Saturday, February 11, 2012
My piclit
<a href="http://www.piclits.com/viewpoem.aspx?PoemId=138455"><img src="http://www.piclits.com/piclit-image/0/138/138455.png" alt="PicLit from PicLits.com" style="padding: 31px 8px 15px 10px; width: 260; background-image: url(http://www.piclits.com/assets/images/piclit-thumb-background.png); background-repeat: no-repeat;" suppress-context-menu="true" /></a><br /><a href="http://www.piclits.com/viewpoem.aspx?PoemId=138455" style="padding-left: 4px;">See the full PicLit at PicLits.com</a>
Friday, February 10, 2012
My wonder poem
Layers
By Zachary Mashaal
Why do onions make you cry?
When reminiscing those times gone by?
Visiting your grandfather’s grave, remembering his voice telling me to behave.
When reminiscing those times gone by?
Visiting your grandfather’s grave, remembering his voice telling me to behave.
Why does a bully never see the tears? Why do the bullied stay quiet year after year?
Not wanting to let go before they fly, at the airport with that long inevitable sigh.
Not wanting to let go before they fly, at the airport with that long inevitable sigh.
That eighth birthday when your Dad couldn’t stay.
The final baseball game where no one came to see you play.
Your Grandmother slowly drifts away as she forgets your name day after day.
The final baseball game where no one came to see you play.
Your Grandmother slowly drifts away as she forgets your name day after day.
A man’s best friend lost and not found.
Your pal that you share secrets with is no longer around.
Your Father no longer having a job. Nightly listening to your mother’s frightful sobs.
Your pal that you share secrets with is no longer around.
Your Father no longer having a job. Nightly listening to your mother’s frightful sobs.
Many memories that say goodbye.
That is why onions make you cry.
That is why onions make you cry.
Monday, February 6, 2012
my metaphor poem
The Fiery Beast
By Zachary Mashaal
The fog strangled the land
With beautiful green trees defenceless
Birds wings frozen chirping in silence
Black burning ashes filling the blue glimmering river
Nature in blindness
Peeking at the top of the snowy mountain
Green grass turning grey and dull
Boulders crumbling down the hill
The hungry waits like a predator for nature’s next victim
As it leaves the forest dead.
my noun poem
Growing
Noun Poem by Zachary Mashaal
Underneath the wet and damp soil
The slimy earthworm twists and turns
Burrowing itself deeper in the earth.
The large green tree with a thick, round trunk
With beautiful, juicy ripe fruit dangling from its braches
The skins are the colours of autumn with deep crimsons,
Crisp golden and drab olives.
In the distance were crops with corn silks blowing in the wind
The smell of pungent, green chillies lingered in the air.
A curious, grey piglet snorting through the fields looking for a meal,
Rooted through the corn.
Further away, a young girl is heard singing
Strolling through the snow covered mountains
She and her big, scruffy, gold dog.
An old tattered Greek coin and a six sided die in her pocket
She and her faithful companion climbed
To the top of the rocky trails of the high mountains.
She ascended so high
The only thing between her and the sky
Were fluffy white mashed potatoes.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
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