Here is a collection of five of my favorite published poems that I have written in the past few months. I hope that you are inspired and can take it upon yourself to experiment with poetry. I invite you to begin writing your own poems in your writer’s notebook today!
Where I’m From after George Ella Lyon
I am from carmex in the can
From peter pan creamy peanut butter
And dove bar soap.
I am from the white house with green shutters
Gravel driveway and tall pines
It sounds like a symphony when the wind blows
I am from the pink and white azalea trees
The tall grass
With soft white dandelions growing
I’m from the 4th of July cookouts and
Loud voices
From Nathan, and Ashley
And Colton.
I’m from giving big hugs and
Driving with a lead foot.
From choose your words wisely
Don’t let the bedbugs bite
I’m from Jesus loves you and
I know the plans I have for you declares the Lord.
I’m from Western North Carolina
Cornbread and stringing green beans
From the way grandpa Wade smelled his food before he ate it
And the way that Granny prays over every meal.
I am from parents who work hard,
Money isn’t everything, church on Sundays and family first.
I am from honesty is the best policy and always do your best.
I am from treat others the way you want to be treated
And love with all you have.
Azalea’s
The solitary Bush stands all alone.
I wonder how she feels.
The bees and birds float around;
pollen and petals they steal.
The bugs creep up her bumpy bark
rough on their feet,
deciding which branch to take
when a fork of two they meet.
Some branches reach out
as if asking for a friend
some just keep to themselves
and tangle up within.
Some branches have flowers
and some of them do not.
Those that do have power,
by the sun reflecting off.
The blooms are big and so vibrantly pink soft and without a care.
Moss covers the ugly bark with
splotches just like hair.
The mass is green and squishy –
soft to the touch, it gives in
when your finger meets.
The solitary bush stands all alone.
But she has not forgotten.
Her colors are bright and set her tone.
So Much Depends Upon after William Carlos Williams
So much depends upon
This folded paper clip
Coated with lavender hue
Holding papers together
Keeping them from flying
Astray
Binding my work
Within it’s tight
Embrace.
My “Found” Poem from a Small Moment Story I wrote myself
Lately I find myself
inbetween.
I am both professional and
college student.
Where both are
part of my journey.
Who I am
Who am I?
Inbetween is hard.
Straggling the fence
basically an adult.
Inbetween is my motto.
My Room at Duckett Road after Bathroom by George Ella Lyon
The walls covered head to toe
with lady bugs lined in a row.
The quilt I used for so long,
the leaves peeling up, unstitched.
Where mom sent me when
Colton and I got in a fight
hoping that she just might
not make us hug and “make up.”
The bed where dad would stay
with me until I fell asleep.
Out the door I would creep
to watch t.v. around the corner
From the lime green room at duckett road.
Ms. Wild's Thoughts 