Tag Archives: National Poetry Month

Shannon’s Fave – Afternoon on a Hill – Millay

afternoon on a hill

Afternoon on a Hill

I will be the gladdest thing
Under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers
And not pick one.

I will look at cliffs and clouds
With quiet eyes,
Watch the wind bow down the grass
And the grass rise.

And when the lights begin
To show up from the town,
I will mark which must be mine,
And then start down!

Edna St. Vincent Millay, 1917

The illustration is from Childcraft encyclopedia 1949, which was on my bookshelves when I was small.

Teen Poetry – For You – Phoebe

For You

For you
is your tomb and here is the spot here
where i may bury you
it is quite warm

for a day in the sun of february.
is your little mink pillow, with the white socks
inside. in case you want them to cover your feet.

i brought you a casserole
and a jar of white jelly from the mantel
i hope that’s enough.

take this ring. it’s only twenty pennies
four nickels, two dimes, one heart
and it has a little string, see?
you can wear it around your neck.

-Phoebe, Greenwood, Teen Blogger


Poetry love – Fremont style!


Fremont Library!  Check it out.  🙂

Marty’s Fave – Resumé – Parker


Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren’t lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

Teen Poetry – Phoebe – Untitled

Who am I working against? This big bedsheet
curls beneath my fingers and blossoms like the nodes of summer lightning
rattling the front window door pane.
Who am I trying to prove?

Prick and stitch, prick and stitch, any minute
her cold grey eyes will open again and smell
wet roses reaching out

I keep my teeth between my fingers, tuck in my stays,
for a hard night’s rest, and watch
the little dew-dripping patterns of fern on cotton.

–Phoebe, Greenwood, Teen Blogger

Jenny’s fave – Ode on Melancholy – Keats

Ode on Melancholy

By John Keats

No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist
Wolf’s-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss’d
By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
Make not your rosary of yew-berries,
Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be
Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl
A partner in your sorrow’s mysteries;
For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.

But when the melancholy fit shall fall
Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,
Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
Or on the wealth of globed peonies;
Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.

She dwells with Beauty—Beauty that must die;
And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips
Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,
Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:
Ay, in the very temple of Delight
Veil’d Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue
Can burst Joy’s grape against his palate fine;
His soul shalt taste the sadness of her might,
And be among her cloudy trophies hung.

Teen Poetry – Emily – I Am From…

I Am From…

I am from people who ran away from bombs and guns

Trying to not get killed.

I am from people who tried to cross a border to be safe.

I am from parents who separated.

A dad who supports anything I do.

I am from a mom who doesn’t care what I do.

I am from a family that can risk their life helping me

Get an A+ for my science fair project.

I am from a family who has a Nerf Gun war




I am a kid who scrolls on tumblr laughing at dog gifs

All day

I am a kid who is a Mirfanda.

I am a kid who wishes she can go to a kpop concert

I am a kid who wishes to eat bacon and be healthy


I am from a house who screams

At each other when a scary trailer comes on

I am from a house who sings Resentment by Beyoncé

All together

I am from a house that isn’t normal


I am from a place where

You can smell fried vegetables

I am from a place where people try to be stress free

I am from a family that is average

I am from all of these things that I like because

They make me


–Emily, 7th grader, West Seattle

We Love Poetry – How I Discovered Poetry

How I Discovered Poetry
  How I Discovered Poetry

Author:  Marilyn Nelson

“This is the story of Marilyn Nelson’s own childhood, and of America in the 1950s. This highly decorated poet —National Book Award Finalist, recipient of the Robert Frost medal, Newbery Honor Winner — has created fifty eye-opening, intimate poems that tell the tale of her development as an artist and young woman during one of the most turbulent decades in our nation’s history. These poems, spanning her fourth to fourteenth years, touch on many aspects of that time: racism and the Civil Rights Movement, the “Red Scare,” the shadow of the atom bomb, and the first stirrings of the feminist movement.”

Kirk’s Fave – Darkling Thrush – Thomas Hardy

The Darkling Thrush

by Thomas Hardy, 1840 – 1928

I leant upon a coppice gate
When Frost was spectre-gray,
And Winter’s dregs made desolate
The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
Had sought their household fires.

The land’s sharp features seemed to be
The Century’s corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
Seemed fervourless as I.

At once a voice arose among
The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
Of joy illimited;
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carolings
Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
And I was unaware.

Rae’s Fave – Twistable Turnable Man – Silverstein

Twistable Turnable Man

by Shel Silverstein

He’s the Twistable Turnable Squeezable Pullable
Stretchable Foldable Man.
He can crawl in your pocket or fit your locket
Or screw himself into a twenty-volt socket,
Or stretch himself up to the steeple or taller,
Or squeeze himself into a thimble or smaller,
Yes he can, course he can,
He’s the Twistable Turnable Squeezable Pullable
Stretchable Shrinkable Man.
And he lives a passable life
With his Squeezable Lovable Kissable Hugable
Pullable Tugable Wife.
And they have two twistable kids
Who bend up the way that they did.
And they turn and they stretch
Just as much as they cantwistable-turnable-man
For this Bendable Foldable
Easily moldable
Buy-what you’re-soldable
Washable Mendable
Highly Dependable
Buyable Saleable
Always available
Bounceable Shakeable
Almost unbreakable
Twistable Turnable Man.