Original Poems from 2 years ago

I took this from my multiply site markey0130.multiply.com

I posted it there last August 14 2008

These were my final 9(there’s one more I don’t think I want to post. Haha!) poems that we had to submit for our Creative Writing class. Enjoy!


Heart pounding, arms numbing, knees shaking

The whistle blows, the silence grows—wait. Three…two—the gun blows.

The water replaces nervousness with calm; shaking with peace.

The crowd is thrilled—after the turn when half is done, only then will it have begun

The final stretch comes: oxygen is inadequate, lactic build up is immediate

Crowd roars, judges rise, racers finish

Cheers, tears, celebrations, congratulations

It is over for the shark. It has just begun for the minnow

In the end who really won—

The medal winner or the record breaker?


Leaves spread all over the bed,

food and drink at the foot,

sleep is our enemy.

Lids drop and the room begins to darken.

No—we cannot give in

A splash of water on the face,

is good for only a few minutes.

The enemy has prevailed,

There is nothing we can do.

Get up, it is morning.

This is it.

Make or break.


Love is

unity as nations, as a family.

world peace.

sharing your blessings.

forgiving enemies.

obeying the law.

helping the poor.

respecting others.

Love is a lie.


Secrets spilled, truths revealed, actions wild.

For a moment you are out of this world;

Getting tossed from side to side;

Hanging on shoulders to stand.

Shouting in all directions;

making no sense at all, stating the obvious.

Leaving his friends behind,

Purging his guts all over.

Finally, dropping to his feet,

He lays face down, still gagging.

Tomorrow he will be dead.


Every second a new one comes;

all of them beautiful, helpless, and innocent.

Their cry puts a smile on those who hear.

Their laughter brings tears to those around.

Look at them now.

So beautiful, so peaceful, so innocent.

Soon they will define helpless, fear, and pain.

The beauty that was will destroy beauty that is.

6. 8 in 8.8.8

First to the wall,

the results show on the screen.

Tears of joy, fists raised in the air in celebration,

the crowd roars, even your highness acknowledges.

It is a great feat accomplished.

The moment is over

and it has been done.

Move on,

there is nothing great left here.


First your opponents,

at times your team mates,

often your coach.

Then the critics,

Then the media.

Take all of this in,

a deep breath,

and get back to the gym.

Failure in itself is success.


The passengers wait for their train to come,

In the station they wait for the voice of the conductor even if all he shouts is “ALL

ABOARD!”, that phrase alone is music to their ears.

They get on finally and ride the train.

They have to be alert all the time so as not to get off at the wrong station.

They cannot be idle; they must do something productive so they don’t get bored.

They arrive at the last station–their home–but unfortunately some get off the wrong

station and this train is the last there will ever be.


One round is in,

the cylinder is spun and put in place.

The muzzle is accompanied by terror as it touches the skin.

Fear accompanies the finger as it wraps itself around the trigger.

He pulls it—

This is it; there is no turning back.

Eighty three percent is life.

Seventeen is death.

But these numbers don’t matter.

One shot, one round is all it takes.


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