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One of the ancients,once said that poetry is "the mirror of the perfect soul." Instead of simply writing down travel notes or, not really thinking about the consequences, expressing your thoughts, memories or on paper, the poetic soul needs to seriously work hard to clothe the perfect content in an even more perfect poetic form.
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Reading books RomanceThe unity of form and content is what distinguishes poetry from other areas of creativity. However, this is precisely what titanic work implies.
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Genre of poetry touches such strings in the human soul, the existence of which a person either didn’t suspect, or lowered them to the very bottom, intending to give them delight.


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Read books online » Poetry » Random Poems by Aminah Santos (top young adult novels .txt) 📖

Book online «Random Poems by Aminah Santos (top young adult novels .txt) 📖». Author Aminah Santos



Introduction



Thank you dear readers for choosing this book to read.
I hope you enjoy my many creations. I hope you realize that you have entered the world of random silliness. Good luck and have a good time!


A Boy Ran Past Me



A boy ran past me,
I held his gaze.
He hit a pole,
I walked away.

He got back up
I turned back then.
He fell down flat
I walked again.

Ode to Nature



The animals and trees
That stand so tall.
The creatures, the bushes,
That shrink back small.
The kings of the sky,
That glide, that dive.
Burrowing mammals
Who fearfully hide.
Nature’s cycle will never end,
With the fruits and beauties it has to lend.
The greatest place to shop of all,
Nature’s Natural Shopping Mall!


Alone



Dark walls,

No sound.

Trapped.

But am I?

No.

It is only loneliness.

I am surrounded by friends

Yet,

I am alone.

Then, all is still.
Laughter ceases,
Motion freezes.

Yet, nothing changes.


And life goes on with one more person caught in the web of

LONELINESS.


Writer’s Block



Oh no! I’m having writer’s block!
What a horrible disease.
Oh no! I can’t think of any rhymes!
My studio’s up for lease.

What a horrible predicament,
A problem in which I’m stuck.
It seems that I have, probably,
Ran out of all my luck!

Maybe I’ll work for my parents,
After all that I owe ‘em.
Well now, will you look at that!
It seems I’ve wrote a poem!


The next two poems are about my 6th grade year. In my district, 6th grade is considered middle school, and boy, was that a year! Anyways, for some reason at both the beginning and the end of 6th grade, I was terrified! In the beginning, I was worried about homework, teachers, and just about everything! At the end, I was just anxious about 7th grade.


At the Beginning of Sixth Grade




I am shaking as I walk past monstrous gates.
I wonder what new surprises await me in the future that lie ahead.
I hear loud voices, both courageous and terrified.
I see a mixture of colorfully blended pupils in a rushing blur.
I want to be the best.
I am extremely nervous.


I pretend to be brave but my stomach is in my throat.
I feel my heart pounding hard against my chest, like a sledgehammer.
I touch and squeeze my backpack for reassurance.
I worry less now; I know I will be fine.
I cry within myself, “Carpe Diem!”
I am starting to settle down.


I now understand my new responsibilities.
I say to myself, “You’re ready!”
I dream I will be remembered one day.
I try hard and reach for the stars.
I hope to be recognized for my efforts.
I am a Suzanne Challenger.


At the End of Sixth Grade…



I am blissful yet gloomy.
I wonder if I have done enough to make my teachers proud.
I hear the ecstatic voices of grouping students and
I see that they are excited for the new year to come.
I want to be excited to, but instead
I am terrified.

I pretend to feel brave and strong, but inside
I feel as if someone, or something, is gripping my heart.
I touch my chest and feel my hearts fast pace.
I worry that I have not proved myself.
I cry out in fake gusto, “ Finally, 6th grade is over!” but truly,
I am anxious.

I understand that it’s not how you start, but how you finish and
I say to myself, “ Just push a little more.”
I dream that 7th grade won’t have so mush homework as
I try to stay awake during class.
I hope that I finished strong.
I am Aminah Santos, one worried little girl.


My Dad’s Hands



My dad has always been there for me.
He sits before his computer, working on the website that supports us.
His fingers dance across the keyboard, taping to the rhythm of focus.
They are coarse hands, and rough from his old navy life.
His hands are as sure as a soldier’s trigger finger.
I ask him curiously, remembering the times he went out to sea, “Why did you go to the navy, Dad?”
He replies, without looking away from the screen, “The navy offered a better life, and I took it.”


Random

There was a random person,
who lived in a RandomVille.
He went to the Random Library,
and sat in a random windowsill.
He picked up a random book,
Said randomly to himself,
"Did any of you happen to know that bacon is good for your health?"

Imprint

Publication Date: 07-02-2010

All Rights Reserved

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