A+Poem+for+April

= The (Virtual) Poetry Wall =

Let's set the ground rules. Poetry is about being honest. It's were humanity can be its most human; that is, we can seek truth and have the momentary experience of clarity. So, the poem you publish on this page should adhere to truth and honesty. When we are truthful and honest with each other, we are putting ourselves out there in a scary, real way. Here we will celebrate each other's poems and expression of voice with respect. If this goes well, these poems will be filled with truth and honesty and voice and hope and imagery and metaphor and humanity. Now with all that high-falutin' philosophical approach to poetry laid down, we need to keep in mind that this is a public forum and anyone can read what we write, so if you post anything inappropriate the post will be deleted and the Poetry Police will hunt you down--they're tougher than they sound.

Here's how this will work. At some point this month, you need to post a poem to this main page. You will also need to respond to three poems on the 'Discussion' section of this page. Your response needs to be constructive, thoughtful, and positive. Negative comments will get you a visit from the Poetry Police (see above).

We are doing this in line with Ms. Herlihy's classes. They've already gotten going on this experiment of publishing a poem in April. Here's a link to their page: []. Check it out and get inspired.

A Man in Love is a Fool

In the fall of my junior year of high school Jenn Halloway broke my heart—big time. More than a decade later, it’s hard to piece together the night it happened or her exact

words that snaked intoProxy-Connection: keep-alive Cache-Control: max-age=0 oxy-Connection: keep-alive Cache-Control: max-age=0 0my chest cavity and squeezed my heart until it burst, but it happened. Now, a man in love is a fool, so I put together a plan. It was perfect—

or should have been. After a month, I started calling her again, I left notes on yellow lined paper in her blue locker, I wore her down until at the winter ball

we slow danced to ‘Stairway to Heaven,’ and she decided to have another go at it with me. You see, it should have been perfect. This was the girl who had made

me mixed tapes, introduced me to The Dead, the Steve Miller Band, laid with me on a hammock in her parents’ back yard while we talked abstractly about a future we knew nothing

about. But everything had gone sour between us, and we knew it in those winter months. The moments between us were no longer easy. Our relationship was overripe;

it was a red rose in a vase that had once been fragrant, silky, its petals perfectly rounded at the edges, but now slumps over towards the sad looking table its placed upon,

the wilting petals more brown than red. It was obvious when we kissed— something we didn’t do much of that winter. And when we parted ways, this time for good,

neither of us cried, because what we were losing was no longer real, but a thing created to try to hold on to a feeling that had peaked and no amount of male desperation could bring back the past. -dpatterson1

First True Love

when I look in to her eyes I cant help but smile and pray up to god she's mine for a while

cause with out her love my world would end for one cant go on when you lose a best friend

it's her sweet touch that passes me by winding me up sending me sky high

seeing that beautiful smile my heart skips a beat and with out her here my life's incomplete

my one big mistake she left me here crying watching trouble surround me as my heart's slowly dying

my first true love left me broken and sad but I had never thought a heart could hurt this bad - JLynch16

History Class

Closing my eyes, thinking, remembering I open them, waiting, I raise my hand to answer, the teacher calls on me and I answer him, "Great Britain", he replies, "correct." then goes on, silently I relax my body, slowly exhaling quietly, I look out the window, a slight breeze is moving the tree leaves, the birds are singing and flitting around the trees, smiling to my self I turn back around, to pay attention to another history class on Imperialism. - lindseyannc

The Land of Giants

I remember the first time I walk into the high school. I was six, going with the rest of my class to preform in the auditorium. Everything was so big in my young eyes. The people there were so tall, and scary.

The hall ways were like a brand new shiny toy. My elementary school was so familiar and routine, I knew it backwards and forwards. But the Land of Giants had new passageways around every corner.

As I grew I made continual trips back to the school. The lack of auditoriums provided reason. Every trip I found something new. I wanted to stay for hours, exploring, and discovering.

My middle school years kept me busy and away. Those three years passed slowly but surely, as the days counted down my nerves built. Soon I would be a permanent resident of my old playground.

My first day I show up excited, and nervous. Everything was so new and different. In the crowd though I saw some familiar faces and I flocked to them. With that first day I became one of the giants I had used to fear.

I no longer think of this school as my playground. Sometimes its a place I enjoy, sometimes its a prison when my mind wants to wander. Sometimes I don't know what this place has become.

I wonder what it will be like when I leave. How I will remember the building I spent so much time in. Graduation used to seem like a far away dream, now I begin to hear the ticking clock

I know every inch of the building now. There is no more mystery or wonder hidden in the corners. I wonder how I will feel when I look back, how I will remember my time here.

There are times when this building irritates me, and there are times when I never want to leave. When I think about it more I really don't want to go, but the countdown clock won't stop in the Land of Giants. -Morgan

Thrill of the Game

Walk into the locker room of GHS Music thumping loudly Flashing lights illuminate the little room Everyone is dancing and singing, Trying to block the nerves of what is waiting for them Right outside the door.

20 minutes to warm-up For this very important semi-final game. Coach walks in, everyone's sitting, Everyone is dressed in their warm-ups and gear, Paint on our faces, a piece of tape on our right leg, With our quote written on it, “Finish Strong”

We march outside, walking 2 by 2 No one saying a word. The only noise we hear is the clicking of our cleats on the cement We look at the vacant bleachers, Knowing that it will be completely filled within the hour.

The only people that we see are the parents working at the snack shack, The men who get our field ready... And them... The girls who we hate for the next hour and a half, The girls who we want to send back on the bus with a loss, Cheverus.

The purple and yellow jerseys sticking out in the dark night They sit in separate circles, But we aren't worried about them tonight, We are worried about ourselves.

Our coach hands us a poem that she wrote just for us, A picture of their mascot, And lucky dust that we sprinkle on the field as we walk on the field.

But now, the lights turn on, And so does our focus and intensity. During those 30 minutes of warm-up, The mixing of our butterflies, Nerves, and passion, We were ready to play.

The game we just played had been our hardest yet. So much intensity, pushing, shoving. We don't know how much more we can give.

But it's tied 1-1. We're going into our second overtime. We can't give up just yet.

2 minutes left. I take the ball from the girl on the side. I make a pass to Lauren. She sees Sam wide open and makes the perfect pass to her. Sam shoots....

Everything goes completely silent. ..... “SWISH” That ball hitting the back of the net was the best sound I have ever heard. That sound sent an uproar of cheering. That sound made us all hug, and cheer, and cry of happiness. That sound made me realize how much heart we all just put into this one game. And that sound, is the exact reason why I love this game. -Meghan

"Stresser's Hair"

Wavy, gelled He raises his eyebrows And gives me that provocative look Tryin' not to laugh Lookin' cute

He says I must put this on the Wiki Silly little boy With his cute little nose And cute little ears

His muscles Chiseled from the finest granite By the gods themselves In the quarry of titans Why doth his hair move not?

Sexy, Stoic, Heroic Brian Stresser

-Tyler Strout