'Learn Between the Lines Scholarship Slam'
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if I were to discover Gold-
the beginning remains a riddle.
possibly panning in a river,
but this seems overly naïve.
how would I find a product so precious-
You are you and I am me
You and I may not agree
You have your hobbies, I have mine
You may think yours are better
You can think you outshine
I am from a world of emotions,
Emotions such as loneliness, despair, and anxiousness that float around without direction,
But there is also jubilance, love, and vibrance.
you are the place where the sand meets the water,
where i can feel the earth’s breath flowing through my hair -
sea salt on my tongue the moment a wave submerges me,
7:45 am
The silver screens flashed images
of brown bodies
tackled and mangled
by those sworn to serve and protect.
7:50 am
For me, nothing sparks more introspection than poetry
Moments stolen in bookstore corners
Stanzas glimpsed in Tumblr’s depths
I bottle up rage
and I choke it down
Until I explode on anyone around
I want to scream
I want to yell
I want everyone to know I am going through hell
But poetry has given me
When did you start to rite?
I started writing when I was two
My first letter was a ‘W’
But I thought it was an ‘M’
There was once a thyme
once upon a time,a monster plagued my heartmy poor, poor heartin the form of fear and disappointment.it had ferocious teethIn the shape of my motherAnd claws,oh,
Exposed by verse.
A jolt, then a crack!
Something old
Now broken.
There was no going back!
A shudder, then the light!
Two months gone and the students gone –
Douglas, I only repeat what you were saying,
Or was it combatants? As Britten, a la Owen, would contest,
A baritone and a tenor locked in mortal combat,
Feeling alone, locked in a box, full of fear, and no light.
Full of regret and full of despair,
breathing in the midnight mist with no air.
Looking for an escape but there’s no path.
My emotions are on display today
Not trapped within the confines of my soul
But in the countless poems I’ve seen
At first, I thought I knew this world;
it was just one big globe with bodies roaming around.
And it was as simple as that.
So as my eyes made contact with these words,
random words
thrown together
unexpected
art
literature
thoughts united
forming stories
showing perspectives
unknown
to me
until
poetry
In pain lies resurrection
As resurrection begets pain
This beautifully torturous cycle
Never fails to bring us together again
My tears summon you
Reflection of myself in your crystal
blue eyes.
Similar to rising stained glass windows or
bits and pieces within a kaleidoscope.
When do you feel the most free?
“When I am alone”
What do you do when you are alone
“Ya know, the usual… I read, maybe dance, I writ...:”
By the age of nine,
I knew this world was no place for me.
I learned that if a tree falls in a forrest and
someone is around to hear it,
it is their decision if the tree wants to be heard
I can find you only in the blossoms of magnolia
trees that I used for poetic persuasion
to convince myself you have not left me here, not yet.
in your garden, there are no magnolias,
To think we were safe from the world got parents who gave it there all
Tears fall from my face to the sight of your faith
Don't you understand it kills me more
Poetry serves as an outlet inside one's thoughts and feelings
the true stimulus an individual is subject to daily.
Poetry opens my eyes to the life I live which has no ceilings
You cannot force a poem;
It comes of its own volition
As fast or slow as it pleases.
If it pleases to come quickly,
Hold on for the ride, and try to keep up,
A poem is a story that someone tells,
One who cannot say it aloud.
A poem is something you speak from your heart,
Poetry has taught me the depths
of what it means to be a centaur--
because poems need the mind and heart
in order to weave words for lines.
Poetry, these sheets cannot live without
Comformity is the destruction of creativeness and as i took my time to make this rhyme
I realized the kind of person I am inside
“The idea is to write
So that people hear it
And it slides
Through the brain
And goes straight for the heart”
I push pen to paper
Quiet,
Not shy.
My words are sharp,
So my lips become a sheath.
Inside:
A busy subway, people push, shoulder-to-shoulder
Outside:
My dad died
Quiet,
It's hard to say,
just what writing poetry
has done for me.
When you're alone,
with no one to talk to,
sometimes all you can do is write.
It's hard to say,
i thought and i wrote
but it never came to me
i was writing about my hopes
how do i look at my dreams?
the words, they're right there, on paper
no, it's too late to come back to it later
Ever know what's it like to be someone else.
To feel their pain, sorrow and fear.
To feel their heartaches and feel their tears.
To see their past and everything they been through.
Poetry has taught me
That even without conversation
There are still ways
To inspire ideas
To express emotion
To connect comrades
Even without conversation
One can always use their voice
You’re poison
But I can’t help but consume you
To me your noxious fumes are
Perfumes
To me your venomous bite are
Euphoric kisses
To me the arsenic wine you pour into my lips is
i forge, in fiction, asylum.
i remake the world in pencil strokes
and keyboard clicks, rejoicing in the proud march
across the page of stories i fear saying aloud.
Why is poetry so useful to me?Does it free my body, or unshackle my mind?Or keep me from being lost in time?Why is poetry so useful to me?
The conduit for my imagination
To flourish
The gatekeeper for my thoughts
And ideas
Poetry
The things it done for me.
Poetry
Opens
Everyone's
Tailored
Reflections
Yearlong
Weave a tale of magic and adventure
Or simply about a simple gesture
What you ate, your mate, your state
It matters not; I'll listen.
Write a poem about who you love
Learning about poetry in school is not fun
this is what all of my classmates would say
It was not unusual for me to be the odd one out
so today was just an ordinary day
Poetry and I had a good relationship
Reading
Writing
Living
Poetry
Words in motion,
Trying to capture their rays
And magnify the feelings
So that maybe someone relates
Poems.
They're more than words on a page
nor something we are forced nowadays
to read at school everyday.
Poems.
They're more than Frost and Shakespeare,
looking for rhymes that you may hear,
My reaction to finally giving voice to that which has
terrified, shocked, and broken me
has been mixed
To my younger self, I owe an apology
I am sorry for being so weak
Do you know me?
Do you know what it's like to be me?
Have you taken a walk in my shoes?
Oh! I'm just a little black girl in this America we live in.
I just have to work a little harder...
It's a funny sort of thing
to change with your writing:
to grow and crinkle and smooth over just as
the words on your page do.
(poems are how we express our change, and our
stagnancy
Day to day I have conflicting thoughts in my head.
Day to day I wonder if there's one who thinks as I.
My mind, like a river streamlined.
Like flies and mosquitos fly over a stream, so do the thoughts in my mind.
A girl sits
Her eyes begin to glaze over
She has been here for hours
Unmoving,
Focused.
It's her escape
The world is too evil
Too awful
Too scary
Too much for her to cope with.
Poetry.
Poetry was what I use as an outlet or coping mechanism,
adopted to vent my emotions and frustrations in high school.
High school.
High school is where my life descended further to helpless,
Speaking streams of silent dreams,
Whispering words of wisdom unheard.
There for me; my therapy
Blind and deaf, but it hears and sees.
Always truth, never heresay.
Stories of change don't start in a day
They begin with cracked hearts
And thoughts like a maze
When the sword wins the battles
In the pin you lose faith
So you leave the pin's side
I learn who people are by how they read my poetry,
The people who reach into emotionless words and drag the sounds out into a tragic tale
Through each stanza and each line
I've learned we are connected through time
The human experience is forever
In every story and every endeavor
My words used to be constricted
To the thoughts inside of my head
Until I picked up a figurative pen
And let the words spill
Across the figurative paper.
I have never felt comfortable with my voice
What I've Learned From Poetry?
It's a way to express our pain.
Ask a poet, and you'll see,
No line is written in vain.
What I've learned from Poetry?
Words are meaningful & metaphors, strange.
From that baby to this lady
There’s so much that change,
From that day to this day
Can I make a change?
So many choices that lies in my hands
Tell me what should I choose?
A spark,
Lonely in the dark,
Just one match to light the fire,
The once tiny flame reaching higher,
The only way she knew to express,
The feelings swirling around in her chest,
Was to write,
it's dark.
illuminated by the light of a phone's flashlight, i write.
i write of worlds i was never a part of, worlds i am both lucky and unlucky
not to have been born into.
He taught me how to feel…To feel his red hot grip on my throatSo that I would grow cold. He suffocated me in his embrace and now, I am cold… And catatonic. The red lace,That once was a symbol of our passion,Would turn on me And use its body inste
The thing with feathers
Perching in the soul
It peeks Outside
Outside glares back
Somehow
The meaning of “hate”
A mystery, the meaning of “fear”
Solved long ago.
Growing, Slim and Slundering, is my Poet's Tree
Anyone can learn from it, as far as the eye can see
To the slums of the city life
To the backcountry and the farmer's wife
I have no problem reading that poem, And I will gladly read that play,But ask me to analyze them,And my vision starts going gray. I can recognize a metaphor,And similies are as easy as pie,But you say the author used them for a reason,And you wan
Poetry to me
Poetry to me is like a distant relative.
That relative that was there as you grew up
and saw a few times a year
Mostly at the important events or at Christmas.
The mind is a battlefield
A realm of chaos
Thoughts fighting for dominance
To be discovered and elaborated upon
Fragments
Personally, combining thesaurus with meter with soul
Offers satisfaction of expression and communication and release—
Emptying an ever-filling well-spring by waxing eloquent—
You've taught me to be brave.
You've given me an escape.
You've taught me how to feel every emotion down to my deepest core.
You've watched me grow, and you've seen me cry.
My mother mutters over dishes clinking in the kitchen
In eloquent elegance of interlocking iambic ideation
Spooling sounds of syllables into subtle symphonies
