Showing posts with label Poem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poem. Show all posts
Friday, August 7, 2009
vacation
im out at my Gran's house on her computer since she doesn't have wifi. I have been playing sims, visiting with my cousins and eating a jimmy roll. they are real yummy. vanilla and chocolate rolled in sprinkles , yummy. we are watching the price is right. i know this sounds rivetting and stuff but I have jet lag and poems would be a little hard.
Friday, July 31, 2009
best time
best time poem by me
dark as the night, long after light
twelve to three, A.M. not P.
its the best time to be
awake and hopping,
not asleep and dropping
the moon glitters with the stars
sometimes you can even see Mars
little lights
nothing bright
cool and soothing
also a good time for brooding
ever little noise echoes around
but you can hear every sound
some people slumber
others wonder
no one watches, and no one looks
a few people have their noses in books
you toss and turn, as sleep comes
soon the heavy breathing hums
dark as the night, long before bright
dark as the night, long after light
twelve to three, A.M. not P.
its the best time to be
awake and hopping,
not asleep and dropping
the moon glitters with the stars
sometimes you can even see Mars
little lights
nothing bright
cool and soothing
also a good time for brooding
ever little noise echoes around
but you can hear every sound
some people slumber
others wonder
no one watches, and no one looks
a few people have their noses in books
you toss and turn, as sleep comes
soon the heavy breathing hums
dark as the night, long before bright
Thursday, July 30, 2009
personification poem
Insanity-
Her longing cries from behind locked doors,
A sea of frey from wall to wall,
She prances in the soft silky slippers,
Small graying face full of joy and laughter,
Twisted.
Blue eyes with the blackest of raven hair,
A tangle and a mess of hair,
She teases me as the sun goes down,
Her voice like chimes in the gray, gray room,
Bars on her windows,
Moon on her skin,
Nails drum at the walls covered in cravings made with her little nails,
Drumming hte nails again and again in a staccato rhythm,
Threatening.
I will get out, I will get out,
The sun rises and fingers thread in and out,
In and out.
Of her tangled mess of hair,
I have won for now,
But insanity has no escape.
Her longing cries from behind locked doors,
A sea of frey from wall to wall,
She prances in the soft silky slippers,
Small graying face full of joy and laughter,
Twisted.
Blue eyes with the blackest of raven hair,
A tangle and a mess of hair,
She teases me as the sun goes down,
Her voice like chimes in the gray, gray room,
Bars on her windows,
Moon on her skin,
Nails drum at the walls covered in cravings made with her little nails,
Drumming hte nails again and again in a staccato rhythm,
Threatening.
I will get out, I will get out,
The sun rises and fingers thread in and out,
In and out.
Of her tangled mess of hair,
I have won for now,
But insanity has no escape.
identity poem
I know, just posted a minute ago but this is a poem I wrote.
In the mirror before my eyes, I see a brown haired girl, she loves that amusement ride that winds and falls, removing the heads of her Barbie dolls. Why Not? They look more normal, without their heads making them inhumanly perfect and normal, girls should admire those who do not have amazing toes. No one is perfect you see, not even a Barbie (Especially when her head is flat)
Picking at her dinner plate, watching horror films when its late, by the beach with Anna B., eating ice cream that is head to knee, they are both sticky, because its so hard to properly get the milky yumminess into your mouth as a child, at the beautiful beach.
On the feild a soccer ball goes, swoosh, in the net, swoosh. vacant silence, cricket-cricket, cheers erupt like they are in Thunderdome feet trample on the turf.
She laughs at jokes, cries during movies with endings that make you choke up inside, some say her smile can light up a sunny day. Not her she thinks her nose crinkles a bit too much, too many freckles, but she doesn't mind.
She finds the night to be like a beautiful flower, blooming and shining with the moon, the stars glittering diamons. Little rain frops on the petals of the night and the sea as dark as the deepest hole with the moon reflection.
In the mirror before me, guess who it is I see! This brown haired girl dancing with the wind, twirling and laughing before my freen eyes, wet from the spraying water or sledding in the light snow. This girl I see, that girl. Is me.
In the mirror before my eyes, I see a brown haired girl, she loves that amusement ride that winds and falls, removing the heads of her Barbie dolls. Why Not? They look more normal, without their heads making them inhumanly perfect and normal, girls should admire those who do not have amazing toes. No one is perfect you see, not even a Barbie (Especially when her head is flat)
Picking at her dinner plate, watching horror films when its late, by the beach with Anna B., eating ice cream that is head to knee, they are both sticky, because its so hard to properly get the milky yumminess into your mouth as a child, at the beautiful beach.
On the feild a soccer ball goes, swoosh, in the net, swoosh. vacant silence, cricket-cricket, cheers erupt like they are in Thunderdome feet trample on the turf.
She laughs at jokes, cries during movies with endings that make you choke up inside, some say her smile can light up a sunny day. Not her she thinks her nose crinkles a bit too much, too many freckles, but she doesn't mind.
She finds the night to be like a beautiful flower, blooming and shining with the moon, the stars glittering diamons. Little rain frops on the petals of the night and the sea as dark as the deepest hole with the moon reflection.
In the mirror before me, guess who it is I see! This brown haired girl dancing with the wind, twirling and laughing before my freen eyes, wet from the spraying water or sledding in the light snow. This girl I see, that girl. Is me.
quoting maximum ride
Poem By Max- Quote from The Final Warning, Book Four of the Maximum Ride Series.
White is the color of little bunnies with pink noses.
White is the color of fluffy clouds cluffing their way across the sky.
White is the color of soft-serve ice cream in a cone.
White is the color of angels' wings and Angel's wings.
White is the color of brand-new ankle socks fresh out of the bag.
White is the color of crisp sheets in schmancy hotels.
White is the color of every last freaking, gol-danged thing you see for endless miles and miles if you happen to be in Antarctica trying to save the world, which now you aren't so sure youcan do because you feel like if you see any more whiteness-- Wonder Bread, someone's underwear, teeth-- you will completely and totally lose you ever-lovin' mind and wind up pushing a grocery cart full of empty cans around New York City, muttering to yourself.
By Maximum Ride, The Final Warning Book Four of the Maximum Ride Series.
This book in now way belongs to me and is the writing and property of author James Patterson.
White is the color of little bunnies with pink noses.
White is the color of fluffy clouds cluffing their way across the sky.
White is the color of soft-serve ice cream in a cone.
White is the color of angels' wings and Angel's wings.
White is the color of brand-new ankle socks fresh out of the bag.
White is the color of crisp sheets in schmancy hotels.
White is the color of every last freaking, gol-danged thing you see for endless miles and miles if you happen to be in Antarctica trying to save the world, which now you aren't so sure youcan do because you feel like if you see any more whiteness-- Wonder Bread, someone's underwear, teeth-- you will completely and totally lose you ever-lovin' mind and wind up pushing a grocery cart full of empty cans around New York City, muttering to yourself.
By Maximum Ride, The Final Warning Book Four of the Maximum Ride Series.
This book in now way belongs to me and is the writing and property of author James Patterson.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)