Friday, May 3, 2013


Who Were You?
I was a influence, a bad one.
I was eating at your every word.
I was hiding from the good.
Wearing everything you werent suppose to.
It was just us two.
Persuading you.
Silence.
I wanted your commitment.
It was us and only us.
We were going places without any trust.


Thursday, May 2, 2013

Collage

ME
I feel like my lifes a board.
Im not bored but theres spots that need to be filled.
Some are filled with Family.
Friends.
Sports.
My inspiration.
My life is a board filled with words that describe me.
Filled with friends that stand beside me.
And a sport that shaped me.
My life is a jumble, or a scrabble.
A board with plenty of confusion.
But a life i love.
Sure there are spots that need to be filled.
But thats all to come.
My life is a board that is all but done.



Kids Say the Darndest Things

Kids Say, I Say
How come I dont look like dad?
Your my favorite mom today.
Our dogs a he, isnt she?
If im younger than Lucy (our dog) howd you get her first?
When i fell from the sky did i land on my feet?
Mom, he said DAM!
My other parents are younger.
It looked like a waterfall coming from his mouth!
Sorry sorry sorry!
Pleassssssssseeeeeeeee!
Ill read if i can watch tv!
No, why not? thats not fair!
Mom can I..ask your dad, Dad, can I..ask your Mom..she said yes.
My day was as good as my life.

Friday, April 19, 2013

Hispanic Poem

A New Dawn by Phil Duran i hear their voices crying from the ground: "grandma, grandpa, we're dying the air is polluted, the water is poisoned, the children get sick and there's no medicine, and the schools didn't let us in, saying there's not enough room for people like us, now we are the slaves of our society and our family may die forever bearing no more children in this uncaring world of conquest & greed, the legacy of your generation... please help us before it is too late, we love you -- your unborn grandchildren." O pueblo querido, despierta pues ya llegó el amanecer, el sexto sol, the sixth world of the Maya has arrived the sun hid behind the 7th moon to mark a new beginning, to heal the nations from the four directions, remember your past to live in the present so our children can have a future wake up to a new day and remember the Taino People who first met that lost italian in 1492 Columbus/Cristóbal Colón, a pirate and a murderer who stumbled upon our shores by accident & didn't have to qualify for citizenship or medical insurance or English only or other nonsense in order to be treated with native hospitality he slaughtered the people who showed kindness and nurtured him back to health, but they were not destroyed, they are still here and their chief said the other day in his own language: "Tau Guazabara, hello Warrior," a wake-up call to honor the original name of this land now called "America," the Taino name is Amikekia, it is Turtle Island the land of the family of the rising Sun the People's Island Land of the Great Lord and they still call themselves "La Raza" and you, Sr. Hernán Cortés, you stepped onto these shores on Good Friday in the year 1519, the exact day predicted by the Maya 1144 years earlier, when Quetzalcoatl was expected to arrive with good news, and instead the indigenous people of Tenochtitlan/México met the face of death, not the face of brotherhood but because you married a full-blooded woman from this Continent, a great Mestizo nation was born in the pain of conquest and they call themselves "La Raza" it was only a matter of time for the second wave of death to come from England and reach the happy villages on the Northeastern shore, where Chief Massasoit fed strangers and freedom-seeking Pilgrims landed in Pautuxet, Squanto's empty village decimated by European disease which was offered as a permanent home, where the natives could have shown their wrath and instead had compassion on weary travelers who became brothers in sorrow, lost and hungry and cold, learned to grow crops with proven indigenous science, and white communities were born which today bear European names: New Plymouth, Weymouth, Salem, Charlestown, Dorchester, Boston, towns that now thrive because of native generosity, yet the original hosts are unacknowledged in the pages of American history other strangers came later, crossing the big water to change our world, where the people lived with the land, the salmon was plentiful, effective medicines were used and numerous foods were already cultivated including the potatoes & chile picoso & chocolate & cacaguates, and many, many more- and today our tacos & tortillas are more popular than hamburgers and white bread the indigenous peoples south of the border face death every day because they are Indio, but their moral courage keeps them alive and teaches us how to survive and carry their banner and fulfill our sacred purpose with them so we can point our country to a higher learning, yes! a learning about our values and our madrecitas who taught us how to nurture our children before they become tomorrow's heartless politicians whose mothers did not hold them enough does congress know the meaning of love? does congress know the pain of poverty or only the pain of an overstuffed belly and the tight necktie with a custom-fitted three-piece suit? why do they want to split las familias while preaching family values? why do they attack the women, the children, and the poor on purpose, wanting to send some back to a México that also rejects them, where they have no relatives? why violate the unalienable rights of human beings who can't defend themselves? is congress afraid of a Brown takeover? why are Republicans and Democrats both pointing the same two-barrel shotgun at law-abiding, tax-paying, scapegoated people? why does it condone the legal world of contradictions, of virtual diversity by affirmative rhetoric guilt by association, evidence by fabrication argument through intimidation, and the right to remain silent without representation? remember who you are, raza and eat your menudo with pride, the self-evident truths are on your side and many who stand with you know they now share a common destiny, this is the land of your birthright where moving northward does not make you immigrants, only wanderers across a homeland driven by poverty and want because two nation-states created great deficits and environmental horror from the wealth that was once yours IT IS THE INDIAN WAY to welcome strangers but we must bring back our indigenous past, learn the spiritual ways that were lost, be kind to all who come here for "the Earth does not belong to us, we belong to the Earth" and we are all related: mitakuye oyas'in, in lak 'ech yelir: "i am like you, we are the same" the new law says you have to live here 10 years before you can apply for citizenship and not be viewed as foreigners but we've been here tens of thousands of years and our Mother Earth never betrayed us or made us go hungry, so we will not disappear until the Creator, our heavenly Father, decides the time, the manner, the reason, and the season. May 3, 1997


Monday, April 8, 2013

My Poetry Story

Growing up I was always pressured into reading by my parents.  I hated it, I couldn't stand just sitting there reading, yuck!  I was given some poem books by famous poets like Robert Frost and Shel Silverstein. I would read these poems and honestly take nothing away, none of them made sense to me!  It was this way all the way up till I started Poetry class.  This class really opened me up to the wonderful world of poetry.  Before I was so confused on why people took such an interest in short jumbles of words that a lot of the times didn't make sense.  Then, thanks to poetry class, I realized that poems are feelings poured out by the poet,  It may not make any sense to me but its how the POET sees something, or how they feel.  When I began to write my own poems, I loved it, because I could really express how I felt about something or I could really get something off my chest in a civil manner.  Who cares if others cant make sense of it, that's the beauty of Poetry.

Tuesday, March 5, 2013

Where I come From

Where I Come From
 
Where I come from there's a town
A town, no a few houses
Shadowed by the craziest mountains you've ever seen
and the grass, sweet and oh so green.
 
Where I come from, theres friends, not foes
A restaurant, with no chain
There's a theatre, with limited shows
Yeah, and the streets, two laned.
 
Where I come from, I'll never forget
The smell of the rain in the wind.
Not that awful factory's smell, the one like shit
Ill always remember where I come from
Because if i didn't, who would?
 


My Celebration

I always find myself in a mild depression on Sunday or Monday evenings.  Pretty much all because i have to wake up the next morning and go to school.  I do my homework and spend the rest of the time dreading the morning to come.  i just wish that the weekends would run into each other.  So i decided to create a celebration for early in the week to weaken my mild depression.  My celebration isn't the same all the time, sometimes its a movie or hanging out with my friends.  Sometimes its texting someone or hanging out talking with my parents.  This really gives me the boost i need to improve my mood and outlook on the week.  It's a small celebration, but who knows it might have a huge impact.

Monday, February 11, 2013

Alone by Maya Angelou

I surprisingly liked this poem!  I really caught what she was saying, or at least i think so.  She kept repeating how no one can make it alone.  Not even the rich people with all there money and fancy trinkets.  Happiness doesn't lie in money or what you own, but who you have and who you love.  Being alone is a terrible thing.  I hate it.  She's right, because I can't stand being alone, and honestly I don't think anyone can.

My Poem

By: Cole Groshens
 
Tools touch the hand,
pop the nail
save the time.
 
Tools free the captured
welcome a level
Clean the grime
 
Tools golden and rough
Latest and old
Tools, a neccessity,
to  break the mold.

Monday, February 4, 2013

What Is Poetry to Me?

To Me, poetry is a bunch of words. These words don't necessarily have to rhyme, or even make sense when put together.  Poetry is how a person expresses their feelings and offers a nice way to tell a story or give a point.  To me the best kind of poetry is music, rap music to be more specific.  Rap songs are really just long poems read over a beat.  I mean sure, some can be crude and not make a lot of sense, but hey that's the poets poem.  Poems can rhyme, have a rhythm, tell a story, or give an opinion.  Poems are just the feeling's song.