Poetry in the Classroom
Greetings, fellow poets! Your mission today is to post the poem you wrote about one of your classes. Remember to use concrete sensory images in your poem. Try to also use strong verbs and avoid cliches. Be sure to have your poem posted by Thursday so that your classmates can read all of the poems and comment about them on your blogs. Happy writing!
13 Comments:
I walk through the doors of F-Wing.
The pod is covered with ska/theatre kids talking.
As I continue past the door of F-1,
Out from the Teacher's Room comes someone
Dressed with a tie and a cup of coffee,
Which the aroma seems to linger shortly.
I pass the girls with hair and nails all nice.
On the opposite side, guys with hair that sticks up like sticks of black ice.
The different clicks scattered here and there,
And the mixture of perfume and body odor fill the air.
On either walls, maroon lockers open and shut close
As another teacher walks through with glasses on her nose.
Everywhere I look everyone's having a ball,
Until the 7:15 warning bell echoes through the hall.
From clicks to stampede they rush to their homeroom
Hoping to catch each other again after school.
Now the 7:18 bell rings in the empty hallway,
And F-Wing waits quietly for its kids to return throughout the day.
The air is hot as it passes through open windows.
I only hear the murmur, white noise of a lecture.
The desk is sticky and hot, and water no longer refreshes your mind from the heat.
Instead you're met with a teach, and 20 or more kids sleeping.
His voice weighing down the air pushing all noises out.
The day lolls on
The heat doesn't waver
Yet all you can manage is the murmur and the heat taking over.
Awoken only by the shrill cry of a bell, and rustling of kids who were once in a slumber.
Just sitting here is driving me crazy. Im right by the window so I can see how bright the sun is shining and I can hear the birds chirping.
I love when the wind blows, the smell of the fresh air smells so good.
The tapping noise is so annoying,
tapping of feet,
tapping of pencils,
everyones doing it, we all just want to leave.
Even the teacher,
you can tell by her face.
I wish i didn't have to come in on the last day of finals.
Good smells, bad smells
Perfume, ax
Sometimes even smells like melted wax
Stomping like an elephant up the bleachers
Even the tall and skinny teachers
The boys play with the basketballs
Some even leave and run through the halls
Everyone with cellphones in hand
Some with their instuments from band
It's the last day of school and no one has a care
If you jump, spit, your even walk around in your underwear
Teachers are waiting for the 1:40 bell
Just so they can say "I survived another year of hell"
When that bell rings we run out without a doubt
Hell yea Schools out!
Posted by CWBryanna09 at 3:27 PM
0 comments:
School is dumb
Six hours of learning
It makes me numb
Annoying teachers
Overcrowded halls
And uncomfortable bleachers
Trapped in school wishing it would go fast
Looking out the window
Wishing this class was my last
Feeling so tired, down, and glum
School is dumb
Taking notes, passing notes
Listening to lectures
Analyzing old quotes
Making wrong conjectures
In which you have to come
School is dumb
Rooms are sweltering hot
Where you have to be
or Bitter cold and you see
Grafatti on the walls
Sounds of texting, chattering and paper
Plus Teachers who drawl
And students who strum
School is so dumb
School is full of Drama filled teens
Kids that don’t act mature
Trying to make a scene
And too many kids getting engaged
Getting pregnant at such a young age
To be called mum
School is dumb
Marching Band.
The dull roar of a crowded room,
everyone sets up while all horns tune.
The shine of the drums, woodwind, and brass
at long last comes the beginning of class.
B-flat warm up, it's time to play,
and find that every instrument has something to say.
Percussion booming, while woodwinds hum,
the brass crescendos in with a loud buh-bum!
In heat of summer, in the dead of night,
On the bleachers, or decked out for sake of Halloween’s fright.
Drummer roll off, let cadence begin
Fingers crossed that our team might actually win.
My alarm rings at 510 thinking god I dont wanna do this again. Walking in through those doors I think to myself only 6 more hours to go. Pushing through crowds of people to get to your locker is such a hassle.As you walk through the halls at 2 miles per hour you just want to yell " can we move a little faster!'. As you push and shove through D and C just to see that stupid class you dread everyday. Sitting in those seats wishing it was your bed thinking god I dont wanna do this again.
I look at the clock
1:39
Can't time go any faster?
Everyone's excited, talking,
Laughing.
The air is thick with
Excitement.
The bell rings, crystal
Clear.
We're out the door,
Saying our goodbyes.
Big yellow buses pull away
For the last time until
September.
Sitting down
my desk, she creaks
chat with Lu,
the teacher speaks.
"Open your books,
let's read some Thoreau,"
The pages are dusty
like new fallen snow.
Oh how I love Walden,
Spring and Brute Neighbors,
words drip like honey,
with a sugar sweet nature.
Oh, these words I do love,
prose is nothing to fear!
Some people dislike them,
but to me it is dear!
The teams take the field to warm up.
They glare at one another in the spirit of competition.
I hear the counting as both teams stretch.
Listen to the snapping of the gloves catching the ball.
The diamond shaped field looks perfect.
I put the glove up to my face.
Smell the long missed scent of leather.
Baseball season is finally here.
Rushing outside
Told not to run
Not a cloud in the sky
Only the sun
The feel of the wind
Flowing through my hair
Grass stain on my pants
But I didn't care
Racing through the field
To the rusty chain fence
Hearing the aids shout
Making things tense
Starting to have fun
Starting to yell
Enjoying life
While dreading the bell
A Room Like No Other
I just look around,
Don’t know what to write.
I think I’ll describe,
Whatever’s in sight.
A broken old chair,
All covered in dust.
And under the seat,
It’s beginning to rust.
And above the chair,
There hangs a flag.
It’s faded and ripped,
And starting to sag.
Hanging from the ceiling,
There is an arm.
And for those who don’t go here,
It may cause some alarm.
Posters and pictures,
Are hung of all kinds.
And over the window,
There hangs some old blinds.
When silence sets in,
The heater in back,
Makes a loud humming noise,
Hear it rattle and crack.
The door in the hallway,
As teachers let it slam,
Opens with a loud creek,
And closes with a bam!
The room in itself,
Has a unique smell,
A bit musty and stuffy,
It’s F1, you can tell.
Just how many people,
Have sat in F1?
For theatre, English,
Or just having fun.
This room, I’d imagine,
Has witnessed a lot.
And take it for granted,
I surely will not.
This year I must leave here,
When the school year is done.
But I’ll cherish the memories,
I’ve made in F1.
It's that time of the year Mrs. Morrison! You should stop in this week (if you still read the comments on your blog)
"BE KIND TO ARACHNIDS THIS WEEK! FOR THOSE EIGHT LEGGED FRIENDS ARE OUR BROTHERS! BE KIND TO THOSE SPIDERS AND MITES, THOUGH THEY MAY MAKE YOU DIE OF FRIGHT! DON'T FORGET TO BE KIND TO YOUR BUG! WHEN YOU SEE HIM, GIVE HIM A GIANT HUUUUUUG. FOR THIS IS HIS BE KIND TO WEEK! AND HE SHALL LIVE ALWAYS FOREVER AND FOREVER! YAAAAAAY!"
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