These poems were written during Mimi White's visit to Portsmouth
High School.
As the Esther Buffler Poet in Residence, Mimi worked with two classes, Mary
Potter's
and Sherry Fawcett's. Over a two day period the students wrote poems based on
some
simple prompts that Mimi suggested. Sometimes the students worked from word lists,
other times Mimi provided the students with random first lines she hoped would spark
the imagination. Looks as if the prompts worked!
These three poems, in no particular order, are a sample of what was written during those
days
on April. These 3 poets were selected by Mimi to appear on this Web page.
Crystal Gordon - Emma Duffy-Comparone -
Jamie Cragnoline
(scroll down to read poems)
Fears
by Jamie Cragnoline
The wind howled,
it did not scare me.
The lightning crinkled through the night,
crackling upon our yard,
I sat by the door and watched.
The darkness grabbed my limbs and pulled,
I danced right in it.
The waves rolled effervescently over my head,
I did not fight, and instead
joined them on their way to shore.
Cars screamed by on an in-town road,
I skipped right through, crosswalk-less.
A toad leaped up to greet my feet,
I kissed him and sent him on his way.
The only thing that ever scared me
was that one day you would not return.
Or worse,
you would not listen.
. . . .
. . .
. . .
. .
Nectar
by Emma Duffy-Comparone
Long after the bee quivers
the honeycomb drips
clumsily, lazily
past the three twigs lodged
within the buckling boards
of twilight.
Evening becomes us -
The air breathes coarsely
through the window of his shirt
where the button is missing.
I see bits of warm honey
and cinnamon.
And smile.
He, too.
The fountains are cracked.
Emerald lichen crawls.
Beneath, the garden sleeps -
but for the lone thorn
that contemplates the first frost,
and shivers.
But wait -
The petals are tepid and lovely.
. . . .
. . .
. . .
. .
With Suede
by Crystal Gordon
Ordinarily I don't wear suede,
but today was no ordinary day.
There were so many things on my mind
I felt as though I had woken up amidst the butterflies.
I tried to bring myself to you,
but every attempt failed, in catastrophe.
Our relationship was as sweet as melons,
as though it were meant to be.
. . . .
. . .
. . .
. .