STVM English Department Hosts Poetry Slam in Honor of Shakespeare's Birthday
Apr 28, 2021
On Friday, April 23, the English Department hosted a poetry slam to celebrate Shakespeare's birthday! No one knows exactly which day the bard was born upon, but most scholars agree that he was born in April. Students were encouraged to share their original poems or a poem by a favorite poet. We hope you enjoy some samples of our student's work from the Poetry Slam!
By Aaliyah Evans
No friends in sight
I'm trying to deal with all my might
but brother's a bother
and sister a pest
even my pets give me no rest.
Now we're in school
which is pretty cool
oh would you look at the time
I got more assignments due at 11:59
By Eric Brown
It’s a place where my thoughts and emotions are free from captivity.
The flow of the lines have rhythm and grace
Sky is the limit, better yet it’s outer space.
With a pen, you become the master of your own life
The tip of a pen bleeding out like a knife,
Sticks and stones break bones, words due to
That bald point either has the power to inspire or subdue
The choice is ultimately up to you.
As for me, the out pour of ink is how my mind thinks
Life is a journey
And the Lord said, It’s dangerous to go alone, take this
That gracious invention of ink is my bliss
Always welcoming me back with a tender kiss.
See poetry doesn’t care how I speak
It’s an outlet of the way that I think.
With my nomad thoughts always out at sea
Poetry unleashes the flow in me
You know the owner is me
My thoughts and ideas donation for free
That’s how people be knowing me
The one place where no one’s controlling me
Where my worldview is all I see temporarily
God gave me this gift for a reason apparently
Giving it up could lead to insanity
That’s why I have the support of my family
To keep sharing my gift unsparingly.
My emotional duct tape,
Gives off that natural sweetness just like a grape
My 7th grade teacher who inspired, deserves a cape
For that reason I know what path through life I’ll take
To both Jesus and her I have to thank
The endless tank to express the real me,
I found my way
Through this amazing art called poetry.
By Nick Modugno
I see the sky above my head
I listen to the wind blow through the trees
I see the flowers blooming in their beds
And all the critters running in the weeds
I feel the sun shining on my skin
This is a lot better than snow
I realize that warm air is hitting my chin
I stop and admire how much the grass has began to grow
It’s sad this season only comes once a year
All the other seasons seem to slack
It’s time to go out and change into your summer gear
Just prepare for the bees to attack
I advise you to take advantage of your time
Because life in springtime is extremely sublime
By Julia Pentasuglio
While the blush butterfly fluttered across the sky,
The unmoving queen sat on her throne. Crown, high
Her subjects feared her brash beauty,
And hated the arrogance that came with her smile.
She pounded the floor with the heel of boot,
And the apprentice thieves shivered before her,
Their twitching faces covered in soot.
Diamonds and pearls adorned their grimy necks.
But the queen scowled at the precious things on
The collar of any neck but her own.
One cowing man, begged for forgiveness
While the other dumbly swore that it was only a small mistake.
The butterfly still flew in the midst of the poor men’s destruction.
The color of its pink wings shifted through hard walls of the castle.
But while the begging man watched in awe at the bug.
The queen never averted her gaze from the face of her victims.
Year after year, the aging queen burned the souls of
The violent men who fell upon her royal steps.
Her hair grew greyer and her skin wrinkled
Everytime she pointed at the unruly man who would be next.
But the butterfly became vibrant with color,
Painted gold and purple and rosey red.
It begged to intercede before the unforgiving woman
Sent another victim to find himself dead.
Though the malevolent ruler never watched the flutter of its wings
Each and every man who stood before her
Looked to the small beacon of hope.
By the time her age was as old as it would ever see,
The queen’s kingdom feared her wrath
Nearly as much as the criminals that found themselves before her.
But the butterfly persisted through her warpath.
One final martyr sat on her steps, silence far from his lips.
“Don’t you see it!” he yelled with despair.
For the first time in her cold life of punishment,
The queen looked away.
She watched the butterfly in its beauty and in its grace.
The old queen’s eyes wandered through the dead bricks of the castle
Never again was another criminal put to death by the hands
Of the queen whose crown sat high on her head,
This time with a butterfly perched on the gold of her crest.
By Nathan Pettinella
"i didn't title this haiku"
i don't have a clue
what i should write for the slam.
maybe a haiku?