THE POETRY OF EMME O'TOOLE
Emme, 11 years old, has been writing poetry for one year. She likes how poetry contrasts with longer pieces, in that poetry can be very concise, yet can express her ideas so fluently. She is a happy homeschooler starting 6th grade. Her hobbies include reading, acting, singing, dancing, and hanging out with her friends. She thanks Miss Raundi for being such a passionate mentor and inspiring her love of poetry.
I am the Title of your Book
I am the title of your book,
the bird of your tree that sings
in the early morning,
the answer to your question
I am the shepard dog of your sheep,
the clouds and day light streaming
in from your bedroom window.
I am the thunder
you are the lightning
I am that one special star
for you to wish on every night
I am the gold from your rainbow
that everyone chases after
I am the light from your hearth fire,
I am the numbers for your dice
You are nothing without me
I make you complete
Watch Out
Watch out for fame.
It may sound wonderful
but you can get carried away with it.
After you fall into its deep dark depths,
everyone can love you but you will never feel more alone.
Watch out for fortune.
With this you may think you can do anything
but really there is very little you can do.
Don't get trapped there.
True, almost all the people you look up to have these things.
True, it could be good to have a little of each.
But do not get carried away.
Don't be a fly,
not aware that its life will soon be cut short by a frog.
A hungry frog.
Don't fall into the hole.
If I'm not there you will never dig yourself out.
On a Hard Wooden Chair
On a hard wooden chair
Bored
Trying to read a tedious book but finding that you are slowly
Slipping away from the words
Bored
Suddenly something unfathomable happens
You submerge into a distinctive world
Ideas fly around with you trying to catch one
You are barefoot running
In the surprisingly soft grass
Running
Running
Running
Thinking things worthy of Einstein
You see a cove
An ocean of wonders and mysteries to solve
You run toward it as it slips away
And evolves into a green house garden
Where all your favorite sprouts grow
Hibiscuses, lilies, and hydrangeas
Luscious scents overcome your nose
And suddenly the scene changes
You're enjoying the
Air rushing towards you at astonishing speeds
As you find you are flying
Because anyone can fly
As joyfully as a robin
Just learning to soar
And knowing that it will not succeed
Until it takes the risk and jumps
POEM ON A PAINTING BY ROBERT STEVE CONNETT BY EMME O'TOOLE
Cracked eyelids, cracked lips.
Creeping about me
I can sense what I cannot see.
Rockets with painted smiles,
fabricated smiles,
bones of a dinosaur
that died trying to save you.
You drew in your last breath anyway.
A robotic head with eyes,
eyes that knows more about you
then you do yourself.
Winged skeletons to haunt
your permanent slumber.
Empty sockets of supposedly frightening pupils.
A wicked smile that will be the last image
before you close the eyelids
that will forever remain shut.
Creeping about me
I can sense what I cannot see.
Rockets with painted smiles,
fabricated smiles,
bones of a dinosaur
that died trying to save you.
You drew in your last breath anyway.
A robotic head with eyes,
eyes that knows more about you
then you do yourself.
Winged skeletons to haunt
your permanent slumber.
Empty sockets of supposedly frightening pupils.
A wicked smile that will be the last image
before you close the eyelids
that will forever remain shut.
