PoEtRy, ThE eXpReSsIoNs oF LoVE

What is poetry? Why do we write poetry? Well, to me, poetry is a way of expressing our feeling about someone, something, or some place is writing or writing peoms. My inspirations are William Shakesphere. My peoms focus on the emotions of love. I write about the feeling of you feel when you're in love, music such as rap, pop, and all other which falls under the poetic category. I personally feel that out there in every poet, there has to be some form of inspiration which inspires them to write what they write. I'm a poet. And I understand the meaning of poetry. Poets write poetry to express a feeling or an idea.


WhEn TiMe StOoD sTiLL

It was a time back then
When time stood still,
I can't remember just exactly when,
Just waiting around for the time to kill.
I remember that dreadful day on the beach,
As we sat around waiting for the time to reach.
That was the time when time stood still.
The clocks all stopped to save the memories,
Which will later be told by all different stories.
This was the time when time stood still.
The winds were blowing like a whisper from the sky,
Watching the birds as away they fly.
The clocks were still, as still as the sea,
Seeing the scene as it was seeing me.
The clocks were sound and fast asleep,
Silently waiting for just the little beep.
This was the time when time stood still.
Watching and waiting for time to kill.
The sun was soft setting on it's way,
Seeing the way to the end of the day.
The clocks were waiting for time to kill,
ThIs WaS tHe TiMe WhEn TiMe StOoD sTiLL.

BREAKING NEWS....

4 Year old killed by Bus

This article, Boy, 4, Killed By Bus in Queens, by Tamer El- Ghobashy and Richard Weir, is about a four year old named Wahaid Afghani who was killed by a bus while at a discount store with his Father, uncle, and sister, on May 16, who wasn't so far away. The boy and his family were in Far Rockaway at the time where his father was unloading some stock shipments. Unfortunately, the boy suddenly ran out of the store and into the traffic of an on coming bus, N32, which runs between the Queens and Nassau County areas. The young boy was then killed.

HiT bY a BuS

It was shortly after three,
When suddenly he ran from the store,
And into the bus he didn't even see,
It was then that we knew he would be no more.
Every thing froze, everyone cried,
Knowing the 4 year old had suddenly died.
Everyone stopped to get a glance,
Realizing his life have very little chance.
His dad, his sister, and uncle were there,
But as you see the had showed very little care.
The poor little child had a very short life,
Killed when only 4 but not with a knife.
On May 16 was the day he was killed,
He was young, he was brave, and yet strong willed.
His family members hadn't been too far away,
As they witnessed his death that very day.
His death was sudden and came very fast,
Hit by a bus, his life was bound to not last.
Everyone's lives are short and has to end,
Letting alone the broken hearts to mend.
Wahaid Afghani who is now a disease,
May the Lord now let his soul ReSt In PeAcE.

ThE BeAr aNd ThE RoSe

On the bed there is a bear,
I can't remember it getting there.
On the nightstand there is a rose,
Leaning straight and tall to cast it's pose.
The bear is white with pretty brown eyes,
Watching the flower until it dies.
The petals are soft and red like blood,
Seeing it wither , your eyes will flood.
The bear and rose which are mine,
Were given to me as a Valentine.
The eyes of the bear are big and bright,
Glowing and shining from the light.
Its stem is long and green, petals soft and red,
It kind of reminds me of flowers for the dead.
This reminds me of my friend who had died,
His promise to be here forever was where he had lied.
I made a poem in memory of him to share to joy we had,
But him leaving me, left me very sad.
These are the memories left for me from the rose and the bear,
That made me remember my times with my friend who I wish was here.

My HoMe

My home is special, my home is the place,
Dressed and decorated, but not with lace.
My bed is soft, the sheets are blue,
Sweet smells from the flowers which are new.
My house smells sweet and with fresh with food,
Walking through the door totally changes my mood.
My house is clean and is a special place.
It's dearly blessed like a house of grace.
It's warm and cozy just like my bed,
I plop down on it when I might feel dead.
When I am home I am safe and free,
I would look the window, but there is nothing to see.
The living room is bright with everything white,
It shines like heaven with its glowing light.
It's big, it's clean, and fairly new,
It's colorful, it's cozy, and has a lot to do.
On my bed, I sit, I wait, thinking just what to do.



QuEsTiOnAiRe


1. Does hell and heaven really exist?
2. Why do we commit crimes?
3. Why do our birthdays come only once a year?
4. Why do we cry when we are happy?
5. Where does the sky end?
6. Do miracles really happen?
7. Will the world really end?
8. What is love?
9. Which was first, the chicken or the egg?
10. Why are there locks on the doors of a store that is open 24 hours a day?

WhAt Is LoVe?

Love is a feeling that is always there,
To have and to hold, and to always share.
Love brings you problems, love brings you tears,
Being without it, you wonder if someone actually cares.
It steals your feelings and makes you wait,
It grabs you and holds you with it's charming bait.
It stabs you with emotions right in the heart,
And makes you swear until death do you part.
No one sould be afraid to ever take a chance,
There might be love in that simple romance.
It touches your heart in ways you've never known,
Promising to stay by your side and never let you alone.
Love is the feeling that has made you cry,
Being without it, you're all alone and want to die.
It's the greatest feeling that you cannot hide,
The treasure of a lifetime is your love inside.
Needing it and wanting it are two different stories,
Having it and cherishing it leaves you the memories.
It takes alot to say what is true,
Those three litted words called: "I LoVe YoU"