english
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Bailey George,
O how I miss you:
Your shiny black coat with the crest of white on the center of your chest,
Your tiny ears that never seemed to fit your 95 lb frame,
humans, in fact, were not made to be "poetry"
or at least not in the way you think about it
i didn't understand the difference between a heartbeat and a sunrise until you pointed it out to me
Soy un viento Fuerte pero suave, fluyendo a través de la vida Callado como un susurro Soy el sol Radiante pero a veces apagado, desanimado de la vida Roto como una luz titilante Soy un árbol Alto pero inseguro, temblando con el caos de la v
Vide la catastrofe e la chiamò bellaVide distruzione e la chiamò coscienza.
Hai visto una stella collassare
Ordinati a numeri primi
gli universi incrociati a perfezione,una sterile bellezza
I am a politically conscientious, theater-obsessed English nut,
An extrovert with anxiety and an unquenchable taste for scary books and movies,
Life.
The universe.
Reincarnation.
Living.
Breathing.
Do you know what -
what these words
have in common?
Besides grammar -
besides capitalization -
Big Brother watches us, down on the ground,
Doing what we are told, not making a sound.
We listen, follow commands, its our nature,
No other lifestyle that we know.
Telescreens looking close, that's the game,
Have anyone ever told you,
Ce que tu représentes pour moi?
It's a topic that might make you shiver,
With either fear or light,
Something that can warm you,
Something that can freeze you,
Because you love me you sat up all night
Despite having work the next morning, early
So I could cry over nothing
Because my anxiety told me “Warning: OVERWHELMED”
There are word users And there are people who use words.Word users are writers and poets And people who use words simply speak.You are using your words on me inevitably
i once met a goddess on a lonely road
Knots of gold adorning her crown
shining jewels as green as a toad
Diverted all the way down
roses flourished in her cheeks
As she continued to stare
The reason I became a poet?
What ever do you mean?
Poetry flows seamlessly
Like a river stream
I don't have much to offer
But when I grab my pen and paper
Words just flow
Some see numbers and it makes sense, but other can't even understand cents.
Spanish is to an english speaker, as math is to me.
Gibberish.
I see words and can eloquently translate it's thoughts
A notebook. A pen. Swirling thoughts raced inside my head. Biting lips. Darting eyes. My emotions were in disguise. Overwhelmed? Yes that’s true. It left me with only one thing to do.
“Naughty Girl!
DO You know?
Where the wicked go?
After Death?”
Asked A Sadist
TO A Small Girl
“They GO
TO Hell”
The Girl replied
“What Must
You DO?
i am a puppet, that longs to be free
all of these strings, pulling on me.
je suis une marionnette , avec des rêves de ma propre
pourquoi ne pas ces gens me laisser seul ?
i am a puppet, with too many masters
‘cause I am-yo soy
I feel- yo siento
I hear- yo escucho
I look- yo miro
I am the universe within you
As above so below
They say
You say we are selfish
That we are spoiled and it's eating youth.
You say that it's hard, that we should just learn the truth.
When you were in our positions, what's it feel like to cough 24/7?
The brilliant white morning light
Pierces
Through the clear sliding doors nearby,
And I
Wince slightly as it comes, releasing a vexed huff.
I stand in an empty room But I am not alone. Big Brother is watching you. I think in my own head But everyone knows my thoughts Big Brother is watching you. I whisper to myself But everyone can hear me Big Brother is watching you.
They say that I am not the typical black girl because,
well only because I "talk white".
see let me cut to the chase
about the crazy things that humans say
first in foremost it is actually speak
In my senior year, I took my final high school English class.
Advanced compostion.
We were told in this packet in the mail a week before school started that we'd read a lot
And write a lot.
Like olive oil,
The first press is the best.
It is pure, unrefined.
It is the true essence of the olive.
Like chicken,
The more you process it,
The worse it gets.
She believes in self expression,
Righteous Writing,
Speaking out.
She knows that your transgression
Awaits in hiding
In the words behind your mouth
She understands that it has meaning.
I was on a train headed back to my college after visiting home for the weekend.
I took advantage of the ten-and-a-half hour ride to write an essay for World Literature.
English is my intended major
The next person
to tell me
that a poem is more
than letters
and spaces
and enter keys
should get smacked.
Of course
poetry is more than that.
But this is what
Stupid stupid, they all said
as I read, as I speak
as I try, as I cry
as I see, they can all do it but me.
They're your age, they all said
as I sigh, as I try
as I look, at that book
Today in English class, we learned how one wordcan have many different meaningswhich I guess explains why so many people lieand can deny it.
At any given moment you could ask me what's on my mind
and I could give you a categorized list with bullet points to spare
left blank for the few memories that are climbing out of bed
This is how I live now:
Wilted lettuce and second-hand shoes.
Photos of luxury through flea market frames;
Last year's fine china, ringed with watered-down booze.
Don't talk to me of "adulthood."
One day I'll make a difference, you see
Stuck and Lazy, stubborn in my own place
But now I claim there's something more to me
I'll come out first in this potential race
The stakes are high but i shall not falter
i want to get the new j's that came out
i want gucci
i see people with louie
There are many things I want to do, and one of them is to teach you.
I want to teach you how to read a book, and teach you how to skim without a second look.
We should all be able to recite Dickens's famous line,“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.It was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness";and many of us can finish this J. Austen quote,
If you find something you love; then you'll never work a day of your life. I was told this as a child. I was told this as a teen and now im just understanding the concept of how it can effect my life.
To change one thing would be a dream.
Where people don't bully or judge.
Whether it's just because or you're holding a grudge.
The traffic sounded like the sea, always moving,
never changing.
The sun's rays grew intense, burning the skin,
Ms. C, my favorite thing about writingIs taking time to really decode it,But in your class I’m frequently fightingWhen you imply that all our thoughts are shit.You lecture us, but last year Ms. K taught.
Dazed in the classroomJust barely still awakeThe teacher droning on and onHow much of this can I take? No fun games, no interaction No matrices or chemical reactionsJust poetry by Emerson and Poe
Sometimes I really just want to scream.
Please tell me this is a horrible dream!
I'm bored out of my mind,
Insanity of a subtle kind,
English.
It's rather absurd
Stuff I can’t say to my Teacher poem
My Teacher stands watch, and does no such thing.
As the students blabber and argue, wasting time, waiting for the school bell to ring
Florida isn't New Russia
They're not going to start a war.
There's no black hole in Sweden
and no seamonsters near our shore.
Quit making students prove
That time doesn't exist
Fifth period English is my favorite class.
It’s funny sometimes when big kids don’t pass.
The teacher is really loud and sometimes cray.
The darkness will rise,
The moon will shine,
And take souls as a prize,
While the creatures moan and whine.
The morose skies,
The dreadful evils,
The hopeless cries,
Shit you can’t say to your teacher?
It should be titled Shit I Should Say
Math teachers working out polynomial equations and over exaggerated problems of how Bill bought twenty-three hundred apples;
The width of a smile is proportionate
To the woman's disconsolate heart
…
I know the answer, but the language is my fence,
However, some think, I lack a common sense.
Who in the world is born to speak all languages at once without accents?
…
Sitting in my seat; doing so alone.
They say smile, be kind, and make new friends.
Tell me, admin, how easy that was for you.
Tell me, teacher, how to smile in a room of strangers.
you say you treat us like adults
but, all i hear from your mouth is insults
stop repeating the instructions over and over and over
i heard you the first time
Everyday in class I try to understand,Life's big picture that is so grand.To my English teacher,The curtains are black-blueBecause the author wants them to.This feeble talk of meaning has put me down under.
One day I want to be a nurse
I will need a lot of science
And english courses
So when will I ever need to know
Cummings, Frost, Poe, Shakespeare,
I couldn't tell you "what he meant here"
And Romeo and Juliet?
Something about a Capulet.
Simile and metaphor,
1. It(s) like/is nothing that I've heard before...
I try so hard,
Yet you don't even see.
You call me a failure
Because I can't get above a C.
High school english does not encourage students to think.
Why? The reason is because there are correct answers.
Remember the when we do required reading,
there is always analyze afterwards.
I don't think you understand
The effect the word 'college' has on me.
The more you talk,
The more my heartbeat races.
Taking off like a plane to Britain
It won't stop.
She grows in a special pot.Made of wires and fear.Commonly broken and torn through.But always put back in her place.She's cared for and dusted,Her eyes behind the glass box,Sees a world she can never touch,And a world that will never touch her.Sh
Sitting at a desk in front of a screen with a blinking line
My fingers don’t touch any keys,
But rather they trace the edges of a box,
ele laan wo ca to so omo l'orruco
that is we look within before we name our children...for they will bear our bones
precious
Thou dreams like no man dreamed before
Looking upon thy heaven's for thou fate
You speak out for me to say more
Before thou sings that one restful note toward heaven's gate
I think involuntarily upon a distant shore,
That placard of choice is miles away –
Sweet child, I wanted more
Than tranquil hope speckled with a superfluous sea,
Gaspard knew before us all of the tremulous roar
She sits there, out in front of us,
a fearful look scrawled across her face.
Her voice , that at first,
seems as though it’ll crack;
nervous, uncertain, and afraid.
I’m the English nerd
Never having enough Shakespeare on hand
analyzing movie plots as if they were books
wondering if in reality
we are just a story with a destiny
with some author out there
Enthralled by your unbounded beauty
That I admire all seven days a sennight,
It is me that you do not see;
My heart pounds madly at your mere sight.
Although we descend from people of conflicting histories,
Does it mean to handle a *Bokken?
Or to truly perfect one’s **Kata
Swinging to his heart’s content in joy
Connor Burke is an artist of doubt
Yamashita, master of arts, glows
Hark unto me oh ye man!!!!
For it is not the struggle of one that overcomes all, but rather the struggle of all that overcomes one. We are not definite through human shape and form, rather infinite through UNIFYING energy.
Getting good marks in exams makes one happy
Eating ice creams makes some happy
Splurging money on shopping makes others happy
Our parents become happy to see their children happy
Nobody in this world can live without music I feel
And music transcends all boundaries
But still some people seem to have no ear for music
But even these people enjoy some kind of music or song for
Hero is dashing
Goons he is smashing
The heroine is so happy
For the herohas come to her rescue,
Many portions of the script are unrealistic,
There are twists and turns in the story,
A poem is
A poet's ways
Of portraying life
Precisely as it is
With a twist,
Betwixt a reality
And no sense of rationality
(Rationally-speaking, of course).
A poem can
Feel the tongue tingling words oozing from my overly active brain.
The sensation of bottle popping knowledge residing in your heart.
His words will never hurt you again
The hammer in your chest will pound no more
My love is a like a burning red rose
with thorns that prick small fingers,
illuminating my sunburnt pink nose.
You keep me safe from life’s terrors.
The shelter of your arms hides me from all
Mechanics
English is not enough
Sentiment cannot be bound by syntax
Punctuation cannot portray passion
Grammar cannot grant the grieving soul grace
Words
Words are a well to a worn world
A moment’s glimpse is all I get each day
Her quick darting silhouette does intrigue
Ever wishing for a chance she will stay
I wonder how she moves without fatigue
Should I call out to her, oh no too late
My chocoholic English teacher lights
Up the classroom. Her witty remarks make
The children giddy. She makes sure we cite
Our work. For projects she won’t let me bake.
Because it has a 26-letter alphabet
making up words that made no sense to me
Because it has so many pronunciations
that confused me even more than I already was
Because it was not my first language
The South; known for its women and sweet tea
Birthplace of my family and others
Some have their thoughts but the south is for me
I don't want white washed walls
or plastered smiles
or taking tips
or broken dishes crashing my falls
I want to be sleep deprived
my editor calling me time and time again
asking where the next chapter is
