My Poems

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My Poems

• By Lindsay

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My Mom By Lindsay She has a mop of dirty blonde
hair, And cloudy gray eyes, She is
talkative, Maybe thats why I talk so
much! Friendly Smart Creative Perceptive Affection
ate Funny She runs, and is athletic on the
weekends She swims, during the summer And boy,
can she drive! (MUCH better than Dad!) She does
all this while being the director of research at
Banc of America She always has time to spend with
her Older brother, Her parents, Husband, And her
kids, Lindsay and Max. This is Joan, my mom.
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Times Square By Lindsay With lights shining so
bright, Theyll keep you up all night. You can
see Broadway shows, what a treat, While people
dance in the street. Theres Wicked,
Hairspray, Mamma Mia Even Fiddler on the
Roof! Shining posters up so high, All the way
up, Touching the sky. Restaurants, The
Garden, Gift Shops, Stores. Theres also much,
much more. The place Im describing is Times
Square, Theres no place like it, ANYWHERE.
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Seasons By Lindsay Winter is the season when it
snows, Its about as freezing as it goes. Spring
is the season when the leaves start to
grow, While flowers and bushes start to grow to
and fro. Summer is the season when you go to
camp, You write all those letters sitting by a
lamp. Autumn is the season when the leaves
fall, So many fall that you just want to
bawl. The seasons all together are a wonderful
thing, And every day you wonder what the next
will bring.
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Horse By Lindsay Walking so quietly in the
grass, Striding gracefully in the ring, Trotting
so proudly he looked like a king, He makes you
forget everything. He has beautiful red hair
that always shines, His tail and mane swish with
the wind, His hooves tap-tap-tapping on the
ground, Everyone staring in awe all around.
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The Beach By Lindsay The waves crashing, The
people laughing, building sand castles, The
seagulls diving at our food All of this, at the
beach
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The Ride Sitting in the car, Waiting, waiting,
waiting Stuck in traffic Waiting for my parents
to tell me were there Sitting in the car, Waiting
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YOU You can make me so sad, And make me very
mad. You pout, You cry, But you never say
why. You act, It works like a charm, Even when
you broke my arm. Youre such a pain, Its not
worth it to complain.
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Poems By Lindsay Poems are special, Because
they come from the heart. Poem writing is
different, A different kind of art. Poems are a
kind of art, The kind that you write. When
writing a poem, There is no wrong or
right. Because whatever you write, It comes from
you, And all of this is true.
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THE END