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

Post your grade in the comments section! How did you do?????

Poetry for People's Favorite Quotes

Type in YOUR favorite quotes in the comments section, and I'll post them! Together we can create a huge list of amazing, inspiring ideas! (Song lyrics, lines from books, and things you've heard people say are all perfectly acceptable, as long as you include who they're by.)

1. "You are what you eat, it's often said. If this is true, then what we are today is mostly corn." --Michael Pollan, The Omnivore's Dilemma
2. "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent."--Eleanor Roosevelt
3. "Without music, life would be a mistake."--Friednich Nietzche 
4. "A laugh is a smile that bursts."--Unknown
5. "There are only 3 colors, 8 notes and 26 letters--but it is what we do with them that counts."--a fortune cookie I got
6. "Man plans, God laughs."--an old Yiddish saying
7. "A word to the wise ain't necessary - it's the stupid ones that need the advice."-- Bill Cosby
8. "You must be the change you wish to see in the world."-- Mahatma Gandhi 
9. "Do not take life too seriously. You will never get out of it alive."--Elbert Hubbard

 

The Writing Machine

There once was a boy named Jason McLean,
Who conjured up the amazing writing machine!

It teeted and hooted and began to shake,
a story, a poem, what would it make?

It shook even more, it was about to burst,
When Jason gave it some oil, quenching it's thirst.

And out popped a poem, then a story, then a book,
a fable, a novel, no matter the time it took.

The books and poetry all piled high,
and in that second, the paper went dry.

The machine, sputtered and started to squeak,
And all the oil, sprang through a leak!

Then the machine over loaded,
and with a bang; the thing exploded.

Leaving Jason's room in a mess,
putting poor Jason, under distress.

For there once was a boy named Jason McLean,
and that was the end of his writing machine.

Boat House

My boat house
A place covered in old cream paint
And bordered with faded red
Peeling and chipping through the years.
Inside an old rustic boat sits
Coated in rust and silvery metal.

The flooring was bare concrete
Rough and dirty
The walls were old and wooden
Rotting and decaying.
Littered with cobwebs and
Night crawlers.

The cement supports
Tumbling into the lake
Like a glacier.
Slow and steady
Little by little creeping
Out of existence.

When my dad saw it;
Everything changed.
He brought in his crew of workers
Who catered to his every idea
With big trucks filled with supplies
Piling in to our driveway.












They lathered on fresh salmon colored paint
With green highlights
And a dash of bright cream around the edges.
They tore out the floor and
Stripped down the walls
Took out the rusty metal boat.

They added smooth new walls
That they added a texture to.
And made a new floor
This time a wooden one
Then rubbed a stain
All the way through the interior.

They added a new sink
And small fridge
And when they were done they
Left us alone with this new masterpiece.
The only thing that remained
From the old boathouse was the roof.

The roof was left
As a reminder of the old boathouse.
What was there
And what is here now.
With loose nails hanging from the ceiling
And the smell of slow rot slipping down.

But this is no longer
The old boathouse.
This one is perfect.
We rebuilt most of it
And use it now more than ever.
But sometimes I like to think about the old one.

Poetry PP

Songs are Just like Poems!

You know, songs are a lot like poems. The lyrics are a poem, they don't always rhyme, but not all poems rhyme! THen we add in music, and whala! You have a song. Here is on of my favorite songs:

When I was Little

This is a poem I wrote in fifth grade:


When I was little, I had a big bush of hair.

When I was little, my first word was “uh oh!”

When I was little, I was always smiling. 

When I was little, I was usually bare-foot.

When I was little, I had a very special

stuffed animal.

When I was little, I wasn’t very good at walking.

                                                                 

When I was little, I was very cooperative.

When I was little, I had my own room.

Now, I’m not any of those things!

Rachel's Beginnings Poem

As February started its end,

My life started its beginning.

Born fresh and new,

A Pennsylvanian baby at Abington Hospital.

Brought out by my dad on a cold night at 11:00

I came right on schedule,

easy and ready to meet the world.

Mom says I was the easiest of the three

And in many ways I still am.

They all thought I was going to be a boy,

But I came out a girl, the only one.

Dad joked the name Naomi,

But mom took it seriously.

Dad saved the day with the name Rachel,

The name meant for my older brother

if he were a girl.

They got a baby as bald as a pumpkin,

With chubby cheeks like Jell-O,

And glassy eyes rimmed with blue

And dotted with green.

Who couldn’t; when she grew teeth,

Get her hands off apple

And when she sprouted long fingers,

Couldn’t stop tapping away at the piano.

They all say I was a perfect toddler.

Mom would say, “Don’t touch that Rachel.”

And I would say “ok mommy.”

And then a few months later

I sprouted hair.

Almost overnight,

A jungle of grass, weeds and flowers

Sprouted from my bare head

Tangling and wrapping around each other

Growing like reeds

As thick as the amazon,

with curls as blonde as the shining sun.

From the earliest I remember

Being in an apartment

On Valentines Day

Receiving a box of chocolates

And jumping up and down on the couch

in joy and happiness.

I said to myself “I will remember this forever”

And it seems I did.

Two years after my birth came another one.

A chubby little boy

Named Joey.

He made me a jealous kid.

Turned me into a little monster.

I was no longer the little angel,

but a screaming kid 24-7.

But after a few years or so,

It got better and now I am an easy kid again.

I have many relatives.

I have aunts and uncles.

On my dad’s side,

I have Aunties Steph, Grace, Barbra, Pauline, Gillian, Cynthia and Joy

I have Uncles Stockly, Robert, Roy, Dexter and John.

On my Mom’s side,

I have Ants Erico, Judy and Jenna

And Uncles Bobby and Donald

I will be twelve on February 26, 2013

And it will be a good one.

Imagine: twelve years from the beginning.

My Beginnings Poem

FYI--this was for school.

Beginnings--April 2001

As spring came, so did I

Born three weeks early at Melrose Wakefield hospital—
not early enough to make a difference,
but early enough to come as a shock.
Mom named me Madeline,
After an old children’s book series that my sister loved,
about a little girl in France who was braver than the other girls in her orphanage
We have nothing in common but our name and that were both “the smallest one”.
I was a happy baby, and easygoing.
Everything back then seems fuzzy now,
but I do remember one thing:
I was crawling down the hallway
and someone,
maybe Grandma,
swooped me up in her arms,
crooned over me and my toddler adorableness,
and I was struggling
because I wanted to be down again so badly.
There are lots of relatives besides the five of us:
Cousins Asher and Nina—
Asher’s adopted, and quieter,
while Nina’s energetic and such a tomboy that some can’t believe she’s a girl
Grandparents—Grandma Alla and Deda, down in Florida,
but Russian and quiet, both of them
Grandma Leone, just getting over cancer,
and very kind though she’s far away in Minnesota and I don’t see her much.
Then there’s the five of us—Mom, leader of the house,
always embarrassing,
quirky,
but nice to talk to
Dad, who’s more easygoing but just as powerful
Amanda, seventeen, with her fierceness and small stature
Josh, thirteen, with his terribly annoying personality,
impossible to live with or without.
Then there’s me—
happy as a butterfly,
cheeks red as roses,
skinny as a stick,
with chocolate-brown eyes and curly, frizzy dirt-brown hair,
always in the way.
With a weakness for chocolate,
a love of music, writing and reading
and a smile that lights up the world—
someone said I was born for smiling—
The youngest but the tallest of us three kids.
January 2013

Alex's Beginnings Poem Because She Doesn't Have Permission To Post With Her Own Account Yet (Hint Hint Rachel)

Beginnings--July 2001

Born into the world on a hot, sweaty summer afternoon,
born in Boston's Mass General Hospital,
\born into my mother's loving, caring arms.

I was born a month late,
snuggled deep into my mom's belly,
as she had an emergency operation
to get us out of her stomach.
There was no rush to the hospital,
only a rush to have me born.

As my mom says when I ask her,
I was a cranky baby,
always wailing and crying
like a dying animal all alone in the forest.

Mom named me Alexindra
because a lady who helped her
was named Indra,
so as a way to thanks her
Mom named me Alexindra.

I may have been a screaming baby
but, now I am a beautiful girl
with brown eyes as deep and dark
as rich soil from the ground
And soft, raspberry lips.
My reddish, blondish, brownish hair
is like thick caramel made in a factory
ans skin that is as light
as a white mocha latte from Starbucks.

I born to swim,
in the clear, aqua pool water,
to read,
as I dive into a good book,
and to love my friends
as we play, laugh, and have fun together.

Seeing the world for the first time,
I don't remember a lot
but, I do remember one thing
the time that my babysitter,
a young, fun woman,
took me to a water park for my first time
where I splashed, played, and enjoyed myself the entire day.

In my family there is four of us--
Mom, who even though she yells at me a lot,
I know that she loves me.
Chris, my twin brother, who is annoying
but, we share a special bond.
Jenni, my cute nine year old sister,
with her golden hair and bubbly personality.
I don't have many relatives,
only my aunt and my grandma
who love and care for me in an unspeakable way.

January 2013

Cat

I love my cool cat

She's fun and always active

Cute and cuddly!

HAIKU

I do love haikus

Even though they restrict your

Poetic freedom.

Here I'm Safe

I can feel it whirling outside
Floorboards creak
And the mighty power surrounds me
But even when the lights are gone
And candles are our only light
I know I'm safe here.
Safe here, baking cookies
Fire in the hearth
Wind whirls outside,
hurls branches at us,
tries to blow us down like the big bad wolf (bad simile, I know, but it's funny and it's true).
But here I'm safe
Safe as I read poems,
listen to music,
drink hot cocoa.
Oh, outside there is a battle raging
Wind chimes clatter
Branches snap
Leaves scatter.
But here I'm safe.

Lilly

My cat, here she sits

In the hours of twilight

And her tail gently flits 

To the left and the right.

Her complete lack of fear

 Her eyes glisten with light

This cat will stay here

For the rest of the night.