Iraida+Serano



I'm sitting in geometry trying to write a poem Words flowing through my mind Not being written on the sheet The sheet of paper is as blank as blank can be Blanker than the mind of a student in geometry The words mean nothing to me as I see them in my mind They go in one ear and out the other in record time As I sit here wondering how I wrote this poem The sheet of paper that's not as blank as can be And the student in geometry is smarter than she thinks Now I'm nervous to recite you Not knowing if it'll be good I guess I'll find out at the end of it If I wrote what I should
 * __//Ode to Poetry//__**

I-chat is bad for school, no work is done You see the work produced is not their best With each new assignment that's not begun They lose more and more interest in the test
 * __//Sonnet (Iambic Pentameter)//__**

Their thoughts occupied by only one thing Their sweet i-chat and how it will change them Change them for the better for their own life ring Suspended above with act that condemns

Their human interactions obsolete No longer speaking to one another I-chat a tool that must claim it's defeat Have the ones affected join others

Destroy a form of communication And make this place an __I-chat__ free nation

I was raised by Gossiping and laughing Spanish cooking As much meat as can fit on a plate Type of people
 * __//Raised by...(Poem)//__**

Some tight clothes Bleached hair Blood stained lips Raccoon eyes Electrified hair Type of woman

Some sandal wearing "You see this sandal Say one more thing And I'll make sure You can't anymore" Demand respect Short tempered Type of woman

Some loud mouth Beer breath Like to sit and talk "Bring me beer and dominoes" Kind of man

Some can't dance to save my life Can't stop moving Looking like a cat Ready to pounce on that female Type of man

Some I need more hair "No on my back There's enough there" Kind of man

Some chattering away I can't find my phone "Ask you mom if she's seen it" Ask nine different people "Never mind it was in freezer" Type of woman

I Was Raised By Hispanic People

But we shouldn’t want to be
__ Poetry Statement __ When I’m writing poetry I try to play off of any emotion that I’m feeling at that exact moment. Unless it’s for a prompt that was given I will write in free verse. It’s harder to write a poem when you have to constantly worry about it have to rhyme or have a certain rhythm. For my ode, I choose something that had to do with what was happening at that time, which was me just writing a poem. I compared geometry to writing a poem because I knew many people could relate to that. In my sonnet I write it about i-chat. I knew that student love and teachers don’t. Honestly I waited to the morning it was due to write it. But I had gotten my inspiration from the day before when a few classmates of mine were on i-chat while the teacher was going over new material. Having a test the day didn't help them at all, so the work produced was certainly not their best. For my Raised by… poem, it really wasn’t all that much about a feeling I was feeling at that moment. Since it was something that needed to be turned in, I looked into my past to see if any emotion could come through. To me, it seems that not much emotion can be conveyed from the poem. But this doesn’t mean that I don't like, it’s just a new way of my writing poetry and I see that I’m good at it. For my last poem, My Perfect World, I wrote in free verse. I was glad that I was going to be able to write in a way of poetry that I felt comfortable in because there aren’t many rules. Again I waited till the morning that it was to be completed to write it but I’m glad I did. If I hadn’t then I would have overlooked what was being said in my history class. It was about how a country from the past had changed for what they thought was better. Instead it leads them to misery and bankruptcy. Once they return to their world from before, they finally notice that that was what made them, them.

__//**Three poems by Lloyd Schwartz**//__
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//__A true poem__//
I'm working on a poem that's so true, I can't show it to anyone. I could never show it to anyone. Because it says exactly what I think, and what I think scares me. Sometimes it pleases me. Usually it brings misery. And this poem says exactly what I think. What I think of myself, what I think of my friends, what I think about my lover. Exactly. Parts of it might please them, some of it might scare them. Some of it might bring misery. And I don't want to hurt them, I don't want to hurt them. I don't want to hurt anybody. I want everyone to love me. Still, I keep working on it. Why? Why do I keep working on it? Nobody will ever see it. Nobody will ever see it. I keep working on it even though I can never show it to anybody. I keep working on it even though someone might get hurt.



//__Six Words__//
yes no maybe sometimes always never

Never? Yes. Always? No. Sometimes? Maybe—

maybe never sometimes. Yes— no always:

always maybe. No— never yes. Sometimes,

sometimes (always) yes. Maybe never. . . No,

no— sometimes. Never. Always? Maybe. Yes—

yes no maybe sometimes always never.



[|Nostalgia (The Lake At Night) by Lloyd Schwartz]
// The black water. // // Lights dotting the entire perimeter. // // Their shaky reflections. // // The dark tree line. // // The plap-plapping of water around the pier. // // Creaking boats. // // The creaking pier. // // Voices in conversation, in discussion—two men, adults--serious inflections (the words themselves just out of reach). // // A rusty screen-door spring, then the door swinging shut. // // Footsteps on a porch, the scrape of a wooden chair. // // Footsteps shuffling through sand, animated youthful voices (how many?—-distinct, disappearing. // // A sudden guffaw; some giggles; a woman's—no, a young girl's—sarcastic reply; someone's assertion; a high-pitched male cackle. // // Somewhere else a child laughing. // // Bug-zappers. // // Tires whirring along a pavement . . . not stopping . . . receding. // // Shadows from passing headlights. // // A cat's eyes caught in a headlight. // // No moon. // // Connect-the-dot constellations filling the black sky—the ladle of the Big Dipper not quite directly overhead. // // The radio tower across the lake, signaling. // // Muffled quacking near the shore; a frog belching; crickets, cicadas, katydids, etc.—their relentless sexual messages. // // A sudden gust of wind. // // Branches brushing against each other--pine, beech. // // A fiberglass hull tapping against the dock. // // A sudden chill. // // The smell of smoke, woodstove fires. // // A light going out. // // A dog barking; then more barking from another part of the lake. // // A burst of quiet laughter. // // Someone in the distance calling someone too loud. // // Steps on a creaking porch. // // A screen-door spring, the door banging shut. // // Another light going out (you must have just undressed for bed). // // My bare feet on the splintery pier turning away from the water. //