Wednesday, December 21, 2005

Shade (Press)

I remember the day you killed me.
As my soul drifted into the sky, I saw you
walking away innocently, and stashing
your knife in your pocket.

Nobody has bothered to bury my body yet,
but that's alright - I'm the only one
who can see it there, rotting
in the October sun, among the soccer players
and my old friends chatting after lunch.

Observing is quite easy now; people leave me alone
because I'm just a ghost.

I guess I could bother you, but you're fine.
You wouldn't even care about a faded memory
like me.
Besides, how could I torment
someone like you?
Even as you dulled those eyes
that you once falsely called beautiful,
and punctured that heart
that has always throbbed for you,
I knew you meant no harm -
you were blind.

Every now and then, as I float by you in the wind,
I think you might see me
with your fiery green eyes,
but they soon dart away
to that other blonde girl you like,
the one talking to your friend.

You'll see it someday, I'm sure.
Maybe you'll be playing the piano,
or speaking French with her,
or singing in choir without me.
You'll speak, only to hear
the rustle of leaves outside the window.

Wednesday, December 14, 2005

In My Room (press)

Silly parents
what is the point of cleaning my room?
It'll just get dirty again.
Is that my green shirt?
I've been looking for it forever
it's that one I wore to the mall that one time
so long ago
when we sat on the benches and cried about our love lives
or lack there of.
And that? Could it be?
It's definetly that pillow.
Remember? The one I brought to your house the time we
accidentaly lit the napkin on fire.
Come here! It still smells like smoke.
What's that? Oh it's that pen.
The one I wrote those poems in
the ones that creeped you out because they were about
blood and death and stuff. But they didn't mean anything.
Oh look! It's my pumps.
The ivory ones. The ones I wore to that play where we
were going to get dates afterwards at the mall but
we were too chicken to ask those guys we met to the movies.
And is that my teddy bear?
The one we took to my basement where we cried forever
because the movie was so sad.
And is that mine? Ah yes this thank-you card!
I had almost forgot.
It's the one he wrote me after his party. When I thought he was
going to ask me out but that never happened. But whatever.
Oh look! It's my purse!
You know! The one I used at the dance that we were
definetly going to have dates to that time.
Well almost clean.
But wait is that
my red jacket?
What's the memory to that?
I had almost forgot.
But maybe that was on purpose
because it's coming back to me
and I don't really want to remember.
It's that jacket we fought over
because the red dripping from our arms
was the same red as the jacket
and it was the only way to hide it then.
Well it's kind of cold
and I think I need to wear it now.


Wow this one was a hard one to write! Everything but the last thing that happened was something that happened to me or one of my friends, which is what made it hard. Actually, I walked around my room because it's kind of messy, and gathered ideas for this! Well it's kind of a whole different style of poetry for me, because it's written as if the speaker is talking to someone who is right there. The real challenge was the ending. Well anyway enough of me rambling, I really just wanted to say to please please tell me what you think because it would really mean tons to me! Thanks bunches to those of you to do!

A Metaphor (press)

pools of red
are surrounding my mind
and there you are
diving in them
didn't you take swimming lessons in the third grade?
it shows
your dives are beautiful
don't pull me into the pool
I never took swimming lessons
I can't dive
you need help?
support?
look at me on the sidelines
I'll cheer you on until my brown eyes
close for the last time
but I can't dive with you
not into those pools
the water's too deep
I don't know how
and I don't want to try.
But if you start to drown
I'll be right there
I can't dive but I can jump
and I'll swim as far as I can
and I'll rescue you.
Black and blue may have painted
parts of your body
but at least you'll be there
and you will recover over time
because I will always be there.
But what about me?
I never asked you to help me
stunt in cheer
even when I was nervous
I wouldn't do that
you don't know how.
But when the flyer falls on me
when I slip on a round-off and fall
will you be there?
Will you pull me off the mat?
off the court? off the field?
and help me?
Because I think
the flyer fell
and my round-off landed wrong
because I can feel myself falling
and hitting the ground.

Monday, December 12, 2005

Tus Ojos/Your Eyes

This is a riddle poem that was originally written in Spanish and was inspired by Octavio Paz.

mares verdes
me llenan
con lágrimas del alma
lágrimas brillantes,
como piedras que reflejan
el sol en el cielo
ancho y azul y lleno
de los sueños mios.
El agua caliente
de eses nubes
nunca parará
hasta que
yo duerma
en esa manta
calma y suave
de tu pensamiento,
tu conversación
que simplemente
me permite existir.


green oceans
fill me
with the soul's tears
brilliant tears,
like stones that reflect
the sun in the
wide and blue sky
that's full
of my dreams.
The hot rain
of those clouds
will never cease
until
I sleep
on that
calm and soft blanket
of your thoughts,
your conversation
that simply
lets me exist.

Saturday, December 03, 2005

She (press)

Inside her mind
she dances
she loves life
she is perfect
she is loved
this she is the she she's always wanted to be
but this she is only a mirage
she cannot dance
for dancing comes from joy of the heart, spirit, mind, or soul
she cannot love life
for life has not loved her
she isn't perfect
for she has too many regrets
she isn't loved
for she has no other to share her feelings with

in reality
she is solitary
lonely
hurt, lost, and cold
she wants that other part of her
the she she's always wanted
she just wants a piece
to taste
to feel it's embrace on her
how come there are so many
yet none at all
for her

she'll scream
and cry of anger
she will feel the wrench of the fist of fate around her waist
and succumb to it's grasp
she'll bawl and wail
and end up lying on the floor
exhausted from her mind's protests of the world
she'll think
her eyes puffy from the tears swelling them
the bottom of her fists red from beating the walls and the floors
her knees sore from eventually dropping them to the floor
and she'll conclude
that she is unrealistic
she'll aim low to never be dissapointed
and she'll just want to be herself

she'll realize that the world's not far
that you can't change anything much on account of yourself
and she'll feel both the pain of sad and lonliness in her gut
and she'll walk away
just fine
as if

it never happened

Friday, December 02, 2005

Call for proofreading

Dearest Poets,

Please spell check and proofread your poems before you post them. (Use the ABC icon on the posting toolbar.)


When writing poetry, EVERY choice you make is critical, whether punctuation, spelling, formatting or word choice. Consequently, typos or spelling errors in a poem are very jarring and often confusing.

Take the time to do this little step in order to make sure that the poem you post is exactly the way you want it. Your poems deserve the highest standard of excellence, no?

Many thanks.

Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Relief (bless)

This was the sonnet we had to write for Brit Lit


Chosen words are few, as my blood filters through my heart and veins,
acroos my mind to my finger tips where my heart speaks as my pen takes
aim, between the lines of these sheets that have become waht I am.

And slowly I write waht I've become and what I want to be, as all the pain
is drained from me,the ink becomes my blood forever leaving a stain for all to see.

I've never been heartless, to know me you have to listen to my words speak,
to you there harmless, to me every page you turn is to see me bleed
as my heart cries pure emotion and nothing less, for my thoughts are the workds i breathe interperted into words you read.

To understand them is to understan me, and to understand me is to belive, my love fo you is as real as it'll always be, even if I'm too far, to far for you to reach, I'm always there for I am what you read.

hour glass by Omar Gomez

My friend wrote this, he is in jail now. I posted this becuse i think is real deep and i wanted to know if you all though the same.

IM RUNNING OUT OF SAND I SEE LIFE AS A BIG HOUR GLASS//

IVE TRIED TO FORGET ABOUT IT BY INHALING CANIBIS TO THE POINT WHERE IM NUMB AND EVEYTHING MAKES ME LAUGH//

THREE MORE LITTLE GRAINS OF SAND BEING POURED//

I USE TO WEAR BANDANAS TO HIDE MY EYES I WORE DARK GLASS TO COVER MY EYES//

WHY MY EYES WHERE BLOOD SHOT RED AND CLEARLY U CAN SEE I WANTED TO RIDE FOR MY BOYS I WAS GONA DIE//

MANY PEOPLE CRITIZE ME FOR WEARING ALL BLUE WITH MY PANTS BEING TO LOOSE OR BAGGY//

NOW IM GONA DROP SOME KNOWLEDGE IM GONA WELCOME YALL TO MY MENTALITY//

IM A THINKER’S MAN AND MAN THINK I’LL SAY THINGS HEAVY ENOUGH SO IN YOUR MIND THEY CAN SINK//

PEOPLE HAVE ASKED ME WHY IM SO NEGATIVE WHY I THINK THE WAY I THINK//

WELL I HOPE FOR THE BEST AND EXPECT THE WORST FIRST//

THE WAY I SEE MY BIRTH MY LIFE AS A WAY GOD GIVING THIS WORLD A DEADLY CURSE//

I FEEL WHAT I SPEAK AND SPEAK WHAT I FEEL//

IF THE TRUTH HURTS THEN THINK AS MY WORDS AS A STAKE MADE OUT OF STEEL//

DIGGING DEEP IN YOUR BODY SOUL AND SPIRIT DON’T FAKE THE FUNK KEEP IT REAL//

AND LET YOUR WOUNDS HEAL//

DO YALL THINK IM REAL OR JUST A MITH?FOR THIS COLOR OF MY SHIRT I WOULD
DEFEND IT WITH KNIFES AND STICKS//

WE WERE ORGANIZED WE WERE TIGHT LIKE BOW TIES//

NOW IM THINKING ON HOW I WASTED MY LIFE NOW I THINK HOW IT WOULD’VE BEEN IF I ACTUALLY TRIED//

THE BUS TO HAPPINESS LEFT AND HOUR AGO IT LEFT ME BEHIND WITH NO PERSON IN SITE//

NOT A FRIENDLY HAND NO CAR NO CHANCE FOR A HITCH HIKE//

THEY SAY THE EARLY BIRD GETS THE WORM I GUESS I WOKE UP LATE//

NOW IM TRING TO WORK WITH I GOT LEFT//

NOW I GOTTA DO WHAT I DO WITH A DIFFERENT MENTALITY I DIFFERENT MINDSTATE//

DAM ALMOST OUT OF SAND MY HOUR GLASS IS ALMOST FILLED LET MAKE THIS SO
YALL CAN UNDERSTAND ME//

THESE MENTAL DEGREES I’VE ACHIEVED THE BRAIN FLUID IT TAKES TO BELIEF WOULD EQUAL THE SEVEN SEA//

SEE SOME OF YALL TELL HOW IT MIGHT BE I TELL IT HOW I SEE WHAT MY EYE MAKE ME BELIEF//

IM OUT OF SAND IM OUT OF SAND INSTEAD OF ASKING IF YOU CAN SPEAR A MINUTE IM GONA GO TO THE DESERT AND ASK A LIZZARD FOR SAND TO FILL UP MY HOUR GLASS//

The man with out a past (bless)

That man,
the one w/o a plan
no one's fan,
i know its him..
the one without a dream

You look into his eyes,
but you see no lies, no past
its like he's wearing a MASK

no tears,
no fears,
no lies,
no fights,
only blank eyes,
and empty nights

The man with the empty soul,
it's like he hasnt been told,
or doesnt seem to care,
that soon this world will just TARE

Monday, November 28, 2005

I Need a Vacation (press)

I let go
I led myself on
into an emotional trap that
is almost impossible to break free
I convinced myself
that I felt something false
and then I amplified that feeling
made it more
so big, and so fake
that it became real
seemingly impossible
yet true
then I made it seem ok
I embroidered it into my life
made it normal, inserted it into my routine
even made it a part of me
I drowned in it
and enjoyed every minute of the intense pain
it was truly giving me
I was secure in it's falsehood
and then
someone threatened to take it away
how
can you take something that is fabricated into me
but it's false
so I tried to break it
and ended up breaking
a little piece of
myself.
And now I am descending
into an endless abyss
of temporary insanity
but it's ok because
I will recover and maybe someday soon
I can be myself
truly myself again

June (Press)

My thoughts bake
in my head
as the sun presses
down on me and my bikini.
Life just seems
to float in the tepid air,
like a wispy cloud,
an afterthought,
a sweet perfume.
My skin drinks in
the heat,
and the cold, sharp rain
and barren trees of winter
are far from my mind.

Monday, November 21, 2005

me and boys (address)

Address: does it all flow together? Is this too much puncuation for this poem?

Boys just tell me that they're mine
And that they'll never play me twice.
I give them a chance
But they just feel like you want to dance.
He's really cute and hot.
But his shoes are so not.
I'll give them two chances more.
But they will have to respect me for ever more.
I do like him, I just hope he likes me too.
But alot of people ask "Why don't you do too?''
I say I really really like him and I want to be with him for ever and ever.
People talk and stare but I don't really care.
I just want my life to be very nice!
posted by La Reyna

Thursday, November 17, 2005

The Crimson Room, Part 5 (press)

Enjoy!


When I look up
all I can see is crimson
If I think
all I can feel is crimson
I cannot breathe
The crimson is attempting
assassination on me;
my mind and soul
and body
It feels like since the begginning of time
that this torture has existed
and it won't stop till the end
just for me
I cannot remember...what color were the walls?
the shag rug...how did it feel?
my desk...what shade was it?
It's ending
I have to accept it
these facts that we long to conceal
so very badly
I, played as a puppet
my needs, my wants
insignificant
It lies on them
it lies on me
dead weight, crushing my whole
wait
threads
are all around me
I can't escape
They won't let me
the threads are ropes now
thick ropes
the noose
again around my neck
I can't move
They don't trust me
to handle myself
So I can't be handled at all
it's over
the ropes are pulling tighter
on my frail body
so fragile
so dead
tighter
tighter
please stop
I'm drowning
the water streaming down my face
almost calms my mind from its terrified state
almost
it is here
in this room that I can no longer remember the happiness of
that I reach
finally
my demise
I have lost-
To the
Crimson



The end.

Ok I might change it. It's not exactly as I planned, but it is there, upon repeated requests. Thank you for your enthusiasm and like I said earlier, BE HARSH! I'm going to start revisions for a final piece, so be ready for that one cuz it'll be a whopper! Lol.

Monday, November 14, 2005

Red (Address)

This is a somewhat abstract response to La Maestra's latest prompt. Does it accurately reflect what the color red represents to you?

The burning heat
draws near to my skin
as I let my emotions run wild;
the passion in my dark blood
scalds me inside
with the anger and love
of a great flame -
my fiery heart
has finally conquered.

Saturday, November 12, 2005

prompt idea

How do you describe a color to a person who has always been blind? Choose one and try, then post what you write.

(Where are the color poems you wrote on Wednesday...?)

Thursday, November 10, 2005

In Honour of Rosa Parks: I will stand up for what I believe in (press)

So this is my response to La Maestra's Prompt in honour of Rosa Parks. That was definetly a challenge, but it was fun. I also kind of incorporated my personal reaction to tolerance day into the poem, but it's probably not that evident.

In Honour of Rosa Parks: I will stand up for what I believe in

How is it possible
to deny love
something which we hold so dear
designated
as hard to find
once in a lifetime
how can one be defending
something so precious
by destroying its very core
using something so cruel
as hate and discrimination
to protect something
so sacred
something that must be cherished
they make people
human biengs
feel ashamed to be themselves
hold back their opinions
opinions that could form
and water the seed not of anger
but of hope
love, acceptance
beyond tolerance
past preconceptions
maybe
if they were given a chance
a chance to use their minds
to live the lives they want
and be equal to anyone else
to live the american dream
I would live
somewhere I could
be proud of.

Blades (address, and press)

Achoo's back! But not at full force...I'm doing what I call "poetic physical therapy" to try and recover my poetic voice so I can successfully, and finally finish the long-awaited conclusion of the Crimson Room.
So my question is, what do you think this is about? And, is the repetition (notice the 3 line stanzas and use of pronouns as well as the first and last stanza) kind of choppy or does it help the poem maintain a central idea and consistency?


Blades

It's cold
but just enough
to soothe my soul

It's my release
from life
and every responsibility

It's my therapy
it calms my mind
and repairs my heart

It's my dream
my desires are evident
and couldn't be clearer

It's my passion
there's nothing I feel
better about doing

It's my guilty pleasure
I shouldn't be so
concentrated but I am

It's my inner tranquility
It's the only way
that I can be at peace

It's my drive
I have to force myself
to try it all at least once

It's my groundedness
nothing can ever be
that bad

It's cold though
but just cold enough
to soothe my soul

Wednesday, November 09, 2005

Viento/Wind (Press)

El el verano
la vida duerme
en el cielo
en las manos
del viento,
pero se despierta
rápidamente
con el trueno negro
que el otoño trae.


In the summer
life sleeps
in the sky
in the hands
of the wind,
but it awakens
quickly
with the black thunder
that autumn brings.

Monday, November 07, 2005

Invitation (bless)

This is not my poem. It was written by Shel Silverstein one of my favorite poets of all time. I would like to know what you guys like about this poem and why. Please do comment on this peom It is one of my favorites.

Invitation

If you are a dreamer, come in,
If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar,
A hope-er, a pray-er, a magic bean buyer. . .
If you're a pretender, come sit by my fire
For we have some flax-golden tales to spin.
Come in!
Come in!

Writing Prompt

I was sitting around in study hall,
bored out of my mind-
when all of the sudden,
out of the blue,
I had a brilliant thought.
What if I
posted a prompt
for all the other users?
About a time when they've been bored
and had them respond to it?

There ya go. Thats my ten second poem-prompt. Which I just wrote, out of the blue without even thinking about it. Enjoy! I can't WAIT to read the poems you guys post! Love ya ~pinkroses~

Friday, November 04, 2005

Frustration (Press)

Yesterday, I walked downstairs
and opened up the dryer.
I counted out the socks,
folding them as I went.
One pair... two pairs... three... three and a half...
wait- three and a half?
Wheres the other sock?
I opened up the washer,
but it wasn't there.
I looked inside the launry basket
and inside the hamper.
No where could I find
the missing sock-
Pink with gold and silver stripes
and a Hershey's chocolate kiss-
not a sock that it would be
easy to miss!
I ran around searching
until I grew so tired
I lay down on the floor
and there, rolled up inside
a shoe near my head
was my missing sock.

Tuesday, November 01, 2005

River (Bless)

I wait always
for the return
through a frosty window
or the gloomy autumn clouds,
the memories trapping me
in this desperate isolation,
a distorted hope -
everything is blurry and fluid
and the confusion pulls
at my tender core
with every glance.

prompt idea

In honor of Rosa Parks's remarkable life and unmatched contributions to the civil rights movement, try writing a poem about something that you are willing to stand up for - or sit down for, as she did on that legendary bus.

Be sure to post what you write...

Sunday, October 30, 2005

Our Respect-----We Should Send to Her ( Bless)

(this is not my poem this belongs to Jeffery Nero Hardy)

She died today.
I'm not sure why?
She left us this way.
I'm not sure again?

I thought of nonsense yesterday..........
I think of serious feelings right now.
It's words like..........
Died, Killed, Hurt and Murdered..........
That jump start our emotions for a single moment at a time..........
At a time: meaning they don't last, one day at a time becomes the unsatisfied past.

She died today.
And yet we still laugh!
She left us this way.
And yet we still complain!

Even though we didn't know her, Even though we didn't see her,
We don't have to act as if we never talked to her.
She was one of us, we are one of her, she should be remembered..........our
respect we should send to her.

Heroes (bless)

(this is not my poem it belongs to Jeffery Nero Hardy ( pro wrestler) feel free to leave coments though)

Heroes
We fly inside as if we are never coming back,
We fly outside as if there were no tomorrow,
We think without thinking........we rise!
We respond without responding.....we leave!
We live this life as if we are in death proof bodysuits,
We live this life as if we are in.....sane!
We starve without straving......we continue!
We became withouth becoming......we cherish!
We always expect the overwhelming unexpected.
We cry without crying......we act!
We save without saving.....we pretend!
We run for you with thoughts of you life ending.
We provide without providing........we wait!
We extend wiht extending......we stay!
We are the choosen few who save your tomorrows.
We grow withouth growing....we maintain!
We help without helping.....we are?
The ones who risk our birthdays for yours.
The ones who risk our exsistance for the world.
We followe the danger, where ever it goes.
We are the believers, we are.......Heroes

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

My Mind's Eye (Press)

Each tiny grain
wiggles thorough my toes
the sand is cool
in the dark shadows
of the night
the ocean's softly
crashing waves
break the
stillness. The moonlight
is all that illuminates
the view.
A harsh breeze
chooses its time
to blow across
the abandoned beach.
The smell it carries
dances throught the midnight air,
combining the salt of the ocean
and the sweet essence of the night.
The wind whistles along
the rock formations
formed and set in place
so long ago
the rocks stand above
everything around the
stretch of sand.
Above them,
there is nothing.
Staring out to
the horizon,
the deep blue water,
almost endless,
stops where the
slightly lighter hue
of the sky begins.
Farther along
the shoreline,
a lighthouse,
robbed of purpose,
stands proud
like an ancient samurai
forced to accept
the new
bayonets and gunpowder.





This was my 'whistle' poem, and an 'address' I guess I'll throw in here is what can I title it that conveys that this poem is the scene that appears in my mind at the word 'whistle'?

Beautiful Note (press)

Beatuiful Note

Can't do it
Immpossible
People learning how
Whistle, whistle, whistle
Air coming out
Is all I hear
No beautiful note on it
Whistle, whistle, whistle
People try to teach me
But nothing
People all around have a beautiful note
Whistle, whistle, whistle
Since I can't
Since I have tried
I'll stay with my beautiful note when I sing
Sing, Sing, Sing

Fun? (press)

Fun

Fun?
What is it,
Is it being with friends
Is it being with family
Fun?
What is it,
Is it people laughing
Is it people enjoying themselves
Fun?
What is it,
Is it being good at something
Is it being around those you love
Fun?
What is it,
Will I ever know
Will I ever find out
Fun?
What is it,
A very confusing word
Many definitions
Fun?
What is it,
It is being with friends
It is being with family
It is people laughing
It is people enjoying themselves
It is being good at something you love
It is being around those you love
Fun?
My definition is,
Whatever I feel like doing
At a moment in time
Fun?
Reading, Friends, Family
Bowling, Choir, School
Fun?
What is your definition?

Sidewalks (Press)

The chilly winter wind
has blown away my
spirit, and
the hollowness inside
this fragile frame
leaves me sick.
My thoughts echo
and bounce
in that dark empty space
pounding and pounding
weakening me slowly
until I fall
down, defeated.

Life goes on,
moving quickly,
for everyone else
as my dull eyes
watch them
walking away.

The Whistle Club (Press)

*This was from our Poetry Club meeting today, the whistle prompt (obviously).

The Whistle Club
When I was little,
in third grade,
to be exact,
my friends had a
whistle club.
Anyone could join-
all you had to do was be able to
whistle.
They sat around at recess and
whistled songs,
seeing who was the loudest.
I sat near them
listening to
Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star
Mary Had A Little Lamb
Frere Jaque and
The Barney Theme Song.
Everyday they picked a new song
and everyday, I sat there
listening as Geoff, Adam and
even Chelsea joined in.
Finally, I was there alone,
the only one who couldn't whistle.

Gone (bless)

Gone?

I woke up and he was gone-
Maybe it was a dream a nightmare-
It happened so fast -
Why did he have to leave me-
An empty space now fills my heart-
He left me to live alone in this world-
He was a father a grandfather-
All i think about is his death-
Lung cance has lost him, taken him away from me and this life-
I woke up this mourning and he was GONE

Sunday, October 23, 2005

This Lazy Afternoon (Press)

I walk down the sidewalk
slowly, quietly
savoring the happiness
from this lazy afternoon.
The click of my shoes on the
bare pavement,
the whisper of the wind,
slightly rustling the leaves.
The emptiness and the
solitude suit me-
my thoughts drift
from this to that
until they finally rest
on you.
I see your face, your eyes,
how you smile when I
enter the room.
The soft words you speak
when we're sitting quietly together
echo in my head
until a cool breeze blows
them away and
my steps lead me
home.

Untitled (Press)

*Ok, this is kinda lame. but I've been in a poetry slump for a little while, and this is the first I've written since I got back into the poetry mood.

If you're mine,
Why do I feel like you
Appreciate everyone but me?
If you're mine,
Why do I feel like
You would rather talk to
Someone else?
If you're mine,
Why do I feel like
she means more to
you than me?
If you're mine,
Then why do I
Wish you weren't?

Saturday, October 22, 2005

Bowling (press)

Bowling

People are amazed
People stare
As if I am different from them
What?
It can't be
A dream
I can't bowl a 300
Impossible
What?
Oh
It is a Dream
Only if true
What?
It can't be
A dream
I can't bowl a 200
But wait
This is no Dream
My first
204
Yes
Now comes the 210's and higher
People want to congratulate me
Why?
It isn't that high
Still they do
People wanting me to teach them
I cant teach bowling
I learned from great coaches
I practiced all the time
They tell me I can teach
But 8 to 9 years is not enough experience
To start to teach
I need to get better
What?
I am so tired
6 games you say
Not enough to make me tired
I could do at least 3 to 4 more
What?
Bed sounds good
Till my next bowling adventure

Thursday, October 20, 2005

Books (bless)

This was written for my English teacher and book lovers every where.

Books

What to pick
So hard
Tamora Pierce, Christoper Paolini,
Or Phillip Pullman
All wonderful books
All wonderful authors
What to pick
So hard
This book or that
Trying to decide
Brain going to implode
A library is a dream come true
Which book to pick
So hard, can't decide

How about ALL!!!

Best Friends ( bless)

We might be best friends one year
pretty good friends the next year
don't talk that oftern the next year
and don't want to talk at all the year after that
so, i just wanted to say
even if i never talk to you again in my life
you are special to me and you have made a difference in my life
i look up to you and respect you and truly cherish you
but most of all it is because i luv you
no matter how ofter you talk of how close you are
let old friends know you haven't forgot them and tell new friends you never will
remember everyone needs a friend
someday you might feel like you have No Friends at all
take comfort in knowing somebody out there cares about you and always will

YOU (Bless)

Just to let you all know that this is not my poem it's a poem written by Jeffery Nero Hardy (professional Wrestler) so don't think that this poem is mine. Thanks ( but feel free to leave comments for it.)
YOU
You comfort me better than any chair, bed, room or house-
You amaze me more than any facts, stories, truths, or lies-
You enhance me more then any drug, pill, or powede-
You predict me better than any parent, coach, counselor, or techer-
You season me better than any salt, pepper, winter, or summer-
You entertain me more than any movie, show, song, or competition-
You control me better than any school, job, jail, or prison-
You love me more than any person, God, business, or exsistance-
In my existance...........Believe..........I do
In our existance...........I live.........for you

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

The Origin of a Proverb (Address)

address... does the poem make sense? Can you determine from what perspective this is written?


The Origin of a Proverb

Silent
mysterious
deadly?
strong?
seperated
The Iron Horse
locked away
Is he bad?
no clues
surrendered
silent
pale
white
he stands
no good
no good can come
from this.
white man
weak pale
white man
death.
yes, death.
his fate was.
white men
determined pale
white men
surrounding
slaughter
slaughter
everyone is dead
pools of blood
corpses
destruction
murder
murder
stench of rotting
eroding life
the village is gone
never kill a man who says nothing.





Third address (I wanted you to read it AFTER the poem)... Does the tone capture that confused-nightmare feeling?


(Some of you may recognize certain elements of this poem, as it is based on an occurence in a book most of us have read. :) )

Medieval Humors (press)

This was a project in English and was written really fast.

Optimistic is one quality
Cheerful is another
But yet I am also slow

I like to be cheerful
I also like to cheer others up.
But I don't like people to see me being slow

People enjoy my company
People are always asking me for help
This is who I am

Sanguine means optimistic
Phlematic means slow and dull
These are my Medieval Humors and me

Monday, October 17, 2005

Mirrors (Press)

Those eyes
once green
and bright,
now cold as
my hands,
dark as
stone.

Their shine gone
dull and distraught,
their tears
have fallen away
as my soul
has been drained
of its once
sparkling waters
off of which
light
will not glint
again.

Me (press)

Blonde hair
Green to blue eyes
A person trapped

family of SEVEN
youngest of all
to much to live up to

want o leave
the world of perfect
need to get away

want own fame
want to be myself
i want to be an individual

The blonde hair is mine
The green to blue eyes are also mine
Why do I feel so trapped within myself

i wish to leave this body
i wish to let my friends to know me
to know me the true un-trapped me

Blonde hair
Green to blue eyes
All of this is a new

Thank you for understranding
My desire to be free
To be an individual

The Crimson Room, Part 4. (press, address)

The room, once cheerful
is crimson
my body, barely able to move
is immersed in crimson
and all I want to do
is get out
I cannot use any of my senses
for what can I see but crimson?
what can I feel but crimson?
what can I taste but crimson?
what can I hear but the movement of crimson?
what can I smell but crimson?
There is nothing but me
and crimson
So to get out I have to think
to open my eyes
I have to travel with my mind
back to when I was carefree
when the walls were green, the desk and soft shag rug white, the bed blue
before I was ever haunted by crimson
when laughs were abundant
when friends were always there
when someone could hold you for what seemed like forever
but wait
(it's all coming back to me now)
the crimson surrounding my weak body
(the pain of a love once lost)
once leaving me just enough room to breathe
(the torture of a child's innocence)
is taking back its offer of kindness
(the anguish of the loss of a family member)
it's filling up again
(the hate in the eyes of those who once respected me)
I can't breathe
(the rough feel of the noose in my hands)
my soul is leaving again
(the scared look in the eyes of a visitor to my death-room)
and I have to stop
(the panicked screams of my colleagues)
or I will wither away
(the wet tears streaming down my face)
and it will all be over
(I don't want it to be over)
But it can't be
(the noose is around my neck but)
I want to live
(I want to live)
...
There has to be a way out
the Crimson has filled to the top
no oxygen in the room
I cannot breathe
but it won't end like this
the crimson won't end my life
these bloodshot eyes will have white in them once again
once I can
forgive

Wow. I am getting really morbid...ah well. I like this part alot, although I think it's beginning to drag with the whole almost dying thing (or does the speaker die? hehe I guess you'll find out). I love suspense, but am I doing a good job here? Anyway, again, all comments are SUPER welcome, and please, be mean (constructively, of course), I want this to be the best it can be. Thanks!

The Crimson Room, Part 3. (Press)

The crimson has risen
and coated the room
as well as the fragile being
that lies within its terrorizing grasp
myself
a dead soul, a dying body
but a living, barely thriving mind
and then
the room
so carefully molded to be the hell one person sees
is invaded
the smallest of all things
a thought
of after
of the return to the rooms normal state
the white desk, soft, white shag rug, blue bedspread, green walls
of my body being carried away
my face, arms, legs, even my deep brown eyes and hair
and, my soul
stained a dreadful shade of crimson
my mind sees crimson
and in one instant
a single, solitary, moment
it happens.
A finger moves.
The finger leads its peers and soon
my body gains motion
my eyes open and consciousness is regained
the soul is reborn
I start to fall, not resisting
The crimson fluid
starts to drain and soon has gone down to
the point of breath
but the fluid is still there, and I am still frozen
it's like molasses
I must move, must leave this place
using my senses, but I cannot see
all I can do is remember

hehe, I love this sequence (even though it's kinda creepy and gross). No, it's not over. More comments please! I'm still working on revising the other two parts, and I'll show the whole thing together once it's done. But, to save space, I might just edit the earlier posts. Anyway, anything you have to say is GREATLY appreciated. Again, this part doesn't seem to flow well with the other two, and this one took me the longest to write (this is the third draft of it, and I didn't save the other two, so yeah), and it didn't just come to me like the other two parts did. Oh well. =D

New York Times article

Check out this article from the New York Times about a new prize for poetry, and the interesting story of the first winner. The end of the article also mentions several interesting initiatives that are aimed at raising poetry's profile in the larger arena. Enjoy.

Sunday, October 16, 2005

in Your arms (bless, press, address, whatever)

Address... Well it's past 12:30 in the morning. I wrote this 3 minutes ago. So say whatever you want... mainly does it make sense... I'll be reading this tomorrow not remembering any of it...

in Your arms

The enemy surrounds
me. i have been
engaged in this battle
for too long
Like a marshmallow
in a campfire
Like popcorn
in the microwave
I am burnt.
only my essential
characteristics remain.
my arms hang
nearly limp
my legs
are numb to me
The enemy stands
between me and
my camp.
Desperate
i charge through
their ranks
Like a gauntlet
i must survive
their swords
my ripping flesh
i feel myself
falling apart
weakening
dying. i break
through to
my camp
all that remains
of me
my weary soul
my dying heart
and mismatching
pieces of my mind
i crawl
inch by inch
to Your tent
broken and humble
i enter Your prescence
sweet and beautiful
You say:
My dear daughter, my love
i stutter:
i am sorry
and with a final breath:
i couldn't make You proud
You smile
You smile at the remains
of me
at my broken soul
discouraged heart
and deadened mind
You say:
I couldn't be prouder
holding me in Your arms
i cry on your shoulder as
You make me
whole
again. Now
all that I am
is all that
You made me.
You say:
My darling
I will never let
them tear you apart.
What they tear
from you, I
allow them to.
What is left
is perfect.
You are perfect.
just the way you are.
I close my
eyes and hear
Your words
Your prescence
makes my soul
strong
makes my heart
beat faster
and sets my mind
right.
Your words
are sweeter
than cinnamon rolls
richer
than double chocolate cookies
more fulfilling
than a full steak dinner
more healing
than all the world's medicine
more beautiful
than any other sound
on earth or Heaven.
You speak to me
until I sleep
under your protection
I rest.
You kiss my forehead
and brush my hair
from my face.
You say:
I love you.

Gardens (Press)

soft and fragrant
that rose
brightest
in the bouquet

dies from sudden disease -
edges brown
and crispy
petals falling to the ground
stepped on

the bloom drifts
to the earth
becoming
dirt itself
unnoticed it will lie forever
small and brown and dead.

No Title (Press)

Sweaty, nervous hands clench
a black, slippery phone as I
listen,
ring... ring... ring...
My insides knot
I bite my lip-
What if you don't want to talk?
What if I embarass myself?
Whatif no one'shome?
Whatifsomeoneis?
I chew my nails and
listen to it ring,
one... two... three...
Finally, a click-
you pick up.
Timidly, I ask a question,
gaily* you reply.
My terror slowly melts away,
I start to breathe a little.
I laugh and joke and
tease and play,
then finally, I say,
Goodnight. I'll call again tomorrow.

*For all of you immature people, gay can also mean HAPPY.
PLEASE feel free to say ANYTHING (within reason) about my poem. I would love to hear it!

Homework (press)

No time
No room
Need time
Need space

To much to do
Not enough time

Math this
And Science that
History this
And English that

To much to do
Not enough time

200 projects at once
No life to have
No time to chat
Homework every where I look

To much to do
Not enough time

Distant noises
Disrupt thoughts
Want to join the fun
Others are having

To much to do
Not enough time

Want to scream
To much
Project this
And Project that

Want it to
STOP

NO time
NO room
NEED time
NEED space

The Crimson Room, Part 2. (press) (READ PART ONE FIRST!!!)

The room is Crimson
the walls, the furnishings
are crimson
And the floor is choking
with it's strong new essence
a thick liquid
I am there
on the floor
laying lifelessy
watching the crimson slowly rise
It tries to consume me
to swallow me
alive, for it does not know
Then, in a split second, my abilities return
I drag my body,
it's dripping in the thick liquid
Sitting up straight, I look at my hands
stained forever
who's is this?
it can't be mine, I'd surely be dead
I stand up, and run over to the mirror
a frightening sight
myself
covered in this liquid
I fall to the floor again
and again
it tries to consume me
swallow me
the crimson liquid
surrounds me; I cannot move
and then I realize
"It is mine."
as my body lay there
my soul is dead
and I drown in my own
blood.

I don't know about this...I just don't really like it. There's something about it that just doesn't work...

The Crimson Room, Part 1 (press)

I walk into my room
seeing the farmiliar sight
It's so happy, just like I wanted it.
My toes feel the warm, soft, white shag rug
as I run and jump into my cozy blue bed.
Close my eyes, and smile
But then I look around again
The cheerful lime green walls
turn crimson
the soft, white desk
turns crimson
the pictures so carefully mounted on the wall
match it's newfound shade and
turn crimson
the white closet doors shut rapidly and
turn crimson
My computer, homework, colored pencils,
everything on my desk
turns crimson
the white rug that had caressed my toes only moments earlier
turns crimson
even the white roses
turn crimson
And as I look around, everything but the hardwood floor
is crimson
I lift my body, and can do nothing
as it falls,
lifelessly
limp
to the floor
and then
without warning
th floors are coated
with more crimson

My poems are generally morbid/depressing, as I just noticed. Once again, I just wanted to say that I am just fine, this is just what I write about.

Feelings (prees)

feeling sick
sick of being known
feeling tired
tired from being sleepless
feeling miserable
miserable for treating you the way i did
feelings are a strong and powerful emotion you can't always control them,
but having feelings is a way of life and they are something you must live through.

Saturday, October 15, 2005

(No Title Yet) (Address)

address: I need title suggestions please...I just can't think of anything. Also, the ending gives away the rest of the poem, but does it flow? It seems choppy, and kind of...unfitting. One last thing (sorry), the "SLAP" lines- are they unfitting as well, or do they make sense?

I am in control
Finally, I have been waiting for this
The feel of freedom
My fingertips hold authority
SLAP
I look around
my mind's eye is
fixated
their lives are
mine
One wrong move
one
distraction
angry moment
blink
only one
and it's over
SLAP
SLAP
it's like the army
but I'm the general
the chief in command
the tactician
the first in command
and it's
a mutiny in progress
SLAP
SLAP
SLAP
It's too much to take
I can't do this
I let go
I freak out
they scream
and in one instant
it's over
SLAP
and then I hear
"Throw it in reverse
we've got to get off this curb.
And when we get home
you're scheduling another
driving lesson."

Absent (press)

Absent

Bouncing in
then looking up
and seeing the board
glee filled them
"substitute teacher"
almost an hour
torturing
the stranger
spit wads
secret notes
swapped names
soon the agony
of a stranger.

Bell rings
little comfort
for the woman
slumped in the chair
the little terrors leave
a messy room.

Masquerade (press)

To you, aren't I
smart
sweet
stable
secure
honest
diligent
intelligent
happy
cute?
Only those who can see through me
know who I am
because really,
you can't see me.
You can't see that I am
troubled
sad
insecure
scared
unstable
uninformed
lying
barely able to get by?
How can you not?
It's so obvious.
I am playing masquerade
with you and
with myself

Poetry Reading (press)

Poetry Reading

standing there
(Wasting my time)
laughing there
(I have places to be)
looking at your friends
(I'm looking at my watch)
bursting into laughter
(Someone's gonna burst
if you don't hurry)


Finally
you begin to read
I hope its quick
(You've taken enough of my time)
I guess
I'll listen
(Since you've been standing there so long already)

You read:
blood covers the
bathroom floor.
my life is crap.
i look dead already...

On and on you go.
my sarcastic, parenthetical self
edges away
(um... i need a breath of fresh air...)
the focus on myself
weakens
as you read.
i become
lost
in myself.
in you.
in your poem.
Snapping fingers
fill the air
as others appreciate
your art. But i
sit, stunned.
like a knight unseated
by a small boy.

Superpower (address)

address: Does this poem seem to be too long and not poetic? It feels like "separated prose", does it feel that way to you?

I seem to
have a superpower-
At least
to you.
I can do anything
everyone else can
and
you know that
However
I can't fly,
can't breathe underwater,
can't lift a car with one hand,
can't run quickly,
but I have a superpower-
only to you.
How can it be true?
I saw you
and
I smiled
but you kept going
then I looked down
closed my eyes
and saw
my hands, my arms, my legs, my body
spontaneously disappear
and there I was
just a smiling soul
it's my superpower but
when I opened my eyes
to the truth
I realized that
it was you
you reduced me
to this form- so raw
so is it you
who has the superpower?

Saturday Mornings (PRESS)

Saturday
when people sleep in to relive the stress of a long week,
Satuday
when kids crowd tv to watch morning cartoons
Saturday
when breakfast is eaten at a table with the ones you love
Saturday
is the day everybody waits for,
Saturday,
a day that everyone should love, just thinking when you get up on Saturday Morning
no work
no school
time to hit the mall
time to chill with freinds
Saturday is a day everyone should cherish
S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y

Friday, October 14, 2005

You (revised) (address)

Okay round 2, ... address: Do my revisions at all add some clarity to the poem? Did I effectively remove my cliched phrases? Does it sound good :( ?


You

Sure
Fine
Whatever.
but, Know
that
you and her
is
you and me
use her
bend her
break her
abuse her
and there
Will
be problems
Choose
with care
respectful gentleman
or
apathetic joe?

Hate (bless)

Hate
a strong emotion everyone feels
Hate
words that could break a relationship
Hate
a saying that brings emotions
Hate
the word is drenched with fresh tears
Hate
a word that effects everyone
Hate
people say it
Hate
a word that is followed by harsh words
Hate
is like a drug that hurts anybody who uses it
Hate, Hate , Hate

Love at first sight ( Bless)

seeing you,
love at first sight
talking to you,
love at first sight
speaking your name,
love at first sight
seeing you in my dreams,
love at first sight-
some people don't belive in love at first sight, people may even think it's a silly saying,
but all people fall in love,
love at first is real and even it is a forever said saying
love at first sight is something everyone feels.

I Remember (press)

Written at the same time as "I Remember" by pinkroses


I remember
when life was gay
and gay was happy
I remember
when boys were gross
and so was everything
I remember
when school was fun
and fun was everywhere
I remember
when my heart was whole,
my head was clear,
my soul was optimistic,
and whole, clear, and optimistic were
Normal.

I Remember... (Press)

*Written during the Poetry Cafe earlier tonight at the Lafayette Public Library*
I Remember
I remember...
smiles in the hallway,
eyes locking, then
tearing away.
"Secret" notes
passed through
twenty people,
ten second
conversations at
lunch, blushing
nervous, sweaty
conversations.
I remember
middle school
drama, tears
and sighs.
I remember.

I remember...
joking, laughing
blowing off tests,
singing
during passing period
fighting, crying
screaming
during passing period.
Hateful glares
and friendly hugs.
I remember.

Ode to My Flip-Flops (Address)

Address: Does the ending of this seem too cliche or too... for lack of better word, lame, for the poem?

Ode to My Flip-Flops
Opening my closet door,
I spot
Them.
My fantastic
flip-flops-
Green as the summer grass,
slightly faded.
The feeling of sand, ocean and sun
clings to
Them.
My happiness,
by wearing
Them,
is like a
girls first real
birthday party-
screaming, giggling,
happiness,
innocent, playful,
happiness.
My toes sing
their thank-yous
as I walk from
here
to
there
in my
lovingly worn
flip-flops.
Memories adhere themselves to
Them-
as if
stuck
with glue to
Them.
My flip-flops
more than just
shoes,
they're life,
my life
stuck to the sole.

Falling Apart (bless)

Back splitting,
Arm torn off
falling apart, to hard.

Need space,
Time to think
falling apart, need help.

Freaking out,
No space, no time
falling and drifting away.

Hard faces,
Mean, jealous parents
falling, asking and wanting

Arm tired,
Time to heal
falling apart, to hard

Thursday, October 13, 2005

Mask (address)

address...does the breaking up of phrases and ideas enhance the meaning or distract the reader?


Mask

What I see
when you glance at me
Fear.
call me Horrifying
frightening
intimidating
strong
confident
ready.
something
I have
you
begging for it
needing it
feeding on it
afraid
can't let go
You put others down
i sink to your level
and
see your pain
see your anguish
see your truth
see your human
behind your smiles, your sneers, your snickers
What do you see
when you look at me?

You (press)

You

Sure
Fine
Whatever
but, know
you and her
is
you and me
use her
bend her
break her
abuse her
and my wrath
will be yours
Choose
with care
us
friends or enemies?







(I wrote that poem to any and all of my friends' boyfriends)

Dizzy (Bless)

wither
shrivel
die
What?
lost
no idea
she’s blind
can’t see
actions
emotions
thoughts
red
blue
green
blended
into a bland
meaningless brown.
I fade away slowly…
I’m gone.
What’s left?
Is it fear?
Fear of me?
Fear of you?
Fear of us?
Fear of truth?
unclear
and
strange
life just spins
and leaves me dizzy.

People (press)

Different
Individual
Non-existent
Kinds of people
No one knows!

Fun
adventurous
Lonely
Kinds of people
No one knows!

Sad
angry
Joyous
Kinds of people
No one knows

Different
Individual
Non-existent
Kinds of people
NO ONE Knows!!

living the poet's life (bless)

living the poet’s life
means walking around
with a bruise slowly
spreading across my skin

a loss of defenses in
exchange for seeing the
world in jeweled necklaces

(words link to phrases) that
circle my neck and
rest across my collar bones
threatening to choke
but decorating me

adding a modicum of glimmer
to the world

Imaginary(press)

Imaginary descrbes me
My own world, only if ture
Reading drags you in
Get away from worries
Get involved
With favorites
School to my own world in
0.5 seconds
That is what it takes ME
Imaginary
My own world
Reading grags you in
READING takes you away, only if it were true

Siblings (Bless)

Brother smashing
Brother squashing
Forms of mean brother Abuse

Sister mashing
Sister beating
Forms of mean sister Torture

Siblings can be cruel
Siblings can be kind
But worst of all they can
LOVE

Brother smashing
Sister mashing
Forms of siblings Love

Cinderella (Address)

Address: What moment do you think this is describing? What does it seem to mean?

Bittersweet solitude -
still and alone
in the moving crowd.
Unnoticed, I stand
with these thoughts
that threaten
to tear me to pieces.
Warmth surrounds me,
but the hole in me
grows larger
and the frigid wind
continues to blow.

Wet/Mojada (Press)

This was originally written in Spanish.

Wet

The clouds have cried
all the oceans of my soul.
A strong and furious rain,
a rain saved
Forever.
I feel sick
from all the water
That's still here.

Sometimes, the clouds
Disappear
before they can quench
the dry world's thirst.


Mojada

Las nubes han llorado
todos los mares de mi alma.
Una lluvia fuerte y furiosa,
una lluvia guardada
Para siempre.
Estoy enferma
por todo el agua
Que todavía está aquí.

A veces, las nubes
Desaparecen
antes de que pueden aplacar
la sed del mundo seco.


Por la Fuerza (by force) (address)

address... what is conveyed to you in this poem? what do YOU think the deeper meaning is?

Por La Fuerza

Actúo como un roboto
sin sentido
sin propósito.
Espero que este cuerpo
metálico rompa, pero
No; ellos lo cuidan.

Actúo como una actriz reacia
sin voluntad
sin emoción.
Espero estar cortada
de este reparto torcido, pero
No; soy el primer papel.

mi alma llora, pero
No me permiten de
sentirlo.


By Force

I act like a robot
without feeling
without purpose.
I hope that this metal
body breaks, but
No; they take care of it.

I act like a reluctant actress
without will
without emotion.
I hope to be cut
from this twisted cast, but
No; I am the lead role.

my soul cries, but
they don't allow me
to feel it

Vital (press)

Vital

Sol templado
Llena mi cara.
Me siento en la
Pista de baloncesto.
Está cubierta con guijas.
El calor del asfalto
Me asegura que
Existe.
Puedo oír el bote
Del baloncesto
Y los gritos de
Los jugadores.
Sonrío.
brisa fría
sonido amortiguado
viento glacial
silencio repentino
ahora, vivo
ojos abiertos
cuerpo frío
veo que soy
Sola.
cada latido del
corazón
Me sorprende.


Vital

Warm sun
Fills my face
I sit on the
Basketball court.
It's covered with pebbles.
The warmth of the asphalt
Assures me that it
Exists.
I can hear the bounce
Of the basketball
And the yells of
The players.
I smile.
chilly breeze
muffled sound
icy wind
sudden silence
now, i live
open eyes
cold body
i see that i am
Alone.
each beat of my
heart
Suprises me.

Otoño (Address)

Address: Does it seem like the poem just stops abrubtly in the middle and change subjects? (ie. the part about the pumpkins to the part about the lawns)

Otoño
Estaba caminando
Por una calle vacía
Pateando las hojas,
Secadas y muertas,
Rojas, oras
Marrones.
Oliendo las calabazas
y los pasteles.
Los céspedes de
Mis vecinos con
Brujas, fantasmas
Y monstruos,
Terribles, espantosos
Horribles.
Pero, cuando
Otoño esta terminada,
Las hojas han ido,
Y no huelo
Las calabazas y los pasteles
Estoy allá
Solamente caminando.

Autumn
Walking down
An empty road
Kicking the leaves
Dry and dead
Red, gold
Brown.
Smelling the pumpkins
And the cakes.
My neighbor’s lawns with
Witches, ghosts
And monsters
Terrible, frightening
Horrible.
But, when
Autumn is done
The leaves are gone
and I don’t smell
The pumpkins and the cakes
I am there
Just walking.

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

To harness a moment...(address)

Address: does the inconsistent capitalization and punctuation make this too hard to follow or does it help the poem flow?


To harness a moment
significant
in its singularity
though never obvious
to the rushing commuter
nor important to the
state of the union
to corral it
saddle it
mount it
(though not always
on the first try)
and ride it
all the way home to
the page

that is the purpose
of a poem.

Monday, October 03, 2005

Welcome Student Poets!

If you are a member of La Maestra's Wednesday Afternoon Poetry Club, you will receive an email invitation to post your poems on this blog. By posting poetry on the blog, we will be able to read each other's writing and respond to it much more regularly than if we were limited to our Wednesday meetings.

In order to post your poems, you need to get your parent/guardian's signature on the permission form, and return it to La Maestra in her classroom. You do not need to wait until the next Wednesday meeting to return the signed form. Once La Maestra receives your form, she will send you an invitation at your email address.

In your email invitation, you will see a link. Click on it, and it will take you to a window asking you to sign in to join the blog. Before you may sign in, you will need to click on the "Create an Account" button. You will choose a user name, a password, and a display name. Your display name will be seen every time you post a poem or comment on someone else's post. Your display name must protect your identity and all your personal information. It should not reveal anything about you. This is your chance to choose your slam poet name. Be creative. In addition to creating a slam name, you may also create a user profile that anyone reading the blog will see by clicking on your slam name. Again, for your own protection, you may not share any identifying information in your profile.

Once you create your account and sign in, you will be able to post your poetry on our blog.

Enjoy!