12.

I want it. I need it. I will use it someday.
If it's broke, I don't care. I will fix it one day.

It was gifted. I bought it. I found it today.
I will keep it in a box way out of the way.

So the stockpile grows because I want it to stay.
I have all my stuff, I am so proud to say.

But it grows and it grows and it blocks all my chi.
And my karma grows stale for it wants to be free.

So I purge it and toss it and give it away.
And I learn to let go of the things in my way.

11.

A poem I forgot to write.
So here it is.
And, now, goodnight!

10.

Spirit, spirit in the night,
please go straight into the light.
When you hear that you are dead,
don't just linger near that bed.
Ghosts aren't meant to stick around
haunting souls here on the ground.
Float on up to meet your friends
for your journey's at its end.

9.

Electricity crackles, surges through
rubber and metal, those portals
for travelling electrons: lightning born
with one swift CRACK!

Created now, leaps from source to skin,
skin to earth, forever searching,
leaving darkness to become chaos
in its wake.

8.

Coughing, coughing, all the time.
Can't stop long to make this rhyme.

Sneezing, sneezing, what to do?
Gotta earn the money but I got the flu.

Sweating, sweating, then the chills.
How am I going to pay these bills?

Fretting, fretting, have to whine.
Whose to blame? Those damn swine!

7.

You can leave now, Mama,
and close the door.
I'm a big girl, Mama,
my feet touch the floor.
You can leave now, Mama,
and shut it tight.
I've got things to do
and I'm all right.
You can leave now, Mama,
but before you do,
Remember, Mama, I love you.

6.

Writing poetry is hard
with children playing in the yard.
Don't know if I'll have time
to write more than merely rhyme.
For rhyme is easier to do
than expressing through and through
and bringing feelings forth
to contemplate their worth.

5.

There once was a poet who said,
"I really must get to bed."
But no poem I've written,
so here I'll keep sittin'
before I can lay down my head.

4.

It's twins! It's twins!
They say we're having twins!
I can't believe two eggs released.
Three girls and now The End!

3.

Too sick to write.
Too tired to fight
this thing they call the Flu.

2.

Tiny fingers grasp, find air, then hair.
Little hands hold on tight
those transient things, then phantom things.
Fleeting moments; borrowed time.

1.

Kids are crying

Fingers flying

Trying to get this poem done.

Time is moving

Writing's losing

Challenge on: and kids have won.