Posts
-
Ode To Chocolate
I had to write an ode poem for Humanities class. We were instructed to choose something silly, so I chose chocolate. Here it is:
Chocolate,
Oh chocolate,
You warm me head to toe. -
Splattered With Personality
I stare at my palm where a seed has been placed. My friend, a genius in plants, gave it to me right before she left forever. She had said, “Eliana, I have been researching for weeks, and tried to manipulate the DNA of the seed to create s -
Opinions Of A Book
My fingers flip through thin white sheets,
As I begin to wonder:
Do books ever get tired of being manipulated,
Or are they proud of the way they inspire?
Do they want to keep their stories to themselves
And self reflect for days. -
Priorities Out The Door
Every time you think you’re totally in,
Your priorities will change and it’ll end up in the bin.
If you think you’d be anything, to be buried in a book,
Suddenly all you’ll need is to be locked on a look. -
Glowing Inspiration
I lean over the plastic white kayak,
Admiring the magnificent bay,
Filled with dinoflagellates.
The glow, and sparkle,
Dance, and glimmer.
I reach to place my fist in the water, -
Miniature Paradise
I look out the window,
seeing a blanket of green.
The leaves create textures, and patterns.
Orange flowers are peppered through the branches,
popping out like stars in a night sky.
The bark on the trees looks pale
Loves
-
Confession
When I think about tomorrow,
I see the calculus test I have not studied for
and the five overdue assignments with long-received
-
Time Slip
My leisure was over
quicker than expected.
Now I'm back to doing homework
but keep getting distracted.
Another glance at the clock
Another 30 minutes gone. -
The Binary Code
The binary code is plastered everywhere
from the billboard of the new romance movie
to the books that have shaped our history.
The binary code is ingrained in our heads
as we see the magazines,
-
We're Still Kids
I hang candy necklaces from the tips of my fingers
All the way to your reaching palms.
We smile like we're kids again. Maybe we always were,
But who realizes that anymore?
-
-
Freedom Isn't What They Say It Is
I am eleven years old. I think freedom isn't what they say it is.
I live in the land of the free. I am free
in most ways.
I can be a black belt.
I can be a published poet.
