finds your face and then he licks.

He gets his pets. He gets his pats.
He gets his kicks from chasing cats.

He sniffs. He tracks. He likes to roam.
He finds your lap when you are home.

Along The Garden Path

A garden path of cobble stones,
A fairy sitting with two gnomes,
A bird bath full of chickadees
Splashing in the morning breeze,

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 yellow as the moon.
Like an elf among the flowers,
I could hide in here for hours.

Tomorrow's My Birthday

Tomorrowís my birthday and Iíll be four
And I wonít have to stay home anymore.
Iíll take down my bank right off my shelf
And I will go out and about by myself.

Iíll buy me a ticket and Iíll take a train
And Iíll go to Texas to ride on the range.
Iíll buy me some boots and a hat, but no toys,
ĎCause Iíll be as big as all the cowboys.

Iíll rope and Iíll ride and Iíll be the best
Of all the cowboys in the world and the West.
And when it gets dark on the cattle drive--
Well, maybe Iíll wait until I am five.

Read Charles Ghigna's INside story on children's lit writing.

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© Freelance Writing Organization - International 1999-2049

IN This Issue
The Long Life Of Poetry
Marketplaces For Your Poetry
Haiku: Highest Art
What Am I Doing Wrong?
Lyrically Speaking
Writing Poems
The Mind Of A Poet
A Poem Is A Little Path
Seeing Like A Poet
Speaking In Tongues (Excerpt)

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Bald Ego
Mouse Over To Pause

Writerís Block
The path to inspiration starts
Upon the trails weíve known;
Each writerís block is not a rock,
But just a stepping stone.

Poetry Is Not
Penned to the page
Waiting for us to admire.
It is only a lonely thought
Caught by tears on fire.

Silent Echoes
A quiet rhyme upon a page
Is what a poet gives;
Some gentle words whispered in trust
To see if memory lives.

Bard From Deadlines
What makes a poem finally work
Is not the time it takes;
Itís how the poet used the muse
To prophet from mistakes.

Be Mused
The art and craft of poetry
Are not so far apart;
The craft comes from the cunning,
The rest comes from the heart.

Fine Vintage
Donít plant your poem on the page
As though youíre hanging drapes;
Itís shape and flow should come and grow
Like wild summer grapes.

Getting It Write
Writers write what they know best,
Their passions, fears, and dreams;
Writers rarely write about
What other call their ďthemes.Ē

Double Vision
A writerís life is paradox,
Itís more than what it seems;
We write of our reality,
The one inside our dreams.

The echo of a promise,
The thunder of a sigh,
The music of a memory,
A child asking why.

Letter Perfect
Twenty six symbols arranged on a page
Can send a soul to heaven or torment it with rage,
Can free a fragile world or hold it in its net--
The power and the magic of the mighty alphabet.

The Write of Passage
The jump from writing just for fun
To getting paid for it
Begins when you first realize
You know youíll never quit.

It is not the magic of his wings
That sets us free from our bond.
It is the muse within ourselves
That lets our words lift us beyond.

Photo Poet
Consider your mind the darkroom,
Consider your life the lens,
Consider your eye the camera
On whose focus the poem depends.

Rising Moon
A poem is a rising moon
Shining on the sea,
An afterglow of all we know,
Of all we hope to be.

Star Light
Writing a poem,
Reaching a star,
In making good art
We find who we are.

Spider Web
A poem is a spider web
Spun with words of wonder,
Woven lace held in place
By whispers made of thunder.

The final draft upon the screen,
At last my poemís through;
A verse of only four short lines--
I rewrote twenty-two!

Read All Of Charles Ghigna's Poetry at

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© Freelance Writing Organization - International 1999-2049
All Rights Reserved. Copying in any way strictly forbidden.
Our Disclaimer Is Based Upon McIntyre's First Law: "Under the right circumstances, anything I tell you may be wrong."