I was walking 
          through 
                  the hall 
                        the one 
                             with the big windows
                                                 I turned the corner 
                                          ¡OW!
                                      my 
                               toe!
                        OW 
                  Ow 
            ow 
 

"Boastful brook, bubbling brook"

In the style of Mary Oliver

Boastful brook, bubbling brook,
how do you go on so carelessly?
The rocks stand stationary, as if
someone's condemned them to 
rest for eternity, never to be
set free, like the brook
that gurgles in glee.
The brook
has no care in the 
world, except the fact that
the woods are forever
still and it is not.
Boastful brook, bubbling brook,
how do you go on so carelessly?
You sing loudly, you
dance and part the rocks
as if to taunt them.
For they have everything
to lose and
nothing to look forward to.
Boastful brook, bubbling brook,
how do you go on so carelessly?
For you torture these rocks,
and you torture these 
woods with you apathetic
gurgles  and gulps and games.
The games which we can never play,
the games which we wish to play. 

"Hues Brook"

In the syle of Mary Oliver

An island hurls its mossy peaks to green heaven
Noble cliffs over sculpted water
Great monoliths you can sit on 
and so many pebblew cluster round
the bigger stones, covering their 
red, white, black, yellow heads from the 
roars of that eternal torrent, pebbles of every color 
and of every shape that you've seen
throwing off their hundred hues 
A painting framed in white foam. 

By Marcus
Crossroads Academy
Grade 8