I was in a bad mood when I parodied this poem. My diction should definitely show this. I’m not ashamed that it shows my emotions. I’m actually glad that I was able to put my real emotions into a parody and make it my own.

Original: Edna St. Vincent Millay
Thou art not lovelier than lilacs, –no,
Nor honeysuckle; thou art not more fair
Than small white single poppies, — I can bear
They beauty; though I bend before thee, though
From left to right, not knowing where to go,
I turn my troubled eyes, nor here nor there
Find any refuge from thee, yet I swear
So has it been with mist, — with moonlight so.

You are not lovelier than rot fruit, — no,
Nor porcupine; you aren’t less foul there
Than a giant gorilla,–I can hardly bare
Your face; though you bend before me, though
From to and fro, not know where to go,
I turn my beautiful eyes not here not there
Can’t get away from you, but I swear
Just like I can’t get away as my thoughts grow.

Free Verse
I wrote this poem about a year and a half ago, and put it into a book of poem that I have written. i like all of them, but am only going to put one in here. They’re all free verse. This is one of my favorites; I like it because of the imagery and diction.

I enter a room where intoxicating scents have already permeated through.
A perfect blend of tastes and textures surround me,
And I am enveloped with a certain satisfaction that some rarely feel.
I indulge myself, and as this delectable food enters my mouth,
There is an explosion of taste and my body is filled
With a warmth that makes the whole meal worthwhile.
After all is gone,
I can only sit back with full satisfaction
And try to let the tastes linger as long as possible.

I know these aren’t awesome, jaw-dropping poems or anything, but they take me back to days when I was a little more imaginative. I hope you’ve enjoyed them!


An Elegy Written on a Bale of Hay
I chose to write my elegy on the topic of when my father and I used to pick raspberries because it’s one of my favorite memories about us. It was what he and I did alone. No one else was included, and every time we went out to pick them, it seemed like the perfect day. This poem just has a lot of personal meaning behind it, and at the end when I say I’ve done the same thing with my son, that’s me hoping that this memory will play out again for me when I become a mother.

Ever so often on a clean, crisp day,
I stand and ponder some old things
We did before he went away,
Before he sailed the sky with wings.

A small girl stood on a bale of hay.
The tall man helped her pick her merries.
After being there long one day,
They go inside, hands red from berries.

That day – a perfect one –
Father and daughter did bond.
Laughter and loving fun
Have made them sincerely fond.

Now on days when the wind does carry,
I stand by that same bale of hay
Helping my son pick the self-same berry
My father and I picked day after day.

Found Poem
The Passing of a Storm
The original piece is from a wonderful book, All Quiet on the Western Front. When I chose the words in my prose piece, I sat there pondering them for a few minutes trying to think how all of these words related somehow. Then I though of all the sense, and thought that describing a storm would be a good way to incorporate the words and the senses.

Original Prose Piece:
…My legs and my hands tremble. I have trouble in finding my water bottle, to take a pull. My lips tremble as I try to think. But I smile – Kat is saved.
After a while I begin to sort out the confusion of voices that falls on my ears.
“You might have spared yourself that,” says an orderly.
I look at him without comprehending.
He points to Kat, “He’s stone dead.”
I do not understand him. “He has been hit in the shin,” I say.
The orderly stands still, “That as well.”
I turn round. My eyes are still dulled, the sweat breaks out on me again, it runs over my eyelids. I wipe it away and peer at Kat. He lies still. “Fainted,” I say quickly.
The orderly whistles softly. “I know better than that. He is dead. I’ll lay any money on that.”
I shake my head: “Not possible. Only ten minutes ago I was talking to him. He has fainted.”
Kat’s hands are warm, I pass my hand under his shoulders in order to rub his temples with some tea. I feel my fingers become moist. As I draw them away from behind his head, they are bloody.

My Piece:
I step outside to see the sky.
As though I’m wrapped in warm, moist covers,
I notice flocks of birds fly by;
They do not stop to pause or hover.

The tree in the distance begins to tremble.
It is a sign of upcoming trouble.
Animals flee from the symbol.
I need to smile, but my fears just double.

The sky becomes so dark,
And it is getting loud.
The clouds are turning stark,
I shout for help – not proud.

Ear-piercing whirlwinds circle ahead.
I flee like others for my life
For cover underneath the shed.
And wait for an end to my strife.

In there I hear the loudest thud
Of raindrops falling to the ground.
From up above come trickles of mud.
I hope that I can be found.

Now things have become quite still.
I do not know what’s going on,
And down my back is running a chill.
I push up the door to see the dawn.

The clouds have dispersed, and lights shines through.
A wind whistles softly, and birds come alive.
The sun is quite warm and soothing too.
The creatures rejoice – continue to thrive.

It is/I am
A New Year, A Big Change
This poem tells of how I changed once I turned sixteen. My inspiration actually came from the word “exactly.” I wanted to say “it is exactly…” After a conversation with my sister the night I wrote this poem, I knew that this inspiration could be used. The conversation with my sister was about how I used to beg her for rides so I wouldn’t be caught riding in a mini-van with my parents. Then I remembered how great it was to be able to drive on my own.

It is exactly seven days before Halloween.
I am turning sixteen years old.
Everything is changing before my eyes.
I am more mature, and I can legally drive.
no longer will I be that annoying child
Begging my older sister for a ride
So I wouldn’t be caught
Riding in a mini-van with my parents.
Now I am free;
Free to drive anywhere my heart desires.
I could drive across the whole United States
If my heart desired.
My options, once so limited,
In an instant become an endless wonder.
I am no longer that helpless kid with no ride,
But now I am the one
Being pestered by other unlicensed peers.
Oh how the tables have turned.

When I was in high school, I was in an advanced writing class. We had to make a book of poetry, and I recently found mine.

The Ballad of a Rebellious Bonnie
This idea came to me as I was thinking about the Shel Silverstein poem “I cannot go to school today.” After I wrote the first two lines, the rest just came to me. I decided to give a mother and father voice in there to show that this is taking place at the dinner table. My favorite part of this poem is the second to last line because I thought it was a cute pun.

“I can not eat this food today,”
Said Bonnie as she stepped away.
“There are too many vegetables,
I’d rather go outside and play.”

“But Bonnie,” said her mother dear,
“You need to eat this; it’s quite clear.
For i you do not eat this now,
You’ll never get too big, I fear.”

“Your mother’s right, my pumpkin pie,”
Replied her father with a sigh.
“Listen to her; she knows what’s right.
You’ll grow strong, and that’s no lie.”

So Bonnie stepped up to the plate,
And at last her food she ate.

Dramatic Monologue
I Didn’t Do It
When I thought about a one-sided event, a wreck suddenly came to mind. It seemed perfect because, and I can’t say from experience, it seems as though each person has her own side of the story to tell.

“What were you thinking?
You must have been blinking
When that green light turned to red!”
“I did no wrong! The light was still yellow!” she said.
No nice words such as “what did I do?”
“Did I harm you?
Or “Is everyone alright?”
I was angry despite
Being shaken from the jolt
That came in one big bolt.
Everything was a mess,
And I, in distress,
Called my parents to the crime scene.
A wrecker came by to clean
Away the bent up pieces of
One of the things that you love.
“You haven’t heard the last of this,”
That mean lady said with a hiss.
My life was just shattered along
With my windows so strong.
Now I have to rely on my feet to get me by.
Oh tragedy sure struck
On my day of bad luck.

There are more, but I’ll post more later. These poems may not be that great, but that’s why I like poetry. It can be whatever you want.