Lord of the Flies Tanka

There were snarls, crashes.

There were flying limbs and fists.

Jack and his hunters

are vicious and merciless

just like the devil.

You Can't Have It All

But you can have sweet, sticky, strawberry lollipops like a dream of new white leather in a sedan.

You can have the soft, smooth petals of a peony blow across your face as it takes flight like a new born fledgling.

You can have the command of your older brother to make him a five star meal in less than 30 minutes.

You can have a fun day that turned cold to the bone after you make your brother's nose bleed. When you're dad looks at you with a face that says "Look what you did, don't even think about coming in here."

You can think love is just holding hands and sharing sodas, but sometimes it's more and sometimes it's less.

You can have those days where your house is like a blank piece of paper but a single box in the center of the room.

You can't have that boy that every girl dreams of, but you can have the best friend to share everything with. The one who will always come first.

You can have the little park where you're all alone in front of your house to drown in tears for a couple of hours.

You can't have the get out of jail free card, but you can go around the board like everyone else.

You can have the dream of California, the Golden Gate Bridge, and beeping cars in the middle of rush hour.

You can have your friend squeezing fresh limes on a Sunday afternoon, for sweet key lime pie.

You can have your friend tackle and knock you down as we both playfully fight over the TV remote.

You can have your grandma flood the cemetery with sorrow, just like when Harriet Tubman led the slaves to freedom through the Underground Railroad.

You can have that friend that spins threads into gold to make wishes come true.

You can have the steaming, strained brain of too much homework but not enough time.

You can't be friends with the most popular girl, but you can be close to the girl who'll paint your nails even when you've caught the flu.

You can be grateful for windows to let you hear the bird's song, even early Saturday morning.

You can have the warmth of the sun on your back slowly roasting you as if you were sunbathing a grill.

You can have the annoying big brother that won't listen to anything you ask, but you will miss when he leaves to start his life.

You can't have that shining smile anymore, that kind hand that will always reach out to you, and that welcome that can't even be competed with. But you can have the same face watching over you like your guardian angel.

You can think you can do it, but soon realize even a sapling needs support.

You can have 15 minutes before school to look for your imperfections, the ones that you know will always bring you down.

You can mix and match the colors of clay, make a butter-fish, and an angel-fly.

You can have all of your friends guiding you, holding their hands and following them.

You can have eye bags under your eyes stuck alone with a can of Nutella and an abused laptop, the things a girl would do for her father.

You can sit there on the steps while the sun shone brightly; it dimmed to the beautiful orange sunset. Are they ever coming back?

You can't cross the bridge without meeting the troll. But you can meet the fairy godmother that will grant your wish for everything you can't have.

Poetry Notebook

The Angel Within You

selected by Stephanie Huie

Theme: Angels

Description: When I'm feeling down in the dumps I read these poems. They help me get back on my feet and makes me feel like I can actually do something. The ones that will look out for you and guide you to the right path. They'll be the ones who save you from the dark. Poems can bring back what you think you've lost, but what you've hidden within.

Synopsis: You can't see them, you can't feel them, you can't hear them, but angels will be there.

My Guardian Angel by Robert William Service

Do You Hear The Angel Speaking? by Faye Diane Kilday

Touched by An Angel by Maya Angelou

Sleeping Angel by Raymond A. Foss

Sing Softly the Songs of Your Angel by Timothy Venard

They Are Always With You by Crystal Bell

Your Angel by Bobby Dinev

Our Precious Angels by America Diane Davidson

You're My Angel by Dr Nihar Ranjan Ray

Angela’s Ashes by Frank McCourt

Publisher: Scribner

Genre: Memoir

Where I got it: When I was looking for an interesting book to read I found this book on Mrs. Meadow’s desk.

One sentence summary: Frank McCourt’s childhood with a drinking father and a mother trying to keep her family alive; is a struggle of poverty and sadness that is always able to make its entrance.

First sentence: My father and mother should have stayed in New York where they met and married where I was born.

First chapter review: The first chapter is an opening door to Frank McCourt’s childhood. In this chapter the author writes about how his parents met and got married in New York. He mentions that he had four brothers and at last received a baby sister. During this chapter he describes how the death of Margret—the baby sister—affected his father’s drinking habit and their decision to move back to Ireland.

Verdict: I would put this on the list of books that you’ll take time to read or read a couple times for all the details and events. I would suggest this book to anyone but young children because of death. This story is an excellent book; even better for some who have gone through a tough childhood. It will leave you wanting more.

Cover comments: Shows a filthy boy leaning against a wall without his shoes. The run down building and streets show the neighborhood isn’t as great as you may think. Though we can only assume the boy is poor, he still has a smile on his face.

Pale Cherry Blossom-Benjamin Moore 2101-60

A clear droplet

smashed and scattered.

The sky dying,

the sun buried,

the clouds awakening.

She was the lone cherry blossom.

She was ripped,

torn,

stepped all over.

She was cracked,

rigid,

and sharp.

She was broken glass.

She ran,

tripped,

and fell to her hands and knees.

The petals flew into

the distance over

the horizon.

They danced

and ran

and landed softly.

She panted,

gasping to catch her breath.

She crawled

like a toddler,

under the blossoming tree.

She leaned

with fairness

with her face in a pool

and gray, gaunt eyes

that lost life.

She was the lone cherry blossom.

The only one

that soared high up,

until shot down.

She started staring

with cold eyes,

dark eyes,

dead eyes.

The scared girls

walking down the street turned,

and clung

to their boyfriends.

She flinched with envy,

why couldn't that be her?

Why didn't she choose the right one?

What did she do to deserve pain?

She was the lone cherry blossom.

The one that always flew high.

The one always shot down.

The one that gets hurt.

Her soft hands

gently rubbed

against her cheek.

The imprint stayed,

the pain stayed,

the handprint stayed.

He's mean,

he's cruel,

he's her boyfriend.

The small petals float

and circle around

the trunk of the tree.

They understand,

they have lived,

they have died,

only to be reborn again.

She is the twirling petal

that drifts high,

until it's pulled down by gravity

turning pale and dry.

The petals surround her.

The one lone cherry blossom

flies high with them,

not to be shot down.

We Said We Would

He lost himself in a maze.

Grass was worn away,

on two sides was the beach.

Business...not fun.

Talking... not laughing.

Cleverness...not jokes.

We were going to have water,

but the shells are dry.

We said things,

but we don't do.

We said we'd have water

from the stream.

We said we'd have it

in coconut shells,

but we drink from the river.

There's no coconut shells,

no fresh leaves,

and no water from the stream.

Business...not fun.

Talking...not laughing.

Cleverness...not jokes.

We sleep in shelters,

but who built them?

Who build all three?

Who built the shelters

that we need?

Everyone built the first.

Four built the second.

Two built the last.

Business...not fun.

Talking...not laughing.

Cleverness...not jokes.

Waste time on small fires.

From now on

only the mountain fire.

We nearly set the island on fire.

I have the conch,

I am chief

so listen to me.

The littleuns know the beastie.

The littleuns know it's real.

The littleuns know they're frightened.

The boys stood in the darkness.

A thin wail chilled them,

and Percival

was lying in the grass.