Dear High Point Students,
         
            For our Creative Writing Workshop class, we have been conducting a Literary Service Project. This project is called Pass a Poem. Anytime that you check out a book from the library, you will receive a poem and will be asked to please comment on the piece. We would appreciate if you would take part in our project and read the pieces. We ask you to please leave an appropriate comment in the space given and hand the poem in to the librarians when you are finished. Thank you for helping us Pass a Poem!   :-)

   Sincerely,
         Devon, Jackie, and Elena

Something my Saturday Mornings taught me about Love.

Early in the morning: Dawn,
While still in my pajamas
And still eyes clenched shut,
I'd open the window and let
The cool, whimsical wind
Splash my face with the
Phrase "Good Morning" .
The Breeze was as serene as
The birds on the telephone wire.
2 deep breaths and I think back to you.

Eyes adjusting to the light
Scratching its way into the
Crevices of my room.
I open them wider.
I want to see everything.
These early Saturday Mornings
Tear memories from my brain
And present them in front of my
Eyes like photos at a museum.
2 deep breaths and I think back to you.

Resting my head on the windowpane,
My thoughts soar,
And my hopes plummet.
I can never get you back,
And you cannot have me.
The birds sing an unfamiliar tune
That makes my head spin.
And I suffocate in their cotton candy
Sentimental ode to the sky.
2 deep breaths and I think back to you.

2 breaths more and I think back to us.

Porcelain Dolls and Grandmother

My Grandmother always smelled like diet soda.

The only available drink whenever we visited her:

Whether for her birthday,

Mother's day

Or Christmas.

My Grandmother smells of diet coke.

My Grandmother always smelled like a room full of porcelain dolls.

Her small house filled with delicate Swarovski crystals and glass:

Glass everything.

Just like the delicate strands of her long blonde hair,

Intricately laced in curls on the top of her head.

My Grandmother smells of porcelain dolls.

My Grandmother always smelled like perfume.

Perfume she used to ease the stench of hard work

And dedication to raising 8 children-

Alone.

My Grandmother smells of work, sweat, and perfume.

My Grandmother always smelled like love:

Love, like the way she taught her children life lessons

And prepared them for the reality of being a grown-up-

How to care for and depend on each other.

.My Grandmother smells of love.

But most of all, my Grandmother always smelled like trust and inspiration.
My Grandmother smells of the admiration I have for her.  

Period 1 CWW Renga - Identity

I am more than
What meets the eye.
Some of what you see is true,
But to truly know me,
You must look deeper:
Deeper into my heart.

Sometimes I am afraid to let anyone see
into my heart.
If i dont even know it that well myself,
how can anyone else?

Maybe one day i will know
What lies deep within, and
Maybe one day someone else will too.

And maybe,
Just maybe,
Then i will know who i am,
And my identity will be like the ever-present sun,
Not  twinkling star.

There is no maybe.
One day i will sparkle,
One day i will shine.
When you're lost, and have forgotten everything about yourself,
Look up into the sky,
See the light emanating from the infinite, and you'll see yourself.

You will see yourself shine,
Become the one you were
Meant to be in this life
With no questioning why,.

Rising Clouds of Grey

You see it everywhere:

Exhaust coming out of a car,

Hurdling puffs of debris

Inch closer to the open

Driver's window behind.

It does not affect the driver, though,

For he is amoking:

Long exaggerated breaths

Of oozing grey blurs.

So many that the gasping driver

Starts hacking,

For his brittle lungs are weak,

And crashed into a

Telephone pole.

Whimsical flurries of dark

Clouds rush into

the light blue sky.

Now that driver will

Be late for his friend's

Bonfire party.

It's her birthday,

And he even bought a gift.

He will miss her

Blowing out her candles.

The smoking driver will miss

His best friend's

Birthday wishes.

And soon, that driver

Will drive home,

Leavign a trail of

SMOKE

Behind him-

Only to ruin somebody else's

Birthday Wishes.

Library

Books scream and shout from their shelves. Mystery and Horror are friends, right next to Young Adult and Juevenille. They are freinds too. They are good friends and they liek to sleep over people's houses. Sometimes with other books, or maybe alone. Some of the really lucky books are renewed constantly and are read every night, evey day... But for a few  the unlucky books, they stay on the shelf until a book sale comes along. When all the books, that were not being used, finally have a chnce to stretch their pages out and ket their binding run... The book becomes alive when their pages are flipped and the story that lies between them is known .

Dear Rainy Tuesday Morning

Dear Rainy Tuesday Morning,

          I know you mean well, watering all the plan ts and what not, but you've been raining for a while now and quite frankly i'm sick of it! Litterally, sick. I don't care about the plany because they are watered enough, don't you think? I mean, if you want, I can make a deal with you and promise to water the plants everyday if you would only stop raining. You're going to dry because you just refuse to stop raining! You are just too stubborn. And I  know being a cloud is lonely but is it really necessary o be a big baby and cry all the time? Get a grip man!

                 Sincerely,
                     your concerned human, Devon