This is a page of poems that I compiled. I didn't write them, and neither did anyone that I know. They are just poems that I like. Most of them are from the book "Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul." (Good book by the way). Some of them are funny, and some of them are sad. I like them all, and I hope that you do too.
by Barbra Hauck, age 13
She smiled at a sorrowful stranger.
The smile seemed to make him feel better.
He remembered the past kindness of a friend
and wrote him a thank-you letter.
The friend was so pleased with the thank-you
that he left a large tip after lunch.
The waitress, surprised by the size of the tip,
bet the whole thing on a hunch.
The next day she picked up her winnings
and gave part to a man on the street.
The man on the street was greatful;
for two days he'd had nothing to eat.
After he finished his dinner,
he left for his small, dingy room.
(He didn't know at that moment
that he might be facing his doom.)
On the way he picked up a shivering puppy
and took him home to get warm.
The puppy was very greatful
to be in out of the storm.
That night the house caught on fire.
The puppy barked the alarm.
He barked till he woke the whole household
and saved everybody from harm.
One of the boys that he rescued
grew up to be president.
All this cause of a simple smile
that hadn't cost a cent.
There once was an oyster
Whose story I tell,
Who found that some sand
Had got in his shell.
It was only a grain,
But it gave him great pain.
For oysters have feelings
Although they're so plain.
Now, did he berate
The harsh workings of fate
That had brought him
To such a deplorable state?
Did he curse at the government,
Cry for election,
And claim that the sea should
Have given him protection?
No- he said to himself
As he lay on a shell,
Since I can not remove it,
I shall try to improve it
And the years have rolled around,
As the years always do.
And he came to his ultimate
And the small grain of sand
That had bothered him so
Was a beautiful pearl
All righly aglow.
Now the tale has a moral;
For isn't it grand
What an oyster can do
With a morsel fo sand?
What couldn't we do
If we'd only begin
With some of the things
That get under our skin.
Somebody Should Have Taught Him
Retold by Jane Watkins
I went to a birthday party
But I remember what you said.
You told me not to drink at all,
So I had a Sprite instead.
I felt proud of myself,
The way you said I would,
That I didn't choose to drink and drive,
though others said I should.
I knew I made a healthy choice and
your advice to me was right
as the party finally ended
and the kids drove out of sight.
I got into my own car,
sure to get home in one piece
never knowing what was coming,
something I expected least.
Now I'm lying on the pavement.
I can hear the policeman say,
"The kid who caused this wreck was drunk."
His voice seems far away.
My own blood is all around me,
as I try hard not to cry.
I can hear the paramedic say,
"This girl is going to die."
I'm sure the guy had no idea,
While he was flying high,
because he chose to drink and drive
that I would have to die.
So why do people do it
Knowing that it ruins lives?
But now the pain is cutting me
Like a hundred stabbing knives.
Tell my sister not to be afraid,
tell Daddy to be brave,
and when I go to Heaven,
put "Daddy's girl" on my grave.
Someone should have taught him
that it's wrong to drink and drive.
Maybe if his Mom and Dad had,
I'd still be alive.
My breath is getting shorter,
and I'm getting really scared.
These are my final moments,
and I'm so unprepared.
I wish that you could hold me, Mom,
as I lie here and die.
I wish that I could say
I love you, and good-bye.
I don't know what this poem is called or who it is by. It was given to me by a teacher.
A burro once,
sent by express,
His shipping ticket on his bridle,
Ate up his name and his address,
and in some warehouse,
he waited till he liked to died.
The moral hardly needs the showing:
Don't keep things locked up deep inside-
Say who you are and where you are going.
To Those I Love and Those Who Love Me
Author Unknown- In Memory of Lester Reynolds, my might-as-well-be grandpa.
When I am gone release me, let me go;
I have so many things to see and do;
You musn't tie yourself to me in tears,
Be thankful for all our beautiful years.
I gave to you my love, and you can never guess
How much you gave to me in happiness.
I thank you for the love that you have shown,
But now it's time I travel on alone.
So grieve awhile for me, if grieve you must,
Then let your grieve be comforted by trust.
It's only for a time that we must part,
So bless the memories within your heart.
I won't be far away for life goes on;
So if you need me call and I will come.
Though you can't see or touch me I'll be near.
And if you listen with your heart, you'll hear,
All my love around you soft and clear.
And then when you come this way alone,
I'll greet you with a smile and say "Welcome Home."
This isn't a poem, but a story with a good point, so I'm going to put it on here.
A young man from a wealthy family was about to graduate from high school. It was a custom in that affluent neighborhood for the parents to give the graduate an automobile. Bill and his father had spent months looking at cars, and the week before graduation, they found the perfect car. Bill was certain the car would be his on graduation night. Imagine his disappointment when on the eve of his graduation, Bill's father handed him a gift wrapped Bible! Bill was so angry, he threw the Bible down and stormed out of the house. He and his father never saw each other again. It was the news of his father's death that brought Bill home again. He sat one night, going through his father's possessions that he was to inherit, and he came across the Bible that his father had given him. He brushed away the dust and opened it to find a cashiers check, dated the day of his graduation, in the exact amount of the car that they had chosen.
Epilogue from The Tempest
by William Shakespeare
Our revels now have ended:these our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision
The cloud-capped temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
Leave not a rack behind: We are such stuff
As dreams are made of, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.- Sir, I am vex'd;
Bear with my weakness; my old brain is troubled,
Be not disturb'd with my infirmity;
If you be pleased, retire into my cell,
And there repose; a turn or two I'll walk,
To still my beating mind.
We wish your peace.
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