Hello,

Yes, That’s Me

Yes, that’s me
Look and you’ll see
My hair brownish black
My eyes light brown in the light
My arm filled with love
My hands that is willing to help
My heart full of joy and happiness
I’m a loving person
I never say never
My friend love me
I live to be happy
I hope to live a great life
I dream that one day I will open a day care center
It’s all clear as can be
That’s positive, absolutely me
© Edwaneka Johnson



My name

My real name is Edwaneka Johnson
Yesterday my name was Ba Ba
Today my name is Shana’na
Tomorrow my name will be #1 goon
In my dreams my name is Sally
© Edwaneka Johnson


I Can’t Write A Poem
Forget it
You must me kidding
I don’t know how to write a poem
I hate poems
I don’t even understand poems
It against my culture
My brain hurt
I can’t rhyme
This paper don’t have any lines
My pencil point broke
Time’s up? Uh oh!
All I have is a dumb list of excuses.
You like it? Really? No kidding.
Thanks a lot. Would you like to see
Another one?
© Edwaneka Johnson




All About me

Edwaneka
Tall, fuuny, goofy, crazy
Siblings of Tamia and Kenneth
Daughter of Tammie
Fear snakes
Needs a positive community
Gives money to people in need
Would like to see all my cousin in Texas
Resident of New Orleans, Louisiana
Johnson




Afternoon in School
The Last Lesson

When will the bell ring, and end this weariness?
How long have they tugged the leash, and strained apart
My pack of unruly hounds: I cannot start
Them again on a quarry of knowledge they hate to hunt,
I can haul them and urge them no more.
No more can I endure to bear the brunt
Of the books that lie out on the desks: a full three score
Of several insults of blotted pages and scrawl
Of slovenly work that they have offered me.
I am sick, and tired more than any thrall
Upon the woodstacks working weariedly.

And shall I take
The last dear fuel and heap it on my soul
Till I rouse my will like a fire to consume
Their dross of indifference, and burn the scroll
Of their insults in punishment? - I will not!
I will not waste myself to embers for them,
Not all for them shall the fires of my life be hot,
For myself a heap of ashes of weariness, till sleep
Shall have raked the embers clear: I will keep
Some of my strength for myself, for if I should sell
It all for them, I should hate them -
- I will sit and wait for the bell.


D. H. Lawrence



D. H. Lawrence
Biography
D.H. Lawrence (1885-1930), English novelist, storywriter, critic, poet and painter, one of the greatest figures in 20th-century English literature. He was the fourth child of a struggling coal miner who was a heavy drinker. His mother was a former schoolteacher, greatly superior in education to her husband. Lawrence's childhood was dominated by poverty between his parents. He was educated at Nottingham High School, to which he had won a scholarship. After studies at Nottingham University, Lawrence matriculated at 22 and briefly pursued a teaching career. Lawrence's mother died in 1910; he helped her die by giving her an overdose of sleeping medicine.






Michael Rawlinson is a poet writer. He was born on June 23, 1963. He die January 18, 1997.




SOMETIMES MY HOMEWORK
Sometimes my homework is small
Sometimes my homework is long
But whenever i do my homework
My homework is always wrong

Sometimes I do my homework at a slow pace
Sometimes I do my homework in the fast lane
But however I do my homework
my homework is still a pain

Sometimes my homework is easy
Sometimes my homework is hard
But whenever i can't do my homework
I feel like a retard

He likes to do homework because when he
don't do it he feel like a retart.He thinks some-
times it is easy and sometimes hard.






February 23 by David LehmanLight rain is falling in Central Park
but not on Upper Fifth Avenue or Central Park West
where sun and sky are yellow and blue
Winds are gusting on Washington Square
through the arches and on to LaGuardia Place
but calm is the corner of 8th Street and Second Avenue
which reminds me of something John Ashbery said
about his poem "Crazy Weather" he said
he was in favor of all kinds of weather
just so long as it's genuine weather
which is always unusually bad, unusually
good, or unusually indifferent,
since there isn't really any norm for weather
When he was a boy his mother met a friend
who said, "Isn't this funny weather?"
This poems is about the weather how it is in certain
parts of the town. When the sky turn a certain color
the weather does its thing.




David Lehman was born in New York City in 1948. He is the author of six books of poems, most recently When a Woman Loves a Man (Scribner, 2005). He edited Great American Prose Poems: From Poe to the Present, which appeared from Scribner in 2003. He teaches writing and literature in the graduate writing program of the New School in New York City. He is the editor of a new edition of The Oxford Book of American Poetry, a one-volume comprehensive anthology of poems from Anne Bradstreet to the present. He initiated The Best American Poetry series in 1988 and received a Guggenheim Fellowship a year later. He lives in New York City and in Ithaca, New York.









Progress Does Not Always Come Easy

As a legislator in my state
I drew up my first law to say
That citizens could never vote again
After they had passed away.

My fellow members faced that troubling issue
Bravely, locked in hard debate
On whether, after someone death had come
three years should be adequate

To let the family, recollecting him,
Determine how a loved one may
Have cast a vote if he had only lived
To see the later voting day,

My own neighbors warned me I had gone
Too far in changing what we always done
I lost the next campagne, and failed to carry
A single precinct with a cemetary.

Jimmy Carter


This poems is a about a man who drew up
his first law to say that citizens could never
vote again after they passed away. They had
a debate about it. So he lost the campagne
and failed to carry a single precinct with ceme-
tary.




Jimmy Carter was a poet writer. Who was born on June 23, 1923. He died May 18, 1967. He also wrote a few short
storty.






Life Is Fine by Langston HughesI went down to the river,
I set down on the bank.
I tried to think but couldn't,
So I jumped in and sank.

I came up once and hollered!
I came up twice and cried!
If that water hadn't a-been so cold
I might've sunk and died.

But it was Cold in that water! It was cold!

I took the elevator
Sixteen floors above the ground.
I thought about my baby
And thought I would jump down.

I stood there and I hollered!
I stood there and I cried!
If it hadn't a-been so high
I might've jumped and died.

But it was High up there! It was high!

So since I'm still here livin',
I guess I will live on.
I could've died for love--
But for livin' I was born

Though you may hear me holler,
And you may see me cry--
I'll be dogged, sweet baby,
If you gonna see me die.

Life is fine! Fine as wine! Life is fine!

This poem is about a man who went to the river bank
because he wanted to think but he couldn't. He jump
into the river and like to died. But by the water being
to cold he survived.