Ms. Karas (Morning Class)
Poetry is a library from Chicago Poetry
is a book filled with pages, poetry is
a water fountain in a library, a school
with students and teachers, the science lab
in the school, food in the cafeteria
Poetry is a straight A student
Poetry is the black in a rainbow
Poetry is…
Poetry is a beach with sunny sun
Poetry is like me
Poetry is happy as the sun
Poetry is mad as my mom
Poetry is dumb as my sister
Poetry is a word for me.
Ms. Krasic
Poetry is the lost piece in an incomplete puzzle.
Poetry is interesting like Cristian’s reposts.
Poetry is the coldness of ice.
Poetry is educational like IxL.
Poetry is nice like Mr. G.
Poetry is a light that stays on.
Poetry is the words that couldn’t escape.
Poetry is crazy like Ibrahim.
Poetry is the IQ of nerdy nomooo.
Poetry is the “paint” on a blank canvas
We splash our creative ideas onto it, hoping for something more
Instead we let ourselves bare
Poetry can be the dimness in a room full of lights
We struggle seeing ideas
While your surroundings are full of suggestions
Poetry is a bullseye, in which it can be a hit or miss
Poetry is a mystery from which can be great or terrible
Poetry is a lucky block from Minecraft
Poetry is like a question mark symbol. You really don’t know.
Poetry is as indecisive as an ice cream flavor,
chocolate or some weird flavor no one eats.
Poetry, a food rom an unknown origin
Poetry, a blessing in a curse
Poetry, a curse in a blessing
Ms. Karas (Afternoon Class)
Poetry is the chess piece in a game that goes on forever
Poetry is the salt in my ice cream
Poetry is the stain on my shirt
Poetry is like waiting in an elevator
Poetry is the homework from school
Poetry is the library with books
Poetry is the soccer ball in the net
Poetry is music in my ears
Poetry is a ball in the water
Poetry is a book in the library
Ms. Macmillan
Poetry is a lotus flower
in a quiet pond
it may affect us
but within it close
Finding peace and quiet
from the loud classroom
but never quiet
The flying robin in
the classroom, but it
is not suppose to
A broken record in a music
tin, waiting to be used again
A soul not knowing
what to write
but when emotion hits
it knows when
A tree is the windy weather
when broken down
A cross walk is the
way to home
the signals show us when
to go
The bouncy house is
on fire!
Poetry is the buzzing bee
in my mind
Poetry is the moon
crescent, not full
done
A poem is a flower in the rain
It’s a thunderstorm in the car engine
It’s a pencil scratching in a park
and a child lost on the road
It’s food in a park where
people are having iftar
My soul is calling me from the mosque
for a prayer, poetry is peaceful
as my soul. A soul that just
has so many emotions.
Poetry is the Chicago weather
during winter
Poetry is a Friday night with movies
Poetry is water during Ramadan
Poetry is my phone with snacks
Poetry is a bandage for the wounded
Poetry is beats in a heart.
Poetry is tears flowing down a face.
Poetry is the sun shining in the sky.
Poetry is cries for help.
Poetry is deep feelings on paper.
Poetry is a build up of emotions.
Poetry is a bomb exploding.