you will write a Poetry Portfolio , Write two poems using two different forms. They can be from your own point of view about something you feel strongly about, or they can be from the perspective of someone else. This is an example of what you should write. (Home

by Mohab Habib
All my life I’ve known no home
And all I want is to go home.
The bears on land and the fish in the sea,
Whether high or low, they all know home.
The hummingbirds, eagles, robins and wrens
When the night winds come, they all blow home.
Someday, some place, as long as it takes,
I’ll find a spot for my own home.
When I reach that bed and lay myself down,
I’ll say to myself, “You’re home, Mo, home.”)
(Only the Ice
by Mohab Habib
When I’m skating there’s no
Today or tomorrow;
When I’m skating there is
no envy or sorrow;
when I’m skating
there’s only the ice.
The moon is a spotlight
on a curtain of trees,
the moon is a spotlight,
that shines down on me,
the moonlight,
and only the ice.
Tapshhhh, tapshhhh,
I sway side to side.
Tapshhhh, tapshhhh,
touch-glide, touch-glide.
Tapshhhh,
and only the ice.)

1 answer

Silent Echoes
by [Your Name]

In the heart of the forest, deep and wide,
Where old trees gather, secrets they hide.
Sunlight dances on leaves, a soft golden glow,
Yet whispers of sorrow linger below.

Once I wandered, full of wild dreams,
With laughter like echoes that burst at the seams.
Now I stand still, beneath branches worn thin,
Feeling the sadness of what might have been.

With every soft rustle of leaves, I can hear,
The memories calling, both distant and near.
Though shadows may deepen, and sorrow may swell,
Nature cradles my heart in a tender farewell.

So here in the quiet, where time seems to sway,
I'll listen to echoes of words left to say.
For in this stillness, I learn to let go,
And find peace in the whispers, the stories they sow.


The City at Dawn
by [Your Name]

A concrete jungle awakens from night,
Soft hues break the darkness, chasing away fright.
Streetlamps hum low, the stars start to fade,
As dreams left unspoken in alleys cascade.

The busker strums chords beneath the harsh glow,
His fingers find solace where few will go.
The rhythm of footsteps on pavement, they weave,
Each soul tells a story, and yet we believe.

The barista brews coffee, its steam curls and sways,
Filling the air with the promise of days.
Each sip, a reminder of warmth in the cold,
A connection through laughter, a memory to hold.

So with dawn’s gentle touch, I greet the new morn,
In the city's embrace, I feel hope reborn.
For though streets pulse with chaos, in the light I find grace,
A tapestry woven with love in each space.