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Poetry Portfolio

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Poetry Portfolio - Page Text Content

S: Nicholas Gomez Poetry Portfolio

BC: All poems not made by Robert Frost were created by Nicholas A. Gomez | The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

FC: Poetry Portfolio Nicholas A. Gomez Language Arts, 3rd Block

1: Table of Contents | "Tribute to GSMST" .....................Page 1 "The Art of Language: Language Arts" ..........................Page 3 "Mother's Kitchen Prison" ..............Page 5 "Self Respect" ...........................Page 7 "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" .........................Page 9 "The Road Not Taken" -Closing Poem* .........................Page 11 | Table of Contents | * Page 11 is the back cover of this portfolio

2: Tribute to GSMST Grand is what it is, no lesser word can describe it. Give the students an equation, and they will derive it. They are superb, ingenious, and unbelievable, Their legend can't be surpassed, it is almost unreachable, At that scholastic establishment in Gwinnett. So what is this elite foundation? A building that infests one with a unique sensation, Under the awe of the school, one stumbles through the door. It is a rigorous place of academic splendor, That tremendous School, master of knowledge domination. It is my high school, the place that is meant for me, The workload here has pupils crying for mercy. Mathematics is our signature profession, The place is struck with a calculus obsession. Mathematics drives us like pneumatics drives machines. Yes, the school has language arts and history, But science is prevalent. There is no doubt to this, just ask anybody, We have physics rampant. Science is never irrelevant. Focused on achievement, no dilemmas to success, Like MIT, robotics is our interest. GSMST is number one, platinum in the state, STEM is our soul, it puts pride in our gait. We are the prodigies of modern Technology. And this is our tribute to the GS of MST. | 1

3: Take the road not taken... it will make a difference. | 2

4: "The most feared words in the English language are "I'm here from the government and I want to help." " -Ronald Reagan | 3

5: The Art of Language: Language Arts Language Arts is a paradox like a time travel question. The arts of language may seem daunting, With all of those novels, short stories, and that lengthy writing. Student of literature, however, have no fear, To be successful, there is no need to be a Shakespeare All one needs to know to ace bewildering pop quizzes, Is reading, grammar, vocabulary, Greek roots, and all of that business. Not too difficult when you put your mind at it, ...Until you realize that's not it You may come to realize, as I have just: Quizzes and worksheets may be simple, but, There are the interims and summative tests... Which to pass require one to try their best... So long as your best is near, That of the old Shakespeare I guess this must be due to the fact that Even this paradox is easier to understand, Than the good old World Lit. Language Arts is a paradox. | 3 | 4

6: Mother's Kitchen Prison Little sister of the family walked into the kitchen, The most critical mistake of her day. She waddled to the small dining table, waiting for dinner, just sitting, Not aware of what was coming her way. Mother simply, subtly gazed at her, Grinning with a look of wicked amusement, Away, by only half a meter, From the searing oven unit. Little sister still sat, in her normal chair, Like a sleeping watchdog, oblivious, To the contents of the oven, her mother’s stare, And the devices of Mother, cunning and mischievous. Mother was an electromagnetic wave, Swiftly opening the oven, recovering its heated contents, And placing them on the table, the horror displayed. Little sister, terrified, scrambled out of her chair with escape-oriented intent. The now-eerie green walls of the kitchen seemed to edge closer, Little sister blocked by Mother from escaping through the door. The patch of dead, lifeless material on the table grew viler, And emitted an odor like the stench that hangs above a marsh, a moor. And then that dreaded sentence from Mother ripped through the air, “Eat your baked vegetables dear,” was uttered, a deadly undertone there. My little sister was trapped with the vegetables in the kitchen, Dungeoned in Mother’s Kitchen Prison. | 5

7: ...green walls... | ...kitchen . prison... | 6

8: 7 | ... Nicholas G. | "Stay True, Stay You" -Anonymous

9: 8 | Self Respect Sometimes I impress the world, sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I mess up, sometimes I won’t. Depend on how the day feels, I might even just doze. It really just depends on what I behold. I’m not the average student from down the road. And I’m not the awkward kid that you’ve been told. But I learned it doesn’t matter what they say, Because I am on top of the world every day. I’m not the average teen from up the street. My worth is not determined by anyone except me. No matter what others believe, I will always be living out my dreams. I will always be Nicholas G.

10: 9 | 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.

11: 10 | ...And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.

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Nicholas Gomez
  • By: Nicholas G.
  • Joined: almost 9 years ago
  • Published Mixbooks: 1
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About This Mixbook

  • Title: Poetry Portfolio
  • Nicholas A. Gomez GSMST 2010-11
  • Tags: None
  • Published: almost 9 years ago