Tag Archives: National Poetry Month

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.

Teen Poetry – PJ – Refrigerator Magnet Poem

A Ruined Business

colorless zebras
ran into purple

Our store?

Is over.


–PJ, Greenwood, Teen Adviser

Poetry love – Beacon Hill style!

teen poetry bea

Beacon Hill Library!  Check it out!  🙂

poet tree bea

Jesten’s Fave – Poem is a Little Path – Charles Ghigna

A Poem is a Little Path

by Charles Ghigna

A poem is a little path
That leads you through the trees.
It takes you to the cliffs and shores,
To anywhere you please.

Follow it and trust your way
With mind and heart as one,
And when the journey’s over,
You’ll find you’ve just begun.

Teen Poetry – Phoebe – Untitled


Stones that throw wishes that buy stones that can fly.
These are the things that haunt my dreams
Was it? a tear, an edge, a butterfly
I will say this until it crumples at the seams

/so… peaceful/ she might say
Her cold whiskers scent my hand in the night
/? is it habanero?/ with an accent I can’t place
all the while my skin tingling, blood in my eyes

Setting my example by my words by my rhyme
(I keep on trying to shake the feeling)
Looking over shoulders over mountains made of lime
skins discarded peels discarded black grass of liquor ceiling

and still I hear her: /so peaceful, is it?/
/habanero?habanero?/ oh
/so peaceful is it habanero?/ speaking slow
her skin lying over her shoulders like a silk shawl

And Betrayal, naughty with her mannequins and pain
lifts the lid so I can speak through the deed, the sight
But so thick and heavy the scarlet satin stains
Her skin skull shrill chases me over backwards through the night.

–Phoebe, Greenwood, Teen Blogger