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"The Most Beautiful Flower" by Cheryl Costello-Forshey
The park bench was deserted as I sat down to read Beneath the long, straggly branches of an old willow tree Disillusioned by life with good reason to frown, For the world was intent on dragging me down And if that weren’t enough to ruin my day, A young boy out of breath approached me, all tired from play He stood right before me with his head tilted down And said with great excitement, “Look what I found!” In his hand was a flower, and what a pitiful sight, With its petals all worn – not enough rain, or too little light. Wanting him to take his dead flower and go off to play, I faked a small smile and then shifted away. But instead of retreating he sat next to my side And placed the flower to his nose and declared with overacted surprise, “It sure smells pretty and it’s beautiful, too. That’s why I picked it; here, it’s for you.” The weed before me was dying or dead. Not vibrant of colors, orange, yellow or red. But I knew I must take it, or he might never leave. So I reached for the flower, and replied, “Just what I need.” But instead of him placing the flower in my hand, He held it midair without reason or plan. It was then that I noticed for the very first time That weed-toting boy could not see: he was blind. I heard my voice quiver, tears shone like the sun As I thanked him for picking the very best one. “You’re welcome,” he smiled, and then ran off to play, Unaware of the impact he’d had on my day. I sat there and wondered how he managed to see A self-pitying woman beneath an old willow tree. How did he know of my self-indulged plight? Perhaps from his heart, he’d been blessed with true sight. Through the eyes of a blind child, at last I could see The problem was not with the world; the problem was me. And for all of those times I myself had been blind, I vowed to see the beauty in life, and appreciate every second that’s mine. And then I held that wilted flower up to my nose And breathed in the fragrance of a beautiful rose And smiled as I watched that young boy, another weed in his hand About to change the life, of an unsuspecting old man.
Thank you for sharing this, Hailey. Sure does give one perspective, doesn't it? Loved it! Felt a lump in my throat when I realized the narrator had an epiphany which changed her heart.
Hi Hailey, im Tasha. Im from Alberta and i have never heard a poem as amazing and inspiring as that. Amazing job! I think that it really shows a lesson to always try to see past what somethings might look like on the outside. Really great poem and descriptive words. Great Job!
Oops, forgot to type the other part! I love that poem (I almost cried, which is rare for poetry for me). It was so sweet, and since a portion of my family are deaf. The little boy was blind, but it was still just as hard for him. Even though the little boy could see nothing, impaired, he still wanted to change the life of that woman. It told a story I don't want to forget, and won't, and that's why I like it.
A butterflies wings Teardrops fell from Shelly’s face, as she held her mother’s hand Sorrow filled her broken heart, as she fought to understand Why her mom was dying, why she had to let her go And as her fear grew stronger, Shelly felt her panic grow For how would she survive without her mother guiding her along Giving words of encouragement, support to make her strong
As Shelly started trembling, the tears continued down her cheeks She realized that the end was near, she’d prepared for it for weeks But now here in that moment, Shelly couldn’t say good-bye Instead she stood there silently, as her mother watched her cry And as if her mother read her mind, or maybe read her heart She spoke her final words, intended to leave their mark
“There are so many things I need to say, so many things before I go But time is of the essence, so it’s important that you know . . . That sometimes you’ll feel powerless, believing you can’t win And what others think of you, will be the image you hold within You’ll feel you have to follow quietly, at someone else’s pace And be the image on magazine covers, the perfect smiling face With the pressures to be perfect, you’ll doubt yourself and all that you can be But I ask of you dear Shelly, whenever you doubt yourself, stop and think of me For when I look into your eyes, I see a million stars Shining from within, all your magic and who you are In your face a flower’s blossom, a starlit winter’s night A butterfly’s wings spread gracefully, without effort taking flight A summer breeze and sunlight, colorful leaves found in the fall Springtime filled with new life; in you I’ve found it all All in life that’s remarkable, when I look at you I see And if you can’t believe that of yourself, then at least believe in me”
Shelly listened closely, as her mother’s breath grew weak She wanted to remember every word, her dying mother fought to speak
“You can always make excuses, or you can make great plans You can bow your head in shame, or Shelly you can take a stand Know that you can make a difference, in everything you do All that you become, is completely up to you So take pride in all you are . . . a woman who is strong And even when you stumble, when you feel you don’t belong Know that God had a part in making you, and all that’s on this earth And even if you don’t realize it, you have tremendous worth For though a butterfly may seem delicate . . . fragile to the eye Don’t you overlook the fact; it has what it takes to fly”
Shelly’s mother closed her eyes; her life on earth was gone But her words remained behind, giving Shelly, the strength to carry on For in her mother’s words, she heard a message reliable and true There is nothing in this world that a woman cannot do
Now there are often times, when Shelly feels so weak and small Knowing it would be easier to give in, instead of proudly standing tall But she finds herself thinking often, that she has a purpose on this earth And though she doesn’t always feel it, she knows she has tremendous worth And it’s then she hears her mother’s voice, from a breeze softly passing by “Don’t you overlook the fact; you have what it takes to fly”
This poem "does it" for me because it's about a girl and her mother is dying. I guess it speaks to me because I don't know what I'd do without my mom. So if this ever did happen to me this is what I'd want my mothers last words to be.
Hi Julia, I just couldn't help but see you and your mom, me and my mom while reading this. I had this thought that you feel pulled in two directions and could relate to girl in the poem. You have amazing integrity!! You may wonder how I know that... I just do! Thank you for sharing!!
The park bench was deserted as I sat down to read Beneath the long, straggly branches of an old willow tree Disillusioned by life with good reason to frown, For the world was intent on dragging me down And if that weren’t enough to ruin my day, A young boy out of breath approached me, all tired from play He stood right before me with his head tilted down And said with great excitement, “Look what I found!” In his hand was a flower, and what a pitiful sight, With its petals all worn – not enough rain, or too little light. Wanting him to take his dead flower and go off to play, I faked a small smile and then shifted away. But instead of retreating he sat next to my side And placed the flower to his nose and declared with overacted surprise, “It sure smells pretty and it’s beautiful, too. That’s why I picked it; here, it’s for you.” The weed before me was dying or dead. Not vibrant of colors, orange, yellow or red. But I knew I must take it, or he might never leave. So I reached for the flower, and replied, “Just what I need.” But instead of him placing the flower in my hand, He held it midair without reason or plan. It was then that I noticed for the very first time That weed-toting boy could not see: he was blind. I heard my voice quiver, tears shone like the sun As I thanked him for picking the very best one. “You’re welcome,” he smiled, and then ran off to play, Unaware of the impact he’d had on my day. I sat there and wondered how he managed to see A self-pitying woman beneath an old willow tree. How did he know of my self-indulged plight? Perhaps from his heart, he’d been blessed with true sight. Through the eyes of a blind child, at last I could see The problem was not with the world; the problem was me. And for all of those times I myself had been blind, I vowed to see the beauty in life, and appreciate every second that’s mine. And then I held that wilted flower up to my nose And breathed in the fragrance of a beautiful rose And smiled as I watched that young boy, another weed in his hand About to change the life, of an unsuspecting old man.
Why this poem does it for me is because it is so sweet and eye-opening. It makes you realize how there are other people who may have worse problems than you but still want to make others happy. This poem is easy to understand but still gets a strong point across with a lot of meaning and emotion. It definitely does it for me!
Dear Victoria, I agree with your thinking about the realization that other people may be carrying a much heavier burden than I am. It reminds me of how felt while I was reading The Invisible Bridge, a story about a family during the holocaust. My problems paled!! I forbid myself to feel sorry for myself when I am reminded of how others overcome horrific hardships and find the real beauty and intention. Thank you for sharing.
As you release this butterfly in honor of me, know that I'm with you and will always be. Hold a hand, say a prayer, close your eyes and see me there. Although you may feel a bit torn apart, please know that I'll be forever in your heart.
Now fly away butterfly as high as you can go, I'm right there with you more than you know.
Response: This poem does it for me because it is beautiful and gives a message about losing somebody dear. It shows the point of view in which the person is dead and wants their loved ones to go on and reach great heights, and not be lost in their loss, because they will always be together. It reminds me of the death of my Omi, the only death in my family I have been around for to understand. It was hard letting go but it touches my heart greatly and reminds me what she would have wanted, as well as what I had to struggle to do. This is why the poem "Butterfly Release" does it for me.
When a poem can remind you of a loved one and what they meant to you, it's so special. I love how poetry can bring emotion to the surface of our thinking and help us wrap our heads around who we are and what we're meant to be. Thank you for sharing.
Dear Readers of the blog, This is a poem that I found out of the collection of poems in the book, "Jump Ball" by, Mel Glenn. I really enjoyed this poem because it reminded me of what people said Lebron should do when he was in high school.
Sharif Daniels, Student Fan (Title of Poem) By Mel Glenn
Screw School. What does he need it for? What they gonna teach him? How to do Research on the history of the game? How to figure out The air pressure needed to pump up a basketball? Get outta here. He could hook up with an NBA team right now. I ain’t lyin’ to you, he could. He should take the money and run, Run up and down the floor Of every pro court in America. Hey, don’t you guys wanna talk to me? I could tell you all about my man, James.
Dear Jarad, Loved the emotion in the narrator here! This poem would sound sooooo good read aloud with the reader performing it. Wow. I wonder what exactly you meant by the Lebron parallel. Thanks for sharing.
Today I found two poems that I really enjoyed, both by Shel Silverstein. And those poems were... "Where the Sidewalk Ends" and "Cloony The Clown." Here's "Where the Sidewalk Ends."
There is a place where the sidewalk ends And before the street begins, And there the grass grows soft and white, And there the sun burns crimson bright, And there the moon-bird rests from his flight To cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black And the dark street winds and bends. Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow, And watch where the chalk-white arrows go To the place where the sidewalk ends.
Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow, And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go, For the children, they mark, and the children, they know The place where the sidewalk ends.
I really enjoyed this poem because of its imagery. Shel Silverstein uses so much descriptive language that you can very easily visualize what the poem says/shows.
Here's "Cloony The Clone."
I'll tell you the story of Cloony the Clown Who worked in a circus that came through town. His shoes were too big and his hat was too small, But he just wasn't, just wasn't funny at all. He had a trombone to play loud silly tunes, He had a green dog and a thousand balloons. He was floppy and sloppy and skinny and tall, But he just wasn't, just wasn't funny at all. And every time he did a trick, Everyone felt a little sick. And every time he told a joke, Folks sighed as if their hearts were broke. And every time he lost a shoe, Everyone looked awfully blue. And every time he stood on his head, Everyone screamed, "Go back to bed!" And every time he made a leap, Everybody fell asleep. And every time he ate his tie, Everyone began to cry. And Cloony could not make any money Simply because he was not funny. One day he said, "I'll tell this town How it feels to be an unfunny clown." And he told them all why he looked so sad, And he told them all why he felt so bad. He told of Pain and Rain and Cold, He told of Darkness in his soul, And after he finished his tale of woe, Did everyone cry? Oh no, no, no, They laughed until they shook the trees With "Hah-Hah-Hahs" and "Hee-Hee-Hees." They laughed with howls and yowls and shrieks, They laughed all day, they laughed all week, They laughed until they had a fit, They laughed until their jackets split. The laughter spread for miles around To every city, every town, Over mountains, 'cross the sea, From Saint Tropez to Mun San Nee. And soon the whole world rang with laughter, Lasting till forever after, While Cloony stood in the circus tent, With his head drooped low and his shoulders bent. And he said,"THAT IS NOT WHAT I MEANT - I'M FUNNY JUST BY ACCIDENT." And while the world laughed outside. Cloony the Clown sat down and cried.
This poem was just...fun. The poem told an intriguing story about a clown while still rhyming. And that's what I like, poems that rhyme.
Dear Justin, I agree, Shel choose imaginative and unique imagery for his poetry. Where the sidewalk ends has an interpretative nature to it. What is the metaphor speaking to where sidewalk ends and the street begins? Thanks for sharing!
To be, or not to be; that is the question; Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them. To die: to sleep: Nor more; and by a sleep to say we end The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to; ‘tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished. To die; to sleep; To sleep: perchance to dream: aye, there is the rub; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause: there’s the respect That makes calamity of so long life; For who will bear the whips and scorns of time, The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely, The pangs of despis’d love, the law’s delay, The insolence of office, and the spurns, That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death – The undiscover’d country from whose bourn No traveler returns – puzzles the will And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all, And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought, And enterprises of great pith and moment With this regard their currents turn awry, And lose the name of action.-William Shakespeare Jonathan :)
Hi Jon, I wondered what your response for this famous sonnet might be. Wow, what a fabulous choice. What is the narrator telling us? Thank you for sharing this great work!
Dear Sheyan, Sometimes one can't help but be moved by the beauty of a snowstorm. I think it would do us all well to stop and witness the artistry of a snowstorm. Thanks for sharing.
Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening By Robert Frost Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound's the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.
This poem appeals to me because I can imagine the setting and how beautiful the woods would look with a slim sheet of snow. I read and remembered this poem when I was in the fourth grade, I didn't like it at first but after a while I liked it. Sincerely, Brian Holler
Hi Brian, Oh, you've chosen a poem considered much loved by mannnnnnnnnnny people. It's no accident you liked it. But I think it's more than the slim sheet of snow which appealed to you. If you could ask the narrator any questions, what would you ask? Thanks for sharing!!!!
The Bully By Cheryl Costello Forshey http://spf2.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=chat&action=display&thread=123
This poem speaks to me because I think that bullying is very much a real life problem that we face in life. I also think this poem speaks the truth when it talks about people being to scared to intervene when they witness bullying, scared they too might be hurt. It also shows that bullying a person can later turn that victim into a bully. I think it also speaks to me because I have been a bullier, I have been the victim, and I have been the bystander at one time or another and know the I feelings that come with being that person. Jessica M. Lindsay
Dear Jessica, Thank you for sharing this poem. It's a big emotion, one of the biggest, all that goes with the idea of a bully. You're so honest for speaking about your own roles. It's true for all of us, I venture to say. Thanks for sharing.
Listen to the MUSTEN’TS child Listen to the DON’TS Listen to the SHOULDN’TS Listen to the IMPOSSIBLES, the WON’TS Listen to the NEVER HAVES Then listen close to me— Anything can happen, child ANYTHING can be
I like this poem because it is inspirational. It speaks the truth, pretty amazing.
Dear RAdy, Thank you sharing what I feel is inspirational too. I love the repetition of each line of advice and then the best for last. You mention it speaks the truth. Could you elaborate?
In A Dark Time by Theodore Roethke In a dark time, the eye begins to see, I meet my shadow in the deepening shade; I hear my echo in the echoing wood-- A lord of nature weeping to a tree, I live between the heron and the wren, Beasts of the hill and serpents of the den.
What's madness but nobility of soul At odds with circumstance? The day's on fire! I know the purity of pure despair, My shadow pinned against a sweating wall, That place among the rocks--is it a cave, Or winding path? The edge is what I have.
A steady storm of correspondences! A night flowing with birds, a ragged moon, And in broad day the midnight come again! A man goes far to find out what he is-- Death of the self in a long, tearless night, All natural shapes blazing unnatural light.
Dark,dark my light, and darker my desire. My soul, like some heat-maddened summer fly, Keeps buzzing at the sill. Which I is I? A fallen man, I climb out of my fear. The mind enters itself, and God the mind, And one is One, free in the tearing wind.
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I like this poem because, first of all, its dark. It talks about nature in my interests, and it mentions some line of chaos. Also, it talk about death, I know its unusual to others, but this poem is definitely made for me!
Dear Kelsey, I think we all, at times in our lives, are searching for the light and way out of hurt, pain, and "madness." The narrator seems to be grappling with several realities...maybe what his outside pressures place on what he believes inside to be true. It is a dark place but does not need to be lonely. We are never alone. Never. Thank you for sharing!!
The most important thing we've learned, So far as children are concerned, Is never, NEVER, NEVER let Them near your television set -- Or better still, just don't install The idiotic thing at all. In almost every house we've been, We've watched them gaping at the screen. They loll and slop and lounge about, And stare until their eyes pop out. (Last week in someone's place we saw A dozen eyeballs on the floor.) They sit and stare and stare and sit Until they're hypnotized by it, Until they're absolutely drunk With all that shocking ghastly junk. Oh yes, we know it keeps them still, They don't climb out the window sill, They never fight or kick or punch, They leave you free to cook the lunch And wash the dishes in the sink -- But did you ever stop to think, To wonder just exactly what This does to your beloved tot? IT ROTS THE SENSE IN THE HEAD! IT KILLS IMAGINATION DEAD! IT CLOGS AND CLUTTERS UP THE MIND! IT MAKES A CHILD SO DULL AND BLIND HE CAN NO LONGER UNDERSTAND A FANTASY, A FAIRYLAND! HIS BRAIN BECOMES AS SOFT AS CHEESE! HIS POWERS OF THINKING RUST AND FREEZE! HE CANNOT THINK -- HE ONLY SEES! 'All right!' you'll cry. 'All right!' you'll say, 'But if we take the set away, What shall we do to entertain Our darling children? Please explain!' We'll answer this by asking you, 'What used the darling ones to do? 'How used they keep themselves contented Before this monster was invented?' Have you forgotten? Don't you know? We'll say it very loud and slow: THEY ... USED ... TO ... READ! They'd READ and READ, AND READ and READ, and then proceed To READ some more. Great Scott! Gadzooks! One half their lives was reading books! The nursery shelves held books galore! Books cluttered up the nursery floor! And in the bedroom, by the bed, More books were waiting to be read! Such wondrous, fine, fantastic tales Of dragons, gypsies, queens, and whales And treasure isles, and distant shores Where smugglers rowed with muffled oars, And pirates wearing purple pants, And sailing ships and elephants, And cannibals crouching 'round the pot, Stirring away at something hot. (It smells so good, what can it be? Good gracious, it's Penelope.) The younger ones had Beatrix Potter With Mr. Tod, the dirty rotter, And Squirrel Nutkin, Pigling Bland, And Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle and- Just How The Camel Got His Hump, And How the Monkey Lost His Rump, And Mr. Toad, and bless my soul, There's Mr. Rat and Mr. Mole- Oh, books, what books they used to know, Those children living long ago! So please, oh please, we beg, we pray, Go throw your TV set away, And in its place you can install A lovely bookshelf on the wall. Then fill the shelves with lots of books, Ignoring all the dirty looks, The screams and yells, the bites and kicks, And children hitting you with sticks- Fear not, because we promise you That, in about a week or two Of having nothing else to do, They'll now begin to feel the need Of having something to read. And once they start -- oh boy, oh boy! You watch the slowly growing joy That fills their hearts. They'll grow so keen They'll wonder what they'd ever seen In that ridiculous machine, That nauseating, foul, unclean, Repulsive television screen! And later, each and every kid Will love you more for what you did
I like this poem by Roald Dahl because even though it is silly and whimsical, there is an element of truth in it. I'm sure we've all seen TV addicts who spend six hour a day in front of the screen, or who zones out and is unresponsive while watching television. It probably would be better if there was no TV, and we just read and went outside, but lets face it; television is entertaining.
Dear Charlie, Thank you for sharing a poem which celebrates reading so exquisitely. Though I love a good movie, it's books that do it for me. I think this would make the coolest poem to turn into a script and make a digital movie!! Billy Collins did that with a poem he wrote: Forgetfulness. Check it out. Surreal.
Where in this wide world can man find nobility without pride, Friendship without envy, Or beauty without vanity? Here, where grace is served with muscle And strength by gentleness confined He serves without servility; he has fought without enmity . There is nothing so powerful, nothing less violent. There is nothing so quick, nothing more patient. ~Ronald Duncan, "The Horse," 1954
I love this poem because it is exactly how I feel. I love horses and working with them is amazing. I think this author knew exactly what he was talking about when he wrote this. It is beautiful and I love the way its all posed as a question.
Dear Klaire, I enjoyed the narrator's insights about the unique relationship that exists between handler and horse. I have never worked with horses but this narrator has given me a glimpse of how rich an experience it can be. Thanks for sharing.
She Doesn't Know By "Baller327" __________________ When did my feelings get so deep Why did they take that big long leap Going from friend to crush What a rush And I don't think she knows
Since when did her smile make me go weak Since when did her tears make mine start to leak Why does this happen when I'm always so strong When people called me Superman I guess they were wrong And I don't think she knows
When she talks I cant help but watch her lips To notice their shape and curves when they dip Wait, why am I looking? I don't even know And I cant help but wonder if she even knows
Her beautiful eyes are nothing like ours They're so deep and bright you'd believe they were stars They pour forth emotions in raging rivers They could make even me believe that Santa always delivers And still she has no idea
Her body is perfection though she denies it It makes my head spin with every glance I give She could put any man under her spell But she doesn't know how I feel and I don't think I'll tell
I love how she looks and who she is And how she makes me feel like this I love how she's beautiful and smart with a heart so strong And how she lives every day like nothing could go wrong Still she hasn't got a clue
Now school is at an end on the 11th at noon I wonder if she cares that I'm moving soon We're parting that day after schools many months I just wish I could have kissed her just once
Now that I've said it with my poetic skill I don't think she knew, and now she never will _______________________________________________ Source: She Doesn't Know I Love Her Poem, Love Poem and 36 Stories http://www.bestteenpoems.com/poem/she-doesnt-know#ixzz1nnf8HEea _______________________________________________ As soon as I read the last fraction of this poem, I sort of felt like I wanted to cry! It's relatable because we're young and have all been exposed to love and have all wanted it to a certain point. Knowing what's done is done once you reach the end leaves question and hurt in you, rather than confusion and question, like usual. I also really like the way he describes the girl, and picks up on the little attributes she has. This proves he cares enough to pay that much attention to her. Truly, a teen-written masterpiece. p.s., guys are slackers; where's my poem about me? ;)
Hi Izzy, I have to agree with you when you suggest the narrator must have felt true love to notice so many attributes! What a love poem! A bit corny at times, but who doesn't enjoy a good love poem!!! I still have the ones my husband wrote to me!!
They may not have the most talent, They may not be the best, But they do have one thing, That sticks out from the rest
It's not the outside shot, or the dominant inside game, It's about the love and glory, and playing through the pain.
They'll play from when the anthem sings, They'll play until the last buzzer rings, They'll play when they're losing by 20, or when they're up by more then plenty.
It was that team called Midway, They weren't in it for the fame, They sweat blood, guts, and glory, They loved to play the game.
I really enjoyed this poem because basketball is my favorite sport. Not just that but how it is saying that it is not about how good you are, if your the best, but it is your passion for the game and not all bout the fame.
Hi Brian, Yes, it is a wonderful message about the love of game taking you far! I love the stories of underdog teams who lack much talent, but they put their hearts and soul into the game, and sometimes win. Thanks for sharing.
Anything is possible, if you think it is worthwhile If you’re willing to go the distance, to go the extra mile. With determination and effort, you can often achieve more Because you don’t always get what you wish, but what you work for. Dreams can become challenging, but no matter what the cost Strive to complete the task before you, and you’ll never end up lost. So bring with you your goals, and leave your doubts behind Whether you think you can or can’t, you certainly will find You’ll be right either way–so never quit, and this is why: You’ll never become a failure, until you fail to try.
I like this poem, because it tells the reader what ever you do don't ever give up don't ever back down. You don't ever say the game is over or we will lose. You try as hard as you can even with seconds left.
Dear Cooper, I was thinking about the word Quit when I read this...I've wanted to quit many times but I can't unless I have a reason and it can't be from fear. The idea of doubts mentioned here kinda reminded me of the fear I sometime feel which gets me down. Thanks for sharing!
Life is like playing basketball dribble, run, walk, jump and shoot. play without a ball and a goal and the game will be pointless so keep an eye on the ball and focus on the goal dribble, sweat, give energy and effort and play with enthusiasm and joy.
Champs Ulysses Cabinatan
I like this poem a lot because it uses my favorite sport and compares it to life and how hard it can be but you should never give up and you should have fun while you can..
Dear Ceara, I've never seen this poem and I like it a lot. I can see how the simile is perfect. Life is like playing bb. I've felt like I've fouled out this week. Flu! Ick! lol Thanks for sharing.
Her hair up in a ponytail, her favorite dress tied with a bow Today was Daddy’s Day at school, and she couldn’t wait to go But her mommy tried to tell her, that she probably should stay home Why the kids might not understand, if she went to school alone But she was not afraid; she knew just what to say What to tell her classmates, on this Daddy’s Day But still her mother worried, for her to face this day alone And that was why once again, she tried to keep her daughter home But the little girl went to school, eager to tell them all About a dad she never sees, a dad who never calls There were daddies along the wall in back, for everyone to meet Children squirming impatiently, anxious in their seats One by one the teacher called, a student from the class To introduce their daddy, as seconds slowly passed At last the teacher called her name, every child turned to stare Each of them were searching, for a man that wasn’t there "Where’s her daddy at?" She heard a boy call out "She probably doesn’t have one." Another student dared to shout And from somewhere near the back, she heard a daddy say "Looks like another deadbeat dad, too busy to waste his day." The words did not offend her, as she smiled at her friends And looked back at her teacher, who told her to begin And with hands behind her back, slowly she began to speak And out from the mouth of a child, came words incredibly unique "My Daddy couldn’t be here, because he lives so far away But I know he wishes he could be, with me on this day And though you cannot meet him, I wanted you to know All about my daddy, and how much he loves me so He loved to tell me stories, he taught me to ride my bike He surprised me with pink roses, and he taught me to fly a kite We used to share fudge sundaes, and ice cream in a cone And though you cannot see him, I’m not standing all alone 'Cause my daddy’s always with me, even though we are apart I know because he told me, he’ll forever be here in my heart" With that her little hand reached up, and lay across her chest Feeling her own heartbeat, beneath her favorite dress And from somewhere in the crowd of dads, her mother stood in tears Proudly watching her daughter, who was wise beyond her years For she stood up for the love, of a man not in her life Doing what was best for her, doing what was right And when she dropped her hand back down, staring straight into the crowd She finished with a voice so soft, but its message clear and loud "I love my daddy very much, he’s my shining star And if he could he’d be here, but heavens just too far But sometimes when I close my eyes, it’s like he never went away" And then she closed her eyes, and saw him there that day And to her mother’s amazement, she witnessed with surprise A room full of daddies and children, all starting to close their eyes Who knows what they saw before them, who knows what they felt inside Perhaps for merely a second, they saw him at her side "I know you’re with me Daddy." To the silence she called out And what happened next made believers, of those once filled with doubt Not one in that room could explain it, for each of their eyes had been closed But there placed on her desktop, was a beautiful fragrant pink rose And a child was blessed, if only a moment, by the love of her shining bright star And given the gift of believing, that heaven is never too far
I chose this poem as a poem that does it for me because I can relate to it very well. My dad is not dead but I only get see him once or twice every year, because of his job. Being so far away means he doesn’t get to share those major moments in my life with me, like the girl in this poem. Our mom’s get to. Even though our dad’s might not be in our life’s much, or at all, we still love them, miss them and think about them everyday. ♥
Walking around a life full of broken glass, Nothing more than a disapointment to be seen. Cries, anger, fear, all but weakens the soul For everything around me was out of control. Reflections of what I could become all around Questioning, and assuming right from wrong. Nothing but a blur from a broken world, that was held up to be close to perfection. All now is seen but guilt and confession. How far must one go to overpass this obsticle Of broken glass only in pain to step further Out in a distance of lost time and hope, A trance one had set in a mind of illusions Only to be alone in such pain and confusion, from afar, pure beauty steps out from dark Lighting the soul, heart, and an open mind One thought life at hand was all in a bind. The trance is lost as she herself is revealed Stunned by her beauty and heart to be healed. Showing me a world with no telling how I feel by: Christopher Serr I like this poem because i can relate and I like how he words things.
"The Most Beautiful Flower" by Cheryl Costello-Forshey
ReplyDeleteThe park bench was deserted as I sat down to read
Beneath the long, straggly branches of an old willow tree
Disillusioned by life with good reason to frown,
For the world was intent on dragging me down
And if that weren’t enough to ruin my day,
A young boy out of breath approached me, all tired from play
He stood right before me with his head tilted down
And said with great excitement, “Look what I found!”
In his hand was a flower, and what a pitiful sight,
With its petals all worn – not enough rain, or too little light.
Wanting him to take his dead flower and go off to play,
I faked a small smile and then shifted away.
But instead of retreating he sat next to my side
And placed the flower to his nose and declared with overacted surprise,
“It sure smells pretty and it’s beautiful, too.
That’s why I picked it; here, it’s for you.”
The weed before me was dying or dead.
Not vibrant of colors, orange, yellow or red.
But I knew I must take it, or he might never leave.
So I reached for the flower, and replied, “Just what I need.”
But instead of him placing the flower in my hand,
He held it midair without reason or plan.
It was then that I noticed for the very first time
That weed-toting boy could not see: he was blind.
I heard my voice quiver, tears shone like the sun
As I thanked him for picking the very best one.
“You’re welcome,” he smiled, and then ran off to play,
Unaware of the impact he’d had on my day.
I sat there and wondered how he managed to see
A self-pitying woman beneath an old willow tree.
How did he know of my self-indulged plight?
Perhaps from his heart, he’d been blessed with true sight.
Through the eyes of a blind child, at last I could see
The problem was not with the world; the problem was me.
And for all of those times I myself had been blind,
I vowed to see the beauty in life, and appreciate every second that’s mine.
And then I held that wilted flower up to my nose
And breathed in the fragrance of a beautiful rose
And smiled as I watched that young boy, another weed in his hand
About to change the life, of an unsuspecting old man.
~Hailey
Thank you for sharing this, Hailey. Sure does give one perspective, doesn't it? Loved it! Felt a lump in my throat when I realized the narrator had an epiphany which changed her heart.
DeleteHi Hailey, im Tasha. Im from Alberta and i have never heard a poem as amazing and inspiring as that. Amazing job! I think that it really shows a lesson to always try to see past what somethings might look like on the outside. Really great poem and descriptive words. Great Job!
DeleteOops, forgot to type the other part! I love that poem (I almost cried, which is rare for poetry for me). It was so sweet, and since a portion of my family are deaf. The little boy was blind, but it was still just as hard for him. Even though the little boy could see nothing, impaired, he still wanted to change the life of that woman. It told a story I don't want to forget, and won't, and that's why I like it.
ReplyDeleteA butterflies wings
ReplyDeleteTeardrops fell from Shelly’s face, as she held her mother’s hand
Sorrow filled her broken heart, as she fought to understand
Why her mom was dying, why she had to let her go
And as her fear grew stronger, Shelly felt her panic grow
For how would she survive without her mother guiding her along
Giving words of encouragement, support to make her strong
As Shelly started trembling, the tears continued down her cheeks
She realized that the end was near, she’d prepared for it for weeks
But now here in that moment, Shelly couldn’t say good-bye
Instead she stood there silently, as her mother watched her cry
And as if her mother read her mind, or maybe read her heart
She spoke her final words, intended to leave their mark
“There are so many things I need to say, so many things before I go
But time is of the essence, so it’s important that you know . . .
That sometimes you’ll feel powerless, believing you can’t win
And what others think of you, will be the image you hold within
You’ll feel you have to follow quietly, at someone else’s pace
And be the image on magazine covers, the perfect smiling face
With the pressures to be perfect, you’ll doubt yourself and all that you can be
But I ask of you dear Shelly, whenever you doubt yourself, stop and think of me
For when I look into your eyes, I see a million stars
Shining from within, all your magic and who you are
In your face a flower’s blossom, a starlit winter’s night
A butterfly’s wings spread gracefully, without effort taking flight
A summer breeze and sunlight, colorful leaves found in the fall
Springtime filled with new life; in you I’ve found it all
All in life that’s remarkable, when I look at you I see
And if you can’t believe that of yourself, then at least believe in me”
Shelly listened closely, as her mother’s breath grew weak
She wanted to remember every word, her dying mother fought to speak
“You can always make excuses, or you can make great plans
You can bow your head in shame, or Shelly you can take a stand
Know that you can make a difference, in everything you do
All that you become, is completely up to you
So take pride in all you are . . . a woman who is strong
And even when you stumble, when you feel you don’t belong
Know that God had a part in making you, and all that’s on this earth
And even if you don’t realize it, you have tremendous worth
For though a butterfly may seem delicate . . . fragile to the eye
Don’t you overlook the fact; it has what it takes to fly”
Shelly’s mother closed her eyes; her life on earth was gone
But her words remained behind, giving Shelly, the strength to carry on
For in her mother’s words, she heard a message reliable and true
There is nothing in this world that a woman cannot do
Now there are often times, when Shelly feels so weak and small
Knowing it would be easier to give in, instead of proudly standing tall
But she finds herself thinking often, that she has a purpose on this earth
And though she doesn’t always feel it, she knows she has tremendous worth
And it’s then she hears her mother’s voice, from a breeze softly passing by
“Don’t you overlook the fact; you have what it takes to fly”
This poem "does it" for me because it's about a girl and her mother is dying. I guess it speaks to me because I don't know what I'd do without my mom. So if this ever did happen to me this is what I'd want my mothers last words to be.
Julia (: 8H
Hi Julia,
DeleteI just couldn't help but see you and your mom, me and my mom while reading this. I had this thought that you feel pulled in two directions and could relate to girl in the poem. You have amazing integrity!! You may wonder how I know that... I just do! Thank you for sharing!!
The park bench was deserted as I sat down to read
ReplyDeleteBeneath the long, straggly branches of an old willow tree
Disillusioned by life with good reason to frown,
For the world was intent on dragging me down
And if that weren’t enough to ruin my day,
A young boy out of breath approached me, all tired from play
He stood right before me with his head tilted down
And said with great excitement, “Look what I found!”
In his hand was a flower, and what a pitiful sight,
With its petals all worn – not enough rain, or too little light.
Wanting him to take his dead flower and go off to play,
I faked a small smile and then shifted away.
But instead of retreating he sat next to my side
And placed the flower to his nose and declared with overacted surprise,
“It sure smells pretty and it’s beautiful, too.
That’s why I picked it; here, it’s for you.”
The weed before me was dying or dead.
Not vibrant of colors, orange, yellow or red.
But I knew I must take it, or he might never leave.
So I reached for the flower, and replied, “Just what I need.”
But instead of him placing the flower in my hand,
He held it midair without reason or plan.
It was then that I noticed for the very first time
That weed-toting boy could not see: he was blind.
I heard my voice quiver, tears shone like the sun
As I thanked him for picking the very best one.
“You’re welcome,” he smiled, and then ran off to play,
Unaware of the impact he’d had on my day.
I sat there and wondered how he managed to see
A self-pitying woman beneath an old willow tree.
How did he know of my self-indulged plight?
Perhaps from his heart, he’d been blessed with true sight.
Through the eyes of a blind child, at last I could see
The problem was not with the world; the problem was me.
And for all of those times I myself had been blind,
I vowed to see the beauty in life, and appreciate every second that’s mine.
And then I held that wilted flower up to my nose
And breathed in the fragrance of a beautiful rose
And smiled as I watched that young boy, another weed in his hand
About to change the life, of an unsuspecting old man.
Why this poem does it for me is because it is so sweet and eye-opening. It makes you realize how there are other people who may have worse problems than you but still want to make others happy. This poem is easy to understand but still gets a strong point across with a lot of meaning and emotion. It definitely does it for me!
Dear Victoria,
DeleteI agree with your thinking about the realization that other people may be carrying a much heavier burden than I am. It reminds me of how felt while I was reading The Invisible Bridge, a story about a family during the holocaust. My problems paled!! I forbid myself to feel sorry for myself when I am reminded of how others overcome horrific hardships and find the real beauty and intention. Thank you for sharing.
Butterfly Release
ReplyDeleteBy Jill Haley
As you release this butterfly in honor of me,
know that I'm with you and will always be.
Hold a hand, say a prayer, close your eyes and see me there.
Although you may feel a bit torn apart,
please know that I'll be forever in your heart.
Now fly away butterfly as high as you can go,
I'm right there with you more than you know.
Response: This poem does it for me because it is beautiful and gives a message about losing somebody dear. It shows the point of view in which the person is dead and wants their loved ones to go on and reach great heights, and not be lost in their loss, because they will always be together.
It reminds me of the death of my Omi, the only death in my family I have been around for to understand. It was hard letting go but it touches my heart greatly and reminds me what she would have wanted, as well as what I had to struggle to do.
This is why the poem "Butterfly Release" does it for me.
When a poem can remind you of a loved one and what they meant to you, it's so special. I love how poetry can bring emotion to the surface of our thinking and help us wrap our heads around who we are and what we're meant to be. Thank you for sharing.
DeleteDear Readers of the blog,
ReplyDeleteThis is a poem that I found out of the collection of poems in the book, "Jump Ball" by, Mel Glenn. I really enjoyed this poem because it reminded me of what people said Lebron should do when he was in high school.
Sharif Daniels, Student Fan (Title of Poem)
By Mel Glenn
Screw School.
What does he need it for?
What they gonna teach him?
How to do
Research on the history of the game?
How to figure out
The air pressure needed to pump up a basketball?
Get outta here.
He could hook up with an NBA team right now.
I ain’t lyin’ to you, he could.
He should take the money and run,
Run up and down the floor
Of every pro court in America.
Hey, don’t you guys wanna talk to me?
I could tell you all about my man, James.
Dear Jarad,
DeleteLoved the emotion in the narrator here! This poem would sound sooooo good read aloud with the reader performing it. Wow. I wonder what exactly you meant by the Lebron parallel.
Thanks for sharing.
Hello,
ReplyDeleteToday I found two poems that I really enjoyed, both by Shel Silverstein. And those poems were... "Where the Sidewalk Ends" and "Cloony The Clown." Here's "Where the Sidewalk Ends."
There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.
Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.
I really enjoyed this poem because of its imagery. Shel Silverstein uses so much descriptive language that you can very easily visualize what the poem says/shows.
Here's "Cloony The Clone."
I'll tell you the story of Cloony the Clown
Who worked in a circus that came through town.
His shoes were too big and his hat was too small,
But he just wasn't, just wasn't funny at all.
He had a trombone to play loud silly tunes,
He had a green dog and a thousand balloons.
He was floppy and sloppy and skinny and tall,
But he just wasn't, just wasn't funny at all.
And every time he did a trick,
Everyone felt a little sick.
And every time he told a joke,
Folks sighed as if their hearts were broke.
And every time he lost a shoe,
Everyone looked awfully blue.
And every time he stood on his head,
Everyone screamed, "Go back to bed!"
And every time he made a leap,
Everybody fell asleep.
And every time he ate his tie,
Everyone began to cry.
And Cloony could not make any money
Simply because he was not funny.
One day he said, "I'll tell this town
How it feels to be an unfunny clown."
And he told them all why he looked so sad,
And he told them all why he felt so bad.
He told of Pain and Rain and Cold,
He told of Darkness in his soul,
And after he finished his tale of woe,
Did everyone cry? Oh no, no, no,
They laughed until they shook the trees
With "Hah-Hah-Hahs" and "Hee-Hee-Hees."
They laughed with howls and yowls and shrieks,
They laughed all day, they laughed all week,
They laughed until they had a fit,
They laughed until their jackets split.
The laughter spread for miles around
To every city, every town,
Over mountains, 'cross the sea,
From Saint Tropez to Mun San Nee.
And soon the whole world rang with laughter,
Lasting till forever after,
While Cloony stood in the circus tent,
With his head drooped low and his shoulders bent.
And he said,"THAT IS NOT WHAT I MEANT -
I'M FUNNY JUST BY ACCIDENT."
And while the world laughed outside.
Cloony the Clown sat down and cried.
This poem was just...fun. The poem told an intriguing story about a clown while still rhyming. And that's what I like, poems that rhyme.
Dear Justin,
DeleteI agree, Shel choose imaginative and unique imagery for his poetry. Where the sidewalk ends has an interpretative nature to it. What is the metaphor speaking to where sidewalk ends and the street begins?
Thanks for sharing!
To be, or not to be; that is the question;
ReplyDeleteWhether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them. To die: to sleep:
Nor more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to; ‘tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die; to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: aye, there is the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who will bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,
The pangs of despis’d love, the law’s delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns,
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death –
The undiscover’d country from whose bourn
No traveler returns – puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.-William Shakespeare
Jonathan :)
Hi Jon,
DeleteI wondered what your response for this famous sonnet might be. Wow, what a fabulous choice. What is the narrator telling us?
Thank you for sharing this great work!
Another poem that does it for me is
ReplyDeleteAngel Dust
A newly fallen blanket white
Such calm and stillness befell the night
As nature's softness clothed the scene
In angel dust, icing tapestry green
Winter branches edged with lace
Trimmed with snowflakes, bowed in grace
Oh heaven's bounty wondrously floated
It's picturesque beauty graciously noted
Pauline Oliver
Just because it makes me remember the first snowfall of the year, and makes me smile :)
Dear Sheyan,
DeleteSometimes one can't help but be moved by the beauty of a snowstorm. I think it would do us all well to stop and witness the artistry of a snowstorm. Thanks for sharing.
Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening
ReplyDeleteBy Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
This poem appeals to me because I can imagine the setting and how beautiful the woods would look with a slim sheet of snow. I read and remembered this poem when I was in the fourth grade, I didn't like it at first but after a while I liked it.
Sincerely,
Brian Holler
Hi Brian,
DeleteOh, you've chosen a poem considered much loved by mannnnnnnnnnny people. It's no accident you liked it. But I think it's more than the slim sheet of snow which appealed to you. If you could ask the narrator any questions, what would you ask? Thanks for sharing!!!!
The Bully By Cheryl Costello Forshey
ReplyDeletehttp://spf2.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=chat&action=display&thread=123
This poem speaks to me because I think that bullying is very much a real life problem that we face in life.
I also think this poem speaks the truth when it talks about people being to scared to intervene when they witness bullying, scared they too might be hurt.
It also shows that bullying a person can later turn that victim into a bully.
I think it also speaks to me because I have been a bullier, I have been the victim, and I have been the bystander at one time or another and know the I feelings that come with being that person.
Jessica M. Lindsay
Dear Jessica,
DeleteThank you for sharing this poem. It's a big emotion, one of the biggest, all that goes with the idea of a bully. You're so honest for speaking about your own roles. It's true for all of us, I venture to say. Thanks for sharing.
Listen to the MUSTEN’TS by: Shel Silverstein
ReplyDeleteListen to the MUSTEN’TS child
Listen to the DON’TS
Listen to the SHOULDN’TS
Listen to the IMPOSSIBLES, the WON’TS
Listen to the NEVER HAVES
Then listen close to me—
Anything can happen, child
ANYTHING can be
I like this poem because it is inspirational. It speaks the truth, pretty amazing.
~Rady 8N
Dear RAdy,
DeleteThank you sharing what I feel is inspirational too. I love the repetition of each line of advice and then the best for last. You mention it speaks the truth. Could you elaborate?
This is the poem that does it for me!
ReplyDeleteIn A Dark Time by Theodore Roethke
In a dark time, the eye begins to see,
I meet my shadow in the deepening shade;
I hear my echo in the echoing wood--
A lord of nature weeping to a tree,
I live between the heron and the wren,
Beasts of the hill and serpents of the den.
What's madness but nobility of soul
At odds with circumstance? The day's on fire!
I know the purity of pure despair,
My shadow pinned against a sweating wall,
That place among the rocks--is it a cave,
Or winding path? The edge is what I have.
A steady storm of correspondences!
A night flowing with birds, a ragged moon,
And in broad day the midnight come again!
A man goes far to find out what he is--
Death of the self in a long, tearless night,
All natural shapes blazing unnatural light.
Dark,dark my light, and darker my desire.
My soul, like some heat-maddened summer fly,
Keeps buzzing at the sill. Which I is I?
A fallen man, I climb out of my fear.
The mind enters itself, and God the mind,
And one is One, free in the tearing wind.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I like this poem because, first of all, its dark. It talks about nature in my interests, and it mentions some line of chaos. Also, it talk about death, I know its unusual to others, but this poem is definitely made for me!
Dear Kelsey,
DeleteI think we all, at times in our lives, are searching for the light and way out of hurt, pain, and "madness." The narrator seems to be grappling with several realities...maybe what his outside pressures place on what he believes inside to be true. It is a dark place but does not need to be lonely. We are never alone. Never. Thank you for sharing!!
Television
ReplyDeleteThe most important thing we've learned,
So far as children are concerned,
Is never, NEVER, NEVER let
Them near your television set --
Or better still, just don't install
The idiotic thing at all.
In almost every house we've been,
We've watched them gaping at the screen.
They loll and slop and lounge about,
And stare until their eyes pop out.
(Last week in someone's place we saw
A dozen eyeballs on the floor.)
They sit and stare and stare and sit
Until they're hypnotized by it,
Until they're absolutely drunk
With all that shocking ghastly junk.
Oh yes, we know it keeps them still,
They don't climb out the window sill,
They never fight or kick or punch,
They leave you free to cook the lunch
And wash the dishes in the sink --
But did you ever stop to think,
To wonder just exactly what
This does to your beloved tot?
IT ROTS THE SENSE IN THE HEAD!
IT KILLS IMAGINATION DEAD!
IT CLOGS AND CLUTTERS UP THE MIND!
IT MAKES A CHILD SO DULL AND BLIND
HE CAN NO LONGER UNDERSTAND
A FANTASY, A FAIRYLAND!
HIS BRAIN BECOMES AS SOFT AS CHEESE!
HIS POWERS OF THINKING RUST AND FREEZE!
HE CANNOT THINK -- HE ONLY SEES!
'All right!' you'll cry. 'All right!' you'll say,
'But if we take the set away,
What shall we do to entertain
Our darling children? Please explain!'
We'll answer this by asking you,
'What used the darling ones to do?
'How used they keep themselves contented
Before this monster was invented?'
Have you forgotten? Don't you know?
We'll say it very loud and slow:
THEY ... USED ... TO ... READ! They'd READ and READ,
AND READ and READ, and then proceed
To READ some more. Great Scott! Gadzooks!
One half their lives was reading books!
The nursery shelves held books galore!
Books cluttered up the nursery floor!
And in the bedroom, by the bed,
More books were waiting to be read!
Such wondrous, fine, fantastic tales
Of dragons, gypsies, queens, and whales
And treasure isles, and distant shores
Where smugglers rowed with muffled oars,
And pirates wearing purple pants,
And sailing ships and elephants,
And cannibals crouching 'round the pot,
Stirring away at something hot.
(It smells so good, what can it be?
Good gracious, it's Penelope.)
The younger ones had Beatrix Potter
With Mr. Tod, the dirty rotter,
And Squirrel Nutkin, Pigling Bland,
And Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle and-
Just How The Camel Got His Hump,
And How the Monkey Lost His Rump,
And Mr. Toad, and bless my soul,
There's Mr. Rat and Mr. Mole-
Oh, books, what books they used to know,
Those children living long ago!
So please, oh please, we beg, we pray,
Go throw your TV set away,
And in its place you can install
A lovely bookshelf on the wall.
Then fill the shelves with lots of books,
Ignoring all the dirty looks,
The screams and yells, the bites and kicks,
And children hitting you with sticks-
Fear not, because we promise you
That, in about a week or two
Of having nothing else to do,
They'll now begin to feel the need
Of having something to read.
And once they start -- oh boy, oh boy!
You watch the slowly growing joy
That fills their hearts. They'll grow so keen
They'll wonder what they'd ever seen
In that ridiculous machine,
That nauseating, foul, unclean,
Repulsive television screen!
And later, each and every kid
Will love you more for what you did
I like this poem by Roald Dahl because even though it is silly and whimsical, there is an element of truth in it. I'm sure we've all seen TV addicts who spend six hour a day in front of the screen, or who zones out and is unresponsive while watching television. It probably would be better if there was no TV, and we just read and went outside, but lets face it; television is entertaining.
Dear Charlie,
DeleteThank you for sharing a poem which celebrates reading so exquisitely. Though I love a good movie, it's books that do it for me. I think this would make the coolest poem to turn into a script and make a digital movie!! Billy Collins did that with a poem he wrote: Forgetfulness. Check it out. Surreal.
Where in this wide world can man find
ReplyDeletenobility without pride,
Friendship without envy,
Or beauty without vanity?
Here, where grace is served with muscle
And strength by gentleness confined
He serves without servility;
he has fought without enmity
. There is nothing so powerful, nothing less violent.
There is nothing so quick, nothing more patient.
~Ronald Duncan, "The Horse," 1954
I love this poem because it is exactly how I feel. I love horses and working with them is amazing. I think this author knew exactly what he was talking about when he wrote this. It is beautiful and I love the way its all posed as a question.
Dear Klaire,
DeleteI enjoyed the narrator's insights about the unique relationship that exists between handler and horse. I have never worked with horses but this narrator has given me a glimpse of how rich an experience it can be. Thanks for sharing.
She Doesn't Know
ReplyDeleteBy "Baller327"
__________________
When did my feelings get so deep
Why did they take that big long leap
Going from friend to crush
What a rush
And I don't think she knows
Since when did her smile make me go weak
Since when did her tears make mine start to leak
Why does this happen when I'm always so strong
When people called me Superman I guess they were wrong
And I don't think she knows
When she talks I cant help but watch her lips
To notice their shape and curves when they dip
Wait, why am I looking? I don't even know
And I cant help but wonder if she even knows
Her beautiful eyes are nothing like ours
They're so deep and bright you'd believe they were stars
They pour forth emotions in raging rivers
They could make even me believe that Santa always delivers
And still she has no idea
Her body is perfection though she denies it
It makes my head spin with every glance I give
She could put any man under her spell
But she doesn't know how I feel and I don't think I'll tell
I love how she looks and who she is
And how she makes me feel like this
I love how she's beautiful and smart with a heart so strong
And how she lives every day like nothing could go wrong
Still she hasn't got a clue
Now school is at an end on the 11th at noon
I wonder if she cares that I'm moving soon
We're parting that day after schools many months
I just wish I could have kissed her just once
Now that I've said it with my poetic skill
I don't think she knew, and now she never will
_______________________________________________
Source: She Doesn't Know I Love Her Poem, Love Poem and 36 Stories http://www.bestteenpoems.com/poem/she-doesnt-know#ixzz1nnf8HEea
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As soon as I read the last fraction of this poem, I sort of felt like I wanted to cry! It's relatable because we're young and have all been exposed to love and have all wanted it to a certain point. Knowing what's done is done once you reach the end leaves question and hurt in you, rather than confusion and question, like usual. I also really like the way he describes the girl, and picks up on the little attributes she has. This proves he cares enough to pay that much attention to her. Truly, a teen-written masterpiece.
p.s., guys are slackers; where's my poem about me? ;)
Hi Izzy,
DeleteI have to agree with you when you suggest the narrator must have felt true love to notice so many attributes! What a love poem! A bit corny at times, but who doesn't enjoy a good love poem!!! I still have the ones my husband wrote to me!!
Thanks for sharing.
By Josh Underwood
ReplyDeleteLove of the Game.
They may not have the most talent,
They may not be the best,
But they do have one thing,
That sticks out from the rest
It's not the outside shot,
or the dominant inside game,
It's about the love and glory,
and playing through the pain.
They'll play from when the anthem sings,
They'll play until the last buzzer rings,
They'll play when they're losing by 20,
or when they're up by more then plenty.
It was that team called Midway,
They weren't in it for the fame,
They sweat blood, guts, and glory,
They loved to play the game.
I really enjoyed this poem because basketball is my favorite sport. Not just that but how it is saying that it is not about how good you are, if your the best, but it is your passion for the game and not all bout the fame.
Hi Brian,
DeleteYes, it is a wonderful message about the love of game taking you far! I love the stories of underdog teams who lack much talent, but they put their hearts and soul into the game, and sometimes win. Thanks for sharing.
Anything is possible, if you think it is worthwhile
ReplyDeleteIf you’re willing to go the distance, to go the extra mile.
With determination and effort, you can often achieve more
Because you don’t always get what you wish, but what you work for.
Dreams can become challenging, but no matter what the cost
Strive to complete the task before you, and you’ll never end up lost.
So bring with you your goals, and leave your doubts behind
Whether you think you can or can’t, you certainly will find
You’ll be right either way–so never quit, and this is why:
You’ll never become a failure, until you fail to try.
I like this poem, because it tells the reader what ever you do don't ever give up don't ever back down. You don't ever say the game is over or we will lose. You try as hard as you can even with seconds left.
From: Cooper
Dear Cooper,
DeleteI was thinking about the word Quit when I read this...I've wanted to quit many times but I can't unless I have a reason and it can't be from fear. The idea of doubts mentioned here kinda reminded me of the fear I sometime feel which gets me down.
Thanks for sharing!
Life is Like Playing Basketball
ReplyDeleteLife is like playing basketball
dribble, run, walk, jump and shoot.
play without a ball and a goal
and the game will be pointless
so keep an eye on the ball and focus on the goal
dribble, sweat, give energy and effort
and play with enthusiasm and joy.
Champs Ulysses Cabinatan
I like this poem a lot because it uses my favorite sport and compares it to life and how hard it can be but you should never give up and you should have fun while you can..
Dear Ceara,
DeleteI've never seen this poem and I like it a lot. I can see how the simile is perfect. Life is like playing bb. I've felt like I've fouled out this week. Flu! Ick! lol
Thanks for sharing.
Daddy's Day
ReplyDeleteBy Cheryl Costello-Forshey
Her hair up in a ponytail, her favorite dress tied with a bow
Today was Daddy’s Day at school, and she couldn’t wait to go
But her mommy tried to tell her, that she probably should stay home
Why the kids might not understand, if she went to school alone
But she was not afraid; she knew just what to say
What to tell her classmates, on this Daddy’s Day
But still her mother worried, for her to face this day alone
And that was why once again, she tried to keep her daughter home
But the little girl went to school, eager to tell them all
About a dad she never sees, a dad who never calls
There were daddies along the wall in back, for everyone to meet Children squirming impatiently, anxious in their seats One by one the teacher called, a student from the class To introduce their daddy, as seconds slowly passed At last the teacher called her name, every child turned to stare Each of them were searching, for a man that wasn’t there "Where’s her daddy at?" She heard a boy call out "She probably doesn’t have one." Another student dared to shout And from somewhere near the back, she heard a daddy say "Looks like another deadbeat dad, too busy to waste his day."
The words did not offend her, as she smiled at her friends And looked back at her teacher, who told her to begin And with hands behind her back, slowly she began to speak And out from the mouth of a child, came words incredibly unique "My Daddy couldn’t be here, because he lives so far away But I know he wishes he could be, with me on this day And though you cannot meet him, I wanted you to know All about my daddy, and how much he loves me so He loved to tell me stories, he taught me to ride my bike He surprised me with pink roses, and he taught me to fly a kite We used to share fudge sundaes, and ice cream in a cone And though you cannot see him, I’m not standing all alone 'Cause my daddy’s always with me, even though we are apart I know because he told me, he’ll forever be here in my heart"
With that her little hand reached up, and lay across her chest Feeling her own heartbeat, beneath her favorite dress And from somewhere in the crowd of dads, her mother stood in tears Proudly watching her daughter, who was wise beyond her years For she stood up for the love, of a man not in her life Doing what was best for her, doing what was right And when she dropped her hand back down, staring straight into the crowd She finished with a voice so soft, but its message clear and loud
"I love my daddy very much, he’s my shining star And if he could he’d be here, but heavens just too far
But sometimes when I close my eyes, it’s like he never went away" And then she closed her eyes, and saw him there that day
And to her mother’s amazement, she witnessed with surprise A room full of daddies and children, all starting to close their eyes Who knows what they saw before them, who knows what they felt inside Perhaps for merely a second, they saw him at her side
"I know you’re with me Daddy." To the silence she called out And what happened next made believers, of those once filled with doubt Not one in that room could explain it, for each of their eyes had been closed But there placed on her desktop, was a beautiful fragrant pink rose And a child was blessed, if only a moment, by the love of her shining bright star And given the gift of believing, that heaven is never too far
I chose this poem as a poem that does it for me because I can relate to it very well. My dad is not dead but I only get see him once or twice every year, because of his job. Being so far away means he doesn’t get to share those major moments in my life with me, like the girl in this poem. Our mom’s get to. Even though our dad’s might not be in our life’s much, or at all, we still love them, miss them and think about them everyday. ♥
Walking around a life full of broken glass,
ReplyDeleteNothing more than a disapointment to be seen.
Cries, anger, fear, all but weakens the soul
For everything around me was out of control.
Reflections of what I could become all around
Questioning, and assuming right from wrong.
Nothing but a blur from a broken world,
that was held up to be close to perfection.
All now is seen but guilt and confession.
How far must one go to overpass this obsticle
Of broken glass only in pain to step further
Out in a distance of lost time and hope,
A trance one had set in a mind of illusions
Only to be alone in such pain and confusion,
from afar, pure beauty steps out from dark
Lighting the soul, heart, and an open mind
One thought life at hand was all in a bind.
The trance is lost as she herself is revealed
Stunned by her beauty and heart to be healed.
Showing me a world with no telling how I feel
by: Christopher Serr
I like this poem because i can relate and I like how he words things.
I enjoyed this poem as well. It really opens my eyes and makes me think about how to relate things with it.
ReplyDelete