Posts
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Last Day of School
I wrote this poem about a month ago, and I recited it at Fifth Grade Night on Wednesday, June 12, and just this morning at my graduation.
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is this what graduation feels like?
Fifth grade in my school is when
one of the kindergartners is your
book buddy,
when we read to them every Friday morning,
and when we leave,
it's when we mourn
the loss of our little friend
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it's an adventure
my best friend
lives up the street from me
today is sunday
at one pm we'll meet up,
go chasing after the tantalizing jingle
that roams our neighborhood every weekend,
announcing cold sugary treats,
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summer ramblings
the horizon blurs into a mess of golden dots
half-glowing in the early sunset, and
the shoreline into greenish brown, swaying
slightly and I can't tell if it's the long grass in the breeze or the angle I'm at
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Delights
Ross Gay, a famed poet and essayist whose works include Catalogue of Unabashed Gratitude and Bringing The Shovel Down, is known for his essayettes of delights, compiled in The Book of Delights and The Book of More De
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joy
summer awakens that joy in me
not the kind
people attempt to attribute to poetry
(go read some poems,
idiots,
go find out that poets
aren't always joyful,
go discover that sadness
Loves
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My Mother: The Earth
I was born in the morning
when the wind's gentle hands
would fly past me- laughing
should we run through the land
I was born as the birds were
under the eaves
of a soothing huckleberry
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Things I've Noticed From AP Capstone; Class of 2024
Semester 1
I.
Sudoku from the New York Times
Stays open on our computers.
One holds a tennis ball in her right hand as she talks,
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Mauve
Mauve is the lipstick we stole from your mother,
smeared sideways across your mouth and all over
your Sprite bottle,
a clandestine weight in your pocket
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hummingbird girl
She's hidden, cowering in the corner,
as she waits, mouth open,
words frozen on her lips.
She does not speak.
I mold my sadness into poetry and she watches me,
amber eyes taking in everything and nothing.
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The gift of life
From the moment we are born
We are given a gift
And at first we don't realize it
As children we think less about the why and the how
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Pluvia
Time seems to move slower when it rains
Cars hesitate before they turn
Bird wings lag as raindrops batter their feathers
The world seems small and heavy