Poetry
A crowdsourced “Where I'm From” poem
Mrs. Zingarella’s B Block English 10 Class
We are from places where money and buildings don’t exist.
From the treehouse in our memories.
We are from the United States of America
With freedom and power, “The best country in the world.”
We are from Holden and houses filled with babydolls,
Oldest sister labels and clothes not put away.
We are from s'mores, a fire pit, and mosquito bites
Like bumps of red fire, warm, uncomfortable, and itchy.
We are from big families
With grandparents always there to help.
We are from the rolling green hills with the mountain in the distance,
The heights making it look as if everything is within reach.
We are from the big school on the hill and the Mountaineer in his overalls.
We are Wachusett!
A crowdsourced “Where I'm From” poem
Mrs. Zingarella’s C Block English 10 Class
We are from old swing sets found on the side of the road,
The cracking old wood that requires paint every year.
We are from warm and fuzzy smelling candles
And innocent times.
We are from big family reunions and endless laughs.
From “Be seen, not heard!”
We are from grit, respect, and discipline,
Like a road map to follow.
We are from dark green doors that lead to the bottom floor
The creaking that lets us know mom is home from work.
We are from baseball families,
Wiffle Balls and bats in the backyard.
We are from love, discipline, and respect.
We are from the rolling green hills with the mountain in the distance,
The heights making it look as if everything is within reach.
We are from the big school on the hill and the Mountaineer in his overalls.
We are Wachusett!
Mrs. Zingarella’s B Block English 10 Class
We are from places where money and buildings don’t exist.
From the treehouse in our memories.
We are from the United States of America
With freedom and power, “The best country in the world.”
We are from Holden and houses filled with babydolls,
Oldest sister labels and clothes not put away.
We are from s'mores, a fire pit, and mosquito bites
Like bumps of red fire, warm, uncomfortable, and itchy.
We are from big families
With grandparents always there to help.
We are from the rolling green hills with the mountain in the distance,
The heights making it look as if everything is within reach.
We are from the big school on the hill and the Mountaineer in his overalls.
We are Wachusett!
A crowdsourced “Where I'm From” poem
Mrs. Zingarella’s C Block English 10 Class
We are from old swing sets found on the side of the road,
The cracking old wood that requires paint every year.
We are from warm and fuzzy smelling candles
And innocent times.
We are from big family reunions and endless laughs.
From “Be seen, not heard!”
We are from grit, respect, and discipline,
Like a road map to follow.
We are from dark green doors that lead to the bottom floor
The creaking that lets us know mom is home from work.
We are from baseball families,
Wiffle Balls and bats in the backyard.
We are from love, discipline, and respect.
We are from the rolling green hills with the mountain in the distance,
The heights making it look as if everything is within reach.
We are from the big school on the hill and the Mountaineer in his overalls.
We are Wachusett!
Beyond the Willow
Anonymous [for all who have experienced loss…] -- somewhere beyond the willow, there sat a solitary grave, a stone by a young pond that laid still seldom but a wave. every week a girl came to visit, she sat down and spilled her heart; she needed to talk to someone, needed somewhere to restart. a loss so little but yet so great, it created an earthquake that tore- the young girl’s heart in two, it spun the world around once more. she thought she was grounded; had her feet tethered to the ground, but here she was, once again, her little heart had unwound. denial came first, then came the tears, she thought she had more time than this, at least half a year. she begged and bargained for an answer, screamed and cursed foul words, but no one was there to listen, nay, except a few songbirds. but then she felt a hand, a soft one on her head, one that reminded her of the one she lost, and soon the wind had said “it’s okay to cry, little one, it’s okay to feel guilt too, but it’s not alright to stop living because i can’t be next to you.” but the girl said “no, that can’t be true, that must be a lie, because there is no way i’ll be okay without you at my side.” the wind replied in kind, spoke with gentle words, reminded the girl of a simple truth, she had forgotten she had heard. “you may never be okay with the things you can’t control, but there is a reason why those things exist, even if it takes a toll. ...we may not live forever, nor ever will we know when our time here will end, when it is time to let go. ...but do not be discouraged, as there is more to life than loss, think of all the things you have to love and only after may you be cross. ...because while you may never be okay with the disappearance of a soul, there are many more with open arms who want to make you whole.” she looked at the willow above, and then the grave by her feet, although just a stone, she almost felt just a little bit more complete. after some time spent listening to what the wind had to say, the girl stood up, brushed off her knees, and turned to walk away. despite the hole in her heart, she’d be back, but she knew not when; all that she knew was that when she returned, she’d be ready to build herself up again. -- inspired by “When Tomorrow Starts Without Me” by Erica Shea Liupaeter It Gets Better
Ali Willoughby You are worth it. You deserve Everything. You bring me up When I am down. You spread a smile Across my face. Life gets better. It can be hard. It can be sad. Even confusing. I promise you Life gets better. Friends
Addison Havens in the style of Mahogany L. Browne FRIENDS Don’t leave you behind Don’t get up and say You’re not “cool” (anymore) Friends Are kind & understanding & thoughtful & they don't say You ugly & weird FRIENDS Are supposed to be like family Are supposed to be kind, Are supposed to be thoughtful Are supposed to be understanding BUT NOT HER She mean She fake She wrap you around her little finger & when she done She throw you away I learned the hard way About friends About rumors About trust And I learned The difference between Fake & R E A L The Coming of Death
Sasha Teymurazyan Darkness Nothingness Emptiness Silence The cold biting me Attacking me Silencing me Ending me The light started to fade As my mind began to degrade The cold like a blade Stabbed While I decayed Death had come Its warm embrace Come to collect To take me from this place It was over He took my soul I was over This was his goal My story ended In disarray As my life was taken By Mr. K |
En Pointe
Iris Rhyee A ballerina on strings Ballet slippers bouncing over broken glass shards Shards of a mirror that once stood tall A mirror like a river flowing through a quiet valley Alone Yet surrounded Do you think the river is lonely? The ballerina leans over Gaze upon her face, the serene water Breaking up as the stream flows Hear the water trickle Caress her cheek kindly She will never see through her reflection No matter how hard she stares The proximity burns her So close, but never quite enough They dangle it in front of her face Like fish bait, The ballerina still dances over glass As she looks down at the mess she made Her reflection shines in the crystal She will never be Like the other girls Whose mirrors are still intact. Where I Am From
Benjamin King I am from an old country home, On a small town road Where the birds chirp, The leaves fall, The wind blows gently, And laughter rings. The neighbors shake their heads, At the sound of boys Playin’ in the dirt. I am from camouflage and orange caps To fishing lures and bang snaps. I am from the smell of Dad’s old canoe As he carried it over his head Place it onto the water. The sound of the electric motor, Towing through the lily pads On a cloudy summer’s day. I am from the Sunday gridiron, Throwing the pigskin in the fall. Watching the Pats play the East We were always the best of them all. I am from the overuse of “Dude!” and “Bible!” Which was practically in our blood. To skinny golden bats and skinny builds We never changed much at all My roots are cemented here at home But my memories not the same I find my happy place on the beach, Or maybe lost in Maine. I am from the people that make me smile, And my brother’s loyal bond, To my Memere’s laughs and my Pop-Pop's chuckles It truly never gets old. I am from rock piles to coarse sand Home to Nauset Beach. Where the waves crash and the wind howls, My dad screaming “SHARK!” Not always do I linger, In places so intense. I can be found on soft shores With soft sands, My mother gently reading. Cape sands and cape shores Will forever hold their place. But my dreams may fall elsewhere In a more distant place. The goal to see the Montana sun Or maybe the Alaskan falls Spikes the hunt burning inside Rushing through my veins. From Caribou in the Arctic And Elk in the Rockies I want to see them all, Wild. What the memory it would be, If I could just hold, One such trophy, Just for me. As much as I would love To venture and freely roam There's a special place That I call home Back in a country town In Massachusetts. So, whenever it may seem Too tight to breathe, Too far to reach, Or too much to handle, I always know a place On a small town road Where the birds chirp, The leaves fall, The wind blows gently, And laughter rings. That is where I am from. Sequel
Logan Domineck There once was a fellow named Bright, Who found himself with a plight He was short by one day But could only run one way To get to the previous night. And now I’ve lost my thought’s train So far off return is is vain I suppose I’ll keep to the rhyme And write for some time ‘Till my pen’s tip is split in twain I hope you don’t mind listening to me For my head’s such a boring place to be Some people think not They ask what I think quite a lot But I don’t know what they see And now I’ve completely lost track And fear we’ll never get back The plot’s disappeared And it’s just as I feared All that’s left is the ramblings of a hack. The rhythm’s constant I guess But the tone is just such a mess All my stories end thus A tangled mess of stuff Where each stanza makes sense less and less I have no idea what I’m writing Honestly it’s rather frightening My pen scrapes as it goes My hand writing this prose Ideas rushing through my head like lightning Nor do I understand Why limericks come out of my hand It seems to enjoy the rhymes I certainly do sometimes But whenever I try, the tone comes out like sand I know my writing sounds smooth, (I do still have much to improve) I can’t help but assume That every flaw is my doom Even when I fall into a groove 1 simple sequel was all I sought But now I see that’s for naught My ranting runs greater And in a moment, I’d wager I’ll finish with some incomplete thought This idea emerged in my mind whole, From a limerick that touched my soul I was possessed by my plan Like some kind of madman And my poem has grown out of control Thank you for listening, my friend I’ve my pen’s tip to attend I’m sorry to fill your time With my inept little rhyme But we’ve finally come to an end Walt Whitman, A Cosmic Inquiry
Emily Tonning Do you have a map of the stars? What did you use, Uncle Walt, All those years ago? What gave you the strength, Uncle Walt, To shamelessly walk against the scornful edges of this planet, Despite the chance that your clothes would catch Or that your skin would get cut up? How were you so brave, Uncle Walt? So sure of yourself, and so proud, Amidst a world where your kind wasn’t allowed? What constellations gave you the strength? Maybe it was as if the stars were inside of you the whole time. |
Avery Heights Drive
Avery Heppenstall
Avery. My first name.
The name my mother
Had to name me
The name that my father
Didn't bother to argue
Always Avery.
The name that was decided for me
When my mom was only five.
As she turned the corner to her new street
She read the sign
Avery Heights Drive.
From then on
Every doll she named
Only the prettiest name she knew
Avery.
When I grew five
And I read my name
On the back of my bedroom door
I thought it looked ugly
The way the R and the Y seemed to collide
The way that the V looked quite too much like the Y
I hated my name.
My grandmother's cursive
On each birthday card.
My cousins had their extravagant Ks and Ws
And all I got was a lowercase A
But as time grew,
And so did I
The name Avery didn’t seem so bad.
I began to care less,
About people pronouncing it
In the choppy ave-er-ree
That I so much despised.
Cared less about the R and the Y,
When my grandfather passed
And I realized that I will always have him with me
In that R and that Y
As I turned that corner
For the very last time,
I read Avery Heights Drive.
And then every birthday card
Every name tag on my desk,
The way my name flowed off my teacher’s lips during attendance
And I would proudly say here,
Because that was my name
Just as it was printed on that sign;
Ave-ree,
A-V-E-R-Y
Avery Heppenstall
Avery. My first name.
The name my mother
Had to name me
The name that my father
Didn't bother to argue
Always Avery.
The name that was decided for me
When my mom was only five.
As she turned the corner to her new street
She read the sign
Avery Heights Drive.
From then on
Every doll she named
Only the prettiest name she knew
Avery.
When I grew five
And I read my name
On the back of my bedroom door
I thought it looked ugly
The way the R and the Y seemed to collide
The way that the V looked quite too much like the Y
I hated my name.
My grandmother's cursive
On each birthday card.
My cousins had their extravagant Ks and Ws
And all I got was a lowercase A
But as time grew,
And so did I
The name Avery didn’t seem so bad.
I began to care less,
About people pronouncing it
In the choppy ave-er-ree
That I so much despised.
Cared less about the R and the Y,
When my grandfather passed
And I realized that I will always have him with me
In that R and that Y
As I turned that corner
For the very last time,
I read Avery Heights Drive.
And then every birthday card
Every name tag on my desk,
The way my name flowed off my teacher’s lips during attendance
And I would proudly say here,
Because that was my name
Just as it was printed on that sign;
Ave-ree,
A-V-E-R-Y
Where I'm From
Monique Garrepy
Where exactly am I from?
I’m from the smell of chicken broth every Saturday morning,
to the sight of sun rays peeking through the window blinds into your eyes,
to the sound of birds chirping all around my bedroom,
to the feeling of wanting to sleep an extra five minutes,
which soon turned to just staring at your bedroom ceiling for another thirty.
I’m from the 2000’s karate films that used to make me think I was a ninja warrior,
to the smell of steamed rice and marinated chicken,
to the sound of the microwave beeping non-stop because someone decided to go to the restroom at the wrong time,
to the sight of young kids riding their scooters and bikes down the hill,
then hearing them scream so loud it would soon become the neighborhood alarm.
I’m from creaky and chipped floor planks,
to a backyard garden with cucumbers and red peppers,
to photo albums and journals piling uptop a table,
to taking off our shoes as soon as we enter the house,
to old disc albums piling under the coffee table,
to blankets and pillows on the sofa for movie night,
to pickle jars that don’t even have pickles in them,
to water full jars with tiny growing plants,
to thermal lunch cups with fried noodles.
This is where I’m from.
I’m from a family of three,
to my mother who makes me smile with my eyes,
her arms welcoming me home from school,
a bowl of my favorite noodles are ready on the table,
always seems like she knows when I am having a bad day.
I’m from a family of two,
to my father who helps me laugh until I get a stomachache,
was the first to actually teach me how to subtract numbers,
asks to only play the card game “spoons” because it’s the only game he’s good at,
always tries to secretly signal for me to prepare to take a spoon because he has four matches.
I’m from a family of one,
to my younger brother who lets me tell him how my day went,
stays up past bedtime because he wants to play goldfish and journal with me,
wakes me up on weekends to just bother me because he’s bored,
always finds ways to spend time with me because we don’t spend as much time together.
I’m from a family that lives on the other side of the world,
to my grandparents that send me pictures of them standing in front of palm trees,
to my cousins that send voice messages singing the English alphabet,
to my aunts and uncles that reply with the most ridiculous stickers to other family members’ selfies.
I’m from a welcoming home,
to a cozy living room,
I’m from a great family,
that has shaped who I am.
This is exactly where I’m from.
Monique Garrepy
Where exactly am I from?
I’m from the smell of chicken broth every Saturday morning,
to the sight of sun rays peeking through the window blinds into your eyes,
to the sound of birds chirping all around my bedroom,
to the feeling of wanting to sleep an extra five minutes,
which soon turned to just staring at your bedroom ceiling for another thirty.
I’m from the 2000’s karate films that used to make me think I was a ninja warrior,
to the smell of steamed rice and marinated chicken,
to the sound of the microwave beeping non-stop because someone decided to go to the restroom at the wrong time,
to the sight of young kids riding their scooters and bikes down the hill,
then hearing them scream so loud it would soon become the neighborhood alarm.
I’m from creaky and chipped floor planks,
to a backyard garden with cucumbers and red peppers,
to photo albums and journals piling uptop a table,
to taking off our shoes as soon as we enter the house,
to old disc albums piling under the coffee table,
to blankets and pillows on the sofa for movie night,
to pickle jars that don’t even have pickles in them,
to water full jars with tiny growing plants,
to thermal lunch cups with fried noodles.
This is where I’m from.
I’m from a family of three,
to my mother who makes me smile with my eyes,
her arms welcoming me home from school,
a bowl of my favorite noodles are ready on the table,
always seems like she knows when I am having a bad day.
I’m from a family of two,
to my father who helps me laugh until I get a stomachache,
was the first to actually teach me how to subtract numbers,
asks to only play the card game “spoons” because it’s the only game he’s good at,
always tries to secretly signal for me to prepare to take a spoon because he has four matches.
I’m from a family of one,
to my younger brother who lets me tell him how my day went,
stays up past bedtime because he wants to play goldfish and journal with me,
wakes me up on weekends to just bother me because he’s bored,
always finds ways to spend time with me because we don’t spend as much time together.
I’m from a family that lives on the other side of the world,
to my grandparents that send me pictures of them standing in front of palm trees,
to my cousins that send voice messages singing the English alphabet,
to my aunts and uncles that reply with the most ridiculous stickers to other family members’ selfies.
I’m from a welcoming home,
to a cozy living room,
I’m from a great family,
that has shaped who I am.
This is exactly where I’m from.
I am from
Anonymous
I am from Saturday playdates,
Early morning cartoons and cereal,
Swingsets and treehouses,
Friday night pizza and movies.
I am from family Disney trips,
Adventures together to pick out our Christmas tree,
Christmas morning filled with ecstasy,
Warmth and love,
I am from a family.
I am from the feeling of belonging, being wanted.
I am from shiny eyes of innocence and hope.
I am from scary silence turned to screams in seconds,
Divorce, guilt trips, and manipulation.
Sharp weapons through pointed fingers, blaming, & name calling,
Sleepless nights crying in my tinkerbell pjs.
I am from the feeling of shaking, fear,
My heart sinking to the ground.
Unwanted, Unbelonging, Unimportant.
I am from ‘it’s out of love’
Taught to confuse anger with kindness,
Rage with passion,
Disrespect with caring.
I am from raging eyes full of pain
And hatred,
Desperate to understand the reason for living.
I am from my mother.
The woman from whom I received my life's blood
And my big blue eyes.
I am the forgetfulness,
The love,
The smile,
The strength,
And the reason for living
That she gave to me.
I am from tired eyes of strength and love.
I am from books.
People made from words on pages
Rather than flesh and bone.
I am from the March sisters,
I am from Elinor and Marianne,
I am from Hermione Granger and Luna Lovegood,
Elizabeth Bennet, Anna Karenina, and Jane Eyre.
I am from a huge heart of hope to one that is damaged and bruised,
I am from a fear of the dark turned to finding comfort in it,
I am from feeling alone as long as I can remember,
I am from seeing all good in the world to struggling to see any.
I am from trusting no one,
With my heart and how I feel,
And not knowing how to accept love,
And I am from the same huge heart of strength,
Knowing that I am always safe with me.
And always knowing that I am from my mother’s love.
I am from happiness,
To sadness,
To everlasting change.
Anonymous
I am from Saturday playdates,
Early morning cartoons and cereal,
Swingsets and treehouses,
Friday night pizza and movies.
I am from family Disney trips,
Adventures together to pick out our Christmas tree,
Christmas morning filled with ecstasy,
Warmth and love,
I am from a family.
I am from the feeling of belonging, being wanted.
I am from shiny eyes of innocence and hope.
I am from scary silence turned to screams in seconds,
Divorce, guilt trips, and manipulation.
Sharp weapons through pointed fingers, blaming, & name calling,
Sleepless nights crying in my tinkerbell pjs.
I am from the feeling of shaking, fear,
My heart sinking to the ground.
Unwanted, Unbelonging, Unimportant.
I am from ‘it’s out of love’
Taught to confuse anger with kindness,
Rage with passion,
Disrespect with caring.
I am from raging eyes full of pain
And hatred,
Desperate to understand the reason for living.
I am from my mother.
The woman from whom I received my life's blood
And my big blue eyes.
I am the forgetfulness,
The love,
The smile,
The strength,
And the reason for living
That she gave to me.
I am from tired eyes of strength and love.
I am from books.
People made from words on pages
Rather than flesh and bone.
I am from the March sisters,
I am from Elinor and Marianne,
I am from Hermione Granger and Luna Lovegood,
Elizabeth Bennet, Anna Karenina, and Jane Eyre.
I am from a huge heart of hope to one that is damaged and bruised,
I am from a fear of the dark turned to finding comfort in it,
I am from feeling alone as long as I can remember,
I am from seeing all good in the world to struggling to see any.
I am from trusting no one,
With my heart and how I feel,
And not knowing how to accept love,
And I am from the same huge heart of strength,
Knowing that I am always safe with me.
And always knowing that I am from my mother’s love.
I am from happiness,
To sadness,
To everlasting change.
Dawn
Abby Choi
The memories of you locked in a drawer inside (My soul)
When I get close, a warning (is) blaring and glaring through my mind.
(always) causing my knees to shake or a tear to fall.
(with) memories so tightly wrapped around my heart like a wall,
I am scared to let go.
But I know that one day I will open the drawer
without hearing any sirens.
See the photos of (you.) I took the last summer we were boys
and let the dawn’s light shine on them again.
Abby Choi
The memories of you locked in a drawer inside (My soul)
When I get close, a warning (is) blaring and glaring through my mind.
(always) causing my knees to shake or a tear to fall.
(with) memories so tightly wrapped around my heart like a wall,
I am scared to let go.
But I know that one day I will open the drawer
without hearing any sirens.
See the photos of (you.) I took the last summer we were boys
and let the dawn’s light shine on them again.
Forgiveness
Michaella Namiotka
There is a certain intimacy that comes from being understood
Although we cannot understand
If we choose not to forgive
The human species is imperfect
We must allow ourselves to view human actions through a different retrospect
At times does an act of revenge seem tempting
Nevertheless does that fall far from what would be loving
Many seek to hurt us, and find no guilt in the end
It is only up to us, how we choose to reascend
Shall we ponder over ways to hurt them more deeply, laugh and applaud
Or choose to realize that we were each created beautifully
But remember that we are flawed
Trust me I know
I’ve experienced inexplicable pain caused by others in the past
However, allow me to share a method with you
That will cause this pain to flounder, and leave you in flabbergast
There is not quite much to it
Besides the fact that you must use your heart over your mind
Force yourself to simply unwind
Forget about yourself for a moment
Imagine Jesus on the cross
A man who died for your sake of happiness
Mocked and ridiculed
Human chests of emptiness
If one of these individuals were to beg for mercy
Jesus without a second thought would forgive
Which would soon provide this intimacy
You see
If he would do this
Than so can you
Why don’t we all choose to forgive each other too?
Now don’t forget to consider yourself as well
Learn from your mistakes, and from them allow yourself to excel
We are like the moon
Experiencing different phases
Yet the moon becomes full, and becomes the light of the night all embraces
Strive to see the good in all whom you encounter
In the end, we are all really just sisters and brothers.
Michaella Namiotka
There is a certain intimacy that comes from being understood
Although we cannot understand
If we choose not to forgive
The human species is imperfect
We must allow ourselves to view human actions through a different retrospect
At times does an act of revenge seem tempting
Nevertheless does that fall far from what would be loving
Many seek to hurt us, and find no guilt in the end
It is only up to us, how we choose to reascend
Shall we ponder over ways to hurt them more deeply, laugh and applaud
Or choose to realize that we were each created beautifully
But remember that we are flawed
Trust me I know
I’ve experienced inexplicable pain caused by others in the past
However, allow me to share a method with you
That will cause this pain to flounder, and leave you in flabbergast
There is not quite much to it
Besides the fact that you must use your heart over your mind
Force yourself to simply unwind
Forget about yourself for a moment
Imagine Jesus on the cross
A man who died for your sake of happiness
Mocked and ridiculed
Human chests of emptiness
If one of these individuals were to beg for mercy
Jesus without a second thought would forgive
Which would soon provide this intimacy
You see
If he would do this
Than so can you
Why don’t we all choose to forgive each other too?
Now don’t forget to consider yourself as well
Learn from your mistakes, and from them allow yourself to excel
We are like the moon
Experiencing different phases
Yet the moon becomes full, and becomes the light of the night all embraces
Strive to see the good in all whom you encounter
In the end, we are all really just sisters and brothers.