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 thing we call - living - seems brief in comparison with the time of infinite dreams -
The richness of being - eyes pried open against - the effervescent role of a mind and body tensed.
Forever changing forever makes - living - a tiring task - yet always wins compared to expiring -
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 on
Dreams are the things that are easily forgotten- When harsh reality steps in- It’s cold, unforgiving darkness- Can weigh down the optimistic wings of dreams
But 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.
Some what based off "I'm Nobody! Who Are You?" I am everyone! You are also me We are one in the same - part of me is part of you We make a parallel running the same ways
How dreary it is to be you - only part of me Only one dimension - but I am three Your name so silent, mine so obnoxious I admire you, you're part of me Abby A Period 5
Who Am I I perceive but I do not experience I recall but I do not think I respire but I do not breathe I exist but I do not live So I ask again. Who am I?
I am nothing Just the darkness Always there but never present
If you judge by appearance I will most likely not be a friend It would not be a first Not making friends isn't my worst....
There is no distraction like a friend To eliminate our fears Or 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.
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
Everything dies- as night falls the darkness- an overwhelming blanket over ones eye then does everything live- as day rises as the blanket is torn from ones eyes as the light shines as the eye becomes- blind when is the eye not blind- not blocked by 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.
We all stand by a lake the 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 surface to hide all signs of the broken past conceal the weariness of carrying all the weight. Though sometimes, the heaviest thing to carry is not the stones - coupled with our weariness and fatigue, but the lake itself. Shannon Hallroan (P5)
I don’t know this stop. This transition—this unblinking blankness Of repeating a single word in your mind without Ever 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 clay You have to move more slowly Or you will break. Pliable between wettings only, which is exhausting And you know just as soon as you’re fired You’ll be impenetrable Or shatter. Just get it over with. Isn’t satisfied yet. Pinching away You don’t know if you will be beautiful Or salvageable Amanda D.
Seeing the faint, faded picture- Of the street outside my house- Where the summer full trees casting shadows on the hot pavement radiating 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 photo I only took it to capture that day Bottle it- Relive it- Open the picture and know again- I tried to hold a feeling in my hands
"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 love
We 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?-
Morning! Like an empty Window No breeze today- Odysseus would not make it home this Morning- the dawns that undo me The here is now, and morning- wake up! But a dream, like Calypso on her island Could- keep me here, but the Wind Lifts papers on the desk! He is coming home after all
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.
ReplyDeleteThe length of the thing
we call - living - seems
brief in comparison with
the time of infinite dreams -
The richness of being -
eyes pried open against -
the effervescent role of
a mind and body tensed.
Forever changing forever
makes - living - a tiring
task - yet always wins
compared to expiring -
*retweet
Delete^^^^^
DeleteI tried to model this poem after the poem, "I'm Nobody! Who are you?"
ReplyDeleteI 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 people
life is not an extracurricular -
I decided to call this poem "A Buoy"
ReplyDeleteCutting through the morning haze
I shine my light at passersby
Tossed and turned by turbulent waves
I try to stay grounded, but why?
Guiding others while I am lost
Enshrouded in the vastness of sea and sky
Isolation is my sentence; my cost
Ever alone as boaters sail on by.
Chained to my anchor, while gasping for breath
I exist for others to notice me
I 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”
ReplyDelete“Dreams” are the things with wings-
Though buried deep within us,
They keep us going-
On and on and on
Dreams are the things that are easily forgotten-
When harsh reality steps in-
It’s cold, unforgiving darkness-
Can weigh down the optimistic wings of dreams
But 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.
Horizon
ReplyDeleteWhere 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 line
That nothing- I mean nothing- can disturb.
Not a change in weather, time, or place
Can cause this to perturb.
One can find this line of peace
If 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?"
ReplyDeleteI am everyone! You are also me
We are one in the same - part of me is part of you
We make a parallel running the same ways
How dreary it is to be you - only part of me
Only one dimension - but I am three
Your name so silent, mine so obnoxious
I admire you, you're part of me
Abby A
Period 5
I heard my girlfriend - Then I Died
ReplyDeleteI heard my girl - then I died -
The cringe on my face
is 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 room
She wanted to kill me slow -
She thought I was going to be her groom -
I laughed - But signed my life away
At least what portion of me be left
Jake J
I hope everyone is entertained by how awful this poem is. Please enjoy this poem that I call "Flowers"
ReplyDeleteWhy do flowers mean so much
to a significant other
flowers- will die
but doesn't love last forever
They blossom - and grow
like love alone
but the petals - they warp
and death is inevitable
Perennials - they come back
eventually
proving that love
exists temporarily
we assume - that flowers symbolize life
but what we fail to recognize
that in the end
our flowers- and our love - will die
Erika M. Period 5
In the last blink of an eye,
ReplyDeletethe world around me spins
like a -ballerina- on stage
It gets blurry -
yet all crystal clear.
As her eyes weakened
the 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 Here
ReplyDeleteWhy are we here
That is the question
When….How do we go
Could be another
One will be answered
in time...sometime
The other we hope
...But probably not
Tyler Rubino
I saw a bird,
ReplyDeletefly 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 blind
ReplyDeleteits eyes-lost to the universe
with every breath lost to the void-
but-I will still see-
I will still see through the smoke
-of a world blind
or maybe-i'll go blind too
losing my eyes like the world will-
dissolving into the black
Who Am I
ReplyDeleteWho Am I
I perceive but I do not experience
I recall but I do not think
I respire but I do not breathe
I exist but I do not live
So I ask again.
Who am I?
I am nothing
Just the darkness
Always there but never present
If you judge by appearance
I will most likely not be a friend
It would not be a first
Not making friends isn't my worst....
Poem inspired by Emily Dickinson's "A Book"
ReplyDeleteThere is no distraction like a friend
To eliminate our fears
Or 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?
ReplyDeleteIs it an abstract concept-
it's not tangible-
how can anything be nothing?
Nothing-nothing-nothing
something-everything-nothing
"what to do today?'-"something"
"what happened today?'-"nothing"
"what do we want?"-"everything."
the nothing is what consumes
the nothing prevails-
and yet we are content
with the everpresent lack
of something substantial.
routine-normality-obedience
fed to us since day one
what happens when we stray?
do we know?
can we know?
same old, same old.
i ate a sandwich today
i went to sleep last night
i saw the same faces- as before
the flowers bloom-and
the flowers die
i see your face
and all at once
that nothing, it becomes
something and the something-
well-that something just becomes-
Everything.
By Cleo Kyriakides, P5
Life is made up of moments,
ReplyDeletesome 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?
ReplyDeleteAre you- Nobody- too?
How dreary it is- to be- Somebody
How public- how oppressive-
An imperial affliction
That perches in the soul
What portion of me be
blue- uncertain- stumbling buzz
between the heaves of storm
the stillness in the room
Beneath the feathers-
the sweetest Gale is heard
the chillest in the land-
the strangest in the sea
When it goes, 'tis like the distance
a certain slant of light-
but no internal difference
Raissi B
period 5
Everything dies- as night falls
ReplyDeletethe darkness- an overwhelming blanket
over ones eye
then does everything live- as day rises
as the blanket is torn from ones eyes
as the light shines
as the eye becomes- blind
when is the eye not blind- not blocked
by the light
-Owen Boyle
School- not liked by many teens-
ReplyDeleteStress, 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 room
ReplyDeleteWhere no one is heard,
But everyone is present
Is there a need for talking?
Perhaps the best course of action is no action
Shut lips, closed eyes
A shadow in the room
Just as if no one was there
Tom S P1
We all stand by a lake
ReplyDeletethe 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 surface
to hide all signs of the broken past
conceal the weariness of carrying all the weight.
Though sometimes, the heaviest thing to carry
is not the stones - coupled with our weariness and fatigue,
but the lake itself.
Shannon Hallroan (P5)
"Grace" is the thing with fins
ReplyDelete"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 Yale
Period 5
"Love" is the thing with arms-
ReplyDeleteThat 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.
ReplyDeleteThis transition—this unblinking blankness
Of repeating a single word in your mind without
Ever 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 clay
You have to move more slowly
Or you will break.
Pliable between wettings only, which is exhausting
And you know just as soon as you’re fired
You’ll be impenetrable
Or shatter.
Just get it over with.
Isn’t satisfied yet.
Pinching away
You don’t know if you will be beautiful
Or salvageable
Amanda D.
Seeing the faint, faded picture-
ReplyDeleteOf the street outside my house-
Where the summer full trees casting shadows on the hot pavement
radiating 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 photo
I only took it to capture that day
Bottle it- Relive it- Open the picture and know again-
I tried to hold a feeling in my hands
But now, it is just a picture of a street
"Love" is the thing that's sweet-
ReplyDeleteThat 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 love
We 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 Window
ReplyDeleteNo breeze today-
Odysseus would not make it home this
Morning- the dawns that undo me
The here is now, and morning- wake up!
But a dream, like Calypso on her island
Could- keep me here, but the Wind
Lifts papers on the desk!
He is coming home after all
Period 5