Some Poetry for the Long Holiday Weekend

Everything Will Be Okay

By Mrs. DiFalco’s English 8-1

I know that everything will be okay

but because of the virus, I am only able to sit at home.
Most of my days look the same.
I’m constantly washing hands,
trying to stay out of public.

I felt in my gut
that it would become something
much larger and more dangerous
than originally expected.

These past few weeks, our lives and values
Have been changing each day.

When I go outside for walks
(making sure to keep social distancing)
it feels like the world is empty,
and I know it’s not
but everybody
has been affected by it,
and I can see it in the people I know
and in the people I don’t. 

I feel worried about the community
as we go through changes and fears
that we have never faced before,
but we have to believe and have faith.

Trying to find the good is difficult, but I guess the good is
people having some time to themselves, time with family, time for getting more sleep.
Time to bake and draw and cook and read.
Gratitude for family and friends,
for people all over the country trying to contain the virus and keep us safe.

I’m thankful for the wonderful family I have 

because without them I don’t know what I would do at this time.

We know that everything will be okay
and living through this could change our way of thinking for the better,
teaching us lessons like: 
Faith will lead us out of darkness.

*This is a found poem that represents all 17 voices of Mrs. DiFalco’s English 8-1 class. 


The Colorful Leaf

By Philip I. ’26


In the summer 

How pretty I am

But so hard to see

No one can.


How I wish 

To show my colors

While sitting in a tree 

Up high and tall.


Waiting for the wind 

To swoosh-swoosh

And knock me out

To the bottom floor.


My colors have died, 

My prettiness gone,

And now the winter has come,

Life needs to start again.


Rusty Rain

By Philip I. ’26


Fun, but lonely

Sad, and annoying 

Board games, indoors

All so baloney


Rain that drip-draps 

And mud that split splats.


All that’s in me has been wrecked,

Wrecked by a big black wrecking ball.


No more Catch

No more basketball

No more playing

All so boring

As staring at nothing.


The Tree Out the Window

By Philip I. ’26


The tree

Full of wild animals

Who drink tea

The tree out the window

The one that shines

Like a blinking red star.


The holes 

One for each

Each family of animals

About a million

But only a dozen

Each can be seen from miles away


The branches 

Each one has different

Shapes and sizes

Some are dirty

Some are sparkling clean

Some are average like an average human.


The leaves 

The ones that 

Are beautiful

Red, orange, green

Uh, too tired to say more

But after the showcase is over 

Their life is over.


The tree out the window 

The leaves

The branches

The holes

The tree

All make that tree a unique tree.


The Smell of Pasta

By Philip I. ’26


The smell of pasta

Wakes me every day

And every night

The smell of pasta

Makes me jive


The tomato 

All steamy and red

Waiting to be squeezed 

Its red blood dripping like a vampire’s mouth.


The garlic

Takes me to the kitchen

Weaving it smell

Through the air

To the tiny crack of my door.


The parmesan 

Sitting patiently

Waiting to be dumped by me

Gulped all down 

And one crumble remaining.


The tomato

The garlic

The parmesan

All combined together

Makes pasta as sweet as ever.


The Big Mac

By Philip I. ’26


The big mac

All so fun to use

During free time and work

Going beep beep once in a while


I like to hear it chiming

Like the biggest bell of all time

I like to feel it buzzing

Like the biggest queen bee.


Times of happiness

Times of sadness

All of them stored

In one tiny microchip.


Parts of you rage

While others are ecstatic

Losing or winning 

Depends on your skill.


All so fun to use

Hear it in the morning

Hear it at night

And sending me off to school.


One-Way Up 

By Philip I. ’26


I go up

Up to the highest peak

Up to the acme

Up to Mount Everest

But never go down

Not to the bottom floor 

Not to the ocean

Not to the underground mines

When people see me 

On the long curvy path

And about to be 

The king of the world

I fall

Fall into the deep

The big fat monster’s belly

I stau

But when I’m saved

I run

Run to the freedom

Of the big yellow sun.


Son to Dog

By Philip I. ’26


Times have been drool 

Drool from an old stinky dog

Times have been isolated

Isolated like the great plains


Luck has neem dead

Dead like a rotten egg

Life has been in the sewer

All locked and never to come out


But with you on my side 

I’m the mighty beast

Like the tattered ugly duckling 

Who turns into a gorgeous swan


And I see that yesterday 

Was terrible 

But today is not

And the best days of my life are yet to come.


A Quilt Past Its Time

By Abigail N. ’26


I sat, carefully mending

Clothes and cloth heaped at my side,

When I caught a glimmer of blue

Buried amongst old sorrows and joys.


Carefully I drew out

That which had caught my attention –

Ah, yes.

 I remember.


The patches dull now, fluff and feathers leaking,

Beat up, parts worn, sanded smooth by time.

Ever plush, though threadbare, seams relinquishing

Their iron fisted grips to wearily wipe their brows.

Each square of color outlined,

Though some damaged,

With embroidery.



What caught my attention the most:

Color popped from the edges, daring me to look;

Perfect, undamaged and bold.


Gingerly I inserted my needle and thread and

Kept sewing.


Dirt on The Drawer

By Fiona P. ’26

Opening up the aged

Cherry wood chest

Of my grandfather’s

Where did it come from, I ask

New York, in the forties

Or even aboard the tight, odorous ship

The rolling hills of the emerald isle

Before the journey

Clothes and memories 

Here are held

Memories of the white, clean, hospital room

Of the crinkled, departing face

Of my grandfather, gone

Perhaps one day,

 The burden will be lifted

Till then, with each opening

I remember.

The weight on my shoulders

As I threw in the dirt

The weight on my hands

As I opened the drawer.


Three Haikus

Rani B. ’27


All the great workers

Doing everything they can

To help us survive


We cannot leave the house

We are completely stressed

And equally scared


This is horrible

This is unpredictable

But humans are strong


Would He Come?

By Aran B. ’25

“He would not come” — John Steinbeck

The dire situation

Needs someone important to have a fixation

Would he come?

No, he would not come.

Then we shall go!

In silence we move ourselves

To him

Will he help?

Maybe he shall help!

No, apparently, he will not help!

Why does he not help?

Why does he not come?

Is it hate?

Is it laziness?

Or is it something else?

A deeper hate that runs deep in both of our bloodlines

That puncture in our skins will leave a scar that lasts forever

A reminder of the added layer of terror that shall forever engulf myself

Slight darkness persists in me as my meaningless life begins to fade away…

Going, going…..

… Gone ….


An Ode to Winter

Juno Y. ’26


The snow begins to fall,

In small, delicate flurries.

The snow begins to fall,

Icicles dripping from the trees.

The snow begins to fall,

Covering the ground in white.

The snow begins to fall,

Reflecting a brilliant light.

The snow begins to fall,

Each snowflake’s beauty rare.

The snow begins to fall,

Winter is in the air.

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