Welcome New Club Members!

I'm happy to welcome the newest members of the Wednesday Afternoon Poetry Club to the world of blogging poetry. As you will learn at today's meeting, blogging is a great way to share your work and read what others are writing, even in the middle of the night! Below is some introductory information from our very first post back in October. Once you've read through it, feel free to browse through the previous posts on the blog, and comment on the poets' requests for pressing, blessing or addressing their work. (Remember to always use your slam names when you comment or post.)

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.

Nocturne (Press)

I hope that you can find me in the stars
just like I always see you in the sun,
for then the universe will know what's ours
and we'll exist there - tranquil, quiet, one.
Perhaps someday I'll sparkle in your eyes
as brightly as you shine each day through mine,
and then we'll both be innocent and wise,
complete and with conviction, for all time.
But we walk not in heaven, here on Earth:
and I cannot fulfill this need in me,
and empty, maybe, I'll forever be,
falsely feeling outcast, without worth.
And every day, I'll tread on this ground, blind,
the thought of lost sight always on my mind.

Solitude (Press)

The wind rustling the limbs on the

bent, leafless trees

pushes the swing I sit on gently

as my feet trail lightly through

the loose, powdery snow.

It's a cold wind,

forcing me to unclamp my frozen hands from

the slightly rusted metal chains

and wrap them tightly around myself,

keeping the biting wind from sneaking

into my jacket through the broken zipper.

I hear flocks of geese calling overhead as they fly,

traveling northeast towards the snow-covered

grassy fields stuck haphazardly between

the housing developments spreading rapidly

like some contagious, yet fatal, disease.

The swing next to me rocks emptily

as the wind continues to blow-

driving tiny, pale flakes off of neighboring

rooftops and causing the old, worn out

wooden playground equipment to creak loudly,

drowning out the calls of the geese.

My fingers, red and numb from the

icy metal have begun to thaw inside

my pockets, occasionally braving the

wind to brush stray brown hairs

away from my face.

The wind begins to blow even more fiercely,

causing the swings to rattle sharply

as I jump off into the soft, white powder.

It crunches under my feet as I walk hurridly

home, trying to escape the increasingly frigid air.

The Bedroom Window (Press)

the earth begins to turn
silently
my stomach churns
slowly
a small crack spreads
through the dirt.

I feel sick and want to go to bed
I stare up at the white sky there above

the rock splits in two
my life bends quietly
with it
the broken pieces lie still
I lie still with them
for awhile.

I fall asleep and dream a blissful life
Awakening to find that all is gone

my chest feels
empty
and I feel fatigued again,
as if by some strange disease
for which there is
no cure.

The rain outside my window falls in splats
and turns all of that cracked dirt into mud