Poems that were transferred from Edsby

High school-
what a hoot
its not your average
middle school commute.
after being a shadow
of a boy who knows the ropes,
he showed me the way,
but i still don't have high hopes.
it was fun and all,
i made a friend.
but to me it felt like,
a long journeys end.
of so many memories,
and so many stories,
middle school,
my time of glories.
i met my best friends,
who i must depart,
when the boundaries of schools,
tear us apart.
and so many others,
enemy and friend.
lover and hater,
all to the end.
but to cherish our time,
is what i feel best,
after the long time away,
away from the rest.
im ready for the challenge,
and all of the new years,
but im not quite ready
to say goodbye to my peers.
as scary as it was,
i know how it ends,
to make my resolve ,
i must make amends.
its not goodbye yet,
i hope not to soon
leaving this place,
in the early of june.
all the memories,
none i regret,
of this important story,
ill never forget.

-Nicholas Jeske

(Blast from the past much?)

Thank you so much Amanda and Hailey, though mostly Amanda. I don't have the patience to scroll that far back. And by the way, you forgot this one:

Parth Kulkarni

George Burdick

His Fault

A rickety stair,
Dusty shelves,
Or an eye in the hurricane,
Lost in time,
Fading faster and faster,

How we survive is a mystery.
Imagination, it must be.
To cry ourselves to sleep,
Losing control,
Eye for an eye,
Rickety stair.
-Message should be easy to find.

George Burdick

Memoir

How I speak,
I see to the end,
The bravery of justice,
The cowardice of vengeance,
All our loved ones will be there,
At our backs,
Even when they've passed,
And I am not saying they died,
But for those that were lost to me,
Before I helped,
And I cry and lose sleep,
Every Night,
Crying for the passing,
Those who left us empty shells,
With guilt a constant companion,
Guilt for not doing more to save them.

Mr. Taylor

BRIDGES

Life is comprised of tiny lies
We tell ourselves
To muddle through
To muddle by

Sleep is a solace we sometimes can afford
Not always easy to achieve
Not always easy to avoid
Sometimes inevitable

Touch is a treasure
An enchanted moment
A curative contact that lets us know
We are not other

Loss is a void
An Abyss
But we are human
So we build bridges


(Poem for my canine brother Henry, named after my grandfather Henry Clay Turner)

Zachariah Morris

-Twilight Playlist-
About and around
flowing through my head
For the sad moments
For the mad moments
For the glad consent
I have
a list of music
which means more then sound
Its an actual art
the masterpiece of ignorance
Ignoring
a previous
beloved
tall tale history
And all
that is the same
is a background metaphor
The voice that sings the song
demolished, refurbished, damp tuned change
The brain that composes rhythm
sullen, sunken, seedless and serious
The imagination that taps the drums, strums the guitars, flitters the piano and hollows the voice
angry, fed up, sick on silence, horse from shouting
But they're there
The music
and tinkering
The tune
and harmony
consistently
Creep
in a tshirt
There when I'm jamming
There when I'm alone
Crack
in a castle of glass
There when I'm hoping
There when I'm happy
Modern
Jesus
There when I'm frustrated
There when I'm silent
Piano
Man
There when I'm normal
There when I'm living
Hotel
California
There when I'm mindless
There when I'm tired
There when I'm breathing
We are all just prisoner here
of our own device
You don't need sympathy
they got a pill for everything
Cause I'm only a crack
in this castle of glass
I'm sorry Mr.Police man
If I wanted to talk I would've called my friend
Yes, they're sharing a drink the call loneliness
But its better than drinking alone
And here
secluded from homeroom
stirs up a pot of bitter shot past
Awaken by songs
of my mental damned microphone

George Burdick

Rampage

The destruction of life
Is all that it craves
Running wild,
Moving free,
There really is no destiny,
The world is lost,
The end is near.
Why do we have to suffer through this abomination?
The only thing we fear,
Even knowing that the end is near,
How can we forget ourselves to this vice,
This destructive force,
That which can cripple a man,
Kill a child,
And destroy a family.
The vice.
-P.S. the vice is something you have to come up with on your own. This is a warning.

Dawson White

Shattered Light

Light...
The pure source of happiness,
Surrounded by darkness, and death.
Swallowed up by the monsters
Created inside us all...

Peace...
Broken by the uncertainty
of the ones held dear,
Cast away to never be seen
by the cruel, outside world...

Darkness...
The spawn of the monster
who swallows up the light,
the beingwho destoroys their humanity,
with its flaming whip of death...

Light...
The pure source now broken,
beaten, and obliterated, smashed
by the darkness and uncertainty, no longer
a pure source, but only Shattered light...

Zachariah Morris

-The French Man who spoke of French Freedom-
There was a french man
writing french
to a friend
on google+
He spoke of freedom
and 10pm meetings
With a guy fawkes
face plastered on his ID
He had a message
on his account
preaching for all who could
to appear
at this meeting for all those who care
And I thought
to myself
what a wonderful idea
to go there
Yet this man
of liberty
was french
and I assumed
he lived in France
perhaps Canada
but more likely France
for his ideals
seemed to sing of far lands
and distant importance
I could feel
the excitement
vibrate off this fellow
so I wrote
I am American
in a place where politicians
smother truth
and people eat this fatty american delicacy
I am American
but I can't help it
Your instructions
intrigue me
So I say
Go guy fawkes
Thanks Snowden
and the more power to you
For now
I see
united are we
The people who see
liberty
And I've known that
but now
distance
is conceivable
For the meeting
of the opinions
of the french
of the world
by the sea
My mind will joy
at the humans
who speak
Who cares what they say?
Do i know how they say it?
It makes me
happy
just to hear they will meet
Oh bloody bloody hell
Where art thou
my french brother?
Pray tell?
Who art thou
my polite friend?
Prey tell?

Robert Haywood

Here's a nameless one written during art-

Where are they now
The rebels we loved
With a swift hand
This coalition
Society and it's benefactors
It's given us an easy alternative
Ignorance is bliss, right?
But you've got to practice what you preach
Not that we'd understand
We, who pour faith into those fiery enough
We, who rely on those who actually resist
We, who place our faith in foreign hands
We, who explain that it's because we don't understand
We, who are too busy
We, who don't see it's not our fault
We, who were raised under false teachings of "work harder"
We, who never realized what was really going on
We, who never realized until it was too late
We, who fed our leaders complaints
We, who fed our leaders empty calories
We, who tried to fit in with rebellion
We, who proceeded to recline
We, who didn't take it far or wide
We, who let our enemies take control of our lives
We, who were afraid of the alternative
We, who thought we were intelligent
We, who said it was because we knew the odds
We, who recognized intellect was important
We, who didn't recognize that it wasn't that kind
We, who lied to ourselves
We, who placed fake confidence
We, who let those we hated cement it
We, who let the product of our concerned ancestors exist
We, who let their corrupted spirits breathe down our necks
We, who righted it with their pure intentions
We, who shunned those who didn't agree
We, who shunned those our commanders forced us to hate
We, who were forced to accuse them of anarchy
We, who got our thrills from imitating them
We, who didn't know what that really meant
We, who thought words could destroy
We, who thought a bark could bite
We, who assured ourselves that was all we needed to stand up
We, who saved the action for those who truly cared
We, who didn't want to become like the minority of comfortables
We, who designated faux radicals
We, who were afraid of becoming those people
We, who never realized all along the truth
We, who knew on the inside, in secret
We, who didn't share the secret- that's for the commies
We, who collectively realized, yet did not
We, who were really those people our angels despised
We, who really are those people
You, who is that person
I, who am that person

Nicholas Jeske

why did i stop?

i realize
its been a while
since i wrote words
in poetic style.
and i just realized
what caused the drop
what ceased my words,
what made me stop.
many have enemies,
they blame for their morose.
yet i have no strife from opposition
instead its from people more close.
i dont care
i dont care
i dont care
am i just being selfish?
i dont care
i dont care
i dont care
why do i keep acting helpless?
as if i cant live without
preferr a life thats free of doubt
im not the kind to tell a lie,
but for this i will until i die.
here they are
so unorthodox
rhymes as random
as the holes in rocks.
and as empty as rocks as well
but if your throw them
your sure to cause hell.
i care to much
or maybe its too little
im always the one
whos caught in the middle.
one reason,
one true reason i make these rhymes
NOT to try to pass the time
NOT to shut up the ones who whine,
NOT to break some "social line".
as if pretending is an easy task
a little aknowledgement
is all i ask.

Christine Kang


Someone I know wrote this. She wants to be known as omnimous

The others

The others, who can only see, hear, and touch
But can never feel in their minds
For the others, words have no meaning.
Just symbols that they can see with their glazed eyes
These words bring no joy, drama, anger to them,
Open the doors leading to the others mind, if you dare, but it will only leave you depressed and confused.
You see a mirror, but no reflection of the past
You see an angel, but with no wings
Your mind starts to melt, confused, dazed, amazed with the others mind. you are excited...
Until you wake up, realizing that you are one of the others.

Mr. Taylor

Octopus stock
Essence of the mediterranean
brine and ferment
tentacled cephalopod
cousin of neptune
behemoth
tender rubber creature
inky darkness
purple noon
master of deception
bane of crustaceans
your blood is my stew
I love you.

Derek Womack

exception

the way we act
the things we do
to impress the few

when all we need
are people to except us
or to be part of a group

friends we cant count on
people you cant trust
fakers all around

if we show are true selves
and express our emotions
we will find happiness

we want to be excepted
by friends
by society

the only thing we need to except
is ourselves

be free
be yourself

George Burdick

The Life of Bob
Bob was happy,
He was sad.
He sat down,
He was mad.
When he laughed,
He cried as well,
as Bob was never really swell.
He went to Mars,
and started to cry,
as he missed home,
and he wanted to try,
try to go home.
------ Unknown by you, but known by me

Nicholas Jeske

just following in-directions

all this conformity's
boring me,
"uniformity"
sorting me,
inderection
favoritist selection
fake cheers
and no affection.
subliminal
thell me why
truth kept to a mininmal
introductions liminal
shame is seen
curious congradulations, cynical.
forum fully fake for following facisms.
skeletons shaken seeing security stolen,
volunteering vaguely veering vigilantisms.
so why keep lined up?
i never signed up.
this place is so stuffy
how did i wind up
in place so plain
all pain but no gain.
its like nobody listens.
and thats pretty lame

Nicholas Jeske
is it a crime to see?

crackle crackle
hear the flame
burn the past
its all the same.
they're spreading lies
killing trust
ashes to ashes
dust to dust.
let the fire of truth
burn this plague
and clean the false
loud and vague.
typically
hear the cries,
of the burning fake
that spread the lies.
but honestly
i'm not feeling that way
i still don't care enough
to hear what you say.
maybe i feel
like talking about me
not being conceited
just a short story.
No much to tell
Not much to see
But to spice things up
I’ll do it honestly.
Now what’s on my mind…
So much I lost track
Its been a little while,
So ill think back.
Back to those days
2nd brain in a rivalry,
To steal someone’s love
An unforgivable robbery.
And like robbery’s a crime,
This was a cold case
Until new evidence was found,
A notebook with gold lace.
Shows the victims last thoughts
And how the theft took place,
A haunting past is the cops
And they’ve got me in chase.
Not that it matters,
And I forgot to mention,
All these half-hearted “poets” who
Abuse verse for attention.
Hell, that’s why I quit,
Like I was working at a chucky cheese
A faux pedestal of entertainment
For all these kids I have to please.
Oh, is honesty not allowed?
Because when I am it appalls ‘em,
Nobody’s got the right to whine
But they’ve all got a “problem”?
“Get mad at the whistleblower”
Am I the snowed of ignorance?
Like you’ve all been through the steps
Of the brainwashing-and-rinse.
But what’s the point the point in this,
Just to have it deleted
By the cracked under pressure
Under surveillance defeated?
Where IS Waldo?
Nowhere to be seen,
Systems scared him strict,
To keep the washed brains “clean”.
No time to offend
Now it’s time to be true,
I thought I could pass this torch
And trust it with you.
But now look what’s happened,
The haven built was burning
Kamikaze “for fun”
From this pessimistic yearning.
Just the past an inferno
Started by the reign of upset
Start over from scratch
Put out by a rain of regret.

Zachariah Morris

-Accept the Exception-
There is this one thing
that keeps coming back.
Throughout history
it repeats.
Throughout humanity
it defeats.
Anger
and pleading.
"Listen"
"Please"
"I'm done with you"
"Leave me"
And that is the thing.
With a bit more detail
and a hell of a story
you could see
the thing that oh so disturbs me.
No matter the words
or the tone
everything said
will be but a bone.
when the readers come to read.
When the readers come to disagree.
Everything
is but a dream
for nothing
in reality
can be seen.
Opinion and feelings
constantly revolving.
If I'm your friend
then you can't leave.
Traped like a raindrop
in a pouring storm.
All but the water
wet, reborn.
And how
one may ask
does something come to life
once more
if it was alive
before?
That, my beauty
is the ideaology.
You can't convince
without manipulation.
Honest opinion
will never win.
All I can say.
All I may write.
Its just slaps to your faces
due to your eyes.
How?
Do I speak?
If?
Everyone hates it?

Savannah Dale

"Words"
-
"I don't want to hurt you but..."
stop right there
you know what your words do,
but for what?
I was 5 years old,
my beloved mother watching me
wonder what I did to make your heart grow cold
as the south dakota snow.

"Give up,shut up, get out of my sight."
Now I stutter mumble and sputter,
just asking a question
preparing for horror movie fright.
I'll just sit this one out,
the reverse adrenaline of
just speaking to my friends.
Words will haunt me tomorrow,
without a doubt,
Without a doubt

(Didn't really want to post this for Georgia's sake)

Mr. Taylor

incandescent life
still ebulent from the river walk
sixty eight degrees
Puertorican neighbors singing language
preparing moroccan stew
lata mangeshkar
bhimsen josho
on the sound system
cumin, cilantro, chili

(I love this one, Mr. T)

Zachariah Morris

-Utopia- (and this is a new one, not an old one that hasn't been posted)

They just don't speak anymore.
The words around me.
All of us
surviving
then I write life
and hope it states that part of my mind.
But where
lie
our twins?
In atmospheres?
In deserts?
I can feel
the importance of the air in my lungs.
I can see
that what I say changes the world.
But it seems
that I want to run about.
Want to sing,
to party.
To live like Kerouac and supernatural dreams.
My heart pounds on the doors.
The doors of beginning.
But had I known nothing
then these times would cease.
All
around
us
are
places.
People.
And
I want to experience them.
Surely
I
exist to breathe
so why not breathe
where I can hope for something?
Honestly
I'm going insane.
Standing, sitting,
whatever.
My friends are spectacular.
The people are amazing.
And yet
these words are ending
What power do I have?
To move you?
Well, they all add up in this space.
This universe.
What do they do?
How do they stop issues?
Sometimes
you've thought enough.
Sometimes
you just want to live without speaking.
My brain unravels then swells, evolved.
Finally,
I've conquered Rome.
Time for greece.
Time to break out of this cage.
Funny
because
its not for freedom.
Its for the thrill of the excape.
I'm no longer insane,
whatever it was.
And that fine
but now its boring.
Too stuck up in a biased place.
Too personal,
I've seen this face.
Change.
World.
Please,
I beg.
Give me a revolution.
Get me out of my brain.

Zachariah Morris

-Destiny-
In my mind
dearest are the thoughts

In my life
loveliest are the words

Inbetween
scariest are the people

For around us all
sit poets, writers, speakers liarers

Passion so great, feelings so strong
Bias so tangible and truth so wrong

What
is the difference?

Where
lie the boundaries?

Something more than nothing
Everything everywhere, all the time nowhere

Within our daylight centers of the highest faith
raise your cups to the epitaph

Sleep
in silence till frineds awake

Believe
in the melody of the lake

For we have but a century
but one path to see

For around the world
wait our destinys

Zachariah Morris

-Knowing-
This year
with my friends
This year
when I walked the eclipsing road
My life
has chaged aplenty
And my wisdom
has all but accepted
clarity
For this concept
complys with beauty
and the ther wonderous slabs
of red brick and life anew
As the flames
of our hearts
light webs
of perception
I see
reaction
above dawns of conception
Eighth grade lifes
an eighth grade living
Across valley storms
lies green fields brimming
with flowers slanting
like the roses in the desert
Somewhere in a galaxy
lies a boy
pondering
his life
He sits
and considers
everything
One blond
Two blond
imagining the universe
different thought plains on similar beliefs
held aloft by the spirit of the dream
For we
are but marbles
on a marble
rolling on a marble existence
inside increasing exponential words
Say I to the clouds
you can know what I know but know nothing
Say I to the waterfalls
you can hear what I hear without your ears
say I to the stars
you may fly before me
after the wind
and during the illumination
but relate to none but me
disregarding everything
In the end
I feel my minds theories
and when I write art
they all want to be idolized
Billions of little snowflakes crystalized by ghosts
Lets begin the concert
When I breathe
my brain stops and ponders the atoms in the carpet
The fields of thought conversing on my floor
When Iwrite
I hear whispers of memorys
colors of emotion
Infinity's political stances
and our world's complexities
No one
can see
the things I think
And I
cannot explain
anything
Learn
the greatest painting
of my battery
everything
is anything
Something is possible
And movies
can be poeticly
inteligently
and crazily
compared alongside the wonder of life
Randomness is nothing
Randomness is something
And this is my key
My one step staircase
If you understood
completely and not just the shallow ends
of what I comprehend
then nothing but something could levitate everything

Maya Patel

In language arts we had to write a poem about a tangerine so I wanted some feedback on mine

Tangerine

You, My Tangerine
Born of Earth
Sweetness
Of the kindest, purest soul
But bitter
With all hidden greed, thoughts, and secrets

Perfection
Hidden within the strong slick wall
You are as a bright gleaming flame of light
Enticing as a scaly creature in the garden
You though, are not to fool

Flesh, not of blood nor meat but of medicine
Phytochemicals to keep us safe from within
You , My Tangerine
An angel of beauty, protection, and in a way
Somewhat
Human

Zachariah Morris

-Must I regain your trust?-
Its all right
Its all fine
Does what he can
to make a rhyme
but in the end
he chooses to try

Making a statement
with mighty force
Riding on the back
of a slowing horse

The sun truns bright
with the plight of time
Up and down swing
gleaming dreams

Its a lifetime of lyrics
A pasttime of seconds
So lets copy this
to the stone canvas

Straight from thy mind
Straight from thy brain

For long is my girlfriend
who understood
Missing are her compromises
her patience with "I could"

For frustrated is my fractured fellow
Mellow from anxiety
Anxious for words mellodys
Tired of "theatrics"

You think
I'm being dramatic
Looking for
attention

I say
its selfish
what you do
to my conscience

Stop asking
Stop wanting
All I see is desire
no trust, no love, not caring

Honestly
you both chose
under pretense of helping
me

To ignore what I've said
Your friend
To ignore repeating no's
over a human being