Love Poems -_________-

Ms. Widman

High School Creative Writing

This week the young Viking writers explored love poems by reading Matthew Olzmann’s “Mountain Dew Commercial Disguised as a Love Poem” and Kim Addonizio’s “My Heart”. The writers were tasked with writing a love poem to a person, place, or themselves. I am so amazed by these students every week, but this week every single one of them wrote something I could shout from the rooftops. I am so beyond proud. Here’s this week’s superstars:


By Fabian H.

The Chicago city.

The night sky fading.

The bedroom I rest in.

The soothing lovable music.

A basketball court is what

keeps me moving.

With addicting video games

barading my front face.

The beats I made carefully.

The stash of dirt

with a flower that continues

to grow.

A skyscraper taking time to

be rebuilt.

Imagining the face

of the world as me.

Imagining me.

I Want to Hug You to the Point Your Insides Come Out

By Maicol I.

I want to hug you to the point your insides

come out thank you for always believing in me

Grandma even though you bother me I

still love you you’re such a great cook

the fact that you’re so strong

in your five foot one.

Valentines (Ew)

By Trisha T.

This is no happy valentine’s day.

Pink and red have never been this gross before,

colors of pigs and guts.

People say love is everywhere

yet it hasn’t been found

like a lost key under a mat.

It doesn’t want to be

hiding from finding out about the unknown.

Maybe my heart isn’t big enough for love.

Call me a snake

but I’m just keeping my marshmallow safe.

Call me cold blooded,

but maybe it’s a red flag

waving at you: stay away. 

My Heart

By Christina V.

The bookshelf accepting collections

A shoe-box stuffed with sentimentals

A loved pair of jeans

A strawberry drizzled with chocolate

A glass waiting to be filled with cola

The spare charger in a bookbag

Comfort food on a rainy day

A pavement freshly chalked

The Proliferation

By Harrison O.

You tell me stories of worlds I’ll never know and of the calluses on my very fingers.

Sitting in the lunch room, sound permeating, the soul like base massacres the heart. 

You emerge to a different place, a different time.

An era of awe and a millennia of great scavenging,

my arms carry everything I can carry and more.

I open you like the door to a palace.

Athena standing there in an ethereal gray.

I trace the lines of her face with increasing precision. 

I fall for the reflection of our presence

tracks left in the sand, scars left

on the willow trees that dwell in the prairie. 

Those trees may be beautiful but

they are hardly virgins.

They hold within themselves stories,

truths and such viscous lies.

Then a man such as me cuts you open

and forms you into this very page.

And on that page, the story goes on,

we keep on adventuring down the river

that never ends, until we’re dead.


By Anabella W.

The succulent you forget about and keep having to bring back to life.

The memory of a gold fish.

That new phone case you fixated on for a week.

A sticker with all of its edges giving up but the center remains bonded. 

That golden retriever in your neighborhood with big brown eyes.

The pebble you kick down the block until you reach your house.

The gnarly scab that continues to reopen. 

Your favorite pair of shoes that don’t get a break.

The board in the hallway being pierced with staples daily.

That patch of grass trampled on constantly given no chance to grow.

The bent charging cord next to your bed.

That pair of earrings and that necklace worn almost religiously.

The bag that is constantly regifted.

You’re as Warm as a Sunny Day

By Paul L.

You’re as warm as a sunny day,

but cold like the night.

We’re as close as petals.



“Writing poetry makes me feel like I can see myself, like I can see my reflection, but not in a mirror, in the world. I write and I know I can be reflected.”
-Oscar S.

“Writing poetry makes me feel free.”
-Buenda D.

“Writing poetry is like your best friend.”
-Jessica M.