The Pressures of Society by Bailey Kellenberger

The Pressures of Society 

Sit up straight
Contour your face
You eat too much
Just a salad?
That's not enough
Force a smile and don't act tough
Wear a tight dress that shows off your figure
But make sure it's not too low cut otherwise you're a slut
Date a cute boy
Tall
Strong
Blue eyed
Little do they know he abuses you and makes you cry
Have a voice but don't speak up
Be smart but not a show-off
Chase your dreams
But remain inside a box of reality 

Shakespearean Sonnet By Matt Dumbroff

Seeing as we have just begun learning about Shakespeare, and his many works I thought it appropriate to write a sonnet in iambic pentameter just like that of Shakespeare's, using some of his most famous lines in an attempt to emulate his work.

Against the stormy gusts of winter’s day

I tell the day, to please him, thou art bright

And in mine own love’s strength seem to decay

Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love’s delight

Toward thee I’ll run, and give him leave to go

In so profound abysm I throw all care

That you yourself, being extant, well might show

If Time have any wrinkle graven there

If my dear love were but the child of state

Incapable of more, replete with you

Thus policy in love, t’anticipate

And I by this will be a gainer too

Her audit, though delay’d, answer’d must be

Without accusing you of  injury

.

The Rain (By Eve Curras)

     We sat in the car, my clothes soaked to the skin, beads of water dripping down my forehead.  My mother and I had just raced against the rain, and as always, the rain had won.  It was just the two of us now, the only sound was that of the struggling heater and the pitter patter of droplets on the windshield.  I remarked how the rain was depressing.  My mother turned to me, saying "You shouldn't ever say that.  It will melt the snow."  And I found myself thinking hard about what she said, so I decided to write a poem about it.

The Rain

The promise of the first snowfall

Cold, white water brings the enchantment of Christmas time

But soon cold water is simply cold

And snow becomes vexatious

Pounds of white to be shoveled, not cherished

And winter is bitter, like a foul taste on your tongue

But April brings the rain

Winter wonderland becomes a distasteful memory

And only gloom remains

But with the rain comes the promise of green

And eventually the snow is gone, like all things

A breath of warmth is blown

Flowers take their shape among the growing grass

The sun dances across the pavements

Jackets are forgotten, boots left behind

The promise of rebirth hums in the air

So I thank the rain

For the fresh starts, a time of new beginnings

And for melting the snow

Drop Dead Gorgeous By: Alyssa Stouch

Though it looks of beauty

A diamond cuts the skin

Though the colors seem pleasing

The dart frog's poison seeps in

Though it shines of romance

A ring will soon begin to rust

Though his eyes were charming

He craved nothing more than lust

Though it radiates a golden light

The sun burns through a child's back

Though its arms provide security

A Venus fly trap devours its snack

Though it lets off a peaceful glow

The touch of a jellyfish will sting

Though she smiles of pure sanity

The voices inside her continue to sing

Though the world displays a pure innocence

Its deadliest secrets lie below the surface

For ones appearance does not define its purpose

Will a Poem a Day Keep the Doctor Away? (by Chris Hwang)

As students, we often hear about the merits of reading but rarely do we hear about the therapeutic benefits of writing? After having written three prior blogs, I can attest to the fact that I always felt liberated, empowered, and invigorated after expressing my thoughts in each of those blogs. I have written about very controversial topics such as excessive testing at school as well as our obsession with metrics. I also wrote about the importance of viewing our world in shades of gray. All three of those blogs entailed plenty of deep thinking, analysis, and reflection. Until now, all of my practice in the written language has been in the form of prose where my ideas are written in straightforward language and in sentences that are arranged into standard paragraphs. As we inch closer to National poetry month (April), I am attempting to expand my repertoire to include verbal expression in poetry form so that I can practice expressing my thoughts in a more condensed fashion while decorating them with comparisons, rhyme, and rhythm. Although there are countless styles of poetry, one thing is for certain. Poetry allows a writer to express thoughts with a different sound and feel than prose. For this blog, I selected a “lighter” topic but one that that is near and dear to my peer students and I as we march onward and forward to the beat of the winter doldrums.

Summer

Today is the day that starts it all

No more studying, no more homework, no more times where your grades may fall

Now that finals are over, you can just sit back and chill

While you watch your dad start up the grill

July is the time to go camping

Rent a kayak, rent a cabin with a bed, wait, that’s really just glamping

It’s the time to roast marshmallows and sit by the fire

As you can see, July isn’t really a month of ire

August is fun, especially at night

Although, it can get annoying when the mosquitos bite

It’s the last month of fun before school starts up

It’s the last time to fill up your cup

September is here and you’re back at school

Missing all the good times you had in the pool

It’s when you start thinking about all the ways

To propel yourself forward by 270 days

According to the advocacy group Americans for the Arts, everyone can benefit from writing poetry whether they want to share it or not since it:  improves cognitive function, helps heal emotional pain, leads us to greater self awareness, provides us with a gift of inspiration or education to others, and helps us celebrate. Did you know that as far back as 4000 BC, early Egyptians wrote words on papyrus, dissolved them in liquid, and gave them to those who were ill as a form of medicine? Thus, the healing effect of poetry has long been recognized from ancient through modern civilizations. We are thankful for the opportunity to Blog it on!

Stories Are A Journey by Juleanna Green

Stories are a journey;

A journey for the mind, a journey for the soul

They make you feel

They make you dream

Stories are a journey;

A journey for you, a journey for your life

They teach you

They shape you

Stories are a journey;

The journey of a character, a journey of a hero

They break them

They rebuild them

Stories are a journey;

A journey of hope, a journey of love

They inspire us

They remain with us

Stories are a journey;

A journey of sorrow, a journey of heartbreak

They make you long for people you’ve never met

They make you long for places you’ve never been

Stories are a journey;

Although you may never have lived them

They are there

And they always will be

Through thick and thin,

Through good and bad

And so will you

The Week Before Break by Sarah West

The air is cold, the festive lights shine bright,

people smile and laugh all through the night,

yet as the children frolic in the fresh snow,

we are stuck inside, in our homes.

Although we'd love to join in the fun,

there is just too much work that needs to be done.

Instead of holiday cookies, we make study guides,

And instead of carols we memorize formulas and outlines.

We work on projects instead of watching classic movies,

instead of spending time with family we must fulfill our duties.

As students, we always put school work first,

even when the constant stress over grades is the worst.

So still we continue to study late as all of the teachers cram

as many tests into the week before break as they can.

We don't even get to slow down during the best time of the year,

when we should be enjoying all of the holiday cheer.

Home Poem By: Caroline Kepler

Recently in class we had a choice between writing a definition, classification or example expository essay. So, I decided to write a poem defining what I believe a home is:

Not everyone has the luxury to call a house a home

Home doesn’t have to be a place with four walls

It could just be somewhere that one feels like they own

 Somewhere with memories that fill the halls

Home is somewhere one feels accepted

Where one is surrounded by people who create an oasis

A place where one doesn’t have to expect the unexpected

Joy fills the space on a regular basis

Whether the home is big or small, new or old

That’s not what matters most

Instead, what makes the home gold

Is being surrounded by people who are close

Home isn’t defined by the materials that make it up

But, by the loving people who fill it up

An Original Poem Inspired by an Old Friend By Danielle Kopp

When I was in high school I met a boy with the last name of Richter, who became one of my best friends. High school can be a strange time for teenagers, but some of us are lucky to leave with a few true friends. When we graduated I stayed close to home, but he was itching to travel the world and make films.  He achieved that goal and travelled the world making documentary films.  His travels made it difficult to see each other, but he visited when he could, wrote lots and lots of letters and postcards and made sure he was present at the most important times in my life - like my wedding day.  I wrote this poem for him in 2007 while I was a student at The National Writing Project at Rutgers University during the summer before my fifth year of teaching.

The Richter Scale

By Danielle Kopp

He is an artist,

always has been.

He can't help it, 

he was born that way.

Behind his eyes are many more

than twenty five years.

An old soul.

It took him a record of four times

to pass college Algebra.

Yet, the Dalai Lama found him 

WORTHY

enough to document his life.

Odd jobs, ideas, cameras, film, editing -

his is a world of constant change, 

collaboration and sleepless nights.

A champion insomniac;

he doesn't mind the dark.

Settling down is something he's trying, 

but years of friendship

gives me the ability to see

the way he longs for his travels.

For it is when he is wandering

the most unfamiliar of places

that he feels the most at home.

Long Days

No Showers

New Languages

Followed by the hundreds of postcards I used to receive.

Postcards that have become his footprints around the world,

proof that he was there. 

One year, on my birthday, he call me from Tibet.

A true friend, we're inexplicably connected by our souls.

Once he wrote to me:

Two trains run parallel, each on its own track,

but always keeping the same time.

Suddenly, they come to a fork

and are separated by a thick forest.

For hundreds and hundreds of miles,

they do not see each other.

But when the forest clears,

both trains are there, 

always keeping the same time.

That's where you are in my life.