Sporks
I like sporks
They aren't quite forks
They aren't quite spoons
If you think I'm wrong I'll say you goon!
You can eat them with anything
You can use them for many things
Sporks can cut meat
Sporks can pick up a beet
I made this poem up just now
I like it better than using something with brown cow
As for all my posts
Just think of them as mere ghosts
This is the one posts I enjoy
For much creativity I had to employe

Daine's Entry:

Spring Rose

Deep, deep, underground, quietly there she will lay,
Never once seeing the light of day.
Above ground, however, everywhere is white,
The snow refusing to leave until the time is just right.
Down underground our small one waits,
Until the snow melts and the ground opens its gates.
Finally one day, out comes the sun,
And small children run around, having much fun.
The ground is dry, too dry for her who needs water,
But she’s saved when comes with a watering can, a gardener.
Finally, she starts to grow, and at what a rapid pace,
And one day, yes one day, the world sees her tiny green face.
She’s still quite small, and vulnerable too,
Something that may go unnoticed by me or you.
But the gardener, no, he sees it all,
And he won’t let the young one fall.
With gentle hands, and tender loving care,
He gives her a chance to show her face, ever so fair.
Over the weeks, taller she grows
And soon she’ll blossom, the gardener knows.
His work is rewarded one day in spring,
By a most marvelous and beautiful thing.
She’s all grown up, and shows her face to the sky,
And at her beauty the gardener lets out a happy sigh.
A beautiful shade of red, that causes much bliss,
Redder than red, and love’s first sweet kiss.
She grows and flourishes all summer long,
As the birds fly around and sing song after song.
Fall soon comes, and the birds go away,
And sadly, so sadly, her health starts to sway.
So, as a last and final dying act,
She makes with the gardener a single pact.
She sends into the earth one small seed,
That will need, until next spring, nothing on which to feed.
The snows then come and she droops down to the ground,
Never again to ever be found.
All winter long the seed sleeps patiently,
As the gardener looks out the window anxiously.
When, one fine day, spring comes around,
The gardener look out and smiles at what he has found.
It’s a flower, yet another beautiful rose,
Just like her mother, getting redder as she grows.

Erick's Entry:

"The Poem"
I speak
I speak and no one hears
My voice echoes off the walls
And I'm surrounded, but I'm alone

I try to make sense of it
But the harder I try, the more hopeless it seems
Do they not want to hear?
Or do I not matter?

I scream
But the louder I scream, the louder the echo
screams back at me
It taunts me
And even though I'm surrounded, I'm still alone

I try to be them
I think that if I'm one of them, they'll finally hear
But the echo just grows louder
And it's deafening, and it hurts me

But still I try
Because the harder I try, the more I know
I can hear myself
And that is worth it all

His Majesty's Entry:

The Secret Adobe

A place of splender and spells,
Of happiness and ringing bells;
of mystery and magic,
"Visions Fantasmic!"
Pizza fights galore,
tea rebellions and more!
Surrounded by the mists of Ireland breeze,
lots of nice people here, including an addict to cheese!
The Secret Adobe is a place one never gets old to roam,
The Secret Adobe is my home

Nora's Entry:

This is a poem
Oh, what a poem it is
Poetry tastes good