Sassy Succulents

Homework poem assignment

By Monica Martinez

She fills the twining words with relatives

both living and dead, a testament to her

old age. I sit and listen to what she has

to say before old age takes her away

Eventually, the stories become broken up

and wrinkled like paper cast aside but

you’re not giving up and neither am I

16 word poem assignment

By Monica Martinez

Somewhere out there

There is an ant,

Inching away to

Get to a seemingly

Unreachable destination

By Monica Martinez

Lines inspired by classmates

The world is on fire

Imagine a world like that.

Everyone’s rushing to get where

They need to and I gotta do what I gotta do.

And today I almost chocked on an

M&M during lunch. Which I hoped

Wouldn’t happen but life just doesn’t

turn out that way.

BY AUDRE LORDE

For those of us who live at the shoreline
standing upon the constant edges of decision
crucial and alone
for those of us who cannot indulge
the passing dreams of choice
who love in doorways coming and going
in the hours between dawns
looking inward and outward
at once before and after
seeking a now that can breed
futures
like bread in our children’s mouths
so their dreams will not reflect
the death of ours;

For those of us
who were imprinted with fear
like a faint line in the center of our foreheads
learning to be afraid with our mother’s milk
for by this weapon
this illusion of some safety to be found
the heavy-footed hoped to silence us
For all of us
this instant and this triumph
We were never meant to survive.

And when the sun rises we are afraid
it might not remain
when the sun sets we are afraid
it might not rise in the morning
when our stomachs are full we are afraid
of indigestion
when our stomachs are empty we are afraid
we may never eat again
when we are loved we are afraid
love will vanish
when we are alone we are afraid
love will never return
and when we speak we are afraid
our words will not be heard
nor welcomed
but when we are silent
we are still afraid

So it is better to speak
remembering
we were never meant to survive.

I think the title in itself that the author chose is really interesting because usually you don’t make a litany for something like your survival, it’s usually for a cause or something that you’re fighting for. Which demonstrates that this author maybe faces a lot of inner turmoil in their life so they need to plead for those that struggle to live their lives like usual. Or at least usual compared to other people. I also noticed that the author repeats the line “we were never meant to survive” so I’m guessing it’s referring to those that struggle with indecision and face a lot of anxiety that what they go through is hard and that humans were never meant to live that way, but they do, so they are stronger for it, even if it may not feel like that.

BY WILLAM ERNEST HENLEY

Out of the night that covers me,
      Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
      For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
      I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
      My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
      Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
      Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
      How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
      I am the captain of my soul.

I think that with this poem it’s about the feeling that no matter how hopeless you feel, you don’t need to feel bad about it. You can still keep going. I especially like the line “Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed” which demonstrates that the events that occur in your life that you can’t change, they may hurt you but you still need to stay strong and keep your head up in those hard times. I also like the line “I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul” which shows that no matter what happens, you make choices that determine what can happen to you in the end.

BY ROBERT FROST

Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

With this poem I especially like the line “Nothing gold can stay” and I think that it talks about the natural beauty of nature and that the good things that there are can’t last/ doesn’t always last because people take advantage of nature’s natural beauty.

BY JOAN GRAHAM

Divide
the year
into seasons,
four,
subtract
the snow then
add
some more
green,
a bud,
a breeze,
a whispering
behind
the trees,
and here
beneath the
rain-scrubbed
sky
orange poppies
multiply.

~I like how the author compares nature, which is usually portrayed as something natural and not calculated, to math. Which is something that isn’t calculated and is natural and I like how the author compares natural and seasons to math.

BY HA JIN

You must hold your quiet center,
where you do what only you can do.
If others call you a maniac or a fool,
just let them wag their tongues. 
If some praise your perseverance, 
don’t feel too happy about it—
only solitude is a lasting friend.

You must hold your distant center.
Don’t move even if earth and heaven quake. 
If others think you are insignificant,
that’s because you haven’t held on long enough.
As long as you stay put year after year,
eventually you will find a world
beginning to revolve around you. 

~I think that this poem is about not letting other people bother you because of who you are and what you want to believe. Just keep on being you and hold onto your beliefs. Even if others make fun of you just keep holding on and don’t give up. I really like the line “If some praise your perseverance don’t feel too happy about about it— only solitude is a lasting friend” because it’s talking about how the thoughts of others won’t last forever and won’t always be with you because solitude and silence is what stays with you in the end.

BY DEENA METZGER

This is the silence around the poem of the death of my father.
This is the silence before the poem.

While my father was dying, the Challenger was exploding on TV
Again and again. I watched it happen. In his hospital room,
I followed his breath. Then it stopped.

This is the silence in a poem about the dying of the father.


We’re burning the earth. We’re burning the sky.

Here is another silence in the middle of the poem about the immolation of the Fathers.

The pyres of bodies in Saigon.
The burned air
The charred limbs.
Ash.
Rancid flames.
Heat
Light
Fire

                                  We turn away.

Here is another silence within the poem about the burial of the fire.

When my father died, the rains poured down the moment I picked up the shovel of earth.
I staggered under the weight of the water.

Another silence please.


I have always wanted to be a woman of fire.
I will have to learn how to rain.
Gently, I will learn how to rain.

I have set fire to your green fields,
May I be water to your burning lands.

Please join me in this last silence at the end of the poem of fire.

I like how this poem deals with death and I can see how that’s a theme in the poem. For example, the challenger explosion was something that involved death as well as her father dying. Also the burning bodies in Saigon was an event involving death and was catastrophic. Then the poem has a kind of second half that’s referring to after her dad is dead and how at first she was fire, courageous and reckless, maybe a bit powerful, but now she has to put out her fires and make things better. Because water puts out fires.

BY Margarita Engle

The first story I ever write
is a bright crayon picture
of a dancing tree, the branches
tossed by island wind.

I draw myself standing beside the tree,
with a colorful parrot soaring above me,
and a magical turtle clasped in my hand,
and two yellow wings fluttering
on the proud shoulders of my ruffled
Cuban rumba dancer’s
fancy dress.

In my California kindergarten class,
the teacher scolds me: REAL TREES
DON’T LOOK LIKE THAT.

It’s the moment
when I first
begin to learn
that teachers
can be wrong.

They have never seen
the dancing plants
of Cuba.

I like how this poem really tells a story and the line that I really like is “It’s the moment
when I first begin to learn that teachers can be wrong” because it shows that she stood her ground about her roots and her culture, and what her trees back in Cuba looked like. She didn’t let herself be changed by what a teacher told her what a tree looks like. I also love the imagery and color that the first paragraph emits and just how it’s clear for me to see the colorful parrots and the magical turtles.