A Poem Written

Last week, we read a poem in English Class that personified eggs. We then were given the assignment to personify some non-human or inanimate object and give this object thoughts and feelings. I got a 20/20 on this assignment. Enjoy!


The Life of A Pillow

By Brahms Lewis

Like an appliance, the pillow sits,

Waiting to be used,

But like a servant, the pillow hopes

It will not be abused.

On the bed, the pillow lies,

Dreading the nights to come,

For that is when the master comes,

Who thinks the pillow’s dumb.

When down the man lies on the pillow,

The servant gets to work,

Holding the master’s head up high,

Massaging the aches that lurk.

Like an oxen at the plow,

The pillow’s work is hard,

Keeping up a head so large,

Which smells of stale lard,

But when the rooster crows again,

It is a joyful bell,

For the head will rise again,

And the pillow, again, is well.

The Hog, the Frog, the Dog, the Bog, Zog, and the Squirrel!

By Brahms Lewis

There was once a frog

Whose name was Pog.

He was the color

Of greenish fog.

There was Pog,

On a Log,

But as he sat,

There came a dog

His name was Clog.

He liked to Blog,

And so he sat

On Pog's Log.

Then came a Hog

Whose name was Gog,

So they decided
To go for a jog.

So Pog the Frog

And Clog the Dog

Went to run with

Gog the Hog.

On this jog

They found a bog.

An evil place,

The Bog of Flog.

In the Bog,

The Bog of Flog,

There lived a man

Whose name was Zog.

The three found Zog

In the Fog.

He attacked them

With a Log.

But then Pog

Picked up the Hog

and threw him at

the man called Zog.

Then off ran Zog

Into the Fog,

But from the bog

came a squirrel!

When Pog, and Clog

and Gog the Hog
Saw the squirrel,

They turned him down.

For unlike Clog

and Pog and Gog,

rhymith not

the name of the squirrel!

Poem, C Momentous

The Adventures of Bob the Turtle

This is the story of Bob the turtle
Who escaped from his tank
And ran off and played the Kazoo

He ran off playing his kazoo
And met a snake named George
George was thin and George was blue
And knew a turtle named Fred

Fred was Red. Fred was Slow
Fred knew how to play Bassoon
George knew how to play a large Trombone
So away they went playing kazoo, bassoon, and a large trombone

On their way, George saw frogs
He ran off to fry them, and cook them, and eat them
So Fred and Bob went on their way playing kazoo and bassoon

Then Fred saw Crickets, jumping with glee
He ran off to catch them and smash them and eat them all up
So Bob went on with his Kazoo, playing it as he went

Then Bob discovered he was alone
So he moped, and he groped, and he cried for so long
Then a beetle heard him and cried right along

Then they cried and they cried ‘til they got back
To Bob’s comfy tank which was such a rack
Then Bob’s owners found him and clapped with much joy
Singing “Bob has come back with a beetle bug boy!”

In Memory of my Turtle, Beethoven

Poem, B Momentous

How to Write the Right Book

Boo.

I have tried and have tried
To write the right book
I have finally wrote it

You should really take a look

First write a word
The word you know best
Then write the next
This isn’t a test

I wrote the best word
The word, it was boo
It knew it, I knew it
I knew it right through

Word after word I wrote it all down
And after I finished I fell to the ground

I set of to publish it then and there
But when I thought about it
I asked myself “Where?”
“Where was this place to get a book published?”

“To the bookstore!” I thought as I went on my way
“To the bookstore I’ll go and there I will stay”

I asked if they’d publish my book for me
They looked through the book and the said “No!”
“This book is worth nothing! It’s a practical joke! Go climb up a tree!”
“If this is a poem, it has no good beat! If this is a book it’s as confusing as a flea!”

I sat down and thought, “How is being confusing like being a flea?”
“And why would they make me climb up a tree?”

I finally forgot about climbing up fleas and being like a tree
That old book that I made was really a poem

It is this one right here and it was made by me!

Poem, A Epic

MY HOMEWORK

My homework is unsupreme
And it made me scream
I don’t like my homework
It is my teacher’s fork

It’s their utensil
Along with their pencil
To force us to look like a dork

One day I fought the forks
To make us stop looking like dorks
They joined with spoons
From big lagoons
And now the are large sporks

The sporks are dorks
And I’m a fork
‘Cause I won the battle
It was such a rattle

And now I am unsupreme