My favorite poem


Where the Sidewalk Ends
There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white, And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight To cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow, And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.
Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow, And we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know The place where the sidewalk ends.
Shel Silverstein

Yes I know every knows this poem. But its special to me because when I was little I used to read it and the three Shel Silverstein poem books we had all the time. And I still remember to this day the amazing imagery and voice in this poem as I sat on my mothers lap as she read to me.

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I am from poem


Although I’ve already posted the actual poem part. I wanted to share my final project.


Basket ball poem


She flys down the court
Basket in sight
Dribbling madly
She stops at the 3 point line
Time seems to slow
Seconds creep by
Feet set
Arms up and ready
Knees bent as she springs of the floor
The ball soars through the air
It licks the rim
As it cascades through the net
The buzzer screeches the sound of the end of the game
They’d won by one point
It ended in fame

The beach


Tantalizing smell of the ocean calling me
Heavenly coasts that go on for miles
Everlasting joy as we reales balloons with glow sticks into the warm dark air

Beloved friends racing the waves
Eccentric gazes as me watch seagulls glide by our condo windows
Ablaze were our hearts as we sat in the shallow water
Classy restaurants to dine at
Hackneyed (worn-out) children finally wrangled in to the car good bye beach good bye summer

I’m From Poem


I’m large couches and Coca-Cola and Kleenex tissues

I’m from a redbrick paradise I call home

I’m from the smell of fresh baked cookies wafting through the house when I come home from school.

I’m from the white gardenias that grow in the backyard

I’m from the big oak tree in the front yard who’s long limbs I remember climbing on till the sun went down.

I’m from grandpa’s home on Thanksgiving

I’m blue eyes

I’m from Christine and Trey

I’m from watching Christmas vacation every year

I’m from sitting by the fire when its cold

I’m from Friday night football games that we go to just for half time

I’m from being being being tall and always finding the humor and things
and Jesus loves me

I am from the girls beach trip in the summer.

I’m from Austin and I am I am a Texan through and through

I’m from chocolate pie and potato soup

From Christine passing out after getting bit by her gerbil and hitting her head on the bathtub .

I’m from long forgotten pictures of faraway times in untouched dusty photo albums sitting lifelessly in closed cabinets.

By Elizabeth Jackson

Scary story poem part 2


The thing that stares back creeps out it’s hiding spot in the darkness
It’s eyes dares me to move but I’m frozen in shock
This couldn’t be happening
Your whole reality unraveling
It’s speaks to you now in a rasping voice “leave now”
The wood paneling creaks as you run bear feet down the hall
Not second thought you run and run and run not stoping

Scary story poem


You here a slight shuffle under the bed
Ohh it just the cat you think in your head
The light flickers on
All your calmness gone
Your turn your head slowly to face the wall
You shiver under your think blankets in the cold of fall
You never fall back to sleep
Laying there in a frightened heap
When morning finally comes
Your heart is beating louder than a drum
Soon comes night
You lay there in fright
You decide to face your fears
You race off your bed
You stare under your bed into pitch blackness there seems to be nothing there but dust bunnies but wait right there a pair of yellow eyes stare back at you.

Messy buns


They sit atop your head in on going dissary

They match every outfit

Each and every day

They are effortlessly chic

There comfortable in every way

Whether brushed or not

They never require hair spray

This is why I will always love my messy buns !

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