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Abby Barbour

Enough Already, Ode to a Turkey

Oh how I love thee with your white and dark meat

Thou art the very best

But because of you, I can’t see my feet

My navel is two feet from my chest

To diet and lose so I don’t wobble no more

I would be very willing

It would be impossible now, because somehow

I finished four bowls of filling

My wife pointed at me and said look at him

He sits at the table, like a dog he begs

I stare at you and your magnificent breast

Can hardly wait to get my hands on your legs

Enough already, I’m on my knees

Give me some stuffing and some black eyed peas

Sweet potatoes, corn and a salad I’ll toss

And bury your butt with cranberry sauce

Oh turkey, my turkey, you’re the one who rocks

Now I’ve gotten so fat, I can’t put on my socks

My love for you was fleeting

And we are finished I fear

But I’ll fall in love with another turkey

Same time next year.

I dedicated “Enough Already, Ode to a Turkey” to my friend 

Samantha Garcia. She absolutely loves turkey, and Thanksgiving is 

her favorite holiday. Due to this, I found it only necessary to 

dedicate this poem to her. The poem is referring to a turkey the 

speaker is practically drooling over at the dinner table at 

Thanksgiving. Although the speaker is talking about getting so fat 

the he cannot put his socks, this poem perfectly describes the way 

Sam talks about Thanksgiving. I have heard many stories from her 

about cooking Thanksgiving meals, and all the mishaps that take 

place in the kitchen, but her favorite part to tell is always the eating 

of the food. Who wouldn’t get excited over the Thanksgiving meal 

though? She loves all the food, but her favorite is the turkey, which 

is also the speaker’s favorite. It seems only fitting to dedicate a 

poem about Sam’s favorite meal to her. 

Will Bristle

“Ice Cream” 

Ice cream

Creamy, tasteful

Scooped, swirled, frozen

Children have to eat it 

quickly 

Ice Milk

I would like to dedicate this poem to Josalia 

because of how much she loves ice cream. Almost 

every day I hear about how much she wants a 

Cookout milkshake. From being at the store so 

much, I realized that they make their milkshakes 

from a ice cream machine. It is amazing what a 

cup of ice cream could do to a person's mood. One 

day we even went to get some homemade ice 

cream at sunny skies and it was amazing. After 

getting to know her, I realized how much she loves 

ice cream.   

Morgan Budzynski

Dear Chase Wagner,

I am dedicating the song “Bleeding Out” by Imagine 

Dragons to you. I know you love the band, and it is- in 

my opinion- one of their best songs. You’ve also told me 

about your family. Naturally, I understand that you 

genuinely love and care for them. I found this song 

relatable for anyone who has ever loved someone, 

whether you’re related to them or not. You seem like 

the type of guy who would do anything to keep the 

people you care about happy, and I respect that about 

you. Therefore, I feel like you can connect to these 

lyrics. If nothing else, I’m sure you’ll love the music. 

Anahi Chavez 

Car Lights

Bright lights in front of the car,

they come from afar,

with their own destination,

as we pass each other to continue to see 

the nation.

I am dedicating this sample to Aranza Flores. I’m 

dedicating this sample to her, for many reasons. I 

met Aranza in middle school, because we had 

mutual friends, I would talk to her occasionally, but 

not often. To me she was like every other person I 

would pass in the hallway on my way to class. It 

wasn’t until the beginning of the first semester that 

we actually started to become friends. But the 

main reason for my dedication is that she was a 

car that I passed going to different places, and 

being different people. But I am glad that I slowed 

down my car enough to make a great friend, that I 

can trust and tell everything. 

Samantha Collins

“I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud”

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o’er 

vales and hills

When all at once I saw a crowd

A host of golden daffodils

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the milky way

They stretched in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay

Ten thousand saw I at a glance

Tossing their heads in sprightly 

dance.

The waves beside them dance’ but 

they

Outdid the sparkling waves in 

glee” 

A poet could not but be gay

In such a jocund company

I gazed and gazed, but little 

thought

What wealth to me the show had 

brought

For oft when on my couch I lie

In   vacant or in pensive mood

They flash upon this inwad eye

Which is bliss of solitude

And my heart with pleasure fills

And dances with the daffodils.

I dedicate this poem, “I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud”, to 

Helen Lipscomb. I think this poem fits Helen. She is joyful, 

and she looks on the bright side of things, even when she 

is down. This attitude is shown in the speaker of the 

passage. Although he is lonely, he finds these daffodils, 

which made him joyful, and any time he is bored or lonely, he 

thinks back to the daffodils, and he is happy again.

Erik Crist

None are more familiar with dew

         than professional footballers. From 

early

grades they are used to running through

         practice drills and hurling their burly

frames through rucks while the moist chaff

         of wet grass under the winter lights

softens their fall, accustoms the half-

         back to the slippery ball and writes

green cuneiform on wet sand shoes.

         And they fear it in the morning,

kicking off the dew in the ‘twos’

         because they ignored a coach’s 

warning.

Half their lives are spent in clouds

         of condensation or the cold heat

of a winter sun where even the crowds

         seem like droplets on the concrete

rose of the stadium. In the final days

         of their season , sweat-spangled on 

the eve

of their triumph, the ball on a string and their 

plays

         honed, even the doubters believe.

And the last day is, once again,

         already an aftermath: the ground’s 

been shaved

and sucked dry by the noon sun

         and the paddock has become a paved

and bristled hell for those who will

         collide with it and pinion flesh on

earth, earth on flesh and spill

         blood for the sake of the game. 

Possession

is the law; all are possessed.

         And when the crowd melts into the dry

darkness, after that great red football’s

         booted between the uprights of the sky-

scrapers and gone, the sky bawls

         cheerless little drops for the victors

and decks the oval with the losers’ jewels.

This poem by David Musgraves is about soccer or in 

the poem referred to as football. I would like to 

dedicate this poem two different people in the class 

because they play soccer. These two friends of mine, 

Tristen and Josalia. Both are great soccer play soccer at a 

high level and I believe both of them would enjoy this 

poem. I know both enjoy the sport and put in work to 

improve just like the poem talks about the effort put in by 

footballers. I believe that effort and dedication is part of any 

sport.

Nolan Crumpler

"I'm Going to Teach You" 

After a long day of work,

Busy hours I still continue at home.

Countless assignments turn into projects,

Destined it must seem to be.

Every night I’m assigned these tasks,

Forever assigned by the same?

Grades will cease to increase,

Heir to such learning,

Inquired by teachers.

Jokes not tolerated are sentenced,

Kneeling towards the office.

Living up to expectations are not elementary,

Mere excuses are familiarized as unsatisfactory.

Nevertheless education is obligatory

The poem that I wrote, titled I’m Gonna Teach You is a 

poem that I actually wrote regarding Mrs. Holley. I came 

up with this title by looking at the lyrics of the famous 

Jackson Five song titled ABC. When I was trying to write 

three original poems for Mrs. Holley’s poetry project, I 

thought to myself how can I write a poem about Mrs. 

Holley’s class in poetry form? To make the situation 

ironic, I used an ABC form of poetry to write about Mrs. 

Holley’s class. I wrote this poem first, because it was 

required for a project and second because I wanted to 

express my feelings of a class that I take. I dedicate this 

poem to Mrs. Holley, because over the year that I have spent 

in her class I have learned more than any other class that I 

have ever attended. The title can be perceived from Mrs. 

Holley’s point of view, while the actual poem is from my point 

of view. This poem could also be dedicated to all of my fellow 

friends and students who also experienced Mrs. Holley’s class.  

Austin Dailey 

Mama said I'd lose my head

if it wasn't fastened on.

Today I guess it wasn't

'cause while playing with my cousin

it fell off and rolled away

and now it's gone.

And I can't look for it

'cause my eyes are in it,

and I can't call to it

'cause my mouth is on it

(couldn't hear me anyway

'cause my ears are on it),

can't even think about it

'cause my brain is in it.

So I guess I'll sit down

on this rock

and rest for just a minute...

This poem is dedicated to Mrs. Holley. She is always working 

so hard, and I do not think she has time to sit down and rest, 

which is exactly what the poem is trying to tell others to do. 

Aranza Flores

Paris

The city of amour

Filled with bustling all day long

Where love is like a lion’s roar

And nothing is wrong

There, love is in the wind

In the air we breath

It is in every corner

and is embraced by all foreigners

Standing at the top of the Eiffel 

Tower

Giving your true love a flower

Or saying a simple je t’aime

Pour le fois deuxieme

This image corresponds to an original poem I wrote 

called “Paris”, that I am dedicating to Anahi C. I am 

dedicating this particular poem to her because she 

has always told me how she wants to visit France. 

Specifically, Paris. She wants to visit the Eiffel Tower, 

and wishes to also learn the french language. One of 

her goals in life is to go all the way up in the Eiffel 

Tower. The poem is about Paris, France, love, and the 

Eiffel Tower. 

Samantha Garcia

The internal bond you share with 

them is unbreakable, 

you cannot bend.

The life you have, from them it was 

created, yet you only know them as 

the people who you’re related.

They have known you for your whole 

life, you have known them but half. 

Wishing you could know more, what 

you do know 

makes you laugh.

God’s creations is what we all are, 

But they brought you here from 

afar.Thank them for life, for they do 

all they can.They teach, love, and 

guide you while 

holding your hand.

The internal bond you share with 

them,

It is something that will last until 

the end.There is no making or 

breaking this internal bond, for you 

they gave

come to grow fond.

Love and cherish these precious 

souls,

Know that for you they have 

changed their goals. Be grateful and 

thankful and love them 

tremendously,

For the internal bond will go on 

endlessly.

Abby Barbour is my best friend and that is why this 

poem is being dedicated to her.   The bond that is 

shared between her and I is unbreakable because 

we tell each other everything and we trust each 

other. The poem also speaks of not knowing the 

other person for a very long time, although the time 

that you have spent together has been enjoyable.   This 

is exactly how it is with me and Abby.   In the sixteenth 

line of the poem, it says “ For you they have grown fond”.  

The relationship that me and Abby have does reflect the 

fondness that we have for each other.   The friendship 

which we share is an internal bond that no one could break.  

The poem could be interpreted to reflect different 

relationships, but in this case it is seen as reflecting a 

friendship between Abby and I.

Alex Herrera

When I heard the learn’d astronomer, 

When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me, 

When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure 

them, 

When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much 

applause in the lecture-room, 

How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick, 

Till rising and gliding out I wander’d off by myself, 

In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time, 

Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars.

When N.C. Heard the Learn’d Astronomer

    In Walt Whitman’s, “When I Heard the Learn’d Astronomer,” a 

student is inspired at first by an educator, but later becomes 

tired of him and goes on to experience things on his own. The 

student is amazed by the wisdom they can gain and they can see 

on their own, instead of what comes from a lecturer. This 

reminds me of Nolan Crumpler. Do not get me wrong, teachers 

and professors are noble and necessary to learn and sustain 

oneself, but one should not learn absolutely everything from them 

and from books. Nolan is an excellent student who is respectable, 

obedient, and simply a good person. I have him in my third block 

(Science) and in fourth block, and he tries his best and to me, he is a 

hard worker. Sometimes I feel like he gets all of his information from 

books, especially in Science. Perhaps he has wandered off by himself to 

learn and see the world by himself, but if he has not, I would like to see 

that. That is why I dedicated “When I Heard the Learn’d Astronomer,” to 

my friend, Nolan Crumpler. 

Jasmine Hopkins

Beat! Beat! Drums! by Walt Whitman 

Beat! beat! drums!—blow! bugles! 

blow!Through the 

windows—through doors—burst 

like a ruthless force, Into the 

solemn church, and scatter the 

congregation, Into the school where 

the scholar is studying, Leave not the 

bridegroom quiet—no happiness must 

he have now with his bride, Nor the 

peaceful farmer any peace, ploughing 

his field or gathering his grain,So fierce 

you whir and pound you drums—so shrill 

you bugles blow.

Beat! beat! drums!—blow! bugles! 

blow! Over the traffic of cities—over 

the rumble of wheels in the streets; 

Are beds prepared for sleepers at night 

in the houses? no sleepers must sleep in 

those beds, No bargainers’ bargains by 

day—no brokers or speculators—would 

they continue?

Would the talkers be talking? would 

the singer attempt to sing?

Would the lawyer rise in the court to 

state his case before the judge?

Then rattle quicker, heavier 

drums—you bugles wilder blow.

Beat! beat! drums!—blow! bugles! 

blow! Make no parley—stop for no 

expostulation, Mind not the 

timid—mind not the weeper or prayer,

Mind not the old man beseeching the 

young man, Let not the child’s voice 

be heard, nor the mother’s entreaties,

Make even the trestles to shake the 

dead where they lie awaiting the 

hearses, So strong you thump O 

terrible drums—so loud you bugles 

blow.

“Beat! Beat! Drums!”, by Walt Whitman, is a poem that 

shows persistence. I’d decided to dedicate this poem to a 

student in Mrs.Holley’s class who reminds me of this 

poem. Chris was the first one come to mind when reading 

,“Beat, Beat, Drums”, a couple times. I am dedicating 

this poem to Chris because how hard he works in class. 

Chris has always kept at least an A in English class which 

shows how hard and intelligent he is. The speaker of the 

poem puts in hard work at trying to catch everyone’s 

attention to the war that is happening in America. Chris 

caught my attention by always participating in class with also 

keeping his grade up. The speaker also gives a loud tone while 

mentioning musicians playing their instruments while walking. 

This shows a resemblance how Chris has a loud personality after 

you get to know him. Chris has a personality that will always 

become the center of attention when he gets the chance just like this 

poem catches everyone’s eye. 

Chris Lerma

“Scarecrow” 

Confessional Poem by Fady Joudah 

The rice field birds are too clever for 

scarecrows, They know what they love, 

milk in the grain.

When it happens, there will be no time 

to look for anyone. Husband, children, 

nine brothers and sisters.

You will drop your sugarcane-stick-

beating of plastic bucket, stop shouting 

at birds and run.

They will load you in trucks and herd 

you for a hundred miles. Old men will 

teach you trade with soldiers at 

checkpoints.

You will give them your spoon, 

blanket and beans, they’ll let you keep 

your life. And if you jump off the truck, 

the army jeep trailing it will run you 

over.

Later, they will accuse you of giving up 

your land. Later, you will stand in 

distribution lines and won’t receive 

enough to eat.

Your mother will weave you new 

underwear from flour sacks. And they’ll 

give you plastic tents, cooking pots, 

Vaccine cards, white pills, and wool 

blankets.

And you will keep your cool.

Standing with eyes shut tight like 

you’ve got soap in them. Arms stretched 

wide like you’re catching rain.

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