A rememberance of my youth, a time when the only friend I had was my pet frog.

When I was so little I could talk with ants,
My mother would tuck me tight in my staight jacket of a blanket.
Back when I was so small I couldn't wear pants,
I had one friend; in my pocket he could fit.

His name was Froggy; he was my special friend.
He would keep me safe at night while I slept.
All of my fears he would mend.
My friend, the stuffed animal, my artificial pet.


Submitted: May 18, 2007

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Comments

Thorns and Roses

its ok....family type of thing but it doesn't have a rythmn to follow and its thrown off in pattern.

Fri, May 18th, 2007 3:45pm

Author
Reply

Thanks for the advice.

Fri, May 18th, 2007 8:48am

baby

this is not even close to being okay....you reallly need alot of work.

Fri, May 18th, 2007 3:46pm

Author
Reply

Any advice?

Fri, May 18th, 2007 8:51am

Alayna Andrew

Okay, well no disrespect to Baby & Thorns and Roses, but don't listen to them.

Poetry is whatever you feel it is. Whatever you want to write about. It doesn't have to rhyme, it doesn't have to flow. Granted, it's a plus if it does flow, but it isn't a need.

You're off to a better start than many. You should look at other peoples poetry, learn from them. Observe the rhythm and flow of their art. It helps plenty, trust me.

Other than that, I thought the poem was true and put forth with pure effort. Keep writing, keep studying, things will move along smoothly! =)

-Alayna

Sat, May 19th, 2007 9:38am

Author
Reply

Thanks for the advice.

Mon, May 21st, 2007 12:15am

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