Writing Samples

OVER NIGHT, UNDER STARS…Train ride      By Angie Karcher ©2014

*This picture book could be given as a gift to children on train trips.


Up with the dewdrops and into the station,

Stepping up,

Sitting down,

We’re off for vacation.


Into the sunset and under the starlight,

Staring out,

Snuggling in,

We’re dim in the Midnight.


Under the cliff line and into the tunnel,

Sneaking in.

Streaking out,

We’re trailing the runnel.


Into the sunlight and out of the dreaming,

Snoring stops,

Stretching starts,

We’re up bright and gleaming.


Out of the berth and up to awaken,

Sipping juice,

Scrambling eggs,

We’re crunching our bacon.


Up to the lounge and hear all the giggles,

Squealing laughs,

Smiling fun,

We’re stuck with the wiggles.


Here is the beach just hugging the ocean,

Salting sand,

Shining waves,



Hugging new friends and departing the Amtrak,

Stepping down,

Smiling big,

We’ll see you on the way back.




THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL by Angie Karcher © 2011


I hop out of bed as the sun gives a yawn.

I zip up my pants and pull my shirt on.

My shoes and my socks are tight on my feet.

I rush down the hall and find something to eat!

I crunch and I slurp down my breakfast real fast,

I can’t wait, It’s time for school, now, at last!

I almost forgot, my teeth need a brush,

My breath must be minty, I’ll have to rush.

I grab my backpack and sack lunch to go,

My teacher is waiting for this kid to show.

The bus ride is quick and school doors open wide.

I hop off my bus and skip on inside.

But, wait, the halls are empty and bare,

There’s no one here, not anywhere!

I’m standing here ready.  My first day of school,

But no one else came. That’s not very cool!

The school bell starts ringing. Why won’t it stop?

My head is spinning and my ears want to pop,

My mom shakes me lightly in bed where I lay.

“Sweetheart, get up, you start school today!”



THE RAINBOW  by Angie Karcher ©2008

*This is from an anthology of poems about slavery and the Civil War


My hair is black

My skin is brown

I wear a humble slavery frown.


Your hair is blonde

Your skin is white

We’re so different at first sight.


My nails, stained brown

My feet, stained green

I washed and washed them. They are clean.


Your gloves are white.

Your shoes are brown.

I never see you wear a frown.


My teeth are white

My lips are pink

I have eyes that see and blink.

Your teeth are white

Your lips are pink

You’re looking down at me…I think.


My palms are tan

My spirit’s blue

I want to stand as tall as you.


Your palms are tan

Your spirit’s free

I wish you really looked at me.


My blood is red

My veins are blue

I eat and drink and sleep like you.


Your blood is red

Your veins are blue

I’m called “COLORED”…Why aren’t you?




WHERE WE GOIN’?  by Angie Karcher ©2008

*This is from an anthology of poems about slavery and the Civil War


The mornin’ sun’s stretchin’ Her arms today.

Wakin’ at first light, got nO time to play.

The watchman’s a watchin’ so’s we don’t stray.

Follow Mama and Papa over orchard’s way.

“WherE we goin’?”


The noon sun’s givin’ me a sweaty Hug.

Wakin’ achin’ back muscles with ditches dug.

The watchman’s a drinkin’ with a mighty chug.

FOllow Mama and Papa. Give her skirt a tug.

“WherE we goin’?”


The evenin’ sun’s leavin’ us wavin’ bye.

Wakin’ thoughts of escapin’ makes Mama cry.

The watchman’s a sleepin’. His jug is dry.

FollOw Mama and Papa as Eagles fly.

“Where we goin’?”


The night moon cradles us in His light.

Wakin’ hound dOgs, barkin’, chasin’ us tonight.

The watchman’s a huntin’ dog’s are sniffin’ right.

 Follow Mama and Papa, as I hug em’ tight.

“Where wE goin’?”


The dusk moon’s pointin’ to the drinking gourd.

Wakin’ rain, washin’ tracks, as we praise the Lord.

The watcHman’s a swearin’ as the blessin’s poured.

FollOw Mama and Papa to our great reward.

“Where wE goin’?”


The mornin’ sun’s stretchin’ Her arms again.

Wakin’ achin’ sOre feet from walkin’ where we been.

The conductor’s a greetin’ with a Northern grin.

Follow Mama and Papa meetin’ railroad mEn.

“Where we goin’?”


HOME, child.”



WHERE THE RIVER GRINS by Angie Karcher ©2012    *Published in WHERE THE RIVER GRINS: A History of Evansville, IN by M.T.Publishing 2012 http://www.amazon.com/Where-River-Grins-History-Evansville/dp/193472999

The river, a gentleman most of the time

is constantly flowing with rhythm and rhyme.

In winter his face is so calm and so sure,

content as he dawdles with daydreams so pure.

His currents are frosted with crystals and flakes,

so cold that he quivers and shivers and shakes.

In springtime the tears from up-river descend

and widen his smile at our great river’s bend.

He chuckles and winks with mischievous charm,

then narrows his laugh to prevent us from harm.

The warm summer sun makes him laugh right out loud.

He’s healthy and lively and really quite proud!

Believing he knows all that rivers must know,

he etches his mark on the banks of his flow.

His most handsome face is the one to recall,

when ringlets of foliage surround him in fall.

His cheeks in the autumn will burn in your mind

all rusty and golden and auburn and kind.

Two faces are we, this great river and I,

with me staring out and with him passing by.

This place we call home where the bending begins

is here on the banks where the river still grins.




CHRISTMAS MISSION by Angie Karcher ©2013

*A Christmas anecdote in poem


This Christmas adventure had danger and thrill.

We chose to accept it, as most brave kids will.

Our mission, to light the fur tree in our yard,

though risky and perilous, really, quite hard.

We wore Santa hats, decked with bells and white fur,

in case we got lost, they would hear where we were.

An old pair of gloves caused a very big fight.

He got the left glove and then I got the right.

The lights were thrown over the top branch with ease.

This was expert tree lighting tree expertise.

The blink-twinkling lights were strung around the tree.

We sang Christmas carols, my brother and me.

This tree expedition was going as planned.

Then…the lights, they got stuck. Things got way out of hand.

I ascended the tree with danger in sight.

Now…my boot was stuck too, wedged in nice and tight.

This pose wasn’t good, I just had to admit.

My legs, they were stretched in a very fine split!

My brother, he giggled and turned shades of blue.

Meanwhile, I just dangled there caught by my shoe.

When, all of a sudden, the panic hit me. 

I realized, “Oh No…I have to go pee!”

The way I was standing was not good I’m told,

‘cause this made it difficult, tricky to hold.

I tried, without luck, to hold back all the rain.

The whistle’s a blowin’ and here comes the train!

The more that I laughed, the more that it rained down.

My boot, it filled up, like a wet, flooded town.

Those boots I had worn were for keeping out rain.

But someone forgot they should put in a drain!

By the time that mom saw the look on my face,

I was a poinsettia, just shoved in a vase.

My petals were wilted when they helped me down.

The train…it was gone now, way past this damp town.

Have you ever worn a chilled boot filled with pee?

Don’t ever attempt it! It happened to me!


True story.

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