Best 12Th Grade Poems | Poetry

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The Best 12Th Grade Poems

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Beauty Can't Compete



As the last rays of sunlight start to die scarlet flames burn the sky where clouds ignite. And when the birds roost, bats begin to fly hunting down elusive moths in mid-flight. Luna hangs high in an ebony sky spinning dreams into beams of golden light. And twinkling stars, like fireflies in the night confetti the heavens...dazzling the eye. Like gold filigree pinned to the darkness swirling galaxies adorn the skies above, as shooting stars unzip the black of space. Yet, Man stands unabashed...in His starkness for cosmic beauty can't compete with love an emotion intrinsic to our race. (Italian Sonnet) Aug 7, 2018


Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2018


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Dance To Her Tune



I do not see the sun much any more its diminished light’s...all but gone away. For charcoal clouds bring Autumn rains that pour and send all the children inside...to play. Fall’s pretentious colors fast fade from sight until nothing remains...their beauty brief. And as days relinquish their length to night the trees stand naked...not a single leaf. All the geese have begun migrating south along with most of our precious song birds. And lately...I've been told by word of mouth the same thing's happening to reindeer herds. These signs foretell...Winter will arrive soon and we'll have to learn to dance...to her tune. (Sonnet) Aug. 3, 2018


Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2018


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Go Away



wars, drugs, poverty famine, fear, rape, death and degradation that's the kind of world desperate immigrants flee and yet, we won't let them in go die on the other side of our new wall and stay away, this is ours we should be ashamed...they are fellow humans there's no kindness in our hearts no tolerance, even for God's commandment that we love our neighbors, as we love ourselves (Suzette Prime) Aug. 11, 2018


Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2018


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Latino-Americanos: The Children of an Oscuro Pasado

Baile con migo, hips made from the rhythm of merengés and cumbias, samba, swagger and a pinch of azucar mixed into my backbone. 
My first language was Spanish. 
Learned from sweet stories told by my papi at bedtime. 
My tongue a formation of the stardust of my heritage,
An intertwined galaxy of rolled r’s and the pledge of allegiance.
It was something I would soon forget after I was told it was wrong
Taught a new way to introduce myself “mi nombre es” turned to “my name is” after the girl in my class told me she couldn’t understand me.
So I was taught to reject the language of my family and to be proud to call myself American over Mexican.
Now my Spanish 2 native class seems so god damn foriegn and I can't seem to remember what comes after domingo on my pop quiz.
I would learn to hate my name, much preferring something like Tiffany,
Leaving behind my silent TL and X that sounds like an S because they said it was strange.
When I visit my grandmother all I could do is nod or shake my head,
Because her native language sounds like a tongue twister I can't seem to master.
So she reminds me that the colors in my soul and the rhythm in my bones are blessings and that I come from the Incas, the Mayans, the Aztecs, los Mexicas, who built an empire nunca imaginado.
That we are a children of an oscuro pasado,
A mixture of pain, sadness and oppression, 
But we inherited the strength.
We have inherited the passion.
She reminds me that my name holds the power of the most legendary Aztec princesses who ruled with the grace of the most beautiful flower.
So this is for the women that still name their children in nahuatl and the men who wake up on Sunday mornings to listen to Vicente Fernandez with their fathers,
And families that still pass on recipes of arroz con pollo.  
Because we are the sons and the daughters,
And we hold the stories, 
The journeys of the remembered,
Those who walked through deserts, waded through rivers.
We wear their legacies on our shoulders with pride,
And we do not lose ourselves to broken perceptions,
But rise above with the help of our powerful stories.
Our melodies, our galaxies,
Por que somos Latino-Americanos
And we will not be forgotten


Copyright © Xochitl Morales | Year Posted 2018


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Society am I pretty yet

5 years old
Pink ribbon, silk ribbon,
Streaming through my tightened hair,
Pigtails, toothless smile
Society am I pretty yet?
10 years old
Ponytails, bobby pins,
Tantrums, thinking life’s not fair,
Chubby thighs, crooked smile
Society am I pretty yet?
13 years old
Straight hair, lip gloss,
Puberty, changes,
Invisible tears, broken smile
Society am I pretty yet?
15 years old
Messy bun, chapped lips,
Longer nights, nothing going right,
Lost mind, fake smile
Society am I pretty yet?
17 years old
Lifeless strands, stained appearance,
Just enough, empty room,
Cracked mirror, recovery
Society am I pretty yet?


Copyright © Crystal Vazquez | Year Posted 2016


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Friends Are The Lights



Friends are the lights that allow you to see personal faults through sympathetic eyes and never flicker should you disagree. Even subjected to the third degree they're never willing to compromise friends are the lights that allow you to see. Offering their friendship and loyalty free they don’t criticize...they revitalize and never flicker should you disagree. They praise your least accomplishment with glee when others are out to trivialize friends are the lights that allow you to see. Caretakers of your heart, they guard the key nurturing the virtues they recognize and never flicker should you disagree. They allow you to be all you can be they even pretend to believe your lies. And never flicker should you disagree friends are the lights...that allow you to see. (Villanelle) June 19, 2018


Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2018


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You are more than what eyes can see

You are not what they think of you,
Your heart doesn't change when your hair gets hue.

You are not the fashion trend you follow,
You are above perceptions which are hollow.

Your bright lipstick is just an accessory,
It shouldn't change due to sarcasm or decree.

Your tone shouldn't overrule your statement,
Your no is denial and your yes is the agreement.

Your smile is mere happiness, not a proposal,
Your stands in an argument are views, they don't make you unfilial.

Your body is a sheath for your soul,
You must never accept judgements for a part or the whole.

For, you are precious and a blessing on the earth,
Nobody can do your job and can ever fill your dearth.


Copyright © Deepika Srivastava | Year Posted 2018


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I'm your crazy wand

Forgetting you I'm not going anywhere now.
How will I stay away from you I'm your crazy wand.
Never mind,I am the only place of
my heart away from this heart.
Forgetting you I'm not going anywhere now.

Speak or say no,but I will still speak.
I have live for you only how I left you.
In the whole world, i am only wishing you.
Do not ever tell me,you forget me,
I'm not going to listen.
Forgetting you I'm not going anywhere now.
How will I stay away from you I'm your crazy wand.

Never speak that moon will ever be
separated from the moonlight.
Is anyone ever happy to lose his life?
This is what I want for you,your loved once.
Never mind, I'm the only place of
my heart away from this heart.
Forgetting you I'm not going anywhere now.
How will I stay away from you I'm your crazy wand.



Copyright © Kishan sharma | Year Posted 2018


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My hearts love

My wish is that you are my heart's love.
My happiness is only from your happiness.
More than you and no longer I love someone.
My wish is that you are my heart's love.

I love you,I will go from this world.
As long as i will live sweetheart,I will love you.
My life is all over now,it is only for you.
My wish is that you are my heart's love.

My heart is my pain,you know it.
The thread of my breath's necklace is tangent to you.
Relationship is like this,whose rupture is not approved by 
I will settle for you in my breath.
Without you,I will live a moment now.
I have strong sense of you.
You are my comfort to the eyes.
I have won by seeing you and this is my job now.
No more than you and no one is my wish now.
My wish is that you are my heart's love.


Copyright © Kishan sharma | Year Posted 2018


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A Perfect Fit




Love's betrayal left a hole in your heart that yesterday's memories cannot fill. And your shame's slowly tearing you apart as the trickling tears continue to spill. Depression traps you in a silken web so numbing... you’re motivated to stay. And yet, anxieties refuse to ebb the moment you lock your feelings away. A promise is worthless...when it's broken there is no way you can ever fix it. For trust means more than merely words spoken it’s what shapes hearts...into a perfect fit. You'll eventually recuperate but until then...your pain will not abate. (Sonnet) June 25, 2018


Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2018


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net dreams

dreams of rest
that are bequest
good fortunes
on the mile
old english
(the final wish)
a cause for one to smile
for what hath naught
time forgot
all but for the script
stroke of pen
age from then
and now the time of trick
the dreams of when
(that ads do send)
taken with a smile
from times of old
warm or cold
are debt with a smile


Copyright © sand blown | Year Posted 2018


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Love is a bond

Love is the confluence of two peoples,
this bond is of two relationships,
one is way and one is the destination.
One of the hearts of both heart beats.
This is the bond of all their births.
Love is the confluence of two peoples,


Copyright © Kishan sharma | Year Posted 2018


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Advice Not From Your Mother


Yes, I say you should seek the absurd,
 the outrageous, 
the deliriously mad.

I implore you to find the happy,
the joyful,
those crazed with perpetual glad.

Spend your time 
with insanely laughing idiots, 
where tomfoolery abounds.

You won’t have time
to resent a day of your life 
with this kind 
of tribe around.




Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018


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You Are My Love



You are my love and I am yours you are the rudder, I'm the oars. When I shut my eyes, you are there you're the answer to my prayer when I take a breath, you're the air. You found my heart behind closed doors then took me to the ocean shores and taught me sometimes life is fair. You are my love. When I ache, you have the cures and master a game without scores. At your touch, passion's flames flair forging one heart, that lovers share melded together at our cores. You are my love. (Rondeau) July 26, 2018 Rondeau Poetry Contest (image #3) Joseph May


Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2018


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Dani a Charming CVS Pharmacist

within Zieglerville, pennsylvania

genuine snow white hair 
upon her noggin doth adorn,
perhaps she will divulge to me (in private) 
after i croon (to said lass), 

the melody of Jimmy Crack Corn
hmm...or, maybe this mission 
perchance twill be doomed from the start, 
and hence finding me forlorn 
thenceforth, a backup contingency measure, 

would warrant me to don my thinking cap,
and for extra ordinary reinforcement unfold 
each Taj Mahal shaped ear flap
plus (for reinforced ironic steeliness), 

aye also resort to buttress 
any aural "stormy Dani yelling) 
via walled in interlap, 
which accouterment functions 
as a double agent i.e. (or, 

to be rather crude), 
an audiological jockstrap
to vet or figuratively kneecap
any unwanted infiltrating leaping lap
ping "FAKE" distracting news 
inducing madcap

mass media circus 
driving this generic teetotaler
to pour himself a nightcap 
essentially providing wig gull room 
with very little margin of ear err, or overlap
against bigwigs to trumpet pap 

pill low ma rendered free and clear 
asper insidious (mama mia) paparazzi 
charting imp pea ching fear
bringing out bare arms 

most likely something internuclear 
simply to discover visa vis authenticity 
if cute employee 
(sporting hair 

white as the virgin snow), 
which doth simmer and glare
blindingly, thus necessitating sunglasses 
(I choose the Ray-Ban brand)
as recommended by cited 

all time favorite pharmacist
who unwittingly (or simply because 
my myopic eyes didst stare)
fixedly - drawn to such a darling (doll ling)
explaining any reason to go THERE
to CVS - that tis where.



Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2018


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As Darkness Descends



A spent sun withdraws from a sanguine sky into the ebony blackness of space. And birds roosting in trees, no longer fly as a ghost moon rises...to find its place smiling down on Earth with a friendly face. Chameleon clouds, crimson and cerise graze at the horizon like wooly sheep. And as the last rays of sunlight decrease billions of stars awaken form their sleep while shape shifting shadows stealthily creep. Silhouettes soon merge as darkness descends blurring sharp edges as dusk’s curtain drops. And the chatter of day silently ends while twinkling stars are utilized as props for life's play continues... and never stops. A cricket's chirp announces the next act as nocturnal players scurry to the stage. And as fire flies and moonbeams interact owls and bats exercise their wings backstage and all diurnal actors disengage. (English Quintain) June 22, 2018


Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2018


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A Little Scary



When life looks a little scary you search your mind for a safe place. And try to block reality with bricks of imagination. Anxiety begins to climb when life looks a little scary. And paranoia stocks your thoughts overshadowing happiness. Ghosts of buried memories haunt future hopes...morphing into tears. When life looks...a little scary love retreats into wishful dreams. Yet, dreams can only last the night and fantasies don't last at all. You can’t hide from emerging fears when life...looks a little scary. (Quatern) June 22,2018


Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2018


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DONALD TRUMP RE DUCKS I GOOSE

Axe the old Don, a trump peter n piper
   of incredulous hellish crud - be gone
ha air brushed pompous ****
   Sunkist in Macy's window 

   then like a jackal hound, he doth run
after public outcry yelps
   for his hide leaving  
   proletarian discord re: pyrrhic victory won.

Donald Duck Trump ™$ - a pompous ***
makes war with his big brass
knuckles and bucket of crass
maligns vis a vis character assassination
   while kissing thing kith

   darting forked tongue sharp as bro kin glass
inciting banal deathly hallowed 
   expletives toward lass
sees – especially Fox Television
   news anchor woman Megyn Kelly
(quite so many ill mannered indiscretions ago)

inducing said personality
   to bear the brunt of brutish mass
of vitriolic n vile insults sacrilegiously 
   maliciously, noxiously, opprobiously 

   incriminating, hellaciously, 
   desecrating opportunistically as hiss oh piss 
so…NO amp pull VOTE of confidence from me
(thus far ohm host halfway to 2020 election 
   toward such a volt char quite rude, snooty
   arrogant simian with sass.

I van (terribly hard pressed) 
   to describe while sitting on me rump
how he oh bomb in lee rages
   gnashing false teeth 
   Wilma backside doth slump
still blasting Democratic nomination 
   (pa hill a reed) as sham –

from special interest bro and sis turn pump
he, the epitome of
   crass bloviation, a malignant lump
whose rants,
   sans presidential outcome a shame 
bullying with his millions beds this,

that and another woman to bareback jump
disseminating gene pool 
   birthing more Quakers
   and additionally doth hump
the mass media as some foolhardy charade

and caricature of a frazzled grump
this arboreal clothed ape erected Taj Mahal
   phallic symbol, where players dump
and gamble away hard earn cash

for his kitty, as if that cachet 
   to grind and bump
lambasting with maniacal
   like "Stormy Dan" yells

   leering oafish ill pout 
   while hair rum 
   (of red follicular) bulls ad hocks
atop his bulbous aerosol sprayed locks
resemble a flock 
   of bronzed sea gulls mocks

heady measly shaped Muppet Ox
dis eased cranial hologram shocks
of a cretaceous, facetious tocks
(sic) exogenous, insidious, and obstreperous vox.


Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2018


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I LOVE MYSTERY and share Godward Meditation

I
God had a thought
That is the Universe
Including you, sun, stars, grasses
Like the Eternal Author
All else are merely prop and personae

II
God's thought may be like an Ocean
I enjoyed being a wave
From the tiniest drop in the ocean
I became a ripple; I grew
I loved growing ... and rushing forward
Though I saw others bigger and more colorful
Crashing on the shores of mortality
Sinking back in Oneness with Ocean

III
I plunged forth, gathering speed and form
(Foam too, as I frothed at the competition)
I towered above other waves; was the envy of surfers
I can see I will crash and die
But I am in my prime, in the heart of Ocean
I cannot be a pessimist (so close to July 4th)
I keep moving on, hot sun or cloud notwithstanding:
Last night I dreamed of looking back at Ocean
To compare our relative sizes
I must have grown mighty, too, I dreamed
My ego was me: a false me, without steam
I know I will be part of Ocean again
In the mind of a Good God
Who thought the Universe in a split second
And the thought wants to make God the object?


Copyright © Anil Deo | Year Posted 2018


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At The Millpond



The Mill wheel wouldn't turn until the Spring for Winter's icy grip, was far too firm. She squeezes it like Her private plaything though Her crushing power's only, short-term. As the days subtlety lengthened...the sun slowly began to liquify the ice. And the waterwheel shook, and almost spun while the miller posted his asking price. Whispers ran through the town from door to door the ice is breaking up at the millpond. And housewives could now buy flour once more for each village and its mill, shared a bond. The millwheel shimmies free from Winter's grip shuttering...as the water level peaks. And the pressure increases drip by drip ice melts, revealing secrets...the wheel creaks. (Quatrain) June 26, 2018 One, nine, sixteen v3.0 Poetry Contest Viv Wigley


Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2018


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In The Shadows



I spy you standing in the shadows cast by a flashing neon sign, begging a smoke. Your hair's dyed blood red, in vivid contrast to your pale skin, sniffing, like you're on coke. And you're being ogled by men you asked for a date, even some hippy type bloke, who tries to convince you to take a toke. You didn't recognize me...as I passed! Like a silhouette inked by the darkness you are framed by flashing colored lights and so drunk, three times you had to hurl. The alley holds an aura of starkness and although I know all about your rights I won't leave you here...you're my baby girl. (Italian Sonnet) Aug. 8, 2018


Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2018


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I Instantly Disliked Her

I instantly disliked her.
I don’t know if it was her 
Height or her red hair or
Her loudness,

But I immediately
Thought we can never
Be friends. But then 
She sat with me at lunch
And I had never laughed so
Hard in my entire life.

Ever

So we became friends
And I have never told
Her that my instant
Impression was that
We could never
Be friends

Why would I
Hurt my
Best friend
Like that?




Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018


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I Would Never Abandon Myself

As a child I would never have abandoned 
my family, my friends, or my dolls.
As a pre-teen the dolls were put away with reluctance,
because I never wanted them to feel abandoned.

As a teenager I realized I had to abandon 
some friends, in order to save myself.
It was not easy, but it was either them or me, 
and people become sad when they abandon themselves.

As a woman in love, and a young mother,
I decided to abandon all things that did not aid in my goals.
I abandoned people, places, and things right and left,
in order to be the happiest me I could be.

I am an expert at abandoning things now.  I abandon everything 
and everyone who takes away from me.
Because I never want to abandon myself.

Written July 15, 2018
Entered: Contest Abandon 2
Sponsored by Brenda Chiri


Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018


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We're Supposed To Care



invisible in plain sight humanity's throwaways live on the street begging a living how absurd that sounds in a city of plenty we are humanity, we're supposed to care yet we never have enough stuff to share it's time for us to accept we are our bother's keeper (Suzette Prime) Aug. 14, 2018


Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2018


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The Dreaded Doctor's Visit

Other people are chatting.
I am not.
Some are pretending to read.
Ha!  As if you could
In a doctor’s office.

I am sixty-six, and still do not want to be here.
Because of my fear of a prick, a shot, an I.V.
It takes a long time to get over these things.
I am not over them yet.

They call my name.  Crap!
I just sat down, take someone else
I silently think.
But partly glad that I will not have to dread it any longer.

Everyone else looks up, relieved it is me being led and not them.
A few smile along my route.
I want to stick out my tongue, but I catch myself.
I head in to meet my doom, and face the lying weight machine.


I see the doctor. She mentions pills.
Then she remembers my stomach problems, so she cheerfully says
“It’s a shot for you!”

Ouch!
Oh, you’re a bleeder, the nurse says. “A big bleeder.”
Come here, and let me show you, I think.


Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018