Poems by Annie
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Helmet
My helmet, it protected me
While riding through Schenectady
On my trusty, rusty, ten-speed bike.
I like to let my hair blow free,
But without my head, there'd be no ME,
Thus I wear this shell that I don't like.
Some like to spout philosophy
From platforms or on bended knee
That freedom, basic freedom, is their right.
But a corner that is slippery
Or any other tragedy
Could leave them just a plaque marked, "Here lies Mike"
Or "Gwen" or "Juan" or "Brittany"--
Their families sobbing endlessly...
So please:
Wear your helmet when you ride a bike!
Hip Hop
Hip hop music – basses thump,
Hands up high – fist pump bump.
Move your body – stomp your feet,
Feel the rhythm – catch that beat!
Phil the Photographer
Frippery-frappery
Phil the Photographer
Snapped off some photos of
Fancy-type folk.
Flashing montages of
Phantasmagoria,
Phil was just thrilled with the
Chills he’d provoke.
When I Grow Up
“When you grow up,” they always ask, “what do you want to be?”
They mean my job, I know, but I wish I could say,
“What I want to be is a monkey,
so I could play in the jungle all day.”
Why the focus on work? Why can’t I dream about play?
About jumping and climbing and screeching with glee?
About living my life the monkey way?
To scamper about, eating fruit in a tree, that’s the life for me.
How fun to swing from my arms or my tail, making the branches sway.
So, what I want to be is a monkey,
so I could play in the jungle all day.
My helmet, it protected me
While riding through Schenectady
On my trusty, rusty, ten-speed bike.
I like to let my hair blow free,
But without my head, there'd be no ME,
Thus I wear this shell that I don't like.
Some like to spout philosophy
From platforms or on bended knee
That freedom, basic freedom, is their right.
But a corner that is slippery
Or any other tragedy
Could leave them just a plaque marked, "Here lies Mike"
Or "Gwen" or "Juan" or "Brittany"--
Their families sobbing endlessly...
So please:
Wear your helmet when you ride a bike!
Hip Hop
Hip hop music – basses thump,
Hands up high – fist pump bump.
Move your body – stomp your feet,
Feel the rhythm – catch that beat!
Phil the Photographer
Frippery-frappery
Phil the Photographer
Snapped off some photos of
Fancy-type folk.
Flashing montages of
Phantasmagoria,
Phil was just thrilled with the
Chills he’d provoke.
When I Grow Up
“When you grow up,” they always ask, “what do you want to be?”
They mean my job, I know, but I wish I could say,
“What I want to be is a monkey,
so I could play in the jungle all day.”
Why the focus on work? Why can’t I dream about play?
About jumping and climbing and screeching with glee?
About living my life the monkey way?
To scamper about, eating fruit in a tree, that’s the life for me.
How fun to swing from my arms or my tail, making the branches sway.
So, what I want to be is a monkey,
so I could play in the jungle all day.