You Know That Guy

So, I totally forgot about posting until I was already in bed last night. The truth is that I have been loving these poems, but I forget about them until Sunday night. I need to remind myself somehow during the week. Anyway, here is my poem. Thanks all for posting your poems, they are wonderful.


Ya know that guy who sits in the back?
The one who seems not to lack?
He's happy and fun,
but doesn't get much done.

Ya know that guy who shirks his work,
but never skips out on being a jerk?
Yet he is cool and surreal,
and never seen wearing teal.

Ya know that guy who is not tall nor fat,
the one who's always wearing a hat,
he pulls it low down his face,
so he can sleep at his own pace?

Ya know that guy who's failing class?
Well he's also failing math.
He never says a word,
the little terd.

Ya know that guy, well now he sells fries
He even wears a shirt and ties,
Though he's got a new hat.
He wears it when he asks "want fries with that".

You know that guy we gloried.
Well his plans were foiled.
I'm glad we're in college
and full of knowledge.

Sorta.

Trick or treat

Trick or treat
come one come all
dancing feet
at the Masquerade ball
twirling gowns glowing bright
bowing gentleman, so polite
you have never seen such a sight
beware or this may be your last night
Among the smiling glittering jewels
there hides the host,
a most garish tricksy ghoul
though he smiles at every ghost
he is thinking of getting you alone
and showing you the terrace
where he will bestow upon your finger a stone
You pride yourself little temptress
on winning such a prize
when really it is him tonight
with blood lust in his eyes
that wins this battle here outright
As you both alight the stairs
and leave the lights below
you finally see his teeth are bare
and what awaits you there.

The Halloween From Long Ago

My friend and I, one Halloween,
Were just sitting on the couch,
When the spirits jumped our afternoon
And turned the lights right out!

The power was out! And you may say
That frightens nearly no one,
But even you, my dearest reader,
Would be scared to your very buns.

We sat there, stunned, my friend and I,
In pure and total black,
Until he spoke, with nervous shake,
"Let's head out to the back."

Something must have happened,
So we reasoned in the house,
And we tiptoed out the door
Far less quiet than a mouse.

"Now wait a moment, mister!"
So you say with quite a sneer,
"Why all the caution? Nervousness?"
Well sit and listen, dear.

The ghosts were out this Halloween,
As were the snipers, too.
Yes, snipers, just as I said,
Were hiding, so we knew.

I was impressed, how dark it was
On such an afternoon.
After all, it was just past
An hour that most call two.

The shed was open! It must be where
The sniper hid in wait.
We snuck up, masked by the wind,
And slammed it in his face!

But wait! The cracking from the trees
Inside the forest due west,
Gave clearest indication
That there was another left.

And so we ran! My friend and I
Took off toward the home,
Detoured around the workshop
To keep our position unknown.

And then we saw what froze our bones
And chilled us to the ears.
A dartboard left in the driveway
Confirmed our greatest fears!

It was a warning: Just watch out
You kids hiding inside.
I'm a sniper, you're in my sights,
I know where you reside.


That Halloween we both found out
That someday we'll get sniped.
And still we wait, my friend and I,
For that final goodnight.

Yet, sometimes I wonder,
If snipers are really real?
It works for zombies, why not try?
Psh, snipers, what's the deal?

Feel Complete

Crown molding makes me feel complete,
when I look at a room with a bottom and top...
the way darker-edged coloring on a page looks
fancy.
And wistfully professional.

Corner-less blankets make me feel complete.
Today at her baby shower all those stiff edges were gone
like folded over pages and relaxed puppy ears.
That bundler fits.

Hard back books, the month of November,
the memories and scents are almost solid enough
to lean on.
Close your eyes and relish the existence of.

It's the way the world turns its head
to what matters.
The way the Cozy soaks up the houses and the
stewards inside.
The way the oranges smell spiced and golden,
the way everyone burrows into home,
enchantment, victorious living and being together.
Like it's a gift.

Like it's our gift.
Better than gold,
warmer than glory.
We matter to love.
Rich as the deep of the deep,
clear as the breath in our baby lungs.

There is a crown molding,
a bottom and top.
A picture drawn fancy as the stars,
prestigious by the heavens maker.
Small, seemingly inconsequential gifts,
handmade to fit our little bodies.
Give us comfort, keep us safe.
Truth abundant.
Nourishment sweet.
To welcome home.
Complete.
Complete.
Complete.

follicular

swoosh, swash; tickle tingle
    Oh how I wish it would linger
snip, clip; chop, buzz
    All you want is a bit of fuzz
bristle, thistle; tough, rough
    Does it make me look buff?

sway, lay; curl, twirl
    You make my head whirl
flipped, lifted; dye, fry
    Just don't make it die
chop, lop; thick or thin
    Just chuck it in the bin

grey, fray; fall tall
    Time to rest, one and all
wig, fig; toupee, frappe
    In the end we all pay

That just doesn't work for me

So, this poem has been a concept in my head for a few weeks now but it is just not transferring to paper at all. I'm opposite Carly, I can work with rhyming, when I'm not, I just cant get a groove.

Some people do it for the numbers
and push themselves til faint
Harder. Faster. Smaller.
But that just doesn't work for me.

Some people do it for the numbers
and tick off every mile
Harder. Faster. Longer.
But that just doesn't work for me.

I tried them both and tried again
hoping once to just fit in.
Why?

I've never been a numbers person
Neither science or math were my thing.
It was always the abstract that stuck,
That works for me.

I swim for joy and peace of mind.
I swim for stress relief.
I swim to help stay sane.
That works for me.

So add your numbers
Add your miles add your speed
I'm glad that works for you. I am.
But that just doesn't work for me.

I'll count my blessings one by one
and instead of adding numbers
I'll focus on instead
what works for me.

All Four Points

This was written after an incident with restraining someone at work. It's more of a song than a poem, but ce la vie. It was also written whilst watching the BBC 25th anniversary of Les Miserables.

She falls apart while he stares
The kid is crying he doesn't seem to care
It's for the best so he says
He's standing just as still as a stone
She' holding back all her tears
Yelling though she can't get him to hear.

Just let the child play
He doesn't understand what you have to say
Just let him run away
What he's been through is no excuse for today

She falls apart no one sees
They're busy with what the doctor says he needs
The child screams down the hall
They live by placing feeling behind a wall
She falls apart all alone
She's hearing and she's utterly wasted

Just let the child play
He doesn't understand what you have to say
Just let him run away
What he's been through is no excuse for today

Kraken

This poem is really just a bit of silliness. For all of you who have ever lived in an apartment with a noisy garbage disposal, a sink full of dirty dishes, and a huge load of homework, I hope it makes you smile. Also, seeing as I've started teaching 7th graders, I decided I should try my hand at writing excuses as cool as theirs. =)

The Kraken Ate My Homework

It happened on a dark school night,

I’m still not quite sure how.

My mama said to wash the plates—

She said to do it—NOW!

I left the lines of algebra,

so carefully observed

within my easy accessed reach

so they’d not be disturbed.

Though gunk and grime came off the plates,

the water seemed too cool,

and soon the sink was stopped right up

with quite a murky pool.

First, I heard an awful groan,

and as I was no fool,

I ran away with growing fright

when I saw the whirlpool.

But keeping close to view the scene,

I surely did behold

the shooting forth of tentacles

all blue and green and gold.

The writhing arms left suction marks

on ceiling, wall, and floor.

They emptied all the cupboards out

and still seemed to want more.

They grabbed the chairs; they grabbed the clock;

they left the room quite bare.

But somehow, even in the mess,

my homework was still there.

But alas! Th’creature’s appetite

was still not satisfied.

It’s angry beak, submerged til now,

emerged and snapped and cried.

I saw one arm shoot quickly out

and grasp my fated books.

The only thought that crossed my mind—

What will I tell Miss Brooks?

With one swift gulp and one great groan,

the monster ate it all

then disappeared into the sink

just how…I can’t recall.

And somehow even with the mess,

I lived to tell the tale,

but tomorrow when I tell Miss Brooks,

she’ll kill me , or…I’ll fail!

Carly Hates Writing Rhyming Poetry

Fireflight Notes

She closed the door to fairyland
with one last twist released her hand.
She crossed her heart, once and twice,
then whispered slow her wishes thrice.

Dears remember while I'm gone
that doors may close, but light is long
escaping 'neath the woods long face,
chasing shadows claim-ed space.

Never you my shines forget,
the birth of laugh from cheeks run wet.
Your spritling-love that caught me here,
saved me youth; pure, sincere.

Now I'm grown, travels call,
yet though I feel afraid and small.
I'll remember you, wizened lights.
I'll stay my soul where love ignites.

Colorblind

So this is my first poem in years and years. I feel like it is a good place to start with definite thanks to build on.
(Goodness, I'm so nervous)

Roses are Red, violets are Blue
   That's what I see, how about you?
Why do I care what color they are?
   Shouldn't violets be Violet?
Who decided that Sea Foam could be a color?
   Why can't mahogany be on the list?

Taupe, Mauve, Puese,
   Cadet, Capri, Carmine?

How do those come from Red, Yellow or Blue?
   Or is it Red, Green and Blue too?
Why do they change if you look too far?
   When will people decide if it's Purple or Violet?

 Xanadu, Teal, Magenta,
   Wiseria, Jonquil, Camel?

When a child colors jasmin's hair Orange or face Green
   why is that "cute" or a "masterpiece"?
When I wear Brown shoes, Black pants and a Neon Yellow shirt,
   why is it painful to your eyes?

Zaffre, Indigo, Cobalt,
   Iris, Jade, Earth Yellow?

Who cares if your shirt is Purple or Blue?
   Is it worth twenty dollars to have the same shirt in Red?
How come Red is the only color that changes when you add White?
   If Pink is a color than shouldn't White and Black be colors too?

Celedon, Saffron, Cinnabar,
   Cyan, Dark Blue, Sky Blue?

How do you make Brown anyway?
   How are Yellow and Red Brighter than Blue or Brown?
What will you say when you find out what I am?
   Will you treat me like a carnival booth too?

Cream, Pink, Brown
   White, Black, Grey?

How should I know what color it is?
   What difference does it make really?
Is it Orange-Red or Red-Orange?
   Who cares?

Red, Yellow, Blue,
   Green, Purple, Orange?

I hate being Blue,
   I hate being Colorblind

Clerihews

Hi friends. I thought I'd show you all a kind of poem I learned about the other day in one of my education classes. It is called a clerihew. They are fairly easy to write and are often meant to be absurd or very funny. Here are the characteristics of a clerihew:

• It is biographical and usually whimsical, showing the subject from an unusual point of view; it pokes fun at mostly famous people
• It has four lines of irregular length and metre (for comic effect)
• The rhyme structure is AABB; the subject matter and wording are often humorously contrived in order to achieve a rhyme
• The first line contains, and may consist solely of, the subject's name.

For example, here's one I found on Wikipedia. It kind of breaks the last rule listed above, but I liked it best of all the examples:

Did Descartes

Depart

With the thought

"Therefore I'm not"?

Okay, so you've got the idea. Here's mine:

Thomas Edison
Learned his lesson
After 99 experiments in the dark,
Wow! What a spark!

Chloe

Becky and I didn't collaborate in the slightest just an FYI. I was actually at work when I wrote mine and she was at home. Interesting thought.

Also, unfortunately the blogspot formatting won't let me write exactly how I would like to. So the lines in parentheses are actually supposed to be indented.

Seeing you grow is a wonder to me.
You poke, prod, glower, laugh, and cry.
Boy, do you know how to cry.
But you're much more to me.
You can now crawl, lift, and Mowgli across the floor.
You're a mobile machine.
You pull yourself up, you stand on your own.
But you're much more to me.
You are the wonder I'll never shake.
I come home and you smile
(even if it is just for a moment)
and I know you were meant for me
and I was meant for you
like a set of Legos,
only I'm the worn out Mega Blocks
and you're the brand new Harry Potter set,
including a 98-step instruction book
because I don't think I'll ever be able to figure out
just how you work on my own.
So instead I'll just stand over your crib
and watch you sleep
(with your tooshie up)
and smile at just how lucky I am
and wonder.

Wonder

Okay y'all, seeing as I'm posting first, I'm hoping this is like when you present a project in class, the first person gets some slack and isn't held up to par with the presentations after them.

I see the wonder in your eyes
it makes me wonder too
why I do not wonder like I see you do.

Why have I learned to turn it off
to take it all for naught.
Please teach me babe to see like you
and wonder at the new.

"Stop taking things for granted Mom,"
I seem to hear you say.
"Start looking at the world you know
and throw it all away.

It's not about the world you see
but how you feel inside.
Take off your shoes and crawl with me
and take a look around.

You cannot help but wonder now
'bout what you feel down here
While we explore the wide wide world
with no reason to fear.

When given so much room to grow
how can we just sit by?
While there is so much world to see
to touch and smell and taste.

Forget all that you think you know
relearn it all again.
For what's the point of being here
if just to sit and stare?

Come learn with me about new things
give wonder one more try."

I see the wonder in you babe,
It makes me wonder too
at passersby who cannot know
the wonder that is you.

Welcome Round

Hello all,

This is our poetry group. We are a group of close friends who have lost touch with the poet within. To rekindle the fire within our souls, we wish to express ourselves in the written word to you. And so, let the writing begin. Here are the rules:
1) One self written poem a week
2) The "deadline" is 11:59 PM on Sunday
3) Posting throughout the week is highly encouraged
4) Posting others poems during any time is also encouraged.
5) If you would like to participate but aren't, let me know


Thanks for joining in with us.