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Poems By Poet Vera Sidhwa  10/6/2015 3:15:15 PM
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Polka Dots

Oh, I danced with my pink, polka dot dress on,
It topsy turvied those who watched me.
They too wanted to become polka dots,
To be randomly dancing and oh so pretty.

My polka dot people now wanted,
Their own dress with polkas on it.
They cut fabric so lovely, so fragile.
All polka dots were being made all over.

The dance now stopped,
The polkas were all designed.
Mine was the very best.
Mine was very fine.
Vera Sidhwa



Tall Buildings Of York City

Buildings of York City,
You scare me,
Your world is virtually,
Crowded with buildings.

Yet just still build and built, buildings! ! !

We're letting this happen,
In the name of progress.
We can't drive cars from right to left,
Cars and buildings in form of regress.

Children don't play in lush green,
Their playground a tragic cement scene.
They hop and skip around,
But not on swings, slides or playground.

They play on sheets of cement,
For mothers to keep them safe,
From parking lot cars,
A torment.

To keep up with their childrens' safety,
And possibly some other mother's liability.

Buildings of York City,
Built in sci-fi age,
Violations of nature,
And it's natural grace.

Violations of humans,
Violations of land,
Violations of the Red Race,
Are now violations of the Human Race.

It doesn't matter.
Our children will face,
A failure of the Earth's
Blue, green and white environment.

When the satellites provide a photo,
Our sights won't believe,
Nobody will hear, our too late sigh.
The colors of planet Earth,

Grey, brown in sky.
The oceans of the Earth,
The green of the leaves,
And the pure white of the cloud ridden sky,
Laid down to rest forever.

Now it's time for your scientific plans.
But those plans won't matter,
With the pollution's earthly scatter
Spreading globally around,
Without a human protest found.

No other planet will be able to nuture,
To save us from Earth's emergency ending future.
This upcoming trend, causing messages,
To each other to send.

Too late to stop the red Apocalyptic End.
Vera Sidhwa



The Sun's Fun

The sun's fun,
The electric bulb of the sky,
The mega bulb.
The sun's fun,
Turn it off and turn it on,
The switch in the sky.
The sun's fun,
Is the fun,
All us children like to play in.
Vera Sidhwa




The fruit seeded,
The fruit skinned,
The fruit tasted sweet.
It was the symbol of satisfaction,
The fruit of labor done.
I ate this fruit so many times.
I had this fruit everyday.
I made pies and tarts to this day.

This was the fruit of my labor.
Vera Sidhwa
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Poems By Poet Vera Sidhwa