I'm honored once again to be the first poem posted here. It truly has always been a dream of mine to be first post, and two in a row was never really in my sights. Flattered is an understatement. Rather than a poem about dying I choose a poem about living. The length of the thingwe call - living - seems brief in comparison with the time of infinite dreams -The richness of being -eyes pried open against -the effervescent role ofa mind and body tensed.Forever changing forevermakes - living - a tiringtask - yet always winscompared to expiring -
I tried to model this poem after the poem, "I'm Nobody! Who are you?" I am someone - who are you?!are you someone too?then here is a couple of us-tell everyone to join us - they'll love us!how awesome it is to be someone!how exciting and how spectacular!to know people - to love peoplelife is not an extracurricular -
I decided to call this poem "A Buoy"Cutting through the morning hazeI shine my light at passersbyTossed and turned by turbulent wavesI try to stay grounded, but why?Guiding others while I am lost Enshrouded in the vastness of sea and skyIsolation is my sentence; my costEver alone as boaters sail on by.Chained to my anchor, while gasping for breathI exist for others to notice meI lead them to safety, while facing my death,A buoy adrift at sea.
My poem is somewhat based off of the poem “‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers”“Dreams” are the things with wings-Though buried deep within us,They keep us going-On and on and onDreams are the things that are easily forgotten-When harsh reality steps in-It’s cold, unforgiving darkness-Can weigh down the optimistic wings of dreamsBut dreams are the things like the phoenix-They can rise from the ashes-And those who really believe in them-Can use them to fly.
HorizonWhere water and sky meet, That is where I desire to be.A simple medium between two blues,I will be able to find tranquility. The busy landscape finds a lineThat nothing- I mean nothing- can disturb.Not a change in weather, time, or placeCan cause this to perturb. One can find this line of peaceIf only they choose to see,The greatness of confusion,Or what is meant to be. -Jillian M. Period 1
Some what based off "I'm Nobody! Who Are You?"I am everyone! You are also meWe are one in the same - part of me is part of youWe make a parallel running the same waysHow dreary it is to be you - only part of meOnly one dimension - but I am threeYour name so silent, mine so obnoxiousI admire you, you're part of me Abby A Period 5
I heard my girlfriend - Then I DiedI heard my girl - then I died -The cringe on my faceis something you couldn’t buy -Even if you went to space -The girl I’m around - had killed me so -Why is she in my roomShe wanted to kill me slow -She thought I was going to be her groom -I laughed - But signed my life awayAt least what portion of me be leftJake J
I hope everyone is entertained by how awful this poem is. Please enjoy this poem that I call "Flowers"Why do flowers mean so muchto a significant otherflowers- will diebut doesn't love last foreverThey blossom - and growlike love alonebut the petals - they warpand death is inevitablePerennials - they come backeventuallyproving that loveexists temporarilywe assume - that flowers symbolize lifebut what we fail to recognizethat in the endour flowers- and our love - will dieErika M. Period 5
In the last blink of an eye,the world around me spinslike a -ballerina- on stageIt gets blurry -yet all crystal clear.As her eyes weakenedthe voices became louder.As the audience applaud faded,the buzz became stronger-She was blinded but still saw a small creature. An existence in nature-without a purpose.She twirled and twirled until the buzz was no more. - Shradha P1
Why Are We HereWhy are we hereThat is the questionWhen….How do we goCould be another One will be answeredin time...sometimeThe other we hope...But probably notTyler Rubino
I saw a bird,fly into the air-It flew away,I knew not where-But now I wait,for my bird to come back-So I watch the sky-And when it comes back,I will be here for it-Me and my bird-
The world may go blindits eyes-lost to the universewith every breath lost to the void-but-I will still see-I will still see through the smoke-of a world blindor maybe-i'll go blind toolosing my eyes like the world will-dissolving into the black
Who Am IWho Am II perceive but I do not experience I recall but I do not think I respire but I do not breatheI exist but I do not liveSo I ask again.Who am I?I am nothingJust the darknessAlways there but never presentIf you judge by appearanceI will most likely not be a friendIt would not be a firstNot making friends isn't my worst....
Poem inspired by Emily Dickinson's "A Book" There is no distraction like a friendTo eliminate our fearsOr take us somewhere new, And, who tries to stop the tears.To jump into a new experience Subtract our problems Forget the world And stops all the bad that comes. Alyssa S
we talk a lot-about nothing?Is it an abstract concept-it's not tangible-how can anything be nothing?Nothing-nothing-nothingsomething-everything-nothing"what to do today?'-"something""what happened today?'-"nothing""what do we want?"-"everything."the nothing is what consumesthe nothing prevails-and yet we are contentwith the everpresent lackof something substantial.routine-normality-obediencefed to us since day onewhat happens when we stray?do we know?can we know?same old, same old.i ate a sandwich todayi went to sleep last nighti saw the same faces- as beforethe flowers bloom-andthe flowers diei see your faceand all at oncethat nothing, it becomessomething and the something-well-that something just becomes-Everything.By Cleo Kyriakides, P5
Life is made up of moments,some infinite, and some so short.As we grow old, we lose a few,and some begin to distort.Others hold to our brains,like the moon holds to the earth We remember the moment our lives start to turn,but rarely, remember our birth.Often, they teach us a lesson,Shape who we will become.I fear the day I loose my mind,as my memories, will start to run.-Rome
I'm nobody! Who are you?Are you- Nobody- too?How dreary it is- to be- SomebodyHow public- how oppressive- An imperial afflictionThat perches in the soulWhat portion of me be blue- uncertain- stumbling buzzbetween the heaves of stormthe stillness in the roomBeneath the feathers-the sweetest Gale is heardthe chillest in the land-the strangest in the seaWhen it goes, 'tis like the distancea certain slant of light-but no internal differenceRaissi B period 5
Everything dies- as night falls the darkness- an overwhelming blanket over ones eyethen does everything live- as day rises as the blanket is torn from ones eyes as the light shines as the eye becomes- blindwhen is the eye not blind- not blockedby the light -Owen Boyle
School- not liked by many teens-Stress, nerves, pressure, and work-All things that it consists of.Some will get the hang of it- others not so much-Those who do it best- usually go the furthest.So get the hang of it- for your life is in those hands.Paige
Silence in a crowded roomWhere no one is heard,But everyone is presentIs there a need for talking?Perhaps the best course of action is no actionShut lips, closed eyesA shadow in the roomJust as if no one was thereTom S P1
We all stand by a lakethe lake of our hearts - one could call it.We stand by our hearts through storm and heat - through snow and rain. We weigh down our hearts with stones thrown onto our surfaces, hiding our reflections - our thoughts.We stand and wait - wait for the calm to return to the surfaceto hide all signs of the broken pastconceal the weariness of carrying all the weight.Though sometimes, the heaviest thing to carryis not the stones - coupled with our weariness and fatigue,but the lake itself.Shannon Hallroan (P5)
"Grace" is the thing with fins"Grace" is the thing with fins-That glides across the water-And dances between the waves-The most elegant thing- I thought of-And the calmest-And the fastest-That out-swims all the others-That could never come in last-Even in the roughest seas-And in the choppy waves-The swirling and twirling-Grace greater than a dove's.Katey YalePeriod 5
"Love" is the thing with arms-That wraps them oh so tightly-And nurtures those within-The most aspired thing-And the sweetest-And the most romantic-That outweighs the rest-That all aim to reach-I've seen it once before-In a small city across the bay-I aspire to feel the same-Just as those people did that day-Sam Coleman Period 1
I don’t know this stop. This transition—this unblinking blanknessOf repeating a single word in your mind withoutEver digesting it. Because you’re full of everything – steam-And no place to go.You were jittery just before this stop. But not now.Now you’re like clayYou have to move more slowly Or you will break.Pliable between wettings only, which is exhaustingAnd you know just as soon as you’re fired You’ll be impenetrableOr shatter. Just get it over with.Isn’t satisfied yet.Pinching away You don’t know if you will be beautiful Or salvageableAmanda D.
Seeing the faint, faded picture-Of the street outside my house-Where the summer full trees casting shadows on the hot pavementradiating heat-and the tossing warm waters with tiny, salty colorful sails-And the lukewarm breeze strolled through my hair I don't feel it-The scorching pavement on my sand dusted feet-The cat lounging lazily in the shade across the street-The loving shouts coming from the beach-I don't feel that warm sun now-As winter rages outside, angry ice biting at my window-Cold and uncomfortable- drawing heat from no faded photoI only took it to capture that dayBottle it- Relive it- Open the picture and know again-I tried to hold a feeling in my handsBut now, it is just a picture of a street
"Love" is the thing that's sweet-That follows us all-and which we carry in our heart-beat-as we feel it's faint call-A rhyme that never misses-I've heard it in the chillest land-but I felt other emotions of the abyss-Stronger, diluting, and reducing the hand-which is loveWe find comfort in things that are strange-Rejecting the constancy-the love that is light'Seeking for a change Will we do what is right?-Period 1
Morning! Like an empty WindowNo breeze today-Odysseus would not make it home thisMorning- the dawns that undo meThe here is now, and morning- wake up!But a dream, like Calypso on her islandCould- keep me here, but the WindLifts papers on the desk!He is coming home after allPeriod 5