Just 4 Fun!

Welcome to the student poems of the month! We have up to five "Poems of the Month," one each for the K-2, 3-5, 6-8, and 9-12 grades plus sometimes one for those who are college level or graduates. Did you miss out on some of last year's poems? You can visit the archives to catch what you missed.

Get your poems for next month in now! Only original poems received in November 2005 will be eligible for Poem of the Month for December 2005. We are getting so many wonderful submissions it is hard to choose! If you submitted last month and weren't selected you are welcome to try again this month. You can send poems to us by clicking here.

Horses run along
They go over hills and grass
They really like mud

© 2005 by Sarah
1at Grade
Asbury Elementery School - Erie, Pennsylvania

Resting on the sea bottom, the monster waits. It stretches its tentacles,
snatching nearby
fish to sate its hunger. But what it really relishes is smart food. Food
that will put up a
Then finally, food appears in the form of a whaling ship. The monster snakes
out his eighty
tentacles, and makes itself and the ship one. He heaves himself out of the
water, and sweeps his
barbed tongue across the deck, swallowing the men and whale skins whole.
Some of the braver men
start hacking at his tentacles with swords that feel like toothpicks. With a
flick of a tentacle
the men, swords and all, are hanging from the masts.
When all the easy prey is taken care of, he simply tips the boat. He
snatches the sinking
humans, watching as they struggle, and then popping them into his mouth. The
day is over, and
once again he settles into the deep.

© 2005 by Nate
5th Grade
Highland Terrace - Shoreline, Washington

A vicious funnel of whirling winds
Plowed through the countryside,
Leaving destruction in its path
A turn of fate, a change of tide.

The dear departed lay in rest
With ears that hear no winds of pain,
The swirling mass gives tombstones wings
And exposes long dead to the sun again.

Survivors emerge from their dens of rubble
Weeping for the ones who died,
Their friends who departed in years long past
With those newly expired limp at their side

They clamber over the houses collapsed
Peering into faces white,
Is this my great-great-grandfather
Or Sam who went missing just last night?

Corpses are found,
Torn my the storm
Buried again
In their graves nice and warm

A vicious funnel of whirling winds
Plowed through the countryside,
Leaving destruction in its path
A turn of fate, a change of tide.

© 2005 by Nate Matthews
7th grade
Einstein Middle School - Shoreline, Washington

Let Them Dream

Midday fancies.
Barefooted in the backyard, running freely,
Chasing eachother round and round with pockets full of posies, Picking fresh little rosies from the bush. But hush....Do not wake the children. Their mother has called them in for dirt pudding and milk, then lays them
down for a nap.
A nap filled with the relaxation from no worries in the world, With no porblems spitting out here and there like: “Where are my keys?” “When is this paper due?” “What will I wear?” No annoying questions cluttering their thoughts, adding unneeded stress upon
their chests.
No trials nor tribulations filling their day unnessecarily.
Their only worry, is:
“How am I going to climb that tree to get to the top, to see all their is to
see at the top
of the world?”
Do not wake them, for in their slumber they dream of things that we who have
already passed this
stage of adolescence can only wish to have on the very quietest of days. Their dreams are of beuatiful things and magical things and wonderful
things, unheard of in the
Their dreams are not yet tainted by the temptations, asphyxiation, and
social adaptations of
growing, unrelenting world.
These children have yet to stress from the weight and the burden set before
They have time to feel the warmth of the sun as it dances along their young,
unscathed backs.
They have time to catch the fireflies, to blow bubbles, to imagine they're
cowboys and Indians,
to dream.
These children are allowed to dream whatever they want to dream without any
worry of
condemnation, or social seclusion.
They can dream whatever they want to dream...
Do not wake them...
Let them sleep...
Though I envy their dreams, let them sleep.

© 2005 by Sam Maynard
11th Grade
Belleview High School - Belleview, Florida

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