K Woods: Poems

K Woods Nov 29

To be a tree or be the sea,
I don’t know what I would be,
A tree stands tall, but the sea flows through it all.
I would be a tree in a ball,
While the sea is still at call,

I could be a tree with my roots in the bay,
Or a tree dark at night, and the sea another day.
Maybe I’d be the sun,
I’d shine so bright; I would give people light.
I could be the rain wash the sun away,
I would provide a good amount of clay.
I do like the idea of the wind,
But compared too the sun that idea is dim.

I don’t know what I would be.
I guess I’ll be any force of nature,
So, I could mold the earth’s structure,
Like a child is molded by its mother.

If I was a tree, I would soon die old,
Where if I was the sea, I would spend three months frozen cold.
Where if I was the sun the clouds would steal my shine,
That would make poor sun cry.
So down comes the rain and there just wished away.
And if I was the wind, I would just cause a struggle,
So, papa would get mad so I would be in trouble.
This is why the force of nature works as a team,
So why can’t we.

The first poem I wrote I wrote it last year

My Friend

K Woods 4d

My Friend

The mind is a labyrinth.
we question if
the exit is a myth
A legend, a lie
we can't prove it does exist.

The mind is a maze,
With thoughts lost
In heavy fog.
In this labyrinth, noise can't travel here
yet the silence quickly gets too loud
with sick dry mouths
our cries make no sound

The mind is a labyrinth,
With shifting walls and
forgotten memories
that try to whisper
There we walk alone
with frostbitten Fingers
grazing frozen stone

This labyrinth is cold
our jaws sit numb
our teeth no longer chatter
instead, they clench in pain
brought on by this violent maze

Day becomes night
Tears become ice
I ask
will I last
to see new light?

Day
night
we decay
dusk - dawn
we march on

alone we march to the beat of no hope
Until we hang in knotted rope.

A necklace of rope
is all it takes
to say goodbye
to This frozen rotting forsaken place.
finally, then we can speak

so to
You my lonely friend
you may too see the end
someday you might lose your breath
but don't cheat the mind with the force of death
keep searching
then come up and tell me

tell me all about the things you see
what you feel
who you were meant to be
tell me about all
that lurks beyond the walls

what does life look like
when you don't shiver from the cold
when there's heat from the sun glow
tell me what it is like to grow so old

live free my friend
until your end
then come up to me and I will listen
and I too then will get to know,
the feeling
of
everything you once told.

sleepy eyes

K Woods Nov 29

sleepy eyes

at the sight of dawn,
I wake with a heavy yawn.
I wish to wake no more,
Wake- wake up.

I do not wish to wake today,
Nor tomorrow,
or the weeks to come.

Do not think to bury me,
turn me into ash-
I belong to the sea.

So here I am not knowing if this is goodbye,
I'd love to finish life,
but too tired try.

I believe I am ready,
to go down with the sun.
I shall leave when the clock calls it dusk.

let me close these sleepy eyes.
and leave this scary wake behind.

what is a poem?

K Woods Nov 29

what is a poem?

Today I argued about a poem I wrote,
I was proud of this poem I wrote,
But was this a poem a poem?

They said not.
I called it free verse,
they called it a story.
I said it was descriptive,
they said I don't see it sorry.

I showed this poem to someone else who said it was a poem.
This person was my music teacher,
who teaches I.B. English,
they said my poem was fine.

To Day I walked home from school and I saw a bus,
This bus was full of people but it displayed,
not in service.

so now I wonder what makes a poem,
what makes a bus in-service?

It is weeks after now,
I have answered my question.

A poem is what we make it to be,
the bus and I are poetic,
though a city bus doesn't write.
It still made poetry.

So my dear people,
do you remember Shakespeare?
He broke the rules of English so often,
His words became the rules.

If you remember what this man once said,
Then the question, you will understand.
I have asked it differently,
his answer was incomplete.

To be,
Or not to be?
But to agree or not agree.

that is the question.
that is poetry.

— The End —