♥ Welcome to the Poetry tab! All the poems found below were written by me 



Dolphins always have one eye half-open while they sleep 

Imagine all that fear around the company you keep 

But you let both eyes gently close together in the light

And breathe, since there has always been some uselessness in sight 

You must be awful comfortable to let the great doors down

A golden sense of safety in this sketchy two-horse town

I take it as a complement you sleep while you’re yet waking

A subtle kind of love for me inside the risk you’re taking

In assuming that I don’t have hidden teeth 



Three Kinds of Honey 

I pretend to know the difference between three kinds of honey 

My only way of judging is whether I would eat it on toast

My brother’s way of judging is how the honey feels on his throat 

My father’s way of judging is not judging at all; he just likes that he has bought three kinds of honey

My mother’s way of judging is whatever she finds consoling after twenty-one years of this man buying three kinds of honey. everywhere. 

She cannot blame him because he has earned the right

after being stung as a child

Did it hurt? we ask him. When you got stung?

Sure, he says, but if you had a hive and someone got too close

Wouldn’t you sting them?

No, my brother probably said, I would be a nice bee

Bees don’t know the difference between right and wrong, stupid, I probably said

Don’t be mean, my sister probably said

And she forgives me 

A forgiveness that crystallizes

Like three kinds of honey 



Suiting Up 

My father ensures that the color of the suit is appropriate 

Perhaps a nice porcelain or off-white 

And feels his small boy-feet down into the pants

They are large, as they are supposed to be

Loose-fitting and crinkling into countless folds 

So that the bees are confused by his form

The fabric swallows his torso protectively 

Up and down the ribs, the most vulnerable part of anybody’s body

It is where they stab you

Which you might have known if you had paid attention to the summer production

Of MacBeth

Now his hands and arms are in the sleeves and he panics

Thinking he has lost them 

Through some grand act of negligence

Until they emerge on the other side, unscathed and ready for the world

And now, onto his head goes a crown of mesh that sends a rush through his small body 

He can see the bees

But the bees can’t quite see him 

And that’s the way he likes it

The fabric spreads out onto his shoulders and he slides the gloves on

The devices are large and rough

Maybe his father’s pair 

Since the child-sized beekeeping glove market has yet to crescendo 

And now he is ready 

Off to the hives 

It really is a pity

The suit could not protect him from everything 


Public Transportation

I’m a caterpillar rattling in the dark 

a horseless carriage glowing in a cavern 

a line of metal elephants heaving between walls 

I’m a sunlight seeker screeching in a sign-plastered molehill 

a sleepy leather-bearing snake of the pitch-black 

a depressed Thomas the Tank Engine running through a mountain   

I’m a howling silver bear with unreliable limbs of lightning glaring into view down a midnight highway 

a rough-worn racehorse with sides that spill galloping hauntingly through a false granite pipe 

a dirty-pawed hamster full of holes clawing with a wiggling way about a dormant volcano 

a self-conscious seahorse with a wide-open womb carrying blind men down an opaque tube 

I’m a streamlined sewer alligator groaning with weight, screaming with brakes, gulping feet, swaggering with a dusty smile out of a cave, finding heights, and breathing air 


Fadeaway Man

I meet a man by water’s edge 

Whose face seems as the clouds 

His hands are misty, made of sun

He claims to draw a crowd 

But when I touch his fingertips 

He melts and is no more 

A little boy stands in his place 

I’ll forget just as before 

I meet a man by water’s edge 

Whose feet contain the stars 

He puffs his chest and from his neck 

A thousand meteors 

I anger at his endlessness

I douse his moons with rage 

But when I reach to slap his cheek

I find a boy of no great age 

I meet a man by water’s edge 

Whose heart is swirling sand 

The desert heat will scorch his feet 

A mirage in his hand 

But when I try to speak to him 

His image fades away 

Instead there is a lonely child 

Whose hair is far from gray 

I meet a man by water’s edge 

Whose mind is endless green 

It seems I cannot comprehend 

The wonders that I’ve seen 

A million flowers dot his nose 

In his eyes sparrows fly 

But once I start to understand 

I see him just knee-high 

I meet a man by water’s edge 

Who isn’t yet a man 

Remember that he’s just a boy 

Remember if you can


The End of Childhood by Hannah

She sits on a stoop in the early evening

The children have not gone in

They are not afraid yet

They play in the charcoal road

In between the brick houses with broken doors

That lean like crooked teeth

The boys and girls have done their staring

She is not one of them anymore

As soon as her belly swelled

They saw it

At seventeen

she wants to run out into the street

To play with them

She is still a child inside her mind

There is a child inside her body

There are children in her eyes

The ones passing a ball with their feet

They don’t know much

But they do know that she is not a child anymore

When exactly she crossed the line

Earned a badge

Her new label

She does not know

Was it when the men decided

She was no longer good for playing soccer in the road

She has not gotten to run in a long time

She wants to be chased

But not by him

After all

He already caught her

She wants to chase something

Something that runs

Something that moves

Up a staircase into the sky

So she can ask to be a child again

What is the difference after all

Between child’s play and women’s play?
When did play mean “take off your clothes”

Instead of “come outside after school. I’ll bring a basketball”?

She went from baby to girl to “baby girl”

Unsure of lines as she crossed them

Caution tape never shown her

Dictionary definitions cannot define her

Human beings pencil her in

with their tongues

With their actions

With their looks

She is defined as woman when it serves men

She is defined as child when it serves men

But since she is her own

And she knows that more than ever now

Only she can define herself

A child begetting a child

Begetting a child

She sits on a stoop in the early evening

The children have not gone in

They are not afraid yet


The Great Flood by Hannah

She promises herself

That she will have a heart

Like Noah’s ark

Full of life

Drifting— no, sailing

Towards dry land

But teenage boys

Can poke holes in giant boats

Your words came on in pairs of two

But when you read them to yourself

It seems like you’ve forgotten something

They say time heals all wounds

But forty days and forty nights of water from your eyes

Just stings

Salt seeping into every cut

What gives him the right

To drown your world

With all the provisions you’ve taken along

You weren’t prepared for this

And have you considered the tides

Stirred by the moon in you mind

That batter the sides of your biblical ship?

That dove you sent to see if you’ve moved on

It came back with broken wings

And a withered olive branch

When a rainbow finally appears

You cannot see the shades

For all the time you’ve spend inside yourself

Has made you colorblind


All on the Subway Train by Hannah

A dark woman with a light heart

A light man with a heavy heart

A heavy person with a weightless conscience

All on the subway train

They are not here, however

Each are far away

On the phone or out the window

Watching the time

Watching their language

But rarely watching each other

Sometimes I wish I was them

These people whose faces drown

Somewhere in the back of my mind

Never surfacing again

Sometimes I wish I was them

Just to be going the direction they’re going

Because many of them seem closer to knowing

Where exactly they’re going

Than me

An old man with a young heart

A young man with an aging face

An aging woman with a youthful glow

All on the subway train

Often I wonder

How much they can construct about me

Just by looking at me

And how close it is to the truth

the whole truth

and nothing but the truth

I can only determine so much about them

It is very easy to construct an appearance

That has nothing to do with you

But it is hard to construct an emotion

Perhaps I can tell what they’re feeling

But that is often the limit to my speculating

Have you ever thought for a long time about how many people there are in the world?

So many variations of faces you will never see

Unless perhaps you take the subway

In which case you may start to feel as if you have seen them all

A rough man with a smooth tongue

A smooth woman with a prickly stare

A prickly man with a sleek suit

All of them on the subway train

One will ask me which train to take to get to Union Station

He knows where he’s going but not how to get there

Even on my best days I know neither for myself

Another will glance at me

Perhaps wondering at my age

Or why I have a bandage on my toe

The third sits next to me

Occasionally looking at my history textbook

As I highlight wars and cruel men

Maybe if I gave it to him he’d read it all

Maybe he’d remember a time when he was fascinated by history

Instead of investment banking—

Something it is difficult to remain fascinated by

An exhausted man with an active mind

An active boy with a tired soul

A tired girl with a never-tiring tongue

All on the subway train

One throws could-have-beens at the sky

One stares at his feet

One writes a poem


A Question by Hannah

Is it possible to love too much?

To hold on until there’s nothing left to hold on to?

Until you’ve crushed

the person in your harms

while trying to save them from harm?

To love until the sky is so blue

it cannot hold itself

and crumbles onto you?

To love until the ground falls away

and you have nowhere left to land?

To love

to swim so far

that the sand washes away

and you are left

at the mercy of the deep blue forever

To love

until your heart beats too fast

takes off

and flies away


 It’s Raining by Hannah

It’s raining
and Mr. Scott is disappointed
he was supposed to ride his scooter home today
It’s raining
and Anna Claire is not bothered
she didn’t want to go to that picnic anyway
It’s raining
and Mittens the cat is quite puzzled
it would seem that the sky is falling again
It’s raining
and Antonio plays on contentedly
on the dirty street corner of McMason and 10th
It’s raining
and Sam is pleased
rain is good for her imagination
It’s raining
and Carlos the scientist nods
this aligns precisely with his calculations
It’s raining
and Mrs. Salzburg sighs
while the paint on her walls continues peeling
It’s raining
and all of a sudden
everyone’s hit by a different feeling

A Dream of Bigger Things by Hannah

Her skills and smarts will always ail

Her progress is slow as a one ton snail

They tell her she is bound to fail

And still she dreams of bigger things


He can’t shoot straight and he can’t speak right

He’s afraid of the dark, he’s afraid of the light

He’s wound a million coils tight

And still he dreams of bigger things


You try to change and yet you can’t

Sometimes you feel the need to rant

Inside your head sad voices chant

And still you dream of bigger things


I often let complements go to my head

Some days my heart feels as heavy as lead

I regret some things that I have said

And still I dream of bigger things


We’re cursed with fates we don’t deserve

We’re judged on an unfair social curve

Sometimes we seem to lose our nerve

And still we dream of bigger things


Though the world will bite and the world will sting

A longer song we long to sing

Forevermore our billion voices ring

We’ll always dream of bigger things


The Bird and his Word

by Dr. Edgar Allen Suess (A combination of The Cat and the Hat  and The Raven)
Arranged by Hannah

The midnight was dreary,

we were too weak to play,

so I sat with a book,

all that cold, cold, bleak day.

A curious volume of lore once forgotten,

I was reading and snoozing when someone came knockin’.

We sat there at the window,

we sat there, we two.

My quaint book and I,

we had nothing to do.

“A visitor,” I muttered.

“It is this and nothing more.”

“Knocking at my chamber door.

“Tell him to get out!”

“To get out of the house!”

“He should not be about while Lenore had gone out.”

And then something went TAP!

how that tap made us snap!

December it was,

All the embers had died,

we had nothing to do,

we just





And we did not like this,

my old book and I.

we wished for the ‘morrow,

and for my Lenore,

a pretty little maiden,

who lived by the shore.

Her name I’d forgotten,

‘till the stranger came knockin’,

tapping at my chamber door.

It is this and nothing more.

The purple curtains made me uncertain

as they rustled by my chamber door

I was filled with the terror of my poor lost Lenore

entreating on my chamber door.

“Sir or madam?” I softly would implore of the stranger at my chamber door

“I was nappin’

when you came rappin’”

and now I open up the door,

I see darkness,

nothing more.

Then I looked!

And I saw him fly down on the pane!

We looked and we saw him!

The raven’s his name,

Quoth the raven,

“Why do you sit there like that?”

“I know it is sad”

“And the sun isn’t sunny”

“But we can have lots of sad fun that is crummy!”

“I know some sad songs we could sing”,

said the bird.

“I know many sad songs”

said the quite absurd bird

“A lot of sad songs”

“I will sing them for you”

“Your Lenore will not mind at all if I do.”

My old book and I,

we had nothing to say.

Lenore had been out of my mind for the day.

But my book said, “NO! NO!”

“Make that bird fly away!”

“Tell that demon-filled bird you don’t want him to stay”

“He should not be tapping”

“He should not be rapping”

“He should not be here while Lenore has gone out.”
“Nevermore! Have much fear! Nevermore!” said the bird

“Nevermore will you see your Lenore!” said the bird

“She is dead!”

“She is gone!”

“All this time you’ve been wrong!”

“My prophecy’s true, though I may sound absurd.”


I yelled out

Repent they memories from Lenore.

Quoth the raven,


The book said, “Go! Go!”

“Do one even leave one black plume”

“One word is all we need from you.”

Quoth the raven,


But then he came back in the door.

And he said, “I implore,”

“This day you will rue”

“If I do not give you plume one and plume two.”

But the book shrieked, “No! No!”

“Those things should not be in the house.”

“Make them go!”

“Make them go!”

“For Lenore is still out.”

“Have much fear, little book,” said the bird on the pane.

He was begging to drive me insane.

“These things are bad things, but they’re calling your name.”

And the raven,

Never flitting,

Still is sitting,

Still is sitting

His eyes make him seem like a demon with dreams.

And my soul,

I will say,

Was left out on the floor

And will it be lifted?




Math by Hannah

Add love or subtract hate

You cannot rate

My simple interest in you

My radical expressions

or find the area or volume of my heart

for it is both deep and wide

Maybe every problem has a solution

y for my 

A coordinate pair

A like term

A proportional relationship

A rule for my function

My dependent variable

My central and corresponding angle

To satisfy my life’s expression

And there will always be negative numbers

But we can make them positive again

An improper fraction

Too full of itself

Can always be fixed

And a wrong triangle can be straightened out.

Call me square

But remember

I am also a rectangle

And sometimes

An irregular figure

that is in no way in standard form

There may be word problems

But I have people problems

Multi-step ones, too.

I’m just trying to be rational here

We need to find our property of equality

And stop finding the mean in everyone

‘Cos personally I don’t want the sin in my trigonometric ratio.

Sometimes I think my life is one big scatter plot

In which I am always trying to find my line of best fit

And though I never want to learn how to divide

It’s important to multiply

Or at least try

To find a formula for love

You are greater than or equal to me

I see your absolute value

And it is time to show your work


Dove’s Song for the World by Hannah

The dove carries the burdens of the world on his wings
“why war but not peace?”
He solemnly sings,
To the buntings and sparrows
Who talk of such things;
To the buntings and sparrows he beautifully sings,
The dove with the burdens of the world on his wings.
The dove coos a song of love and remorse ,
Stirring hearts of those who are pushed ’round when life takes it’s course.
“Love wins over hate”,
He knowingly sings,
To the rabbits and foxes who learn of these things.
Only some understand what the lovely bird sings,
The dove with the burdens of the world on its wings.
Well, I understand ,
So I happen to know,
That no matter what season (except when it snows) ,
In the evening  especially,
With wings all unfurled,
He lifts up his head ,
And sings to the world.


Follow the Arrows 

“Follow the arrows,” they told me.

So I followed them uphill and down,

I followed the arrows to the top of a mountain,

I followed them into the ground.

I followed them on city sidewalks,

and into the endless blue sea,

I followed them uphill and downhill and through-hill,

these arrows were meant just for me.

Past corners,

‘round bends,

‘till the earth met its ends,

I followed them loyally.

Through the rain and the snow,

I would faithfully go,

to find where these arrows led me.

Over plains,

over beaches,

into stars past our reaches,

I trekked ‘cross the galaxy.

Into caves,

under mountains,

past dazzling fountains,

and treasures that tempted my soul,

for my only wish was to follow the arrows that would lead me to treasures untold.

I jumped off of ledges,

I stumbled through hedges,

and off into darkness I flew.

The arrows,

I learned,

took a rather sharp turn,

and they led me straight here back to you.


Sun’s Goodbye

The sun

forces itself through the clouds,

bringer of the unborn day,

pushing past the shroud.

The trees shiver in its quake,

its light invading the sky,

cajoling me awake.

We are like old friends,

I haven’t seen it in forever.

We talk of trends,

and of the weather.

It follows me around,

and lights my path.

I know tomorrow it’ll be back,

but it is sad to say goodbye.

I see it go.


I cry,

as it pulls the reluctant light away.

The moon thinks it’s all that,

but really,

it is bland and flat.

The nerve of it,

robbing the light from my sun.

It goes on gossiping with its stars,

but I am at peace.

I fall asleep.

I am waiting for my faithful sun,

and the wistful day that’s yet to come.


Dandelions by Hannah

I do not favor the pretty rose

or else the daisy fair

I do not want a nest of purple lilacs in my hair

My golden locks are only fit

for the queen of all the flora

My flower of choice shines brilliantly

with its own bright yellow aura

the dandelion’s a pretty weed

we pluck it out of place

and replace it with carnations

the dandelion’s a disgrace

but to me it cannot help but spring up

anywhere that there is room

but we mow where they grow

and no doubt it will be gone quite soon

then it will shed its golden petals

replaced by wispy ghosts of white

that blow away with the wishful wind

when the cold breeze comes to bite

the dandelion does not mind

that it will never be in a bouquet

they pop up in February

and are gone again in May

The stars in the green grassy sky

Granter of wishes

waster of time

inspiring verses

inspiring rhymes

to me it is the humblest

of all the plants there are

and absolutely the most beautiful

the most wonderful by far

the dandelion’s a pretty weed

that’s been deemed unfit by us

but as for me

the pretty weed

is where I put my trust


No One’s Home by Hannah

There’s no one home inside those eyes,

no one that has lived or died,

no one that has smiled or cried,

There’s no one home behind those eyes.

You’ll find no one living here,

except one solitary tear,

the sole reminder of lost pride,

rolling down a mountainside.

These eyes are icy, gray, and cold.

They may be young,

they may be old.

You wouldn’t know,

they’re frozen there,

In a sad and heartless stare.

The light has left these once bright eyes.

You may knock, but you will find

that knocking is a waste of time.

No one will open up the door,

no one lives here anymore.


The Crow by Hannah


The Crow is an elegant bird

these are words that are not often heard

you may think that I sound absurd

but the crow is an elegant bird

Its call is desperate and sad

it is longing for something it had

that something is gone

and the crow sings its song

the crow is an elegant bird

Its feathers are glossy and sleek

thought the crow is looked at as a freak

it is lovely and dark

and it touches my heart

’cause the crow is an elegant bird

It is wiser than even the owl

and more clever than most other fowl

its black eyes shine bright in the dark of the night

the crow is an elegant bird

You can mutter whatever you think

sure, the crow has its quirks and its kinks

but it listens to what is not said

and understands what it never heard

like the misunderstood and the pain of the world

the crow is an elegant bird


Different by Hannah

Somewhere out there

there’s a rose in  a city

a cosmetics designer who thinks she’s not pretty

a black crow that sings the song of a sparrow

a dull stone that has felt the sharp point of an arrow

a bear in the woods who’s afraid of a mouse

a marathon runner who thinks he’s a louse

a place where the sun always shines when it rains

an innocent person who’s feeling ashamed

a bomb-sniffing dog who can’t follow a scent

they’re the ones who know

what it’s like to be different


Perfect by Hannah

There’s still a bump upon that tree

There’s still a few mistakes in me

There’s still a dent in that old car

The end is still more near than far

The grass will still be cut too short

I need to turn in that report

The world is still not perfect by far

But I like things the way they are

My Backyard by Hannah

It may look to you like some dirt and some grass

A couple plants

unbeaten paths

a tire swing

some sticks and things

and other stuff like that

But really it is hallowed ground

if you only look around

you’ll see something no adult can understand

our very own place

a magical land

as you hurry every day

to this-away and that-away

you make slow down and start to stare

but then say, “too many weeds”

and, “things in need of repair”

But when we come

our troubles gone

and run around and sing some songs

whistle to the birds

look for snails

and carve out those unbeaten trails

We make it ours

in our own ways

as we let the ours pass away

We lay on the grass

look up to the sky

kiss all our stressful days goodbye

we’re free as the deer

that run like the wind

and here everyone is kin

greeting the world with a joyful face

and making the world a better place

to you way may look like some kids having fun

rompin’ around under the sun

but really we’re playing in nature’s kingdom


Forest Kingdom by Hannah

The moon in the sky is my silver

the stars up above are my gold

the leaves that fall down are my presents

they never will break or get old.

They give off my rainbow of color

red, green, and yellow to boot.

The clouds floating by are my castle

the shiniest stones are my loot.

I sail in the ship of tomorrow

I fly on the winds of today

I’ll meet the sun

when I’ve finally won the battles far away.

The sky way up high is my paper

the comets a pen for my words

they streak across writing stories

and telling of lessons I’ve learned.

9 Replies to “Poetry”

  1. Hi Hannah! Wow, your poems are incredible! The new ones are unbelievable outstanding! The End Of Childhood and The Great Flood are so touching and deep. You have an incredible talent!

  2. Hannah, your short story about the oriole is really well written and acknowledges difficult things people have to deal with and one good way they could respond! Keep writing!

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