Recently in Poet's corner Category

I was look through some poems I wrote that were saved to my computer, and I found a poem I wrote in 8th grade about how much I hated algebra/mathmatics in general. This is it:

I would now like to update that poem:

I miss Algebra.

Having to put up with the drastic changing temperatures
Having to put up with raking leaves every weekend
Having to put up with adjusting the clocks for daylight savings
Having to put up with the school's weekly notes on how to prevent swine flu
Having to put up with finding a date for homecoming, and coordinating the tie to the dress
Having to put up with burning off your taste buds from hot chocolate at Friday night football
Having to put up with the PSAT and finding four, non-mechanical number 2 pencils
Having to put up with changing around closets, and mother yelling to put on a coat
Having to put up with October

Seeing children return to school
Seeing parents pulling on sweaters at soccer games
Seeing pools with winter covers
Seeing trees morphing from green to red
Seeing the sky grow dark at six
Seeing the summer clothes going on sale
Seeing life drain from the beaches
Seeing lights due to high school football games illuminate Friday night
Seeing hay mazes built at farmer's markets
Seeing people shivering because they misjudged the weather

I decided I'd post one of my poems, so here it goes.

Follow me to a wonderous place,
between sleep and awakeness.
Where the dreamer is introduced to reality.
I'll hold your hand and you'll hold mine,
we need to guide each other through this labyrinth.
Because no one knows of here.
Be quiet now,
I'm not sure we're allowed here.
Oh look there comes some others.
One looks like you,
the other looks like me.
They introduce themselves with our names.
And they dare to ask the question,
"Are you the dreamer or the real one?"

The man of the hour!
All dressed in white,
is headed for a party tonight!

He'll be a big smash,
with his white top hat,
and his wallet filled to the brim with cash!

"Storyteller"

Words
Flowing freely
Give you the impression
That you are making the decisions.
But you're not.
At heart,
The story has already been written.
These words
Have chosen their own destiny
And they're telling you
What will come next.
In their power,
Anything can happen.

Jena Prats' Attempt at an Elizabethan Sonnet:

Sheepish but sharp, I had to shear my wool,
Thus I feel my short, bleeding, razed tale.
Reluctantly Samson, I cut my soul:
A swarthy fluff, blotting brothers so pale.
My vuln'rability palpable, I slip,
Awkwardly thrown in their white, masking mold.

Do you remember the hot time, when we spent the days by the pool?
Do you remember the stormy days following a heat wave?
Do you remember jumping on the trampoline, trying to touch the sky?
Do you remember starting the day at the beach and ending it with sunburn?
Do you remember the taste of popsicles on a warm summer night?
Do you remember watching the lightning bugs creating stars in the corn field?
Do you remember sleeping in or not sleeping at all?
Do you remember finding a summer job, loving and hating it at the same time?
Do you remember lazing around, without a care in the world?
Do you remember that September is just around the corner?
August is a month of rememberance for the memories made in June and July.

They always say blacks are more likely to smoke or blacks are more likely to steal or blacks are the ones who would go into the corner store and get the money out of the drawer and think of the consequence they say that blacks where more likely to go to jail, well let me tell you what they're tryin to do, they're tryin to build a box for you, once they put you in the box and build the walls they sit back, relax and examine your flaws, here they go again tryin to mark you sayin this is what we expected the black man would do, they try to put you in the mentality that you won't go any further than this so before they get their box and their marking cards think outside the box and don't give them anything to mark you with.

Comment if you like this poem I wrote

Good bye dearest friend, whom I love,
Whom I shared so memories of,
Carless days spent in the sun,
Giggling on end, till the nights gone,
Now it's over, now it's done
You will never be forgotten, so here's to you,
Good bye my friend, I will miss you.

I live in a box,
Nestled between blue and green at the far corner
Fingers pluck me out when they want me
Big, fat appendages grab and squeeze.
I am just a stick of wax smothered by a paper robe,
but so are the rest of them
Rows and rows of color sticks
Touching but not blending.
Red, it should be the color of passion or love
not duty and sacrificial blood
I just want to be melted and become a puddle
of liquid wax.

By Maria Stayer
York Suburban Senior High School
This poem is written in response to the novel The Handmaid's Tale.

Defeat.
The feeling washed over him like water.
No, not like a light rain, which takes its time to soak the skin.
Instead, more like the crippling flow of a violent waterfall.
That was the word. Crippling. Crippled.
He felt it, both physically and mentally.
Once, this body belonged to a spirited, vivacious, striking gentleman.
Paul Nelson.
However, this man here,
This sad, beaten figure with a right shoulder slumped and abnormally angled,
This man here was not the Paul everyone, and even he, remembered.
What gives a body the right to suddenly refuse its call to duty?
Like an old soldier, he thought.
Too much battle. Too much marching. Too many miles.
After so many years, something is bound to give out.
He touched his wrinkled, weathered hand to the metal side of the chair.
It returned no cool, soothing sensation.
Pushing himself upward slightly, he bent forward to look at his feet.
They were much closer to him than they had been before.
Were they always that large?
The right foot sat heavily next to its counterpart.
He thought about the deception of perspective.
How something grand can seem so small, and vice versa.
How someone grand can seem so small.
He straightened up slowly, heavy with the weight of unwanted grief.
He rolled himself clumsily towards the hospital room's only window.
Positioning his numb right hand in his lap, he then turned to look at upon the city's haze.
Eventually, he slept.

In life there are choices,
But why do you keep
Making the wrong ones?

Each choice is a fork
In the road...
One is the right way
The other--the wrong way

Which do you choose?
The one less traveled on.
The one no one has traveled on,
The one no one wants to travel on.

So why do you go this way?
...to hurt them?
...to hurt me?

The truth:
You're only hurting yourself.

i fiori mai hanno paura. the flowers are never afraid.
colla neve o il sole, with the snow or the sun,
loro sono in piedi, ancora, they are standing, still,
maestosi, divini, allegri, majestic, divine, cheerful,
i colori mai scuri. the colors never dark.
ma la gente, oh, la gente, but the people, oh, the people,
loro siedono da soli they are sitting alone
colle ombre e non luce with the shadows and no light
ma i suoi riflettori, but their own spotlights,
guardano i fiori. looking at the flowers.

I lost you the other day,
Or actually you left me.
Now all I have left is memories,
But I don't want memories
I want you.
There is nothing I can do to fix this
Except wander lonely through the house.
I convince myslef you're coming home,
I wait patiently, but you never do.

We buried you today.
They layed you in a pretty box
And said you were my mom.
I know it isn't true though,
This lady isn't you,
She just looks like it.
My brother bawled his eyes out,
But I just sat there numb.

I visited you today.
This isn't how it should be.
A lot has happened in almost two years.
I'm graduating this year,
I wish you could see me.
I'm all grown up now mom,
I'm going to college.
Brian is getting married.
But where are you mom?
Why did you leave me when I needed you so?
I guess I'll never know, untill I join you.
It won't be long mom,
I love you.

You might be dead to me,
but the ghost of you still haunts me.
You got buried beneath all your lies,
didn't even get to say my goodbyes.

It's...

Poem by Corinne Elliott

As the rain hits the window and ripples down the glass,

As the struggles of life come down in your direction,

As the gray clouds come, blinding the sun,

As your thoughts of happiness leave your mind,

As the harsh winds blow, and come knocking at your door,

Soon sadness will be no more,

Because in life, nothing stays for long.

girls are like apples on trees.
the best ones are at the top
and the rotten ones fall to the bottom
all of the ones at the top think that there is something rong with them because that special boy will not climb to the top and pick them off and cherish how good they are.
so the boys get the rotten easy apples at the bottom
but if those good apples at the top wait for that boy to
climb to the top and pick them off
the world would be a better place

The road we're on, i don't want it to end.
There isn't an exit, only wide open lanes to fill.
I'll be your passenger, if you'll take me to places I've never been.
I don't care how we get there, or how long it takes.
i just care that it's with you...for all the miles we last.
Nothing will make me abandon us, or get off at the wrong moment.
You'll always be my first whirlwind drive, speeding off into the sunset.
No sign, no light, no one, no map will make us part.
Nothing exists that can take me away from you, for I am on a one way road to the rest of my life.
And I want you along for the ride=]

There's a girl in the attic

Her brain filled with static.

No one cares

She doesn't matter anymore.

In a grey world

She dreams

And she screams

But no one cares.

It seems like I've been here before.

OK, I wrote a poem last year and my teacher loved it. Well here it is:

I don't really like this poem and I think it is so sad. :'(

Do you hear the click-clack on the streets?
Or the rhythm of the beat

Floating like paper in the wind
Going far away from reality
Not knowing, not showing
And definitely not caring.

Through the bars
Down in the dungeon
I scream till my lungs burst
Wearing my hatred like a badge

You rip me and break me
Tearing me to shreds
Broken so I can't walk anymore
You leave me in darkness.

And they will wonder
How such beauty came to harm
But one day I will float
Far away from here.

The central PA pop rock band will be parting ways after the final show tomorrow night at the Strand Capitol. Local favorites have played numerous times in Pennsylvania, New York, New Jersey, Maryland and will end their two year successful run. The band has split due to altercations between the band members and will not announce what the altercations were.

Strand Capitol
7:00 p,m.
Friday, April 25th

She lies on
fresh stalks of thick
and pungent grasses;
they cover her body.
Her pink glistens.
The sun rings -
brings dew jewels;
they fall crisply
settle themselves on
impregnated flesh.
I am flickering
inside her pale stomach
I am sickened
by the smell of it.
Tasting, feeling
the sticky life-juice,
fermented and foul.
Nauseated, I promise;
I will prepare
my own plot.

I like the way you sneak in late at night

Making the gloomiest, pitch-black times so bright

&& just when I thought I had you...you left me wondering...

Six
O'clock
Breakfast blend
Brew me a fresh cup.
Last until eight, it's eleven.
Lunchtime has never seemed complete without the fresh blend.
Five minutes to brew, one minute to drink. That is the way the coffee
grinds in my house.
Blending at breakfast and brewing at lunch, I enjoy drinking my liquid
throughout the day. Amount is just a number, nothing to live by.
That is why it is three and I have already had five cups, why I let my
teeth stain after every sip. I enjoy watching my black caffeine drip with every new
batch. Only a singular hour separating the greatness.
This process continues throughout the day. Hour by hour, cup by cup,watch as countless
mugs dirty. By the end I am tired and wasted from liters of caffeinated coffee.
This beverage stirs in my veins, creating a toxic formula that eats at my bones, making me
shorter with every great cup. There is nothing to do but simply say that I love it.

- By SETH BLACK, Central York High School

I thank you for everything you did

From joy to sadness

From the punishments and all of its madness.

I thought you were hard on us

But it was you we could always trust

You gave us the strength, the wisdom and the courage to believe

That life is what you make it, so you may as well achieve.

I thank you for who I am. I thank you for who you are.

I thank you for being my superstar.

When I could not see, you helped me open my eyes

And now that I am older I can realize just how lucky I am to have a
mother like you.

Who loves me unconditionally, too, I say.

I thank you for who I am.

I thank you for who you are.

I thank you once again for being my superstar.

They say
"time flies when you're having fun"
but I've noticed,
Time flies when it feels like it -
usually when you wish
the minutes would slowly melt away,
like strawberry-ice-cream drops
left by sticky-fingered children

when you wish that time
would ooze -
oozing honey from a peanut butter & honey sandwich

slowing the dreaded date
from creeping any farther
toward taxes, cold and death.
But my Time sprints as if
a thousand scary dreams pursue
this rambling clock that never stops.

I can see before me,
always laughing in my face,
a moratorium in time
where I can gain
a minute here and there for myself.

The clock is off by three minutes -
I am off by hours.

42 FOR SHNOZZ

performing 6:30 TOMORROW!!!!!!

CLUB 19

1327 North Duke Street in York PA 17404

SIXTH SONG: WESTWARD GIRL

42 FOR SHNOZZ

performing 6:30 this Friday at:

CLUB 19

1327 North Duke Street in York PA 17404

FIFTH SONG: PERO ME GUSTA ESTO

42 FOR SHNOZZ

performing 6:30 this Friday at:

CLUB 19

1327 North Duke Street in York PA 17404

FOURTH SONG: Laughing On Cars (Providence)

42 FOR SHNOZZ

performing 6:30 this Friday at:

CLUB 19

1327 North Duke Street in York PA 17404

THIRD SONG: HIV, AIDS, and Other Things You Get in Jersey

42 FOR SHNOZZ

performing 6:30 at:

CLUB 19

1327 North Duke Street in York PA 17404

song number two: TELL ME WHAT I WANNA HEAR

Well as i hope most of york county knows (which i know they don't), 42 for Shnozz is performing at Club 19 this Friday Night at 6:30. Now most teens are going to either be working or going to football games but WHY????!!!?! Come to the show and you will get free stuff but I am not telling what. You are going to have to find out for yourself. Ok so nothing is going to be free but regardless, you, your best friend, your family, your neighbors, your enemies and of course the creepy lunch lady at your school should come see "God's Gift to Humanity" 42 FOR SHNOZZ

CLUB 19

1327 North Duke Street in York PA 17404

To help promote the show, a new song each day will be posted RIGHT HERE!!!! All the songs are copyrighted so you can't steal them or we will glady sue you!!! haha. enjoy the inspirational words...
1st SONG: GAZELLE

His numb fingers peek out from his fingerless, torn gloves.

They all ignore his cart on the stoop as they walk to the bistro.

As humans, we are naturally inclined to run by fixed schedules. Whether that schedule is jampacked or not, it seems that we follow some sort of routine day after day. What this scheduled life produces is a narrow mind set.

After three straight days of field hockey practice 8-3, I felt very motivated to write about what we do most...run!

I really dislike you. I want you to see this.
That's why I smashed your best silver tea set.
And those new socks are filled with dirt.
Dirt, I say. The very best kind, with worms.
Worms - from your garden! I tore that up.
It's best not to say, but I raided your fridge.
What? I was hungry. Chomp, chew, goes the mincemeat pie.
I consider myself, a garden gnome.
Your personal pest.
How do you do? No charge necessary.
I'm here to annoy you, bother you, tease you, distract you
From the fact that I'm madly in love.

The fibonacci sequence is a not-so-complex set of numbers that one can learn in some level of higher math. This sequence is most commonly used to create a spiral using squares (consult with your math book if you want more information). The set of numbers was, for a long time, only seen in math classes. However, the Fibonacci Sequence is making its move into modern poetry in a new poetic form called "the fib".

Most people, who don't delve into the different aspects of poetry, have no idea about any of the different sequences and types of poetry that someone can write. Many of these people make a rhyming story and call it a day, but let's snap up those poetic skills! Everyone knows about the haiku and the limerick, but one should really challenge their poetic skills by learning about the sestina and how to write one. It's time for you to enhance your poetic skills and call yourself a poet.

All claim individualism
But very few can back up
And claim that true.

The teacher teaches and corrects
With nothing else to do than enforce the subject matter
And doesn't think twice of the student's thoughts.

It's always hard to say goodbye to a
friend.It's like praying to a star every
night but in your sleep it dies out,
dries out, and soon you find
yourself cried out.
Like hoping that your light shines
for all to see, but the more you try
the dimmer your light gets until you are
left with nothing but a dull memory
of what never came to be.
See, with this loss comes pain and
with pain comes rain that doesn't
soothe your soul but drives you
insane. But yet it falsely comforts
you only to hurt you again........

It's not so much a lovesong as a making-up song.
...Click below to read it

The corners of the mountain....

Trapped....

The cool breeze washes around my face
As I look up into bitterness of the oncoming storm.
Only a short few seconds could tell me
How much longer I have to wait.

I start to hear the rain droplets speckle
Upon the leaves of the woods overhead.
I quickly abandon my safe haven
And run to the forest gate
Hoping to beat the storm to the outside world.

Dried up in the sun
Spoken for by everyone
But I speak of my own importance

So quiet
That when I am outspoken
I am a disturbance.
But will always be resting in my journey's end

The cool breeze washes around my face
As I look up into bitterness of the oncoming storm.
Only a short few seconds could tell me
How much longer I have to wait.

The bathroom door, locked to all others, shuts with a move.
Speakers blaring to the max drown out the loud heartbeat
and overwhelming anticipation urges time
forward. The curling iron leaves each strand in a twist
and the lip gloss tints bright red with a shiny swirl.
Ten minutes and down the elevator with a fly.

Most precious place to ever be

An escape from noise and people

With oceans and white waterfalls

A place to find pure ecstasy

Sitting out on a deck

And looking out

Just miles of nature

To wonder

To ponder

It isn't hard to smell

The miles of forest ahead

Acres of leaves and 300-foot trees

Stretch the mind to its limits

Happiness inside

Is all to feel

All you have to do

Is think

And travel to the back of your head.

For those who feel like giving up
Their passion because of criticism
Strive on

Best poem ever
Better than any other
I love this poem
(haikus are fun to write! even if they don't make any sense)

Anything I ask
Is just to get better.
I want to improve
I need to do better.
So when everyone else asks for a perfect
I shall ask for just slightly short.
Just one thing to fix
For there is always one.
Perfection doesn't exist in my heart
And the only way to prove myself
Is to improve myself
One failure at a time.
So I ask not for a 100
But just slightly short
98.

When people call my attention
While spacing out

It is true
I am not there

By NICK RYAN, home-schooled

A face with flavor
Hands with heart
Eyes that skip and smile and part
A sea of a day
Cold and gray
Show me the way
Toward our song

By SETH BLACK
Central York High School

Lights out,

Nothing to see but the world ending before me.

There is nothing that I can do

But sit and watch it from the side window.

So windy outside

So cold.

I dare not go out

But it is oh so pretty.

Lit candle,

Sacred candle,

My only source of light

Except for the occasional flashes in the sky.

So dark,

Oh so dark.

I can barely see myself.

Thank God for the sparks in the sky.

But they are what led me here in the first place!

Damned sky, Damned storm!

Nothing to listen or see

Except for the ringing of classical music in my ears.

Please storm stop!

You are leading me down!

But you are so pretty, so tempting, so beautiful.

Such a pretty war.

I want to be in it,

But all I can do is sit and watch as the world ends before me.