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It’s Time for More Rhymes

Young Writers Project is an independent nonprofit that engages students to write, helps them improve and connects them with audiences through the Newspaper Series, youngwritersproject.org and the Schools Project (ywpschools.net). YWP is supported by this newspaper and foundations, businesses and individuals who recognize the power and value of writing. If you would like to donate to YWP, go to youngwritersproject.org/support.

Next prompt: Write about a time when you really understood the idea of consequences. Alternate: 48 hours. If you had 48 hours to do anything or go anywhere, what would you do? Or Bully. Write a letter to a bully. Due May 9.

This week, we publish writing in response to the prompt Rhymes.

I’m not a genius in everything I do.

I don’t stand out and I hate using hot glue.

I always hate getting up in the morning 

and getting those three stupid teacher warnings. 

I love taking hot showers and reading books.

I like my hair down and don’t care about looks.

When I try to read signs I always get lost

and I think the most beautiful thing is frost.

I’m simply very normal as you can see.

I get scared, bored, and happy when I am me.

When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade.

That’s my motto and I will never be swayed.

This poem is rather stupid don’t you think?

But it’s my life and it will pass with a blink.

The man was sitting in a little old cafe

He sipped on coffee and wine

Around him lay empty bottles of Chardonnay

And he spat his words when he asked me the time

His eyes had been dragged by many a loss

His lips cracked from the secrets he found

His stare cold, like a morning’s frost

His words ancient, like they’d been sitting around

Just waiting for me to hear them out

And it occurred to me I’d seen him before

Long ago without a doubt

But he was no stranger, of this, I was sure

I asked where he’d been when I was on my knees

The world was closing in and he was never there

His sad eyes replied that there are others he sees

And it’s not so simple as he doesn’t care

We parted politely and he turned at the door

He said, “I know that you’re hurting, I see”

And again he left me lying on the floor

For God had other places to be

Segregation was the base of the nation

when Abraham Lincoln gave the Emancipation Proclamation,

which was a speculation that he thought would save the nation.

This gave the South great consternation.

To the lives of the slaves this was a justification,

freedom was theirs with some reservations.

This was an exclamation for the northern nation.

The slaves joining their side was a great motivation.

Abraham Lincoln got his congratulations when the Civil War ended in jubilation!

Her hair like the sun was gold;

his eyes were green like the sea.

They were made from a mold.

She was what he wanted her to be.

 

She didn’t care

if the stars on his fingertips burned,

or if the place between his collar bone and shoulder

was a nest

blessed

with all the words she’d learned.

 

Her flannel shirt was tied

around her waist.

“I never lied.”

The simple beauty of a face.

The lines and angles

the rise and fall

that a body

breathing

can’t recall.

 

Her head ached

her fingers scraped

inside her concavities for something to hold on to

because she knew she’d fall through.

 

We’re in love, she said.

For what is love

if not for passion, dread?

If not for heartache?

 

The color of his eyes didn’t fade

but she was different.

She didn’t glow in the same shade,

the orange that she used to be.

 

He tampered with fire

but didn’t get burned.

 

He made the flames go down

and then

she started

to drown.