A Day at the Beach

I spend many endless summer vacations at the beach
The crystal water smells like a mixture of salt and God's countless sea creatures
Building sand castles with my family is a sunny day at the park
The air tastes like melting fruity popsicles as the playful children run by
Relaxation whispers like the cool breeze that dances around our warm bodies
The unique seashells persuade me to take them home when they say, "Look at me! I'm beautiful"

Dont Blame the Teens

Sometimes it’s hard to be a teenage twin. I live in a house with my two parents, my twin brother, and my two dogs. Since my brother and I are both teenagers, we get blamed for the majority of mishaps in my home. If Ryan, my brother, forgot to do his chores, it suddenly becomes my fault because “we are twins” and we share the same duties. Or if my father breaks a glass plate, I am accused because I am “a teenager” and teenagers apparently have a reputation for not caring about little, unimportant things. No matter what the problem is, if something goes wrong in the Burchfield household, my brother and I are the first suspects. In Wanda Coleman’s poem “Sears Life”, the speaker gets accused of shoplifting because she is an African American teenager. The minute she walks into the store, “eyes follow her everywhere”, because the workers assume she is going to steal something. I know how this feels. Right when trouble presents itself, my brother and I get thrown under the bus. The world needs to know that not all teenagers lack morals and responsibility. Also, my parents need to know that if my brother messes up, it is not automatically my fault too.

Click Here to Learn All About "God Says Yes to Me"!

      Right this way to take a look at Kaylin Haught’s poem “God Says Yes to Me”. As you can see, this is a rather short poem. The speaker is most likely a little girl seeking affirmation. She questions whether it is okay to be melodramatic, short, to wear or to not wear nail polish, and to not paragraph letters. If you’ll notice, the speaker’s questions are all related to general standards and critiques of feminine perfection. The poet uses simple diction and syntax, which reflects the speaker to be humble and ignorant. She doesn’t know what girly behavior is socially accepted which is why she simply asks God these questions. Here’s something you will want to pay attention to—God, in this poem, is portrayed as a woman. Now this contradicts the common image of God. Normally, we see God as being mighty and powerful. We refer to him as The Father. However, in this poem, God represents a motherly figure to the little girl. She calls the girl “honey” and “sweetcakes”. Interesting isn’t it? Another special effect the poet uses is quoting God’s answers, word-for-word. Now, the answers don’t appear in literal quotation marks, but they are straight from God’s mouth. To wrap up this tour, the message of the poem to know that God will help us. Whether God is represented as a male or female, God is a parent figure in our lives and we are all his children. When we seek affirmation like the little girl, we should just turn to God. Thanks for coming everyone!

Appreciate All

APPRECIATE ALL

      Martin Espada’s poem, “Jorge the Janitor Finally Quits”, portrays the importance of loving and appreciating all people, no matter how much of a difference they are making. Jorge in the poem is a janitor, a job that normally doesn’t receive much attention. He says, “No one asks where I’m from. I must be from the country of janitors.” He cleans the floors and bathrooms and no one ever seems to care about him. Guests show no respect towards him when they are around him. Even though his job isn’t outrageous like finding a cure to cancer, he is still helping many people in little ways. The bumper sticker, “APPRECIATE ALL”, well suites this poem because it represents the importance of appreciating all people, no matter what job they have. Jorge received no gratitude as a janitor and at the end of the poem, he finally quits his job.

Que es Poesia?

Que es Poesia? dices mientras claves
en mi pupila
tu pupila azul.
Que es poesia? y tu me lo preguntas
poesia eres tu.
What is poetry?  You ask as I get lost 
into your deep blue eyes.
What is poetry?
You are poetry.

A Dream of Her Own

       Tears racing down my cardinal cheeks, I laid hopelessly in my bed. Why did this have to happen? Why did my mother have to die? Was it my fault? The burden of last night’s fight lay heavily on my shoulders, haunting my every thought. I kept replaying every dreadful moment in my head. It was a cloudy, dull day in San Diego, California. I could hear the news reports of my mother’s car accident streaming throughout the lifeless house. “Someone turn that off!”, I screamed. But I was alone. How could someone be so stupid to text and drive? They killed my mother! I knew I wasn’t to blame, but I couldn’t help thinking that if we hadn’t gotten in a fight the night before then things would be different.

       I impatiently waited my father’s arrival from the hospital. He told me I wasn’t allowed to go because “I’m not old enough” and he didn’t want me to see her dead body. Each minute felt like an hour. I wanted to see him. I wanted to know more than what a CNN news report could tell me.

       School was hard the next few weeks. I sat emotionless in my desk, never saying a word. My friends tried comforting me, but I never found the courage to open up to them. That’s just how I am. I tend to keep all my problems and struggles in a box, which remains locked up until something better rolls around and I can forget about them. I am not your typical girl who pours their emotions out like a glass of milk. That night at dinner, a new encouraging thought suddenly popped into my head for the first time since before the fight. I would start a “Texting Awareness” organization at my school, specifically about the dangers of texting while driving. I knew I couldn’t bring my mother back, but maybe by sharing my story I could save some other classmate’s loved ones.

       So there I was, speaking in front of my entire school of 1,700 people, just three weeks after my mother passed. Palms sweaty, knees weak, and voice shaking, I shared my story. When finished, the loud sound combination of hollers and claps consumed my ears. Surprisingly my story spoke to many of my fellow classmates. They supported me. For the first time in weeks, I felt an overwhelming sense of happiness that I hoped would stick with me.

       The old saying, “You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone”, is extremely true. I loved my mom dearly through the ups and the downs. We had our share of fights, but then again, what mother-daughter duo doesn’t? I regret ever arguing with her and taking her for granted, but I now realize that I cannot dwell on her death forever. She wouldn’t want me to feel pain the rest of my life. At my school, I am now the president of the “Texting Awareness” organization and am being followed by 700 of my other classmates. We have now expanded the organization to other schools in the district, and someday I hope to make it worldwide. I know my mother is smiling down on me from heaven and I know she is very proud of me. I know I will see her beautiful face again in the future, but until then it is my mission to put an end to texting while driving. I am just a motivated 17 year old girl with big dreams, hoping to save lives.