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Nat Lipstadt Sep 1
this person, who reads somehow
almost every poem here deposited,
how he does it, a secret, well kept,
but hardly hidden, for he signals
his appreciation in so many ways,
and s p o t l i g h t s those who frequent
contribute, cheerleader and coach
with keen eye and sharpness of brain,
he affectively, affectionately, injects &
infects this little expanse,
this Kingdom of York,
where lovers meet,
speaking in their own
dialect of kindness…

writes himself with a uniqueness,
dare I say in his owned style?
there is never a doubt
who has authored his work,
so many superb scripts,
but his better good works,
present in his presence here,
bringing out the best of the
multiplicities of each of us

but of whom do I speak?

Why,

Carlo C. Gomez

of course!
repost his poems please
Anais Vionet Jun 25
He stands, mocking, full of his worth
and crowned by stinging opinion
He’s won. By one.
‘Not even one whole point’ I want to say
to everyone - ‘by a rounding error.’

We rejoice in wooden dialogue
snaps are fired, content is captured
I feel ridiculous and awkward

As the great pageant ends,
he leans in, in a hugging action
but I will not grow dainty with this - prince
- and I step out of his hands
"Seriously?” I mumble, shivering.
There’s an old saying (in my family), "Show me a happy loser and I'll show you a loser - show me an unhappy loser and I'll show you a loser."
ohjamie Sep 2014
Desks and chairs and messy hair
Student rankings, must compare.
Always having something due--
Wake up at eight, slept at two.

Coffee, Red Bull, I need more
To push through my every chore.
My health and sanity is growing ill,
But all I need is an Adderall pill.

"It will be worth it in the end," I'm told,
But this college thing is getting old.
Always working and losing sleep
Because I have straight As to keep.

"Amazing essay," "Good job!" they say,
But they don't know of the price I pay.
They never listen to what I need or want
Unless it's in Times New Roman, 12 pt font.
Elliott Sep 2014
I'm from moving around and many friends. Around the world and in my neighborhood.
Forgotten memories and forgotten life.
Left alone in the dark, crying until my eyes are red and on fire.
Keeping every memento I've ever gotten.
I'm from deep thoughts and long nights of research.
Not sleeping for three days straight.
Page after page of books.
New followers and information.
I'm from years of bullying and being different.
Twitching and raptor hiccup.
Hair and clothes.
Like and dislike.
I'm from a world of imagination.
Books that take me on a journey through worlds I wish I could be apart of.
Pictures and drawing I've drawn as a child.
Games that explain more than my schools could ever.
I'm from a life time of pain and joy.
I'm from updating my knowledge of the world.
I'm from a world of uncultured swines.
I'm from a world I wish not to be in.
I'm from the unknown.
A life I've yet to figure out.
Keep dreaming.
I'm from a world of fast moving dreams, that I'll never catch up too.
I'm from Earth.
This is a poem for my honors English class. This gives you some info about me and my personal life. Anyway yeah.
Alexis A Sep 2014
S.C.H.O.O.L.
Several Cruel Hours Of Our Lives
It's not really that bad
But I am obsessing
Must have perfect grades
But I'm too shy to speak up
I have to get my teachers to like me
But I can't open my mouth
I am feeling overwhelmed
But I won't stop caring so much
I'll finish with highest honors
For these cruel hours
Can change your future
Just stressed a bit with school, letting it all out. I have a problem with being a perfectionist, but I don't really care. I want to get into an ivy league, but alas, we will see what happens.

— The End —