Saturday, September 30, 2006

Teen Poetry Cafe at the Lafayette Library

La Maestra and die Lehrerin will offer extra credit to student poets who attend the next poetry slam at the Lafayette Library. (Teens only, no adults admitted.) Click here for more information.

New Frost Poem Discovered

Click on this link to go to the NPR website and read about a newly discovered poem written in 1918 by American poet Robert Frost.

Thursday, September 28, 2006

Broken Hearts are Broken Souls(press)

(Wow this is old. I wrote it when I had just got out of my old middle school, but I still like it so...why not?! Hope you like it!)(p.s. yay first post!)

My memory will never fade
For what you did to me I cannot erase
I cried for you
I lived for you
I wanted to be with you
but no

For what is done is done
and we must move on
but my scars
you gave to me
will never go away
I would've died for you, and yet you threw me away
Do you know what I went through
or do even care
Please hold me close
one last time
so I can see your eyes so blue...

Because I still love you
And I always will

No Title (Bless)

Small, errant puffs of wind rustle the leaves softly
and cause the blue plastic-covered chains of the swings to creak.
The short, stubby green stems of grass, and weeds, growing between
the cracks in the pavement are faded and worn,
like the pieces of wood used to create the twists and turns
of the rickety old swingset.
There's someone sitting, far away, across the acres of waving prairie grasses,
on the scorching metal bench, but I can't see their face.
It's quiet here, you could say, no laughing, screaming,
crying
though every once in awhile short blasts of music
sound from passing cars.
I'm not really here to play or write or anything.
Just to sit and stare out at the clouds, the trees
and imagine I'm somewhere else
somewhere magical, somewhere crazy.

the Lake and I

IN a saburban golf coarse lies
far from the winding road
where golfers travel from hole, to hole.

but in the middle of all this golf caos is a Lake.
not a Swan but a
duck floats along
the waters surface.
A duck acting as graceful as a Swan.

The
L
I
G
H from the west and east, casts along the
T
W A T E R .
dancing across the surface pinpointing to the
BOTTOM-shows its true colors.

the Grass skirting the edge is green, and lush, each blade blending in perfectly.
Cat's tails move as though they are trying to say something.
Secluded, unseen from the rest of the world exept god, and the golfers.
To go to the Lake you must sneak past golfers, and let your mind WoNdEr.
Dreaming, listening is the only way to feel the energy. The Lake is surrounded by trees and Cat's tails, unseen by anyone.
But only I can speak the language of the Lake
Only I can translate the screatches, and voices from the Light and the Lake.
Only I can feel its presance.
Only the Lake can feel my body resting on it's grass skirt.
I am the one who notices the Lake's existance, when golfers drive by.
Without Respect.
I Am one with the lake.

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

Illumination

In pensive thought, many have mused,
Why within the way of the world of chaos
Men scientific or ordained religious used.
From end to end, the philosophical and the pious.

The call for raison d'ĂȘtre hungered by humankind
Answering this demand for hope are the entities
Men of genius, men of chastity befall the combined
Each to fight the struggle, the search for remedies.

Methodical to find a resolution by the mathematical
The devout to embrace the spiritual make the decree
Eager by nature, humanity waits in vain all the cynical
To what end will the faithless and ignorant not flee?
In a place as such, who will be the vocation of reason?
Who as malicious could be steadfast in this era of treason?

And yet…they are one in the same,
A familiar face without a name.

Tuesday, September 26, 2006

Good for the Soul (press)

Its something you do
Without realizing
Its a way to release
Steam, water, or bubbles
It comes and goes
When you don't want it to
It makes you ich
It makes you realize
What would life be without
It looks different
It seems weird
Life knows its joy
Its been here too long
To just leave it behind
So you know what to do
Let it out
Through your pen on to paper
Or through your fingers
To keys
Just do it because its
(insert title here)

Praying (press)

Every night before I sleep
I pray my soul to keep.
Every morning before I help
I pray for my health.
Every after-noon before I eat
I pray before the meat.
Every day before a day
I pray for the one, just one,
Who understands.

Sunday, September 24, 2006

First Club Anniversary!

Greetings!

We are approaching the first anniversary of the poetry club, and as you will notice, our name has changed to reflect this year's weekly schedule. We are now The Thursday Afternoon Poetry Club, but our purpose remains the same as it always was. We come together in person and on the blogosphere to read, write and share original poetry.

Our club membership has expanded from the original twelve female members to a roster of thirty-five students from all four high school classes, equally represented by both sexes. I'm also delighted to see that although some of the original members are no longer enrolled in the club due to scheduling conflicts, they remain virtual members by continuing to post their poetry on the blog.

As of this morning, we've made over 130 posts and had over 2,300 hits on our blog over the last year. The visitors come from all over the world; click on the Sitemeter icon below the Blogger icon on the right to see for yourself who has been reading our work.

New members:
I'm excited to read what you will write this year, and to continue to share feedback that will help us all grow as writers and readers of contemporary poetry. If you haven't turned in your blogging permission forms, do so soon so that I can send you the email invitation to begin posting.

Everyone:
Here's a prompt to play with. See what you get out of it, then post and/or bring your results to the next club meeting.

Yesterday was the first day of autumn and the leaves are beginning to pull out their winter clothes. Write a poem about how you are transforming in some way.

Happy writing!

Thursday, September 14, 2006

Grant Me (press)

All that work
But not complete
How to make whole
Not possible
All that work
But can't make whole
Make me whole
Grant me my work
Give me my work
How can it be
That way
All that work
But can't do it
Grant me my wish
Grant me my spot

Monday, September 04, 2006

Murmurs (Press)

I'm sick
of shifting my eyes
to the door as it opens,
freezing with ice
that tingles my skin
under all of this
heavy, loud air,
and stares
that clear the scene
for only me.
And life
just moves in circles
over my head,
a vulture
waiting.
I can't
get up, my eyes open
and close, and the weight
of my body holds me,
I fall back, and lay here,
in silence, blind.

Friday, September 01, 2006

Freedom Limited (press)

Freedom is a Scheme
People believe
Freedom equals anything
I think not
Freedom Is limited
Wether it is the
Government or parents
Limits on everything
Limits on anything
It is not a right
It is not a privalge
It is a scheme
Freedom Limited