Ashlee's Poems
Escape
I wish I could escape
my bad feelings. I wish I could
escape myself when feeling mad,
sad, and lonely. I wish I could
escape problems and make solutions.
I wish I could escape being
scared, uncomfortable, and
small. I wish I could escape
falling without my wings
can I escape?
E-echo
S-scared
C-curious
A-appreciate
P-personal
E-especially
signed anonymous
One Thought
I wish one thought could
change how people think
I wish one thought could
change how people feel
I wish one thought could
change how people process.
Flowers
Roses, daisies, tulips. Flowers
everywhere so lovely I cannot
despair you smell so good so sweet
flowers everywhere.
The earth
The birds are chirping
The sun is shining
The sky is blue
The grass is green
The flowers are blooming
It's spring!!
Hot
It's hot hot hot very very
hot so hot I'm sweating
it's hot hot hot, I wish I
could go ice skating it's so
frustrating it's very very
hot!!!
The Way
The way the animals roam
The way the plants grow to trees
The way the flowers bloom
The way the grass grows
The way the sun shines
The way the birds fly
The way the fish swim
The way.
We Move With the Earth
We move with the earth
We go wherever it goes
We roam where it roams
We soar where it soars
We all move with the earth
Misery
The misery of sweat running from my
face. The misery of the sun being
in place. The misery of the heavy clothes
in this case. Misery Misery Misery.
Stars
Stars every where
How they glow
How they shine
How they shout out in the galaxy
Start stars stars
The Plant
Little flower plants falling
from the trees so windy I
can feel the breeze so
pretty but strange
Monday Morning
As the sun rises and
the day has begun
you're waking up getting
ready you go so slow
and steady. You're so stiff
like tin and that is how Monday Morning
begins
Cloud
As soft as a pillow
As fluffy as fur
As fragile as glass
As gentle and tender as a
mother
Clouds clouds
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 28, 2004
Friday, April 23, 2004
My fourth graders have been writing poetry. You will like it.
Snow
I
like snow
a lot. It is
really cold. It is frozen
water, but when
you put it in
your
mouth it
melts. You can
make a lot of things with
the snow like
angels, snowmen
and a lot more.
Ice Cream
Ice cream
is cold and
good. There are
different kinds
of ice cream.
(by Luz)
My Poem
I love my friend
She went away from me
My poem ends soft as it began
I love my friend.
My Poem
Snow made whiteness where
it falls. The bushes look like
popcorn-balls. The place
where I always play looks like
somewhere else today.
(by Katherine)
Me
I am a little kid. My name is
Louis. I like to play games. I am
like my big brother who loves to play
ball. We act like we are basketball players
and I play best. I don't act like a basketball
player. Sometimes I act like a regular kid. I don't like football like
my brother's friend Shakim.
Part 1 For Ms. Gordon
Violets are pink, Violets are red, Ms.
Gordon looks so beautiful today
and everyday too.
Part 2 For Ms. Haley
Violets are red, Violets are
pink. Ms. Haley your eyes
are so beautiful.
(by Louis)
Butterfly
Butterflies are nice and so fast
as the night so bright
as the light made as the sky
and high to fly.
NBA
N--No
B--Babies
A--Aloud
(no title)
I saw a little boy sitting
in a tree. He was eating a nut
and was looking at me.
(by Richard aka Baby Thug)
(no title)
When I am writing it feels like I can
Do anything, like I can
play like Jordan in the NBA, or
I can fly like a bird, or race like a
Nascar Racer.
Home
Home is a place where you feel good,
Happy not sad maybe sometimes sad.
Home is a place where you have good and old memories
Home is a place where you have family to
support you. Family tells you what
is good and what is bad. Family
supports you wherever you go. That is
what Home and family means.
(by Jonathan)
What I Hear When I Wake Up
This day I woke up feeling fine
in my mind, hearing the bird twe, twak
and listening to my mother's shoe click clak. I
went to the bathroom, did what I had
to do. My little sister woke up and said Winnie the Poo
I had wondered what that means. Was it her shoe
or her toe?
Love
Love can be so sweet
just like some meats I love
my mother and love my grandmother
and all the time I hug her
Love is in the air and it
smells like my mother's hair
Love
Love
Rob
the
Star
(by Robert)
Ice Cream
Ice cream is so good.
Ice cream is also very cold
Ice cream is very good.
H.
C.
My Shepard
My Mother is my Shepard,
My owner, my Guardian,
She feeds me, takes care
of me, I love her and she
loves me. She buys me
toys, she does everything
she can do for me.
She is my shepard.
My shepard.
Today
Today the sky is blue and white,
the grass is green,
The sun is shining yellow
like a diamond.
The wind breezes through
my face.
I see kids playing. I sit down
and relax.
Trees
Trees are my friends. I love the
fruits that come from
sweet trees.
Trees help me
live, Trees give
me food, Trees
are my friends.
Outside
Outside I play, Outside my
friends are outside. Kids are
yelling, playing, running. The sun shines
outside.
Nature is Mine
The sun is bright.
The light touches the
earth. The birds are
chirping, the squirrels
are working. Everything is fine.
The nature is mine.
The Forest
The forest is a living place.
The trees are a living place.
The Moon
The moon is bright
You can see the
best of the moon
at night, the moon
is bright.
The Peanut
The peanut is big
The peanut is long,
The peanut is lumpy,
The peanut is very good
once I eat you.
(by H.C.)
(Miss Ashlee's will be posted Monday, her Writer's Notebook she keeps so safely by her side. The poems delight, and I will share; do not despair, says Ashlee.)
Snow
I
like snow
a lot. It is
really cold. It is frozen
water, but when
you put it in
your
mouth it
melts. You can
make a lot of things with
the snow like
angels, snowmen
and a lot more.
Ice Cream
Ice cream
is cold and
good. There are
different kinds
of ice cream.
(by Luz)
My Poem
I love my friend
She went away from me
My poem ends soft as it began
I love my friend.
My Poem
Snow made whiteness where
it falls. The bushes look like
popcorn-balls. The place
where I always play looks like
somewhere else today.
(by Katherine)
Me
I am a little kid. My name is
Louis. I like to play games. I am
like my big brother who loves to play
ball. We act like we are basketball players
and I play best. I don't act like a basketball
player. Sometimes I act like a regular kid. I don't like football like
my brother's friend Shakim.
Part 1 For Ms. Gordon
Violets are pink, Violets are red, Ms.
Gordon looks so beautiful today
and everyday too.
Part 2 For Ms. Haley
Violets are red, Violets are
pink. Ms. Haley your eyes
are so beautiful.
(by Louis)
Butterfly
Butterflies are nice and so fast
as the night so bright
as the light made as the sky
and high to fly.
NBA
N--No
B--Babies
A--Aloud
(no title)
I saw a little boy sitting
in a tree. He was eating a nut
and was looking at me.
(by Richard aka Baby Thug)
(no title)
When I am writing it feels like I can
Do anything, like I can
play like Jordan in the NBA, or
I can fly like a bird, or race like a
Nascar Racer.
Home
Home is a place where you feel good,
Happy not sad maybe sometimes sad.
Home is a place where you have good and old memories
Home is a place where you have family to
support you. Family tells you what
is good and what is bad. Family
supports you wherever you go. That is
what Home and family means.
(by Jonathan)
What I Hear When I Wake Up
This day I woke up feeling fine
in my mind, hearing the bird twe, twak
and listening to my mother's shoe click clak. I
went to the bathroom, did what I had
to do. My little sister woke up and said Winnie the Poo
I had wondered what that means. Was it her shoe
or her toe?
Love
Love can be so sweet
just like some meats I love
my mother and love my grandmother
and all the time I hug her
Love is in the air and it
smells like my mother's hair
Love
Love
Rob
the
Star
(by Robert)
Ice Cream
Ice cream is so good.
Ice cream is also very cold
Ice cream is very good.
H.
C.
My Shepard
My Mother is my Shepard,
My owner, my Guardian,
She feeds me, takes care
of me, I love her and she
loves me. She buys me
toys, she does everything
she can do for me.
She is my shepard.
My shepard.
Today
Today the sky is blue and white,
the grass is green,
The sun is shining yellow
like a diamond.
The wind breezes through
my face.
I see kids playing. I sit down
and relax.
Trees
Trees are my friends. I love the
fruits that come from
sweet trees.
Trees help me
live, Trees give
me food, Trees
are my friends.
Outside
Outside I play, Outside my
friends are outside. Kids are
yelling, playing, running. The sun shines
outside.
Nature is Mine
The sun is bright.
The light touches the
earth. The birds are
chirping, the squirrels
are working. Everything is fine.
The nature is mine.
The Forest
The forest is a living place.
The trees are a living place.
The Moon
The moon is bright
You can see the
best of the moon
at night, the moon
is bright.
The Peanut
The peanut is big
The peanut is long,
The peanut is lumpy,
The peanut is very good
once I eat you.
(by H.C.)
(Miss Ashlee's will be posted Monday, her Writer's Notebook she keeps so safely by her side. The poems delight, and I will share; do not despair, says Ashlee.)
Monday, April 19, 2004
Trucker Dreams
When you drive the freeways that border
Houston at odd hours of the night,
the dark tucks you in,
except for the wind beside your window.
Long stretches
connect places like Pearland
and Humble.
The in between blotted out
by dark green bushels of trees.
In the daytime, haze
leads your eye out to the refineries,
skinny little pipes
emitting white air.
The land is flat and soggy,
the coastal plain leaving rain little room to seep.
When you drive the freeways that border
Houston at odd hours of the night,
the dark tucks you in,
except for the wind beside your window.
Long stretches
connect places like Pearland
and Humble.
The in between blotted out
by dark green bushels of trees.
In the daytime, haze
leads your eye out to the refineries,
skinny little pipes
emitting white air.
The land is flat and soggy,
the coastal plain leaving rain little room to seep.
Tuesday, August 19, 2003
From Friday, July 18th through Friday, July 25th, I spent time driving out west with buddy Steve. Out west is a little vague, but that's the way I see it. Here are some memories from that time.
The Coyote and the Cloud Wall--
After leaving the Black Hills of far western South Dakota late Saturday afternoon, we headed toward Sheridan, Wyoming, targeting as far into Montana as we could get. The sun crept downward that evening, but the air cooled quickly--relief from the beating sun of The Badlands, experienced earlier that day. We drove with windows down and sun roof open, beginning a stretch of narrower, windier I-90. The cd player deserved a break, so we searched the stations and settled upon country. KYTI--the Coyote--played a mixture of today's and yesterday's hits. They weren't lying. Merle Haggard lulled me into western dreamland, singing "Big City". Just passed Sheridan, out the western window sat a cloud wall. The lights dim, the sky blushing pink and deep purple, almost black, an opaque wall of cloud touched the ground and spanned a width that looked about as big as a sheet draping down from some sleepy giant's quarters. In it were bursts of lightening--a self-contained orchestra, curtained, but so lively that its energy could not be contained.
The Stars at Night . . .
The first night that we camped I was excited to spend part of the evening viewing the stars. Late that night, after lanterns shut off and campers found their way inside their tents, Steve and I sunk down in our canvas chairs, rested our feet on the picnic table, and tilted back. After about 5 to 10 minutes our eyes dialated enough to unmask the cosmos zinging along. It was bright, vivid, active. There were thousands of stars. So much was moving up there. Of course we began counting the shooting stars. We got to about seven before the game wore off and the glow set in--the warmth of things far away, unknown, greater.
The Glacier and the Flat Head--
These are places, not things. A place is something that holds wisdom, available for us to take whenever and however we need. Glacier is a national park in northwestern Montana, and Flathead is a lake found down the road, south from there. But I came to know them in reverse order.
Water that takes on shades of blue that remind you of gemstones often keeps you looking at it for long periods of time. Flathead Lake is sapphire blue. Aged, deep, and miles long it seemed to tell me about continuity. Neighboring this place are mountains, shaped through the centuries by the freezing and thawing of ice on glaciers. The mountains are craggy, dark, and sometimes snow tipped--stark colors bordered by a sea of deep green pines. Movement and change abound in this place.
The Coyote and the Cloud Wall--
After leaving the Black Hills of far western South Dakota late Saturday afternoon, we headed toward Sheridan, Wyoming, targeting as far into Montana as we could get. The sun crept downward that evening, but the air cooled quickly--relief from the beating sun of The Badlands, experienced earlier that day. We drove with windows down and sun roof open, beginning a stretch of narrower, windier I-90. The cd player deserved a break, so we searched the stations and settled upon country. KYTI--the Coyote--played a mixture of today's and yesterday's hits. They weren't lying. Merle Haggard lulled me into western dreamland, singing "Big City". Just passed Sheridan, out the western window sat a cloud wall. The lights dim, the sky blushing pink and deep purple, almost black, an opaque wall of cloud touched the ground and spanned a width that looked about as big as a sheet draping down from some sleepy giant's quarters. In it were bursts of lightening--a self-contained orchestra, curtained, but so lively that its energy could not be contained.
The Stars at Night . . .
The first night that we camped I was excited to spend part of the evening viewing the stars. Late that night, after lanterns shut off and campers found their way inside their tents, Steve and I sunk down in our canvas chairs, rested our feet on the picnic table, and tilted back. After about 5 to 10 minutes our eyes dialated enough to unmask the cosmos zinging along. It was bright, vivid, active. There were thousands of stars. So much was moving up there. Of course we began counting the shooting stars. We got to about seven before the game wore off and the glow set in--the warmth of things far away, unknown, greater.
The Glacier and the Flat Head--
These are places, not things. A place is something that holds wisdom, available for us to take whenever and however we need. Glacier is a national park in northwestern Montana, and Flathead is a lake found down the road, south from there. But I came to know them in reverse order.
Water that takes on shades of blue that remind you of gemstones often keeps you looking at it for long periods of time. Flathead Lake is sapphire blue. Aged, deep, and miles long it seemed to tell me about continuity. Neighboring this place are mountains, shaped through the centuries by the freezing and thawing of ice on glaciers. The mountains are craggy, dark, and sometimes snow tipped--stark colors bordered by a sea of deep green pines. Movement and change abound in this place.
Saturday, August 24, 2002
Blue Silos at Night
Last night I went on a journey, a drive through neighborhood streets leading to several open soccer and softball fields, leading to the parking lot of an old grain silo. It took a moment before I could see the silo from the car window. When I did it hovered in the sky, fifteen stories or more of white concrete ridges, worn and marked in beautiful smokes.
Sitting on a burlap potato sack and resting my hands back on asphalt crumbles, the show began. Like a drive-in movie, interviews with longtime Redhook residents projected onto the silo. The interviews started off side-by-side, two close-ups played at intervals; then the voice tracks layered in rounds. Little fairies danced from strings on top of the screen, pushing off of the concrete in deep bends that allowed them to swim in the sky. Dressed like miners, the acrobatic dancers interpreted clashes of old and new.
The final scene projected wheat fields, close-up, swirling in a strong wind. Five fairies dropped down to play in the wheat, swooping, jumping, spinning, and dancing, continuously.
more on Picture Redhook
Wednesday, July 31, 2002
Toes
Toes are to wash when you take a bath.
Toes are to count to see how many.
Toes are five on each foot when you count from the right.
Right foot toes belong on the right foot.
Left foot toes belong on the left foot.
The big toe is the thumb of the foot.
All the other toes worry about the little one.
The big toe likes itself very well.
by my good buddy Carl S.
now i'll go
Moms
Moms are the best of all types of people.
Moms let you sit on their laps even when you get too big.
Moms ask you what's your favorite food and then make it for you.
Standing up tall is encouraged by moms.
So's elbows off the table.
Best of all moms tell you you're the best, smartest, nicest person you can be just about everyday.
I like moms.
They're the best of all types of people.
(for me mum)
Now you go!
Monday, July 29, 2002
Music
Music is when your ears like what they hear.
Music is any voices you like to listen to.
Music is any sound you want to go on and on.
Music for you is anything you hear that clicks
with you.
by Carl Sandburg
"'Who was Carl Sandburg?' you ask . . . Sandburg was a fun-loving, questioning, dreamy boy who always wanted to know the whys and wherefores of things . . . [skip to adulthood where] prizes and awards came his way . . . He liked to write stories and poems for children, for he knew that children love the sound of words just as he did . . . He [also] liked to write about the inexplicable mysteries of the world and the universe, for he knew [again] that 'what can be explained is not poetry.'" by the Hendricks
Music is any voices you like to listen to.
Music is any sound you want to go on and on.
Music for you is anything you hear that clicks
with you.
by Carl Sandburg
"'Who was Carl Sandburg?' you ask . . . Sandburg was a fun-loving, questioning, dreamy boy who always wanted to know the whys and wherefores of things . . . [skip to adulthood where] prizes and awards came his way . . . He liked to write stories and poems for children, for he knew that children love the sound of words just as he did . . . He [also] liked to write about the inexplicable mysteries of the world and the universe, for he knew [again] that 'what can be explained is not poetry.'" by the Hendricks
Tuesday, July 16, 2002
Wednesday, July 03, 2002
haiku
watching table guy
sucking on edamame
li! li! li! li! li!
edamame pod,
is sea salt an isotope?
do you marry well?
laughter is nervous
my sister rants in prisms
she is far away.
my beaded change purse
wants to pledge allegiance, God
strung red white and blue.
Pablo Begala
i knew you in Austin T.
now you’re a star; why?
double-dashed hand stands
parallelisms that twist—
grammarian hop.
velvet cake pieces
blushing until they redden
the ego sliced.
sucking on edamame
li! li! li! li! li!
edamame pod,
is sea salt an isotope?
do you marry well?
laughter is nervous
my sister rants in prisms
she is far away.
my beaded change purse
wants to pledge allegiance, God
strung red white and blue.
Pablo Begala
i knew you in Austin T.
now you’re a star; why?
double-dashed hand stands
parallelisms that twist—
grammarian hop.
velvet cake pieces
blushing until they redden
the ego sliced.
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