Compass needle finds true north alone
despite how restless magnets pull
pressed violet found,
between forgotten pages.
dust remembers spring.
who placed the blossom there?
A gradually setting sun,
In denial for night to fall,
A frightening eternity, despite the attempting stars.
Returning presence of despair,
concludes absence of the light.
Ominous signals from the receptor of a pseudo reality
That there’s no more collagen left to repair
To hold your heart back together;
to deem you warm
For those whom the sun will rise for,
for those who see the stars
Hate them.
The stars are dead anyway
Your biggest star appears to be, too
Some find comfort in the cool wind
But you know,
you’ll forever be in this blizzard
The cracks of a voice spill as your head rests on my shoulder
As I face forward,
and your eyes, behind me.
Our arms wrapped one another,
you dig for the warmth
although it is already surrounding you
But you’re in the glaciers, now
The receptor proves to remain on cooldown
For I, am an attempting star.
To express through words,you
dance with poetry
You strike a chord and you sing
With a low, soft voice
a gentle humming sound that drifts into the clouds
You sing a love a song for your beloved
Sing,sing for your beloved
Just like a bird platmying melodies
The rhythm, the rhythm of the song
As a sweet,the beautiful melody
Wake up
You soothe your voice like a bird
That chirps
You play a beautiful melody
Starting a song all of a sudden
dancing to songs of joy and celebration
A short time filled with happiness
Humming always with pure joys
A song to put a body to sleep
As a sweet,beautiful melody
Wakes up
multitalented Taylor Swift
an amazing Renaissance woman
living life in jeopardy
this is who we strive to be
taking risks to meet our goal
listen to our inner soul
I have a lot of things
I never say.
Not because I don’t have the words,
but because sometimes
the words feel too heavy
to leave my mouth.
So I keep them
behind my teeth,
where they can’t hurt anyone
except me.
I say “I’m fine”
when I’m tired.
I say “it’s okay”
when it isn’t.
I laugh when something hurts
because explaining the pain
feels worse than feeling it.
Sometimes I wonder
how many versions of me
I’ve created
just to make other people comfortable.
The quiet me.
The happy me.
The understanding me.
The one who forgives too quickly.
The one who says
“don’t worry about it”
when I have been worrying
about it for weeks.
But somewhere underneath
all those versions
is a girl who just wants
to be understood
without having to explain
every scar in her heart.
She wants to be loved
without performing for it.
She wants to say
“I’m hurting”
and not feel guilty
for making the room uncomfortable.
Maybe one day
I’ll stop swallowing my feelings
just to keep the peace.
Maybe I’ll finally understand
that my voice
was never too loud.
I was just taught
to whisper.
Moonlit branch bends light,
sparrows stitch the silent dark,
crisp air holds its breath.
Night gathers their small shadows,
like notes waiting for a song.
In moon-washed aisles,
hushed,
narrow,
deep,
ancient tomes stir from their sleep;
their murmured spells through stillness creep~
the library stirs with hidden light.
Soft runes ignite the shadowed floor,
ink trembles with forgotten lore;
each page unfolds a hidden door~
the library stirs with hidden light.
Ghost-lamps drift where shadows bend,
guiding the seeker like a friend;
time folds itself at each book’s end~
the library stirs with hidden light.
And when I breathe its sacred air,
I feel old magic everywhere,
as if the shelves themselves still care~
the library stirs with hidden light.
A leaf lands sideways.
The water rearranges
its borrowed clouds.
A crow lifts
from the fence.
Cloud shadows travel
across the open field.
Milkweed releases
its white fleet.
Meanwhile,
below notice,
below thought,
below the names
I give things,
something in me
remains still.
Water carries
a second evening,
equally silent.
And the silence
asks nothing.
By dusk,
the first star appears.
No message.
No instruction~
only a brightness
waiting
where it was
before I noticed.
small squirrel
beneath winter's hush
glances up.
snow drifts by.
woodland telescope gathers
questions, not the stars.
Little Lolita was a feminine sweet-tempered girl
frilly and lacy with a large forehead curl
heels she wore were nineteen inches too high
her hair is piled up, to reach stars in the sky
(chorus)
Lithe light Lolia showing her ilk
sashaying daily in lace, satin and silk
causing men to go incredibly dumbfounded and wild
pretending to be innocent like a six-year-old child
Little Lolita, as intelligent and bright as the stars
descended from a long line of Russian Czars
an urban beauty who was born in New York City
avid conversationalist whose gossip is exceedingly witty
(chorus)
Lithe light Lolia showing her ilk
sashaying daily in lace, satin and silk
causing men to go incredibly dumbfounded and wild
pretending to be innocent like a six-year-old child
We want the best for our heroine, she makes us smile
I sing her praises as I clean out my pig’s awful stile
why do I get lost in my artwork for hours at a time?
why do I sit in a recliner for days not watching the droning tv?
Why do I use my tv as a radio?
why do I not sort my closet?
why do I resist dyeing my white roots?
why do I avoid the worst tasks for days at a time?
why do I get jury duty again?
why do cars nearly blow me off the highway?
why do I feel twenty when I am seventy-four?
why?
The western sky fades,
holding neither day nor night,
only their meeting.
For a moment, even trees
seem uncertain of their names.
Dawn threads the hedgerow.
One pearl on grass waits.
Holding night intact.
Mist drifts through orchard.
A lone thrush stirs leaves.
Morning spends its gem.
11Th Grade Categories
Definition | What is 11Th Grade in Poetry?
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.
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12th grade, 10th grade, 9th grade, 8th grade, 7th grade, 6th grade, 5th grade, 4th grade, 3rd grade, 2nd grade, 1st grade, high school, school