(a poem by Gabrielle Koetsier, age 10)
Children sitting, solemn, silent.
Bell rings! Screaming, yelling, violent!
Running, rushing, up the stairs.
“Children, wait!” nobody cares.
School’s out! It’s summer! Time to play!
No more teachers! Run away!
We are going to the pool.
Perfect way to keep us cool.
Let’s go buy some lemonade!
We will drink it in the shade.
Our skin is brown, our […]

This poem is an attempt to recapture the magic of a poem I wrote in grade 4, of all times and places, which epitomized to my young brain the thought of absolute freedom … which was quite enticing.

Hell is a very private place,
You make it:
It’s your own space.

This poem strikes me as rather pretentious, pedantic, and predictable … and no I wasn’t searching for ‘p’ words there! But what the heck, I wrote it late one night, it meant something to me then, and I include for the sake of authenticity.
Juvenilia villa!

To my shamefully biased brain, this is one of my best poetical efforts.
As with most poetry that I write, it was written late at night. There’s something about late night that brings out poetry in people … and no, it’s not the moon.