| My Friends' Poems and Writings... |
| What is a poem? What is a poem? It is a glossy shell That murmurs of the far-off thundering sea, A precious jewel, carved delicately, It is a little picture, painted well. What is a poem? It is the tear that fell From a poet's hidden ecstasy, A two edged sword, a star, a song, Sometimes a heavy-tolling funeral bell, This was the world that shook with the wrath of God, The solemn path that is barely walked upon And the clear glass where Shakespear's shadow falls A see this is-beware to all whom venture forth For like a fiord the narrow floor is laid Mid-ocean deep sheer to the mountain-walls. Shane Hardisty |
| E-Mail me with your poem if you would like me to post it. |
| Game Day I drop my bag at my locker and prepare for the game Situtations running through my head And dreams of the glory I can claim I'll take the mound today and do my best for the team My uniform goes on with the shirt and hat I'm proud to where this, I'm sure of that I'll pull on the dust worn laces and tighten my cleats All dressed now and ready to compete I exit the locker room, the sun in my eyes It's a wonderful day I can't wait to play I put on my glove, which molds to my hand This tool fits me like nothing else can I warm up and see the other team Throwing a perfect game is my dream Some no doubt feel cocky And think I have nothing left But I've been doing this for years And have faced the best The game begins I take the ball Bright white with red stiches This will never change at all The First batter hits very well I am not scared but nervous as hell I get the the sign and go into the set He looks at me with still eyes I won't forget I start to throw and it feels good But who knows what happens next a million things could Michael C. Sampson |
| Shane is a good friend from way back in the day and here is a poem of his that poses a question I am sure many people ask even as they write. |
| Sampson is a relatively new but good friend and here is his long ass poem about baseball. A favorite past time enjoyed by many. If you've ever played the game I think this one brings back memories. |
 |
|
 |
|
| The Voices In My Head All these voices in my head Telling me what to do Who should I kill him, her, or you I pull out my gun And decide who should die As I am you start to cry I start blowing people away One by one O look who's having fun I pump their bodies full of lead And then I put a silence To the voices in my head John Van Veen |
| The following poem was written by a friend of mine in high school. He wrote it in '98-'99, same year as the famed Columbine shootings. Needless to say he was expelled from my high school. If you knew John you would know that this is just his attitutde, that's the way he is, can't change that. |
|
| Cream Soft, Silky, Smooth a Chalice filled with cream But yet it can't be seen like the darkside of the Moon It's only felt Like the Wind on your face it puts You in Your Place the slightest Tough makes you Melt L-O-V-E the Cream removed from Milk more precious than the Silk which we precieve it to be It is now gone Silk replaces the Cream Liking things that are seen if its seen it can't last long. Stephen Walsh |
| Cream and Clouds was written by the one and only Steve Walsh, or "Swalsh" as he is known to for many people. Swalsh is a cool cat with a nice style. His mom Sally also makes some mean treats for the other guys. |
| Clouds Walking home all alone I feel this chill deep inside The wind blows deep into my soul And releases this feeling I not understand I feel sick like a love that is unreachable I learned a lesson that is unteachable That night while walking home all along Looking at the gray cloud in the sky I think of all the people who have died and what they did with their life, And what I will do with mine I am afraid this night is my last I want to live and love to the fullest But I can't do that until this feeling goes away For I get it everyday when I pray unconsciously In the words that I say to my peers And my shedding of invisible tears Could fill the ocean While your love couldn't cover a dime Hey sir could you tell me the time? Are you what I will be like when I am older? An old man on the street corner With no possesions No collections of useless things Like the world has now A sooty white eyebrow and cracked bifocals And vocal chords that are shot I do not wish to be like you Or maybe I do? Maybe I will see today when I get rid of this headache tomorrow And this sick feeling of sorrow and happiness goes away I hope that one day I will understand this feeling And when I do I will be God For only He knows the meaning of it And He is the creator of my clouds in the sky That create it. |