MPitS   Point Arena High School

Just Want to Feel Good

It is storming out side, but inside its dry

Little apartment kicking it with the guys

They are freaking out and want to go home

Wants to get out, but way to deep in the zone

Mad at the wall. Bob, and saying let it be

Looking at the moving hieroglyphics and bananas at your feet

Linoleum laying out laughing at them freaking out

Looking like little elves loving the trip out

I'm over it; step out into the thick rain

Life gets simple, but no where near sane

Spinning like a washing machine

I'm trying to get freedom

Listen to the raindrops

Till the sun is above the trees

Dizzy now but it all breaks down

Looking for the good feeling and now its found

George F
12 th Grade, PAHS
Blake More, Poet Teacher



Mexican Crossing The Border

When a Mexican crosses the border

They leave their families behind

Their family and their things

That they used to have
Mexicans leave their homes

Cross to the other side

Catching up to the dreams they face.

Sonia R
11 th Grade, PAHS
Blake More, Poet Teacher



On The Border


Un hombre cmzando la frotera al north

He suffers he struggles he leaves family behind

Por mis hijos he always says on his mind

But at the time

He is trying to pass

La migra is closing on his back

He runs y trata the escapar

But this father this friend doesn't get so far.

11 th Grade, PAHS
Blake More, Poet Teacher



How to be a Mexican

how to be a Mexican:

You need to drink a lot of tequila

Party a lot

Work a lot

Try to get a green card,

sell drugs to make money

and try to survive.

you also need to look good for the chicas,

Every time you see a cop

Run or they will deport you

Back to TJ

you also need to run through the desert

to get to the US.

Aldo S
Blake More, Poet Teacher




My Words

My words are the future they're considered a prophecy

So don't go on dissing, doubting, and mocking me

My words are too hard-core for the world

They cause Catastrophe

Standing tall like the Statue of Liberty

You haters and levas can never get rid of me

My words are holy, they should be in the bible

People call me a saint like one of Jesus's disciples

My words are a tsunami, they scar and bring death

You scared when you see,

What's wrong dogg, can't catch your breath

So confused, don't know if I fit in or if I'm an outcast

Because in this racist world the colored people finish last

Don't know what I'm doing

I'm sweating, out of breath my heart's pumping fast

My dad makes me feel like my life is a pile of trash

But its cool

I overcome this madness and show the whole universe

You're feeling like an ant with the lines in this first verse

Soon people will kneel to me

And I'll be the worlds main source

This stuff is so deep that my head hurts

Now analyze this and think of how powerful I can be

Cuz this is my life, my words, this is me

Jose M
Blake More, Poet Teacher




Why must the rain drip and drop from every crevasse of Her cloud?

The dictionary in my brain amplifies the possibilities of the truth.

She mimics the dark glow of the moon and the dotted writing of the night sky.

A sleek, sharp icicle pokes at the eyes and 1 know I shouldn't believe.

The seconds and minutes that were known as time

are shattered into a thin powdery substance.

The non-existing purity in Her heavy gaze amplifies Her deepest secret.

Her weathered love murders my heart.

Spirits of an American girl, haunting my memories.

Wish that She were not actual or true or genuine... She was uncommon, like a leaf to a tree.

Picture an intellectual being, stranded in a sea of fools.

Her sin is a blunder to all, and demands regret.

The sunlight in Her eyes can no longer be recognized or defined, for it is disguised.

Dreams work to insult my most prestigious goal...

Dry thoughts are soon destroyed, along with my soul.

Bryan B
Blake More, Poet Teacher





Flying gold stripes droop from the railing

The colors change as the pie is drooled over by the family

Main computer screen saver bounces the unicorn from comer to comer

Dining room table awaits the savage consumption competition

Exploding with excitement, knives are raised as if in murder

Turkey settled on the table vanishes as the ravaging ensues

Mashed potatoes covered in gravy scooped onto plates

are watched by a butterfly on the window

A bottle of water freezes atop the desk

Reflected words of the month return from Halloween

People put an apostrophe in this picture

Painter's pencil fills in the mouths in rapid communication

Stories of a myth detailing the beauty held by petals of the fust tree

In the photo, bodies are as rock

The book is on the T page in the alphabet but no one remembers

John C
12 th Grade, PAHS
Blake More, Poet Teacher




The map that was immortal

Lives a forever life due to the discovery of the world.

Pictures sing a deadly melody

A teacher has a definable room that asks only that you learn in it.

The dead wood that makes a desk

Gets pencil and pen graffiti along with sticky pieces oj bubble ^um

The chair is painted with golden apples.

The ball hit the clock and the time died

The Sony computer smiled that

It can never die as long as technology keeps making parts

Books that contain materials never tell lies

Boxes capture old and new papers stored away.

Girls phone each other in order to acquire information

Ripping up the floor in self-defense

The dead computer was out cold

The window wonders about pictures,

Butterflies touch sweet smelling flowers

Going to Kansas makes you

Dizzy and mortal.

Corey S
Blake More, Poet Teacher



Do you know?

Is the sunset in Kansas as beautiful as California?

Falling from the sky is that magical rain of college,

A fluke, or is college life altering

Like rocks and roses, plain and beautiful?

Are you afraid of bears that are afraid of you?

The spirit of the gods surrounds as he makes that


After, you becoming low and blue as he does his piratical


I wish for a 99 to nothing defeat!

How about you?

They are punishing trains I mimic.

Being despotic and a walking computer

Dancing birds in the splash down river.

Draining from the teacher to the point of sleepy.

It is cooking steak in the summer sunset sky,

The river the key to good bye.

Ben B
Blake More, Poet Teacher



How to Write a Poem

Detect both good and bad buried in your shadow

Release insecurities that hold you back

Dance to the song that you've been looking for

Cry the love that you've been scared to show

Imagine the color of your bedroom floor

Tears of totem animals flashing before your eyes

Don't fear the wish held deep inside

Let the flower bloom during all four seasons

like an Indian paintbrush that brings dreams and images

Exhale only what you believe

And what you feel life to be

Natalie A
Blake More, Poet Teacher




My Perfect Homecoming

Coming home from rudeness and racism

Coming home from anxiety ridden, caffeine addicted assertive robots

Coming home from honking horns and large billboards

Coming home from smog and smoke

Over the bridge, to see the lights, through the quiet town, down the empty strip

Coming home back to kindness and friends

To happy loving pacifists

To clear and beautiful skies

Coming home is the best feeling after a long hard cruel day.

Blake More, Poet Teacher




Leaves of the summer drift toward the ground

Dry and gleaming with the season's history

They are falling with a computer like memory

Rose petals glow in the rays of the sun

While trains roll by through the field of fall, worn with passengers' memories

The gray fog of morning clouds the future

Branches reach through the fog to caress the dizzy sunshine

Yearning for warm rays and crystal blue skies

The sun peaks its golden eyes above the horizon

Starring out through the mist, the swirling fog making enemies forget their anger

The honey spirit melts the defense of early risers

As the sunflower rises it's light reflects in the glass of a bottle lying in the sand

The sleeves of sunrise fill the dawn with an alphabet of color

While I sit at my desk, my fingertips drumming on the plastic,

I imagine a perfect morning

Amanda P
Blake More, Poet Teacher




Wow. What's the big deal

Everybody's so excited

Not me. No not me

I hope it rains, hails, sleets

everyone will get their pretty sparkly

dresses wet, muddy, dirt brown

no one will have heels too high

to keep them out of puddles

the rain comes in barrels

giant cannon balls

splish, splash, swoosh

everyone run for cover

no one is safe

the strobe lights go out

music stops

everyone stares into the blackness of each other

teach them

they spend too much money on dresses, lights, food, drugs, beer

they get drunk for a temporary high

that could cause permanent damage

the rain is the tears

from my eyes

Brianna C
Blake More, Poet Teacher

How Not To Fall In Love

Never Fall:

for the little puppy eyes

for his pick up lines

for his eye signals

Always Be Prepared:

make sure you have gum in your purse

make sure you have a good excuse if needed, like

"Oh, my mom said I have to be home early tonight"

Never go anywhere with him:

to his car if he asks you

to his house if he asks you

Never get caught in the moment:

never get caught in the moment

like when he tries to get romantic

make up an excuse

like you have to go to the bathroom

Don't ever fall for what he tells you:

like when he says

"damn baby, you look good"

don't fall for it

even though you know

you look good!

Ashley E
Blake More, Poet Teacher



As I decide to fulfill my life's strategy

the devil insists on trying to battle me

I meet him in an empty field on the high plains

he throws temptations my way to inflict internal pain

life and death matters, this ain't no game

it's mind over matter, the power of my brain

he thinks I'll give in if my muscles start to strain

he believes I'll submit to the evil of societies fame

and benefit from notorieties gain

he says I don't have to properly train

and that he'll give me fame

and everyone will know my name

but I think he's insane

cause I know the truth - to gain is to give

to have pain is to live

so I call on my heavenly father's name

and slowly watch the thunder and rain

I went blow for blow, I went face to face

now the devil knows, I'm able to escape

not by a back door or an alternate route

I saw the middle high ground and I ran right through

Alex N
Blake More, Poet Teacher



Mechanical World

I look out with my sea green eyes

the new Sony World

remembering the weathered wonder of existence

afraid to miss the rapidly closing window of opportunity

the legendary feeling of my broken family

feeling the grey cold reality close in around me

particles of questions too long to be answered

the poster smiles of life

preying for future friendships

at night the never ending lights and cameras

look like stars dropping from the sky

I look around the sparkling studio land for just one friend...

looking for something pure and untainted to touch, to feel

the distant memory of happiness oozing away from me

like a river of lotion

suddenly the sunlight through the thick smoke turns green

turning the world into a mechanical salad

Isabel M
Blake More, Poet Teacher




Just Waiting

Just waiting for something to give me the strength of a million men

or someone or something to put a S on my chest

like the man of steel will, equipped to take on the world's army of warriors

with no hesitation or radiation to hold me back

cause only time will tell when the maniac in me will rise to the occasion of evacuation

extermination of one nation under a groove

when knew?

and now the historic events that played out its tune only leaves us with horrific

explicit details of eternal songs of blood, love, sweat, tears

mind heart and soul is what I want

poison me with this sweet remedy

a vanishing of a Native Nation?  

this can promote an exclamation of blinded evaporation

because it's easy to point a finger and say

natives are dying because of this white man's world

when I hear garbage like this I want to get up and verbally abuse

slap the ignorant arrogance

say ain't nobody putting a gun to your head

forcing, making you take a shot or a drink

forcing, making you to take drugs

I say to you:

is this all your life is to be

if so, the dreams you dream will never become reality

do you really want people at your feet begging

feeling sorry for the bullshit you say

your situations destinations

grow up and realize it is you

you making yourself feel bad living on a reservation

sure you can quote "it's the white man's fault"

but really you are the one at fault because history is history

that was then, this is now

and now you have the chance to prove to a Native Nation

everybody is the same

we all bleed blood

we all breath air

we all need love

and we all need to eat and drink in peace

lets get together as a human race

look at each other

we are all the same

Michael M
12 th Grade, PAHS
Blake More, Poet Teacher


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