He has two big 

Stitch like ears.

His eyes full of curiosity.

He doesn’t fit the stereo

Type of his breed.

Chihuahuas are known to

Be little mean dogs but

He is a nice dog.

He favors my mother but 

When I’m sick he never lets

Anyone near me.

I guess that’s his way of 

saying thanks for saving him.

(love poem)

tar

stain

bright

light

red

orange

hair like a octopus.

her skin as tangled as rope.

the ice climbed my toes

while the white snow surrounded me

and the blowing wind sounds like

a whisper as I stick out my tongue to taste

a snow flake while the

smell of my next meal fills my nose.

As I drank the eggnog it tasted

like the smell of nail polish

Santa Clause is waiting at the North Pole.

Her skin smooth like a pearl.

The mouse trap killed the rat upstairs.

The word to describe is supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.

The cat meows and the hat falls.

The old man says “Back in my day…”

The white dove of freedom.

Light from the black room.

Santa Clause died last night.

B is writing this poem.

One day they’ll finish.

The nice blue jay.

I won’t grow up.

Como se amo?

The candle grabbed my hand to burn.

The arms trying to grab my face.

(20 little prompts poem)

The brown fence, yellow grass,

the green forest, the green grass behind the fence.

The room is dark.

I can’t hide.

I look over to

The closet.

He’s in there, 

I know it. 

I can see his 

Crooked smile.

With his shark like teeth, 

And his clawed hands.

He watches and waits,

For what I don’t know.

He couldn’t get me

Though.

She protected me from him.

She comforted me and

Made sure I was always safe.

I miss her so much now.

She promised I’d see her

Again soon but I don’t want 

To wait.

Tiger

Stripes

Prisoners

Cell

Cage

Trap

Poachers

Fur

Mammals

Cat  

Butterfly

Wings

Buffalo 

Redbull

Soda

Sugar

Sucrose 

Photosynthesis 

Nectar 

Flower

My body is as black as tar.

my mouth as grey as silver.

you see me as a sign of death

and if my look doesn’t convince you

my call will.

You think I’m beautiful,

but don’t let my eyes pierce your soul.

You see me as strength and power in fighting

but at the same time beauty and money.

my hand and feet can be soft as clouds

but be careful because they can become

nails as sharp as blades.

He is always caught wearing black

Either in his clothes or hair.

He doesn’t talk much

Except with sadness and despair.

He doesn’t want to get close

To anyone in fear of losing another.

He looks tired 

With dark circles under his eyes.

Along with the look that he had been crying 

For hours before you saw him.

His eyes red and puffy.

‘The ground parched and cracked

is like over baked bread.’

Thats a sign of the

season I dread.

The season I speak

of is one that I hate.

This season I constantly

ask to be late.

The season is Summer

most shocking and true.

It’d be the thing

I’d hit with a shoe.

Now you have your opinion

and I have mine.

My favorite one falls

on month nine.

The first line in this poem is not mine but belongs to another poem called Autumn by John Clare. The rest of the poem is mine and the line is simply what inspired the rest of it.

I was only eight.

it was a typical day at home.

My mother put on

The Lion King.

I was watching, when something in me

snapped.

I suddenly was intrigued by

the movement, emotion, colors,

and just everything in general.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away

and for an ADD kid, that’s impressive.

When the movie finished

I asked my mother to put in the

second disc.

She did so with a confused

expression painted on her face.

I watched the screen until

a man come on the screen.

He was talking about

what he does and in the corner

there was his name and one other thing.

Main animator for scar.

I pointed to the screen,

looked back at my mother,

and told her something that sealed my fate.

That will be me someday.