I’m From…

I’m from the warm Mediterranean Sea,

And the smell of fresh pines in the mountain.

 

I’m from lavender fields and vineyards,

And the ochre colored house.

 

I’m from bahebak, je t’aime,

I love you, te quiero and ti amo.

 

I’m from islands and continents,

From north to south and east to west.

 

I’m from all these places that hold my heart,

And from a home that’s rooted in love.

 

---

This post is inspired by a beautiful poem written by 10th grader and TCK Adelaide, shared by Marilyn at Communicating Across Boundaries. “The Language Arts teacher wanted them to write a poem introducing themselves to her and to the class. It was a simple assignment. Five short stanzas. Two lines each. Begin each stanza with, “I’m from…” (Click to see the entire post and read Adelaide’s touching poem about growing up between worlds)

If you liked Adelaide’s poem and my poem, here’s another one for you, courtesy of Tayo Rockson, who was also inspired by Marilyn’s post!

Feeling inspired? Please feel free to share your own I’m From poem in the comments, or if you write one on your own blog, I would love to link to it here!

Advertisement

Ode to Autumn

I have always loved all four seasons,

They each have their beautiful reasons.

But one stands out above them all,

My favorite and glorious fall.

 

Winter is biting and cold,

Hiding everything in its frosty hold.

Although a snowflake is magical to behold,

Its novelty soon becomes old.

 

Spring is a well of showers,

Followed by beautiful flowers;

But the pollen falls in powders,

Making me rue the spring hours.

 

Summer is golden and bright,

The sun setting with a glowing light.

Although it may seem just right,

After a while I long for the heat to take flight.

 

The autumn sky is clear and blue,

And the grass is damp with dew.

The trees know their cue

And begin to change their leaves anew.

 

I love winter’s sparkling white

And spring’s colorful delight.

I am warmed by summer’s golden light,

But I am exhilarated by autumn’s sight.

 

I have always loved all four seasons,

They each have their beautiful reasons.

But one stands out above them all,

My favorite and glorious fall.

First Day

Heart palpitating, palms sweating…

Actually, everything sweating.

 

Do I look all right,

Or is this shirt too bright?

 

I wonder if they’ll talk to me,

Or simply let me be…

 

I’m not really sure which I’d prefer.

 

Will I be able to find my way,

Or will my nerves lead me astray?

 

Trying to hold back the tears

And not let them see all my fears.

 

As always there’s a complication,

My name isn’t there or there’s a mispronunciation.

 

Here we go again.

 

I raise my hand up in the air,

Trying to ignore all those eyes that stare.

 

I tell the teacher about my name,

Thinking how many times must I do the same?

 

The day finally draws to a close,

And the relief inside me grows.

 

At least I made it through today.

A Tale of Two Seasons

Snow still covers the ground,

As the first day of spring comes around.

The skies are gloomy and overcast,

As we hope that spring has arrived at last.

 

Could it be the voices of the larks,

Happily chirping throughout the parks?

Could it be the gentler, softer breeze,

That replaces winter’s cold and biting sneeze?

 

Could it be the glimpse of blue sky,

That beneath those gray clouds we spy?

Could it be the sun’s bright and golden light,

So welcome after winter’s fading white?

 

Snow still covers the ground,

As we wait for spring to truly come around.

The skies are gloomy and overcast,

As we wait for some sign that spring will last.

 

The first day of spring has come and gone,

Leaving us with hope that winter will soon move on.

 

May Flowers

May flowers, May flowers,

A welcome change from May showers.

You light up the day

After all that dreary gray.

Bursts of color and light,

In which the bees take delight.

You glow in the sun,

As beside you squirrels run;

You stand out against the sky,

As above you birds fly.

Serenity fills my heart when I see you,

And you keep me from feeling blue;

You put a smile on my face,

As you spring up all over the place.

I’ll be sad when your petals float away,

I wish you were here to stay;

But even after you drift to sleep,

In my mind your beauty will always keep.

May flowers, May flowers,

Beauty and joy are your powers.

Writer’s Block

Oh, writer’s block,

How dare you come knock.

 

I look for the words,

But they fly away like birds.

 

I cannot find how to say

All that I wish to convey.

 

It’s all locked inside there, somewhere,

But the key has vanished into thin air.

 

Even to finish this simple phrase,

The words struggle through the haze.

 

So much I want to express,

But today it’s just a jumbled mess.

 

How can I open the door

To let my words flow once more?

 

Why must they insist

On remaining hidden in the mist?

 

If only I could find the key,

That fits only me,

 

Then I could unlock

This damn writer’s block.

Dancing with the Trees

A lazy cloud floats in the vastness of the blue sky.

The wind whispers secrets, causing the trees to shake with laughter, sending their fiery leaves dancing to the ground.

The sun plays hide and seek with the clouds, alternating the warmth on my face with sudden dashes of cold shadows.

The wind suddenly hushes, the trees are still, waiting, listening…

Then with a sudden gust, they are all chattering and jabbering, some gossip unknown to us has them all bustling.

A single leaf floats through the air, an acrobat carried by the wind, astonishing its audience with twists and flips.

It is joined suddenly by a partner. Together they complete their gravity-defying performance, and then land lightly on the ground, taking a bow and a well-deserved rest.

The wind seems to have a lot to say today, and the trees are a captive audience.

Oh, if only we could know what was being said! But perhaps then it would lose its charm.

Now the birds have joined the conversation, quietly but steadily they are sharing their thoughts.

The wind and the trees are very polite listeners and have stopped their chit-chat to hear what their companions have to say.

As the sun warms my face, I watch the trees dance with their own shadows.

The voice of a child floats up to the sky as he looks at those dancing, laughing trees. Perhaps he understands them and the chattering wind. Does he know the secret they’re not telling me?

And even if he does, that’s alright. I don’t mind the mystery, as long as I can keep listening to their secrets and continue laughing and dancing with the trees.