Holocaust Horrors

(Written in 7th grade for english class. Composed in a record time of 5 minutes.)

Work will give you freedom
said the sign up overhead,
but 6 million Jews who read that sign
would really end up dead.
Families and friends
wouldn't be together very long,
and once they saw the curling smoke,
they knew something was wrong.
They were herded into barracks,
girls separated from boys,
then began the treatment
and they were turned into Nazi toys.
The work was cruel and horrible,
the food incredibly meek,
but all Jews knew for certain
they couldn't get very weak.
The Angel of Death was over them,
watching them run and hide,
but they proudly kept their religion
and believed God was at their side.
Yet everywhere the people turned,
a corpse before them lay,
a sight so terribly gruesome
they have nightmares to this day.
We remember the Holocaust,
the dreams of freedom and empty eyes,
and if you listen closely,
you can still hear children's cries.

Religion

(Written in 8th grade for a journal. Listen to me, the little preacher of peace. HA!)

The 8 letter word that is starting wars.
The 8 letter word that is killing innocent little children for power.
The 8 letter word that blows brotherhood and peace out of proportion.
The 8 letter word that turns friends and neighbors against each other.
The 8 letter word that makes peace impossible.
The 8 letter word that runs and commands the Middle East.
The 8 letter word that takes over peoples minds.
The 8 letter word that no one understands.
If we used it right,
it could be the 8 letter word
that makes this world a better place.

A Poem About Carly

(Written in 8th grade for a journal entry, with Carly's help, of course.)

Carly is the almighty.
Carly is the best.
Carly is awesome.
Carly calls me a squeak-a-freak.
Carly says I'm a loser child.
If Carly says I am,
then I must be.
Carly is my friend.
Carly has the internet.
So do I.
That must make me special.
Carly's a genius.
Carly has neat writing.
Carly has a horse named Silver.
Carly is wearing blue shoes
and a Calvin Klein t-shirt.
It's gray.
Most of her shirts are gray.
She has sparkly nail polish.
And sparkly chapstick.
She's a sparkly person.
Carly plays the clarinet.
Carly is always tired.
People call her Chuckles,
but I call her The Almighty
because she is.

The Mysterious Jillian

(Written in 9th grade. Take no offense, Jillian dear, this is just how I saw you in english one day.)

Fabulous handwriting
good grades
the mysterious Jillian sits,
forever concentrating
on making the world wonder about her.
Her eyes may sparkle,
but they tell of no good times.
Only of doing homework till midnight,
setting the best example for her sisters,
growing up much faster than she ought to be.
In a few years her discipline will pay off,
and she will achieve great things
leaving us all in the dust
searching for a way to survive.
I'll say I knew her once
and I'll tell the press about the day
the mysterious Jillian sat,
forever concentrating
on making the world wonder about her.

The Apple Ornament

(Written in 9th grade. Mrs. Lasich asked for a copy of this one.)

There is a christmas ornament
in the shape of an apple,
"Barb and Gary, married in 1972"
it boasts in gold letters.
It always hung proudly from our tree,
in the same spot every year,
third branch from the bottom.
Today my mom placed it in my hand
and told me to take it up to my room
because lies don't belong on christmas trees.

Writer's Block
(Written for a journal in 9th grade. This was during the only period of writer's block I've ever had, as you can clearly see once you read it.)

It's 10:49 p.m.
I should get some sleep
but I have to write something first.
"Writing is easy for you" they say
so why, out of all the topics in the world
can't I write about anything.
10:58 p.m.
Eyelids drooping.
Mind blank.
I can't sleep before I write a journal,
because blank pages don't count.
It's the thought that counts, right?
I will be deathly tired tomorrow.
11:13 p.m.
Can't tell dream from reality.
I can hear my mom sighing
waiting for me to go to bed.
Well she'll have to wait
because I cant go to bed.
Not yet.
Not till I have written a journal.

Sunday Masterpiece
(A 9th grade poem. Mrs. Lasich asked for a copy of this one, too)

A mixture of daylight and sunset
stretching across the northern skies.
Some will capture it in a brilliant photograph,
others will trace every feature of it with a paint brush,
a few will dissect it with words,
and the rest
will just wish it was Friday.

Soap Opera
(One of the best poems I wrote in 9th grade, I must say. This was the Evelyn period.)

Incessant and relentless,
with infinite air time,
and a twisted plot.
Full of back-stabbing characters
that look seemingly harmless.
Although times change,
the soap opera will continue
as it has for so many years.