melanie

Note taking poem

Went to wherever I decided to stop at,
Be back until it closes.
I was in need of a break
From the sound of the
Jungle
I believe there’s some leftovers from last nights
Dinner
If its not to your like, order some pizza
But right now I just need to be
Alone,
You’ve stressed me out, work is becoming overwhelming and
I think I’m going to get
Fired
The kids are at my mum’s
Your sister called,
Mentioning something about tomorrow
Hope all is well with you.
Talk to you whenever I arrive

melanie

Rules poem

Raise your hand up high,
Be in complete uniform,
On time,
Sit in my class now,
Follow my instructions,
My rules aren’t difficult
They’re probably nicer than when your
Pals were in school
Just
Don’t talk back
Complete your work
Don’t leave your newspapers behind
And be on time
That’s all I ask
All I expect you to do
Is
LEARN
Just follow my rules and we will like
Each other for a
VERY long
Time
I promise.


Holding on and letting go Poem

This furry friend
Has been around for a
Long time,
Sure it has
Its travelled, flew, ran, jumped. Read
All with me.
As its body parts
Start coming apart
I feel bad, I love it
So very much but I have
To give it up for the rest of my
Life.
I’ve hold on to it for a very
LONG TIME, now I got to stay
Good-bye for a VERY
LONG TIME.

melanie

List poem

The empty room
Metal seats, dirty tables, cement floor,
Tasty lunch, noisy crowd, colourful decorations,
Same clothes, hyper students, talkative teachers,
Empty stomachs, clocks ticking, people storming,
Doors pushed hard open. Class has begun.

melanie silva

In my pocket poem

A little box where my emotions sit
Saved from everything
Else
my music
My ipod
Simple papers
Metals.
Big meaning
The cause of wick ness
Cruelty
My money
Small papers
Transportation
My tickets
Identity
Unlost
A citizen
My cards


Newspaper Poem

What I owe is important to me,
But tragedy
Steals it away
It was 9am
When mud seeped in the basement
An ocean of water
Where my children used to play
Strangers walk in everyday
After that
Taking away my possessions
As I cry with my family
With nothing
Left
But worries and frustrations
Now we sit in an
Offered house
Worrying
About
Loss

tania

In My Pocket
Normally my hands would be full
Full of objects with stories
Not today
Today is a clean slate
No used tissue
No old transfer
No change from a pack of gum
It’s a first
On a regular day not a finger would fit
Today even my wrist is taking a peek
Take advantage I say
For tomorrow
The transfer will be smuggled
The change will be jingling
And the number will be new.

tania

What If
What if I cared too much?
And what if too much is not enough?
What if we never met?
And what if we still found each other?

tania

Holding On
I’ve held your face so many times
The paper no longer bares your image
I see you in my sight
But when I approach you, phantom
This way you never looked
And now the path has closed
The road has taken a different direction
But yet this old map
It’s stronger than me
How can I let go,
When I’m not even holding on?

tania

WANNABE
Like him you wanted to be
Tall
TONED
But no one told you
You can’t make something
Out of
NOTHING
You were
FORGETABLE.
Ironic how before me
You were so
CONFIDENT
And now you crumble at my sight.

tania

This Is Just to Say
(With Apologies to W.C.W.)

I have borrowed
your shoes
that were
in your closet,

and which
you were probably
waiting
on an occasion to wear them

Forgive me,
they were so pretty
and I just had to
try them out.

Tania Da Silva

My name is Tania da Silva. I am currently in gr 12 and am going to Humber next year for Social Work. To me writing is an escape from the real world. It allows me to become someone else and lets me express how I am feeling at a particular time. I began writing at 15. I am an emotional person but I don't show my emotions in public and that is what contributed to my writing poetry. I had been through traumatic experiences that left me grieving on the inside. I don't remember when it was exactly but I remember it being summer. I just felt like writing. I picked up a pen and began writing. Ever since then I have been writing. My favorite type of writing is poetry because there is no specific guideline. I can write as much or as little as I want, punctuate when I choose and end if I feel like it. Writing will continue to be a part of my life because it's the way in which I cope with my issues. Crying and talking about it to me has no use so when I write poetry it feels like a weight has been lighten off of me.

rebecca

If I Came With Product Warnings

By: Rebecca LaFortune


I wonder what it’d be life

if I came with product warnings.


Caution:

Sarcasm is abundant.


Do not ingest.

That is cannibalism, you sicko.


Do not set aflame.

Will most likely kill her.


Keep away from stupid people.

The mockery will never stop.


If not fed,

Don’t be surprised if you lose a limb.


Yeah,

I should probably come with instructions, too.

rebecca

O Generation

By: Rebecca LaFortune


O Generation of the thoroughly smug,

What have we done?

We have messed up

bigger

and better

than any other generation before us.

And what have our antics achieved?

The end of a war?

The birth of rock and roll music?

No, love.

We’ve achieved none of that.

With our self-righteous attitudes in one hand

and our ridiculous fads in the other

we enter the world

as thought it owes us.

Maybe we should send in

our resignation paper early;

tell the generations before us that they have to hang on for a bit

just until the next generation is ready.

That way.

we don’t screw everything else up.

rebecca

Conversation

By: Rebecca LaFortune


I am so damn bored.

Waiting for the bus right now.

Can you please save me?


Ha, that kind of sucks.

Maybe you should do something.

Write some more haikus.


There are some people.

They are sitting behind me.

I am eavesdropping.


I hope they are old.

Kick them straight in the walker.

They smell like moth balls.


Gosh darn you, woman!

You made me laugh on the bus!

Well now you must pay!


Ha ha I so rule.

Now I made you embarrassed.

Humiliation.


Well now I must leave.

Thank you so much for helping.

My bus ride is done.

rebecca

By: Rebecca LaFortune


What if

I don’t get into University?

What if

there’s some crazy glitch at the University headquarters,

and I’m put on some blacklist

to never be accepted anywhere

at any time

for the rest of my life?!

What if,

because of this blacklist,

my parents kick me out

and I’m forced to life on the harsh Toronto streets?!

What if

I never have a normal life

with a husband

a career

a family

a house?


What if

I’m just not meant for normal?

rebecca

Feel

By: Rebecca LaFortune


I feel

longing

lust

bliss

betrayal

anxiety

alienation

rage

relief

eagerness

elation


déjà vu.

rebecca

In My Pocket

By: Rebecca LaFortune


Five.

I have five dollars

five student bus tickets

five pennies

five sticks of Stride gum

five sets of Dayquil tablets

I am not five.

I am one.

Rebecca LaFortune

TOP TEN RENTALS

By: Rebecca LaFortune




Jennifer’s Body

was the Perfect Getaway

from The Hangover.

The Inglorious Basterds

witnessed Paranormal Activity

from the 9 Public Enemies.

Beyond a Reasonable Doubt,

District 9’s gossip

was All About Steve.

paul

A Grasp



That rock that seemed so near

Has fallen so far

Thrusting away

I held it high

Once,

Now I cry and cry

Buried visions

Left for dead

Lost underneath a city

I see the waves

Sparkling

The hills paved with

Amity, seem so cruel

Walls so high beyond the alley

Closing on me

I see

Darkness

And the fields

Seem so surreal

In my dreams

I smudged my face

With earth and soil

For that land

But still the rock

Underneath lies

paul

The Note Read Clear



I waited for you but you never showed

When you receive this message

Call me back

Please

I called again yesterday but you didn’t pick up

Left a message

I guess you didn’t receive

Oh man you missed the best

Day ever

We hit the clubs all night

Girls were wild

Anyways

Talk to you later

Hi

Where are you man?

Long time no see

Hey, it’s me again

What’s going on?

Haven’t heard from you

It’s been a while…

paul

Where We Bathed in the Morning Heat



Where we bathed in the morning heat

Where we lay naked of sin

Naked of reason

Clashed our heads



Clothed was the sinner

Eyes so clear

Watery

Why this man is crying?



Such green such glee

Maybe joyous

Even of these emotions

So strange



Sparkling water shines

The radiant sun above all

So dearly glances

Faces shapeless








If the Sinners did not know



Crawling the lands at

Dawn

Their hair so lustrous

Full of sin



Creeping the statues

White and pure

And casting shadows

Of deliverance





The summoning of the Queen



If the sun condemned his nature

Brilliance endures

The fall and the rise

Tangled



Broken

Not if the sparks

Flakes form heaven

Strike



Once it fell and never rose

And the darkness stared thy foe

But men who danced to the morning song

With feet so bare and lean



If the venom from above did fall

Shrouding the innocence

Aimless prayers on a platter

Served as remains to the highly queen



Bathed in the morning heat

Sight of cruelness and anguish

A captive

A prisoner of man

paul

Baggage



I packed a bag

Once I stuffed in it

Precious objects

So dear to me

I could not let go

I felt complete

Knowing

That my iPod

On my left pocket

Lay

And above

On the plane drawer

My favorite shirt

Neatly folded

so

Nothing to fear

because

My watch on my wrist

Cell in my jacket

Laptop in my case



By where is my wallet?

paul

“I had a dream which was not all a dream” Darkness by Lord Byron



Dreamed



A breeze rattled down my spine

Into my mouth and bothered my thoughts

I fell in comfort and dreamed

Of women, but fear misled me into

Terrifying sights anguish

Chasing

A whole lot of chasing

Form who?

I seem terrified

Want to run escape this madness

But not yet

My body stiffens

My legs like blocks of cement

My hands as well

Dysfunctional

Abruptly I float

Tilting from left to right

In motion

Shapes of familiarity

Vague sights of childhood memories

I cry tears burns my skin

I fly in

In need of air

Suffocating

Irrational shit but no time for reason

Shapeless shadows haunt me

Evil seeks me

It’s dark very dark

No shed of light

Such empty space

Inhabited by fear and cruelness

Frightened yet invincible I shine

Like a luminous sword

That wears the color of red

The colour of pride

The colour of victory

This is my world.





Witnesses



The plant in the winter cold:

No sun to nourish

Leafs drying

Its shape deforming

Crawling into nothingness



The dog tired its head resting on his hands:

Disabled from the rain

Comforted by rest

Eyes monitoring the scene

Its ears alert

A whimper



An old man wandering lonely:

No place to go

No worries in hand

Warm under that thick scarf

Bones hurting upon every move

As he nears the end

Wishes he were younger



Water swarms the rocks in madness:

Lively and full of anger

Has been for some time now

Trapped in a ditch

In vain it curses the gods

And lays low staring at the reddened skies



Screams of insanity echo through the never-ending narrow hall:

So loud so high they seem to never fade

They haunt those who seek

But the hall is so deep and abstruse that they vanish in the darkness

No one seems to notice

Nothing to welcome this presence

It turns to dust



Light breaks though the shattered window:

It intrudes without warning

Only to discover the bloodshed

The stains deep into fabric

The stench, here in the mourned land

Relics in despair



The wounded tiger rests on the smooth wet grass:

Revenge circulating his mind he softly blinks twice

A breeze circulates

Shuffling though his fury skin

it soothes him

paul

The Rules of a Game

Part 1


I walk and stop and walk again

Wait my turn

Patiently,

Stand in line

Sit when asked

And stand when needed.




Part 2



Once the fate of man was determined not

Yet the creatures roamed the lands

Senseless



Logic absent deep into the ditch

Did not know that it was falling

So one fell



So far down

Confused was he

The mysteries of time did drown him now



A civilized man

Covered in cloth

Walks so slowly and proudly



Vicious animals

With Survival instincts

Naked and bare

And pure



A vicious man

Ill fated

Glances back and fourth

Its eyes



When there were no rules

We wore no clothes



When there were no rules

The dead were left for good

Paul Hila

Author: Paul Hila

I find joy in writing poetry and since no rules pertain to it I can express my feelings and emotions in depth and without boundary. Through poetry I can relieve myself of angst and any worries and just open the doors of my world through literature.


“A man of action forced into a state of thought is unhappy until he can get out of it.” Franz Kafka


“Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.” Edgar Allan Poe


Contents

tiago

What if Poem

What If the world was connected by a bridge?

Would poverty be over?

People could walk over to another country,

never be hungry,

ridden by war,

What if those bridges were fought as territory?

Would the whole world be at chaos again?

Running refugees ramble,

World at war,

Once again

What if the world was connected by a bridge?

Good, the bad

Put them together

and you have,

current state.

tiago

In my pocket poem

We little ones stay here,

shadowed by our counterpart.

We are ridiculed for our nonsense,

They laugh at out uselessness

dark and rusty.

We are thrown around in shame,

they are kept in great condition,

us women will be useful one day,

tough and strong.

You men will be fake and exchanged,

Torn and destroyed

tiago

Holding On, Letting Go

My dreams,

drawing,

pencils scratch parchment,

lines,

fill,

shade,

my masterpiece,

unveiled.

tiago

Haiku Poem

Run into the forest,

starry blue echoing light,

I lay down and breathe.


I can barely look

but every time I do see,

I want to run.


Through going, coming,

quickly I’m learning to love,

to know I will be fine.


Tastes of blue cheese fill

my mouth with crunchy walnuts,

fresh strawberries drizzle











Line Inspiration Poem


I wandered lonely as a cloud,

my mind in complete disarray

looking into the sky

I see blank pictures,

blue particles, the colour of water

hit my transparent facade,

others laugh at me,

my mind trembles with every step,

As I continue down my path.

Tiago De Oliveira

Writer’s Craft – Poetry Unit

I really enjoyed this writer’s craft class, which I took this semester. I learned many new things about writing, poetry, and the different types of prose there are. I had thought I was an okay writer, however as we progressed on towards the course, I realized that my writing was horrible compared to what some of the greatest writers had written. I learned how to write a proper story with dialogue, which is crucial since I began an attempt to write a book. A benefit from this class was that I am able to take different parts of different stories and make a major story. I also learned how to write a proper poem and not look for “inspiration” on the internet; a problem I had before. There was no huge disadvantage to this course, except for the excessive assignment work we had to do; procrastination also played a role. I also disliked the extremelt difficult tests that were given; they were more like exams. Too much content to remember, plus a brutal site passage. I wished that this course was longer, because I could have learned a lot more. I liked the class environment, as well as some of the assignments that we received throughout the semester (ie. Little Red Riding Hood). Poetry was also fun, I found out that you do not need to rhyme to get a good poem, all it takes is an idea and some thoughts. I have learned a lot and will be carrying this newly found knowledge into the future, and perhaps my future career. It should be continued course as a vital course to help a student with their writing. It helps them with writing skill, spelling, and how to use music or other poems with their own personal poetry.

erica

“Baggage” Poem


I carry my baggage with me,

heavy

as It drowns me,

Deeper-down-deeper

to the place I try to forget.


I’m tired

And I can no longer

Wonder-Aimlessly-Wonder

With this burden

On my shoulders.


But what’s inside?

My thoughts,

My dreams,

My aspirations?


My thoughts,

they over power

my dreams.

My aspirations,

that white light

greets me with open arms.

I can see it,

As it calls my name

but I can no longer

reach it.


I will empty my baggage,

No longer drowning,

Reaching-higher-reaching

Until I am no longer immersed

In negative

Thoughts

Dreams

And aspirations.


This weight will gently

Be lifted,

Off my shoulders and

I will breathe…

erica

What if We Were Like a Poem

“What if/if” Poem:


What if we cared about

poverty,

abuse,

discrimination,

And global warming.


What if we eliminated

Hunger,

Depression,

Wounds,

And devastation.


What if we could

love,

leaving no room for

Hate.

If everyone were free,

and there were no limitations.


What if there were no

“What ifs.”

And instead of failing,

We would all succeed.


What If we could

share our emotions,

containing them all

on one sheet of paper.


What if we were like a poem,

Able to erase the unwanted

and never look back.

Able to start from scratch

and decide our own fate.


What if we were like a poem?

erica

Writing a Poem

“List” Poem


Writing a poem can sometimes be

Frustrating,

Liberating,

Challenging,

Effortless,

Undesirable,

Exciting,

Straining,

Or

Indulgent.


It can be

a Pleasure,

a Pain,

a hobby,

a chore,

a fulfillment,

a burden,

an advancement,

or

a restraint.


But in the end,

a poem expresses


Emotion

Ambition

And the feelings

from within.

erica

Don’t Cry Mommy

“Newspaper” Poem



7-Year old Korostin

has made daily visits

to her father’s grave.

telling him she loves him,

and not to worry about his family.


“I hope you’re alive there

(In Heaven)

that you’ll never die.

That you’ll never be sick,

that it’ll be a good place for you.”


It was the worst one-day

construction accident

in the past 50 years.


Irina Cherniakova says

It was horrible to tell her two children

they had lost their father

and unimaginable to tell them

they had lost their home.


“Don’t cry mommy,

everything will be okay.”

erica

In my Pocket”


“To whom it my concern…”


My wallet contains

A 20-dollar bill,

quarters, nickels

and

a silver dime.


My pocket contains

a bus ticket,

paper in texture,

and

a toonie in value.


My bag contains

A common excuse note,

“Please excuse Erika

for the test she had missed”


My mind contains

Memories,

Jokes,

And laughter.

Love,

Angst,

And the tears that come after.

Erica Graham

As I come to the end of Ms. DeFrancesca’s third period writer’s class and as I put together the finishing touches of my final project, I begin to reflect on all that I have written in the short 5 months that I have been here. I came into this class not knowing what to expect. I knew that I loved writing but I asked myself many questions, like, what kind of marks would I be able to achieve? Would I be any good at creative writing? I had not had any memories of creative writing since elementary school, and I had forgotten all the rules, all the regulations.


In the end, when I reflect back on all that we have learned and all the final projects we have produced, I feel a sense of accomplishment. I am proud of the work that I have completed in this class and I am excited to apply what I have learned to my every-day writing adventures. After all the free writing exercises, I no longer hesitate before I write. I am now able to write at a faster pace, without worrying (too much) if my writing is “correct”, or if people will “like” what I have written. I have learned to write for me, even if nobody sees it. In the end, I have learned that the sense of accomplishment I feel after I finish a piece of writing is the greatest feeling of all. I also enjoyed listening to others come and speak to our class about their own personal adventures in the world of writing. It was encouraging to hear others who had a passion for writing follow what they loved doing, even if it is difficult to climb the ladder and be successful at it.


Overall, I have taken away a new sense of love for writing, one that I may not have discovered if I had not been a part of this Writer’s Craft class. Even after this class is finished, I will continue to write regularly and I am excited apply the techniques I have learned in this class to each writing project I complete.

tyler

Baggage

Throughout my life, I carry things with me.
These things are kept in bags and these bags eventually get full.
All my possessions I must carry.

Can I carry everything?
Am I strong enough?
Should I leave anything behind?

Letting go isn’t easy.
But sometimes it must be done

I’m a strong man but not strong enough

tyler

In My Pocket

ENDLESS
Necessities and entertainment

Lip balm, keeping my lips moist
IPod and cell phone?

Phone; connects me with the world
Music to my ears
Keys to my house
my sanctuary

Metro pass
Transit
Transportation

NECESSITIES


That’s all there is.
But is that all I need?

tyler

Haiku
Time starts to pass
Before u know that It’s over
Live life to the fullest

I work hard all night
My project is due tomorrow
Procrastinate again

I will forgive you
After all is said and done
You are the only one

You walked with me
When I was all alone
With no one left to hold

tyler

What if poem
What if summer never ended?
I might actually get a job.
What if chips were healthy?
I could earn a gold medal for wellbeing.
What if distressing made you more intelligent?
I would be a scientist.
What if poems were dreams that may someday come true?

Tyler Galea

My name is Tyler Galea and poetry was never something I liked. The way writing is to me, is a way of expressing your true feeling. I see creative writing as being no right or wrong way because it comes from the heart. When writing poems you usually need to be somewhat inspired by something but with Ms. De Francesca as my teacher, I have learned some new techniques in writing poetry and ways to write poetry without any inspiration at all. I believe this class is about exploring our own personal creativity and how important editing really is. In the beginning I never really planned on taking this course but some of my friends recommended it so I thought I would give it a try. Now that I have actually taken the course I am no longer discouraged with my writing and can now write confidently. By reading someone’s poetry you can almost get a quick glance of how that person really is and how their personality relates to their poems. When you read my poems I believe they can help you get a brief outlook on my life and and a quick insight on my personality. From everything I have learned in this course I plan on using it my whole life and through my career.