Original Poetry by Marie Stephens

My mommy flung a beetle.

She flicked it far away.

He never saw her coming,

On this sunny day.

My mommy flicked a beetle.

Tonight I’ll tell my dad.

That beetle never stood a chance;

I bet he’s feeling sad.

My mommy flicked a beetle.

She flung it to next week!

I think it flew up over my house

And landed in the creek!

This poem spawned from bubbles in the driveway with my 3 year old, Ben.  We were blowing bubbles, and along came a little black beetle.  He was getting a bit too close, so without warning, I flicked him with my finger.  Evidently, it made an impression on Ben, because, an hour later during lunch,  he was still talking about how he was gonna tell dad that his mommy flicked a beetle!  So our lunch conversation revolved around that little black beetle, with me jotting this poem on the back of an old envelope.  My hubs helped me finish the last line at supper time last night.

The point to all of this, is that poetry can break up the monotony of daily conversations at the dinner table.  It’s a different way to communicate together about daily happenings, that might otherwise seem so trivial and unimportant to us as adults, but may have been significant to our little ones.  Poetry is a fun way to journal about the dailyness of life and great way to remember those precious little moments that are so fleeting.

We were on a roll last night, and even wrote another poem together about being attacked by melting cheese in our soup.  This session involved lots of laughter, feeling truly connected, and joy of just being  truly present together.  So next time you share a meal, and someone says something that makes a light bulb turn on, grab a pen and paper and make a game out of it, start rhyming, and let the laughter ensue.

I leave you today with one final poem, that may or may not be finished.  It’s about melted cheddar cheese in your chilly.  It was created at the dinner table, on the other side of the envelope with the beetle poem on it.  Created with love and laughter by me and my fam:

I got attacked by cheese!

It melted in my soup.

So then I ate too much of it,

And now I cannot poop!

Now I’m drinking prune juice.

It tastes like licorice.

Not the kind that’s cherry red;

The black that makes you wish you had another kind instead!

All poetry copyright of Tim and Marie Stephens  and family.