Category: 06th

Guinea pig day

In her house
the guinea pig
lies down
stretches her front legs,
yawns, rests
her chubby head
on her stubby legs,
hears a sound and
alertly gets up
looks around,
stretches her
torso, eats
a piece of hay from
the floor, yawns
and sleeps the whole
afternoon in her warm house

Lights

Everyone always walks right past the light as if it’s nothing-
But as it’s glorious beam shines down on us we don’t think twice about it-
It works all day and all night just to be forgotten-
As soon as the bulb is done, another one replaces it just like that-
It’s like we sweep it under the doormat

The light works tirelessly for hours at a time-
Waiting for the day to come-
When everything finally goes numb-
Once it can’t shine any longer, it is thrown away-
As it goes through the archway and everything’s grey-

The light glows for you, but what does it get in return-
It gets the boot and we act like it’s none of our concern-
It weeps in the corner as it starts to get warmer-
The light provides so much, but all it can do now is sit and wait-
For its death-date

The Snowday

The white blanket
It falls to the ground so perfectly
The icy cars drive by
Smoke puffing out of chimneys
Snowflakes falling into your mouth
The smell of peppermint and hot chocolate in the air
Snow piling on every corner
Kids laughing and playing
It’s the best day of the year.

The Boxes Under My Bed

The boxes under my bed,
In them mementos from all my years,
They’re dusty, overflowing, and brown
They are a timeline full of all the events in my life,
They hide under my bed waiting to be pulled out,
They might seem boring and old, but inside is a story waiting to unfold,
I remember seeing them under my bed when something rolls under and gets lost,
They’re a keeper of good times and tragedy’s that are forgotten and want to be remembered,
The boxes under my bed.

Grass

Sometimes I wonder
why we tend to our flowers,
And fences,
And pets,
And sometimes trees,
But grass just gets stepped on.
Is it because it’s small?
Flowers are small.
Is it because it’s green?
Pet turtles are green.
It’s not that hard to take care of,
Like fences.
And flowers.
And pets.
Sometimes I wonder
If grass is like the sheets
Under the blankets
on my bed,
Shoved beneath the rest of the world
Forgotten.
Sometimes I wonder
If God really wanted grass
To be trampled
After all the hard work it does.
Maybe it was supposed to stay
Wild and tall,
And free.
But we should know by now,
People like to be taller than everything else,
So they cut things down.

My Fake Plant

My fake plant sits on my desk
Watching me stress over school.
I got it one day to jazz up around my room like a glitter bomb
Hoping one day it will bloom.

But then I remember that it’s a fake plant and can’t even grow.
I think of many spots to put plants around my room.
So maybe, just maybe one day I will get responsible enough to get a real plant
And watch it flow.

Basketball

There are four main categories to the game:
Finishing
Shooting
Play-making
and Defense.
Each one has a unique way to play.
Finishing- I finish, like the ball is my baby, and I was sent here on Earth to make it go into the hoop.
Shooting- I shoot the ball like a graceful swan gliding in the water.
Play-making- I pass the ball as if my teammate needs the ball to survive and I have extra.
I dribble the ball so if the defense tries to take it, then I fight back.
Defense- I play defense like what they have is mine, and my goal is to stop them from scoring to take back my possession.
The Game- Is played as if Michelangelo was sculpting the David, with concentration, precise chips in the stone, and making things bigger than others, so when you look at it from a perspective,
its a beautiful masterpiece.
Basketball is an art form, done right, and its an extraordinary sight.

Pool

Pool oh pool
Your covered by a net
Your freezing by the touch
Don’t you want to get in
I think it’s time to take off the net
And jump in!
COLD!TOO COLD! time to get out
A stupid choice I knew it would be!
Next time I wait till summer,
Till summer dawns us with its warm wishes

Plastic Bag

Plastic bags, just sitting there, waiting to be used. Plastic bags, don’t have feelings, mouths to talk, and can never be heard. Plastic bags, flowing in through the wind and not getting payed attention to. Plastic bags, getting littered, not getting picked up or looked at. Stop and think, what if you wanted to be heard but no one listed. Plastic bag.