S: Poetry Project
FC: Sam Rakowski 21 February 2010 Ms. Glenn, 1st period Poetry Project
1: Table of Contents Where I'm From pg. 2-3 My Mother's Kitchen pg 4-5 Ode to GSMST Poem pg 6-7 Language Arts Poem pg 8 Song pg 8-10 Free Choice Poem 2 pg 11-13
2: Where I'm From I’m from junky suburban neighborhoods. From tiny cities where you know everyone. I am from new neighborhoods every 100 meters. From annoying neighbors that come over to your house way too much. I’m from too much traffic when you need to get somewhere quickly. From those annoying reversible lane systems. I am from every single family member living in another state. From 3 separate trips every summer. I’m from my big brother annoying me every day and my parents not believing me. I’m from music defining everything
3: And the majority of my memories based on my music. I’m from going to work with my parents and wanting to be just like them. I’m from you can do anything but not wanting to do anything I’m from not going outside for days to use the computer for hours But now not wanting to touch the computer Because it’s associated with homework now.
4: My Mother's Kitchen My mother’s kitchen Is a messy thing With things strewn about And appliances with dings. Stepping through The stacks of stuff If only you knew It is not all fluff. To each person their own You see What makes you moan Can also bring glee An organized kitchen Truly is not the best Stepping through obstacles Is part of the fun!
5: To be serious Kitchens are cool If they seem delirious Go back to school.
6: Ode to GSMST Oh, GSMST Why do you strain me so With 2 times more homework Than we should have You suck away My social life And drown all possibilities Of extra curricular activities It really isn’t even your fault I declare it mine For my horrible time management For chronically wasting time I will not leave you I can’t even try To go back to my old school The horror within
7: To finish I guess that I am happy That I attend this school Even though my study skills Are lacking.
8: Language Arts Language Arts is a necessary class It sure increases my binder mass I can not write And poems give me fright I can’t believe I still can pass.
9: Free Choice Poem Think of your lifetime as one day, it's fading away, the shadows are growing long. Think of existence as a flame, and death as rain. Storm clouds there right along. At life's eve our flames will cease, eternally, unavoidably. Eventually all paths will lead to the cemetery. We are but falling leaves in the air, hovering down. Unaware we are spinning around. Scattered fragments of time, like blinks of an eye. We are... That's all we are. Think of your lifetime as one year, look, autumn is here.
10: Getting colder... the winter's impending. Your conclusion's drawing near, certain, austere. Yes, only the circle's unending. At life's eve our flames will cease, eternally, unavoidably. Eventually all paths will lead to the cemetery. To the prior deceased. We are but falling leaves in the air, hovering down. Unaware we will hit the ground We are but falling leaves in the air, hovering down. Unaware we will hit the ground Scattered fragments of time, like blinks of an eye. We are. Just when we realize that we are alive, we die.
11: Caged Bird A free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wing in the orange sun rays and dares to claim the sky. But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage can seldom see through his bars of rage his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing.
12: The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard on the distant hill for the caged bird sings of freedom. The free bird thinks of another breeze and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn and he names the sky his own. But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing.
13: The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard on the distant hill for the caged bird sings of freedom.