Lost

You stand in the light, turn so they see.
Your hands by your side, surrounded by foe.
You’re gaze is inviting, but burns, never free.
You cannot find, it’s yourself you don’t know.

Human comfort distracts you from being alone,
You won’t know yourself without someone there.
Your mind in turmoil, your heart- broken bone.
Your face, painted in scars of despair.

You shield yourself from the depths of your mind,
You refuse to look, cower in fright
of the burning fear of what you will find.
Of what monster lurks, waiting to fight.

Your spirit is a maze,
By which you are bound.
You need to escape.

Do you want to be found?

My Favorite Poem For the Season of Fall

October

BY ROBERT FROST

O hushed October morning mild,

Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;

Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,

Should waste them all.

The crows above the forest call;

Tomorrow they may form and go.

O hushed October morning mild,

Begin the hours of this day slow.

Make the day seem to us less brief.

Hearts not averse to being beguiled,

Beguile us in the way you know.

Release one leaf at break of day;

At noon release another leaf;

One from our trees, one far away.

Retard the sun with gentle mist;

Enchant the land with amethyst.

Slow, slow!

For the grapes’ sake, if they were all,

Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,

Whose clustered fruit must else be lost—

For the grapes’ sake along the wall.

A Poem That Only Loosely Makes Sense

What do you write when you've nothing to write?

You write about writing, of course.

And when your handwriting's no longer inviting

You read it and speak 'til you're hoarse.

People may scream, "Please stop"--they may deem

Your writing to be not up to par

And if all else fails--you've not heard their wails

They give up and run to the car.

Piano

Four years old,
First teacher, Mrs. Briggs.
Short old woman
with not too much musical knowledge.
I learned to read the notes,
to play the music

Six years old,
new teacher, Mr. Bob.
Funny
Hard to please
short and stout.
I learned to play blues and classical
and good hand form.

Twelve years old,
Newest teacher Mr. Raold,
Tall, laid back
nice, cool
learning jazz, classical
continuing in my music.

Rhyming poems

I hate rhyming poems,
They always put up a fight,
No room for similes or metaphors
They're so hard to write!

They take too much time,
It's all just a waste!
They give me a headache
Just not my taste!

If you ever see a rhyming poem,
Quickly look away,
For it taints you to see one,
Anytime, any day.

Maine haikus

Maine

Maine pine trees swaying
The wind caressing the lake
Birds chirping away.

Lake

Slippery fish swim
In its depths, turtles will lurk
I jump, dive and swim.

Trees

In the forest trees
Of pine and oak and willow
Live many creatures.

Vacationland

Whoopie pies are sweet
Pine cones crunch under your feet
Paradise is here.

Poetry Powerpoint!

Poetry Powerpoint

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