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A flower with pink petals



Bee’s zooming from one to another



Can they really dance



Dance the waltz



Everyone loves to see



Flowers with dancing bees.


Dancing Bees


Big, Bad

Howling, running, stalking

Home at Night

Gray Wolf

Home at Night

Blinding Autumn sky

With red and brown in patterns

Falling leaves in winds


Autumn’s Leaves

The sky became that of shatter glass 



Air was nothing of Salvation

Cold and quiet

Souls whose breath will never have a voice

Static filled the ears of those listening

A countdown in mind 

To one day, a safe heaven

Those of flamed chests -

Those of pained scars -

Those of heavy bodies 

Those who mutter fanatic thought

Those of faded minds

Never hear those of phoenix nations 

Those who fight -

Those who breathe -

Those who rise -

Phoenix Nations


Multi-Work Poems

Jennifer Clemente

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Page 16

Page 17


Found Poem

Blackout Poem

ABC Poem

Cinquain Poem

Haiku Poem

Bio Poem

Shape Poem

Acrostic Poem

Elegy Poem

Tanka Poem

List Poem





Ball of gas.

Light all across.

Burning to the touch.

Eyes of many, blinded by a glare.

Millions of sisters and brothers alike.

Older and younger. Light years

Away from the present

Even future.



How many stars do you think are in they sky

Everywhere you see light flashing in night

Right as you breath a star is born

So is a star dieing

Hectic wars of flame

Every star is in the present

Yourself is in it's past.


Goodbye Mother

Goodbye Mother

From all kindness that you gave

I selfishly want more


Whom painted from the soul

And was so great


You’ll be missed.

In the moonlight sky

Whom shields me from all that stalks

Dancing in my cloak

A somber embrace covers me

Whose light cares after those whom hide away.

Lady Night

All my teachers gave me homework.

But I rather do my quesswork.

Such as playing Final Fantasy Seven.

While dodging bullets with Even.

Watching Mark as he scream and flail.

Or watching Edward’s boat sail.

I guess that’s just me.

And I wonder why my grades are below a D.

Death of Me



Boring, wishful, thinking, dreaming

Son of Mark

Who loved to watch clouds

Felt tired of constant schedules and boring tasks

Scared of repetition

Moved to a city of constant news and flashing lights

Born in Wyoming, aged in New York


City Lights