Poetry
I have a poet's heart.
I write poetry in the afternoon when it's dark.
I have many poems in my head
Before I get ready to go to bed.
I grab my pencil and paper
And say, "I'll play later."
I write the first line
When it pops in my mind.
I listen to my heart
Before I write down a part.
Janiya Moss
Golightly Education Center
Article# 975, Created Jun. 11, 2009 :: Last Update: Jun. 11, 2009
Dear God,
I wonder how
my mom is doing
up in heaven.
Sooner or later
can you send me
a sign. I would
appreciate it.
Lord, can you
send me a sign please.
Jaylynn Ragland
Golightly Education Center
Article# 974, Created Jun. 11, 2009
I want to walk where no man has been.
I was a dreamer once.
I listened to no haters.
When I didn't succeed at first I never game up.
I banged my own music to drown out the chatter of critics.
I sat in an empty booth.
I took my time crafting verses of gold.
I want to be forever known.
I am the ground under your feet in a Level 9 earthquake.
There is venom in my heart.
If you try to challenge me it will destroy you.
I was a dreamer once.
I had the most optimism in my own abilities.
My cheeks burned bright with a new energy.
I want to be forever known.
My bedroom is a place that no woman has ever seen.
I wish they would stop calling my name.
I was a dreamer once.
The sweet style in which I talk makes girls say they love me.
I want to be forever known.
My heart shows no love for the faceless women.
I was a dreamer once.
I didn't covet another's possessions.
I left my own possessions to follow my dreams.
I want to be heard now.
I can freestyle on any topic better than you can.
I can amaze you with the simplest metaphor.
I was a dreamer once.
I brushed up on my skills and smoked a lime.
My mouth became the tool to make me millions of dollars.
Now it only pays big when I spit.
Demarland Giles
Western High School
Article# 973, Created Jun. 11, 2009
I speak Arabic,
From the heart of the east
Feared by outsiders
Arabie with a little New York flavor
I speak
The new tongue of young Arabics
A new language
Created to unite
Our Arabie and American sides
I wear
A style all its own,
Cultural yet modern
I rock
A hijab with jeans
Hollister with Baby Phat
My style is trapped between
Prep and urban
Defining me
A chameleon of sorts
Assimilating to all environments
I’m from
The eastern hemisphere’s heart
The Saharan Desert
The gulf islands
Land of oil and gold
I’m from
Yemen
Trapped between Asia and Africa
The place of Afro-Arab.
Sarah Soofi
Chadsey High School
Winner 2009 Lotus Press Award Article# 900, Created Dec. 22, 2006 :: Last Update: Jun. 4, 2009
I walk where the world is cold,
where the Devil will retire in hell
and ask God for a soul, afraid He’ll say no.
Stars become scared when darkness falls
and streetlights become un-hunched;
when lights blink on,
and trees whistle at me.
I'm surrounded by abandoned thoughts
sleeping on the sidewalk homeless,
creating cracks.
I’m afraid to step on them
‘cause they may break my mother’s back,
and then her thoughts may be abandoned.
Riding the sidewalk’s neighbor, the curb,
I become a stray,
digging through left over thoughts
to see if they’re living,
‘cause thoughts can’t live without minds
and minds can’t live without me.
The Boogeyman lives in the light
‘cause the darkness scares him.
I've seen corpses come back alive,
beating on the door of the coffin
‘cause they see pirates
playing hide and seek in the darkness.
They believe they’ve never died.
Tears hike back up the cheeks
of those that were called mistakes,
drown themselves in hopes of being corrected.
Necks hang draped over, like necklaces,
but it’s only life, I see this way.
Reonna Barnes
Henry Ford Academy
Certificate of Merit - Michigan Youth Arts Article# 867, Created Jun. 6, 2006 :: Last Update: Jun. 4, 2009
Like the first sprout of grass
On the first day of spring
A signal of new birth
Fresh from the earth’s womb
Supported by the reflection
Of the sky on the water
Sort of like the color that spills
Out when a song plays and puts
You to sleep
With the sun’s promise of a new day
Bringing joy to the world
With each of its rays
That ripen fruit and better the taste
That shine on the hair that complements
Her face
Which shows the color of blood to be true
Olaposi Omishope
Cass Technical High School
Certificate of Merit - Michigan Youth Arts Article# 866, Created Jun. 6, 2006 :: Last Update: Jun. 4, 2009
I went to the urban fiction section
(previously named African American Lit
until an angry Lit Professor demanded a change)
and was surprised to find
that Love had been overshadowed
by nipple rings
and rough ashen hands,
that suddenly it was squished
between gun fights
and bleeding noses
that quietly vomited their breakfast of white powder.
Love sat like a crazy bum on the porch
of an abandoned building
talking to itself in amazement
as it watched urbanity wander around it,
laughing at it for its antiquity.
And I tried to help Love escape,
but I think
the gun fights
and bleeding noses
had pressed against it so hard
that its ears had popped
and it couldn’t hear my call.
Lena Cintrón
Cass Technical High School
Certificate of Merit - Michigan Youth Arts Article# 865, Created Jun. 6, 2006 :: Last Update: Jun. 4, 2009
