Poetry Portraits

I Went to the Doctors
By Rachel Donka

I went to the doctors,
One beautiful day,
Then they pulled out a needle,
And said look away.

I was shaking in fright,
When they wiped the needles entrance spot,
I wanted to run,
But knew I could not.

Then one, two three,
And the shot was all done,
I hardly felt it go in,
As for pain I felt none.

I made all that anxiety,
And shed many a tear,
But I won’t be real happy,
When the next one is here.

Poetry Portraits

The Island of Hvar
By Rachel Donka

The crystal waters of the Adriatic,
Splash upon the shores,
The wind blows coolly over,
The island of Hvar.

The little town,
Is bustling with activity,
With many people talking,
The island of Hvar.

A castle atop the hills,
A tourist stop for sure,
A little begging cat,
The island of Hvar.

The Adriatic sea,
Just miles from Croatia,
With a beautiful little island,
The Island of Hvar.

This poem was written in free verse, the main style of poetry that was used by Walt Whitman.

Poetry Portraits

Walt Whitman
By Rachel Donka
3/25/10

Walt Whitman was born on Long Island on May 31, 1819. He went to school until he turned 11. Then, Walt was needed to help make money and support his family, so his early schooling was the only schooling he got. His first job was as an office boy. After Walt Whitman quit his job, he was apprenticed to the printers of the Patriot, a common newspaper. This is where Walt got his love for poetry.
Walt then went around from school to school teaching, but he soon tired of this and returned to his parents. Walt Whitman went back to working for newspapers, and he jumped from paper to paper for the rest of his life, writing poetry in his spare time. During the Civil he opening stressed his great love and respect for President Lincoln. Whitman firmly believed that slavery was wrong, and when Lincoln was assassinated, he wrote possibly his best poem, Oh Captain, My Captain.
Walt Whitman died on March 26, 1892, at the age of 73. Walt Whitman is one of the greatest poets of all time even though he had hardly any formal education.

Poetry Potraits

War
By Rachel

People are dying every day,
Swatted down like flies.
Machine guns sounding everywhere,
Silencing the cries.

Blood stains the yellow prairie,
As more people fall,
The killing goes on and on,
Until there is no one left at all.

Soldiers are covering the ground,
Calling out for water,
Children are crying out in distress,
Looking at the slaughter.

Babies are crying for their mothers,
Who lie bleeding on the floor,
Oh God answer me this question,
Why do countries go to war?

Poetry Potraits

Christmas Day
Rachel Donka

Snowflakes are falling from the sky,
In the air is the wonderful scent of a baking pie.
The cars are all sliding over the ice,
Christmas Day is oh so nice.

Children are screaming and laughing in joy,
As the open their presents which are filled with many a toy.
Then they dress in their snow gear and go out to play,
And their parents all say “We love Christmas Day”.

A story is told to the Children to teach,
Them a lesson that is slightly out of their reach.
“Don’t be naughty or haughty and just be gay,
Or else you’ll get naught but coal on a crisp Christmas Day.

The Turkey is sliced,
The baked potatoes diced.
“Thanks for the food on this day,”
A Family prays on Christmas day.

Poetry Portraits

Mist
By Rachel

The mist is drifting,
Ever shifting,
Shrouding in the air.

Drifting over stream and lake,
Not caring if the earth should quake.
And silencing the world.

The air is thick,
The scare is quick,
Of those inside and out.

The Mist is drifting,
Ever shifting,
And will never cease.

Poetry Portraits

Inka
By Rachel

Inka is my kitten,
But don’t be fooled by that.
Slinks around looking for trouble,
But she is a nice cat.

She is always in the way,
Nearly getting stepped on,
But when you finally want her,
She’s almost always gone.

Always sneaking from behind,
She strikes out then attacks,
When our other cat sees this move,
She gives Inka some smacks.

Inka is my kitten,
She is very sweet,
Even though Inka slinks around,
I think it’s a real treat,
To have her as my kitten.


This Poem is written in iambic form. This is the main form of poetry that Emily Dickinson wrote poems in.

Poetry Portraits

I’m going on a Trip
By Rachel

I’m going on a trip,
I’m flying far away,
I’m going where the sun shines,
That’s where I want to stay.

I’m going on a trip,
I’m leaving rain behind,
I’m going where it’s dry and warm,
I’m leaving the place where the sun never shined.

I’m going on a trip,
I’m flying far away,
I’m going on a trip,
Won’t you come with me today?

Poetry Portraits

Spring
By Rachel

Winter is coming to a close.
The sun is finally showing.
A sweet scent fills the air,
And the spring breeze starts blowing.

Wildlife wakens from its sleep,
The blue birds fly back home.
Snow starts melting everywhere,
And squirrels start to roam.

Flowers start to blossom,
Bees start rebuilding their nest,
Flies are buzzing all around,
And bears come out of their rest.

Rain drops fall from far above,
The sun still shines behind the clouds.
Puddles form on fallen leaves,
And the mist in the air shrouds,
The bright blue spring sky.

Poetry Portraits

When is Evening Coming?

By RMD

When is Evening coming out?

Where will daylight go?

Will the moon shine from up above?

Please tell me, I don’t know.

When will the moon show itself?

When will the stars appear?

When will the sun leave skies above,

And go past mountains near?

Day is finally ending,

Evening is drawing near,

The Sun is slowly fading out,

And yet the sky stays clear.

This poem is based on Iambic form. Iambic is the main form that Emily Dikinson used.

Poetry Portraits

Emily Dickinson

 By Rachel

Emily Dickinson was born on December 10^th, 1830 in Amherst, Massachusetts. She was a very quiet girl who was very shy as well. Emily began to write poetry when she was in her teens. She loved her school, even though she was shy and quiet. When Emily grew up, she kept writing poetry. Emily’s main form of poetry is called “iambic”. In iambic form, each line has a certain amount of syllables. The first line has to have 7, the second has 6, the third has 8, and the forth has 6. This is how iambic form went. On May 15^th, 1886, Emily Dickinson died. During her life, only six of her poems were published, though she wrote over seventeen hundred. Emily Dickinson was a great poet.

 

 

Poetry Portraits

The Indian Raid
By Rachel
(This is what I think one of the soldiers who killed the Natives might be feeling)

As I sit,
Gazing into the fire,
I think of the people that used to be here.
I think of the culture that is lost,
And wish I had not done what I did.

The sun was blazing up above,
And my heart was fluttering.
My brain did not know what to think at the sight of the cowering women and children.
But they are gone now to where ever their souls go.
Why are the other men rejoicing,
When I can’t bring a smile to my lips?

Life will go on, Life will go on,
But I will always remember this terrible day,
Where My heart is Thumping,
At the site of our dead enemies.

Poetry Portraits

The Cemetery
By Rachel

People come every day,
Bringing their dead in coffins,
People walk by laughing and joking about death,
While others stand crying at graves.

In the quiet morning,
It will be empty here,
And people will forget their loved ones.
The sun will still rise and set each day,
And the moon will always be offering its lonesome rays of ghastly light when the sun has gone.

The rain will still rain,
The snow will still snow,
The hail will still hail,
The fog will still float in the morning air,
And the sun will still shine each day.

Poetry Portraits

Carl Sandburg
By Rachel

Carl Sandburg was born on January 6, 1878 in Galesburg, Illinois. When he was 18, he had several jobs, but none of them suited him. He loved reading and writing, so it’s no surprise that he became a poet. Sandburg never went to high school because his family only had enough to send his sister Mary, but she shared her books with him and he learned enough to be admitted to college. When Sandburg was out of college, he married a woman named Paula. They had 3 children, but their first had epilepsy (an incurable disease), and although there their two youngest children were healthy, one of them was very slow at learning. Two of their children never moved out of their house. Despite all Sandburg’s troubles, he was a magnificent poet.

Poetry Portraits

Edgar Allen Poe
By Rachel

11/5/2008

Edgar Allen Poe was born in the year 1809. His parents both died before he was 3 years old. He was taken to live with John Allen, who had been a wealthy friend of his mother. When Poe was 13, he could read Latin poetry fluently, and he started writing poetry of his own. When he was in college, he wrote his first happy story, but when he read it to his friends, they teased him about it. Poe’s life had been riddled with sadness. He was an Alcoholic and he had to end college early due to the several thousand dollars he was in debt. He had some trouble with money and he fought with John Allen. When he was 18 he enlisted in the army saying he was 22. When he got back from the war, he went to live with his relatives that had taken his brother William in. He wrote very sad poetry, as he was a drunkard and was deeply disturbed in mind and thought. Edgar Allen Poe died on October 3, 1849. He might have been insane, but he still was a good poet. Some of his most famous poems and stories are “The Raven” and “The Tell Tale Heart”. Poe may be dead, but a part of him will always live on in American poetry.

Poetry Portraits

Pumpkin Picking Time
By Rachel
10/22/08

The trees are colored with many a hue,
Of auburn, yellow, and brown.
The ground is covered with a light dusting of dew,
And leaves falling all around.

Many pumpkins have grown in the field,
In colors of orange, white, and green.
Many people passing by yield,
To look at pumpkins to be seen.

Crows fly down to eat the field’s worms,
And they are not welcomed by the farmer.
The worms in the bird’s mouth wiggle and squirm,
As the bird brings them to his nest where it’s warmer.

Pumpkin pickings the time of year,
When everything’s quieting down.
For the cold season is drawing near,
And all nature seems to hide in the ground.

The plants all die in preparation,
For the upcoming time.
Life all goes on a vacation,
And the wind starts to chime.

Like bells ringing to announce the new season.

Poetry Portraits

Robert Frost
By Rachel
Robert Frost was born on March 26, 1874 in San Francisco, although he spent most his life in New England. Frost became interested in poetry when he had one of his poems published in a magazine in 1893. He became famous because of how he could describe landscapes of trees and other things in the natural world in his poems. Two of his poems are “The Road Not Taken” and “Walking Through Woods on a Snowy Evening”. Robert Frost died in 1963. He was a great poet.