2004/2005
| MPitS | |
Point Arena Charter High School 2004/2005 |
Seventeen
My glossy pages crease and slide through your hands
One page moves fluidly onto the next
Every page of me is covered with what you want to be
What you need to be
Lashes curl upward from my large almond eyes
Faces are beautiful, powerful, unattainable, divine
My body is thin
Thinner then you'll ever be
My body is getting thinner as my pages slide through your hands
Peeling back a tab you smell perfume and gag
I think it's perfect
So do you
My lips are sultry
Whispering claims of the grandeur only I can give you
I can give you all this
For no more then the price of the breakfast
You didn't eat this morning anyway
Pick me up
People will see you together
You'll be that much closer
Pick me up
Join me
Join us all
Be perfect
Gina Lappé
11 th Grade, Pacific Community Charter High School
Blake More, Poet Teacher
I am cancer.
I'm in your body.
Thank you, because I needed a place to stay.
I'm growing, because your body's supplying my nourishment.
As a beginning, you cradled me like a child,
Supporting me,
And you made me grow strong.
Here I am,
In your breast, in your lungs,
And I'm surviving.
I thank you for your protection.
You made sure I wasn't bullied, or teased.
You cooed to me in the long nights.
And now I'm spreading.
I'm an adult, and I've outgrown you.
I reached out my fingers,
My arms wide,
And I was amazed at how I could expand,
How I could grow.
My cells are now faster than your cells.
In this race, I'm winning.
But it's not my fault.
You supported me,
You brought me here.
So here I am.
Alive.
Danielle Spoor
11 th Grade, Pacific Community Charter High School
Blake More, Poet Teacher
I am a butterfly
I grew up on a small orange flower
I could not wait to get out
a flower to a flower
a tree to a tree
I'm looking for a place to live
nobody knows where I'm going
Sayuri Nakazonoa
11 th Grade, Pacific Community Charter High School
Blake More, Poet Teacher
Untitled
I'm your best friend
these secrets you share are only ours
until the end
your mindless pencil acts as your slave
as it fills my pages with your worst and favorite days
its dull eraser scratches my thin skin
as you try to hide your mistakes
I am of an enchanting red hue
that's bound with a soft ribbon
I am your consultant when the day is done
I hold your desires and remember your memories
just in case you forget
on your desk, alone I sit
I will be here day after day
ready to take in whatever you have to say
I cherish the time you spend with me
lifting my cover allows me such freedom
like I can finally breathe
I trust you as much as you trust me
I will always respect your wishes
whatever they may be
I am your journal
and you are my writer
Christie Tatro
10 th Grade, Pacific Community Charter High School
Blake More, Poet Teacher
I am here
I am there
do you notice me?
I try to be quiet
but it is impossible
so you swing at me
what did I ever do
to you, I mean
I just sat there
you swing at me
while not noticing I'm there
you don't care
I try to eat
but you don't agree
so to the trash I must go
the life of a fly
you will never know
Alex Wilson
11 th Grade, Pacific Community Charter High School
Blake More, Poet Teacher
His face was an island to the woman in the crowd
on the stairs, with the cold one
in her head bone
something rattling behind her ears
like toothbrushes in an old water glass
his face was a tribe of angry voices in the darkness
caught behind Jurassic foliage
and the glittering splendor that touched her quiet neck
when the dawn snored
resting its ankles behind her
the phone buzzed carrying milk bottles and tulip shells
not one was with her
sliding fingers and toes into key holes
playing with light in their doll houses
his face clapped off in her living room
when the tv snapped on
a garden was growing in the belly of her tight chest
and when it bloomed two purple swallow eggs
choked him in her nest
Hannah Parsons
12 th Grade, Pacific Community Charter High School
Blake More, Poet Teacher
As we approach she says
the ocean's that color because people piss there
the walruses by the beach are covered
in dry sand so we lay on them
jump from one plank to another
the ocean is white
down in the woods
there is a building
every other board with a man in between
I wake up
do I dare
not hot
not cold
go back to sleep
Zack Babtkis
9 th Grade,
Pacific Community Charter High School
Blake More, Poet Teacher
Does the scene of a dead friend create anger?
Does it influence you to kill
what kind of ice does it take to make you cold blooded
the blood that feeds you heart
and soon eats and consumes you whole
hatred can paint your face
like the stain in everyone
the taste of iron from another man
at the tip of your tongue
savor it till all that is left is
broken down micro molecules of satisfaction
insane men are what change the face of what is real
or what is possible
men don't say they know love
but everyone has feeling saved for another
ready to explode
Dennis Orozco
9 th Grade, Pacific Community Charter High School
Blake More, Poet Teacher
Untitled
I breath in the tapestry
letting out the crap, you see
slip silvery bugs of absolutely nothing
run down the frame
surround me in heros
my sister pushes me to the edge
where she tells me to jump
jumping into the basket
I kick myself in the face
orange green and black melt into me
I become a color and chase myself
through a bed where I am sleeping
two and a half dozen marbles sprout legs
and march through my esophagus
burning and stabbing with pitch forks and torches
I cut myself open
and sweep them out
Asa Parsons
9 th Grade, Pacific Community Charter High School
Blake More, Poet Teacher
The Realm of Rhyme Collage
The question was asked:
when is it time to enter the realm of rhyme,
to delve into the world of words divine?
With that in mind we strive to find
Purpose, joy, joviality, and divinity with rhyme
Verse to aid in seeking the purpose of life,
A way of conversing with yourself the poet bringing the age of the page to your stage
that is Broadway lights or your desk,
Seeking divine rhyme, blind to the hopelessness of your search,
For in trying to find the answer to life you will find in the end that you wasted your life
rather than lived in the moments that are now but memories of plans, dreams and clever rhyme schemes.
We preach to the mic
Of the world we want to see,
We preach to the mic
Of how you see me,
We preach to the mic,
For that's all we know.
In a world of hip hop, rap, pop and verse,
The a form to chose
Won't loose,
For the power of words
Echos in the halls of high fidelity
Infinitely shrieking and spiking,
Through the mic to the amp
From the apm to the ear to the brain.
It will be time to enter the realm of rhyme
To delve into the world of words divine
When you can be content with what you are and not what people think you should think yourself as,
When you can look into the crowded audience from your stage and feel no fear of gears from your peers
no words of prophesized failure echoing in your ears, after long years of tears and fears.
It will be time to enter the realm of rhyme
To delve into the world of words divine,
When you no longer have a wish to be cool.
Cool. Cool, coming from the African word 'coolah'
introduced to society during the renaissance of Harlem, coolah, loosely translated as ' one with the devine'
Applied first to musical greats who abandoned words in their pursuit of divinity
and focused souly on the notes that are the musicians language
for him to translate his mental verse to the page, form the page to the stage.
We preach to the mic
Of the world we want to see,
We preach to the mic
Of how you see me,
We preach to the mic,
For that's all we know.
We preach to the mic,
For that's all we know.
All we know.
Leo Barton
11 th Grade, Pacific Community Charter High School
Blake More, Poet Teacher
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