My Wish list

This poem was yet another class assignment that just happened to turn out the way i was envisioning it. This morning our class left the classroom and when we returned we each had a cupcake with a lighted candle in it, sitting on our desk. Our teacher asked us what we would normally do with a candle. we went with, "Blow it out." she agreed but asked us what we would do while blowing it out, and we got the correct answer of, "make a wish!" she told us to think of some wishes and to blow out our candle, make these wishes, then, to write them down. our homework: make a poem out of the wishes. i tried and here is my attempt.                                                                                                

The sort of wish i dream about

when i fall asleep,

Are not of those that scream and pout,

or those of who do weep.

But when i lie there peacefully,

i dream about my friends,

and even more about the world,

and the people that live within.

i hope that every one,

will have a day of glee.

And all the friends i have and make,

will keep

their friendship 

with me.

i wish,

the warring of this place,

that we must call our home,

would stop before every one 

must leave us,

all alone.

These are things i hope for,

when I'm fast asleep.

And when i am asleep 

no more

My thoughts i have,

to keep. 

Falling, Falling, are my trees.

Are trees falling?

 

Yes, i think,

they are.

 

If they have not

gone down,

 

They, now tip

side to side,

 

Threatening to take,

the final

 

Plunge.

Trees are falling...

A Daily Threat

I wrote this poem while my class was in a 'Eurasian geography' block, and one night our homework was to write a paragraph about Afghanistan and fill the rest of the page however we saw fit,(an illustration, or a poem, and etc...) While i was working on the page, the beginning of this poem started to come to life:                                   

Standing in the doorway,

watching the sand blow by,

i make out the silhouette of a man,

one of the Taliban!

i run and hide.

i am safe.

thanking Allah for the blinding-ness of the black wind,

i go on my way.

My Nonny...

Two weeks too long,

Your hand too far.

Your voice too quiet for your life's volume.

A painting for you i have sent,

But you, yourself are not here...

Fishy

 This was originally a class assignment to do an interpretation on William Blake's 'The Tyger' poem. 

Why the scales?

And why the fins?

Where, oh where, did you learn to swim?

And why you tail that flips away,

As you swim above the sand,

Day by day-?

Why your gills that help you breath?

-Underneath the rolling sea-?

And why your family?

So big they are,

That stay with you,

Near or far.

Oh why,

Dear fish,

Are all these things?

I hope someday that i will see,

The secrets beneath the rolling sea.

Hatter Madagan Mad

i wish i could hear:
a giggle of madness.
See a painting of goo,
feel a hand of cotton.
Hear a slug of trash
and a town of pencils.

All of these things,
i wish i could.