Poetry

 

Where I’m From
By George Ella Lyon

 

 

 

I am from clothespins,
from Clorox and carbon-tetrachloride.
I am from the dirt under the back porch. (Black, glistening
it tasted like beets.)
I am from the forsythia bush,
the Dutch elm
whose long gone limbs I remember
as if they were my own.

 

I am from fudge and eyeglasses, from Imogene and Alafair.

I'm from the know-it-alls and the pass-it-ons,

from perk up and pipe down. I'm from He restoreth my soul

with cottonball lamb
and ten verses I can say myself.

 

I'm from Artemus and Billie's Branch, fried corn and strong coffee.
From the finger my grandfather lost

to the auger
the eye my father shut to keep his sight.

 

Under my bed was a dress box
spilling old pictures.
a sift of lost faces
to drift beneath my dreams.
I am from those moments --
snapped before I budded --
leaf-fall from the family tree.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Garden I Know

 

By Ms. Hart

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Student Poetry:

 

 

 

 

Memories I will never forget

 

 

I’m from a blue,beautiful and big sea side,

from the smell of the salty yet bitter taste of the ocean.

I am from the small white and gray house on the corner of  the street I have been growing up in,

from the big old oak tree in the backyard that I would always climb

and from the branches I always swung from but now no longer.

 

I am from black to brown hair,and brown eyes,

from Reinalda and Rafael.

I’m from the too loud's,to the comedian’s that we all are.

I’m from the upbeat and catchy spanish music,

to my chores being to clean the dirty and disgusting dishes,

and from vacuuming the dust floor.

I’m from the never sleeping city Wildwood,

from the heart racing rides that always make me feel a funny feeling in my stomach,

to the never ending boardwalk my cousins and I would always see if there would be an end.

I’m from the always blistering hot South America,

to the cold never ending nights of Paraguay,

from another place I called home.

My home was filled with childhood memories,

to people I barely remember,

people I know that are very true to me,

From landmarks I always knew, yet never forget.

 

 

 

The Warmth of Home

 

I am from the heavy backpack filled with books and papers,

From the dinner table and the glowing warm light that the lamp emits.

I am from the weeds that grew out of nowhere

(And everywhere).

I am from the scrambled, tangled up wires with twists and turns,

And the grass flowing from the outside.

I am from the calm and the hot-headed,

From my mom, Jessica and my dad, Christopher.

I’m from the lazy,

And the kind.

From the water that is running down the pipes,

To the laundry that is tumbling in the washing machine.

Then the sudden beep from the dryer. Yikes!

I’m from the Do Jang,

Rice, rice everyday.

From the Goldilocks and the three bears,

And The Humpty Dumpty that fell off the wall.

From the chirping from the birds in the park.

I’m from the bed that I wander around in my dreams.

 

 

 

 

Memories

 

I am from the belt I put on so tight,

From Hair Up and gear on.

I am from the woods I

sometimes would go in.

I am from the big brown house at the end of the coldesac

The long driveway.

I am from the hot sunny days.

The bright blue summer pool.

I am from the natural curly hair and brown eyes,

from mom and dad.

I’m from the tallness and long legs.

From dad.

I’m from the “A, clean up your room.”

I’m from the long walk on the boardwalk, the deep fried oreos.

From the stuffed bunny I had gotten from when

I came home from the hospital.

From the neighbors house for a nice snack after school.

I am from the mall my friends and I hang out at

Wondering  how much have became like family to me.

I am from the memories I have made.

 

 

 

 

 

The Backyard

 

I am from my blanket that lays on my bed,

From the teddy bear right beside me

From the soft bed that I sleep on.

I am from the Soccer field on my small street

(With tons of rough patches of dirt)

I am from the silver fridge I always open,

The huge tree I always climb

With all kinds of pointy branches

And the rough wood that scrapes my skin.

I am from black hair and nice eyes,

From Rodrigo and Hilda.

I’m from the big personality of my dad

And the loud tone in my voice.

From the noise of the ice cream truck passing by

I’m from taking out the trash,

The disgusting smell of the bag,

With all kinds of food in it.

I’m from America,

And the hot meat on my plate.

From the green backyard where I killed a snake

The shedded skin it left behind.

The concrete porch I always go to play with friends

I am from the rusty swing set I always have fun on,

and the handle bars I always climb up to.

I am from the smile on my face,

And the laughter in my voice to my friends jokes.

I am from the memories in my head.

 

 

 

I'm From

 

I am from a PC

From A keyboard,

And a mouse

I am from the peartree

Green.

 I am from the laptop     

The peartree

Green.

Green.

Im from the

And the

From ringing noises of a timer

Im from clearing the table.

Dishes.

Forks.

 

 

 

Growing up in the life of Mike

I am from the old fuzzy blanket sitting in my peach, welcoming house.

And the old glass table that’s sitting in my porch, (that I always slipped on).  I am from the bright yellow picnic basket that we take everywhere.

I am from the first pair of soccer cleats I ever got

I am from the tossed salad and the climbed trees

I am from the brown eyes

And the curly hair.

I am from trifon and Nena L.

I am from the “Michael do your hw”

To the trips to Europe

To Greece and Croatia

And to the back to back soccer practices,

I am from the gatorade

I am from the soccer in the parks

To the long bike rides in the park

I am from training with Luca Misko,

I am from the yellow corner house on **** dr.