Category Archives: formal

Do Bugs Have Brains?

Across the seas, above the trees,
Beyond the fields of daffodils,
Clinging to walls, sitting on dolls,
Diving down drains, do bugs have brains?

Eating some crumbs on top of drums,
Finding their dates in other states,
Gliding through air to trick the bear,
Hopping off trains, do bugs have brains?

Icing from cake, ready to take,
Jumping on beds, land on their heads,
Kicking the door, looking at them soar,
Leaping to grains, do bugs have brains?

Making messes, wearing dresses,
Naps in flowers, why take showers,
Opening cans with rubber bands,
Plummeting rains, do bugs have brains?

Quiet at night, almost, not quite,
Reading a book, tucked in a nook,
Swing from a vine, won’t that be fine,
Tripping on cranes, do bugs have brains?

Under the sun, look at them run,
Vying for love from up above,
Waiting for lunch, hearing the crunch,
X-tra back pains, do bugs have brains?

You won’t believe what they achieve,
Zapping through plains, bugs DON’T have brains!

By Jennifer, 12th Grade

Photo by Phil Hilfiker via Flickr

The Factory

disused factory by amandabhslater

The factory stood there, isolated from the rest.
A girl nearby was gazing intently upon it
Like a lost person searching for a place to stay.
She hoped to stay there forever.
The girl nearby was gazing intently upon it,
She could smell the wonderful aroma of sweet vanilla ̶
She hoped to stay there forever,
In the large factory everyday for the rest of her life.
She could smell the wonderful aroma of sweet vanilla
Trying to make her father proud
In the large factory everyday for the rest of her life.
So she went in and spoke to the people,
Trying to make her father proud.
And reluctantly, she got the job.
She went in and spoke to the people.
It was very different from what she expected.
And reluctantly, she got the job.
Like a lost person searching for a place to stay,
It was very different from what she expected.
The factory stood there, isolated from the rest.

By Angela, 7th grade
[photo by amandabhslater via flickr]

Pantoum

I am throwing stones in the brook
as slowly as a turtle walks.
The babbling brook speaks to me.
I tell the brook my secrets.

As slowly as the turtle walks,
the brook tells me its secrets.
I tell the brook my secrets.
We describe our troubles.

The brook tells me its secrets.
When it’s deep, I swim there.
We describe our troubles.
I never tell anyone about my friend.

When it’s deep, I swim there.
I am throwing stones in the brook.
I never tell anyone about my friend,
The babbling brook who speaks to me.

by Brian, 5th Grade

Mirror Poem

Who will I be when I open my eyes?
What might I see in the colorless light?
You think I am a flood of energy, never in one place.
I think I am a mystery of silent words.
You think I am a crystal, beautiful yet fragile.
I think I am a flame that can’t be put out.
You think I am a mountain, strong and unmoving.
I think I am a twisting river.
Hear me!
The girl of a shining star!

The girl of a shining star!
Hear me!
I think I am a twisting river.
You think I am a mountain, strong and unmoving.
I think I am a flame that can’t be put out.
You think I am a crystal, beautiful yet fragile.
I think I am a mystery of silent words.
I think I am a flood of energy, never in one place.
What might I see in the colorless light?
Who will I be when I open my eyes?

by Jennifer, 12th grade
[photo by lindyloo84 via flickr]

My Name is Jemma

J is the jeweled night sky under which I was born;

E is the entirety of the universe which gave me life;

M is the magic which burns in my soul and in my eyes;

M is the moment of stillness in each day when I see the future;

A is the alchemy in my heart
which turns brass experiences
into gold memories.

My name is Jemma.

by Jemma, 6th grade

Wind Sestina

The trees sway among the soft wind
Swaying and moaning across the grass
With a blow of soft breath
It flows with great silence
Through the barren of calmness
Opening through the forests of trees.

It moves across with great silence
Blowing the face of each breath
Through the endless prairie of grass
Of great, strong blows of wind
With great ease and calm,
It blows among the trees.

The wind sways through the silence
Offering peace and quiet to the trees
With a soft whistle of its breath,
It glides across with calmness,
Continuing its journey among trees
And coolness to the grass.

The children run on the grass
With laughter, not silence.
They climb the trees.
White wind blows with light breath
Through the valley of calmness
And with itself, the wind.

When anger arouses the wind
It does not flow through calmness
Nor does it blow across with silence.
No more is there a soft breath.
It blows down the trees
And shivers the grass.

When the howl of breath
Screams through the trees
The green, frightened grass
Is shocked to silence.
No longer does the wind
Provide the world with calmness.

No more is there a breath of silence
Through trees and grass.
No more calm­—only an angry wind.

by Anh Mai, 7th grade

[photo by gunnisal via flickr]

Alphabet Run

All
But my
Cat and
Dog
Eat low
Fat food and wear
Gap shirts and
Hats.
I’m a person who likes
Jelly.
Kate used to be a nice name but now it’s
Lame. A
Mouse lives in my house
Now because
Of a cat. He
Put cheese in my house to catch the mouse but
Quacked like a duck and now is a
Rat and
Sits on the couch on
Tuesdays. You
Used the bathroom to put on your
Velvet dress but it
Was black and white like an
X-ray and
You didn’t like it.
Zingolingo is a good game.

by Osmar, 3rd grade

[Photo by Leo Reynolds via flickr]

Ode to a Comfortable Silence: A Sonnet

You can not have a conversation and
avoid the necessity of a pause.
The silence takes the mouth under a hand
for whatever reason, some unfathomed cause.
Do not fear the silence after you speak;
it’s not a ragged void, or stony wall.
Accept the silent moments as they sneak
into your conversations when they shall.
Try to love this time for what it is.
Don’t spend it groping wildly in space.
It’s a moment for reflection, not a quiz,
and not a time to overlook in haste.
It might not have meaning, but it has might,
a poetry, a purpose, and a right.

by Raygan, 11th grade

filtered-sunlight-by-owen-via-flickr.jpg

(photo by Owen via flickr)

The View

I was holding my father’s hand.
We lifted our necks high into the air.
The sculpture was so high.
We gasped in amazement.

We lifted our necks high into the air.
Your mother would have loved to see this, he said.
We gasped in amazement.
It was a breathtaking view.

Your mother would have loved to have seen this, he said.
My neck hurt.
It was a breathtaking view.
I looked down to ease the pain.

My neck hurt.
I was holding my father’s hand.
I looked down to ease the pain.
The sculpture was so high.

by Kadie, 6th grade

505428_holding_hands.jpg