Poetry by Emily F.

Torpidity (Scaffolded from "Requiescat" by Matthew Arnold)

Sitting silently at her desk, desk
        And never an idle thought!
In the classroom she would confess,
        Was the tense fight or fought?

Her intelligence the classwork needed;
          She worked diligently.
But the boringness of the work she hadn't heeded, heeded,
          And so she worked tiredly.

Her eyes were dropping, dropping,
          With colors of red and orange.
But for her classwork she was not stopping,
           And now her determination would plunge.

Her apertures slowly falling.
            They open'd and closed once more.
During class it doth become
             A wall of slumber.

Poetry by Roxy

I remember
For Skylar

I remember
Chasing each other around the house
Like a cop chasing a criminal
Up the stairs that were as high as a mountain
Then tumbling back down
Your laughter
My giggles

I remember
Your booming voice
The unceasing beat
Pounding my ears
While I try to sleep

I remember
Watching you
Ride my little orange bike
That was way too small
Unlike your grin



Land of Cake (Scaffolded from "Land of Happy" by Shel Silverstein)

Have you been to The Land of Cake,
Where everyone eats all day,
Where they frost and make
A whole lot of cake,
And there isn't time to play?

There's no one skinny in Cake,
There's no one who can't bake.
I have been to The Land of Cake--
What a belly ache!



Four-Horned Debonare

I found a four-horned debonare;
He looks a little like a rabid bear.
He required quite intensive care,
And only lives in Delaware.
He often eats silverware.
They really are rather rare...
Too bad he's the family heir.




Golden Teacup

Mexican gold poppies
Sit baking in the sun,
But only for a while.

After the water
Slowly seeps away,
This golden teacup will leave.

But not before
It sprinkles its seeds,
Like salt from a shaker,
For the next generation
Of beauty.




Tumblers

Falling, falling,
Twisting,
Turning,

They fall.
Each different from the next.
Everyone standing out like neon.

Racecars racing,
Seeing who will be the first
To touch the cooling ground

The first one touches;
Then more come,
Quietly touching down.

They made it.

Poem by Colin

Mom

The way you drove me back and forth
in that old bright as the sun car,

Must have been so annoying
because it traveled so far.

So I wanted to take this time
To apologize for that,

But without my sports and activities,
I might have turned out fat!

Poems by Jenna M.

Mother

The radiant, golden sun beats down on us.

The crystal, blue water trickles onto my face as you watch from the wooden bench.

I listen to the pitter patter of the water on the hard concrete.

I run in circles and circles around the sprinkler.
I wear a plum-colored, polka dotted bathing suit.

A large octopus dances on the front.

You smile at me.

I smile back.

Your smile is the sun.



The Unfortunate Tale of a Fish Named Bob

Deep down in the ocean blue,
Lays a city for large fish and small fish, too.
The fish city is very diverse.

There's even a fish that can swim in reverse!

But one little fish doesn't seem to fit in.

He doesn't know how to move his fins.

This poor little fish by the name of Bob,

cannot swim to complete his fish jobs.

Bob's gills are amber and sheen,
and he's as lean as a green bean.
He tries to swim day after day,
but Bob o'Bob cannot get his way.



A Small Seed

A small seed sits in the firm dirt.

She cried for water.

She pleads for food.

The seeds looks at the flowers around her.

She asks why she cannot grow into a gorgeous flower.

The flowers reply, you will someday.

One day, the seed will turn into a precious rose.

Her leaves will reach to the sun for warmth.

She will grow.

She will learn.

And she will thrive.



The Life of the Leaves

In the summer,

They stay

As still as a stone statue.

Colors of brilliant green

Sway in the occassional breeze.

In the autumn,

They fall
As gracefully as a ballerina.
Colors of red, yellow, and orange
Dance in the air.

In the winter,
They disappear
Like a bear in hibernation.
Colors are no longer there,
But remain hidden beneath white snow.

In the spring,
They emerge

Like petals popping out of a bud.

One color consumes the world:

The color of emerald.

Slumber

The sinking sun is the sign,
that it is the time to go to bed.
So, now you will sleep in silence as
still as stone.

Sweet dreams will surround you.
A summer breeze brings bright stars.
The whispers of morning will wake you,
and once again the sun will appear.

Poem by Brett

Fly

Swarming little black fellows

Cover the air in a hurry

Buzzing away

They are like spies

In tight, jet-black suits
Doing the dirty work:

Sneaking, creeping, peeking

As they swarm away.

Welcome to The Writing Games!

Hello, all!

For those of you familiar with my reading blog (readingcafegcms.blogspot.com), you know that I already have a space for my GCMS readers.  I decided that I needed a space for my GCMS writers to share and shine as well, so this is it!  I will be posting writing by myself and by my students for all to see.  Please keep comments kind and appropriate as they will be monitored.  If you are interested in having me post a piece that was not a class assignment, simply email it to me at jsental@cwcboe.org.  I will not be posting every piece I get; I am posting pieces that demonstrate exceptional writing.

Happy writing!
Mrs. Sental