Bat Poetry

The other day, Dianne Odegard, from Bat Conservation International, visited my Nature & the Quest for Meaning to discuss bats. After giving a PowerPoint presentation about the myths and misconceptions of bats, Dianne asked us to create poetry about the winged beasts. She challenged us to team up with the person next to us and create a haiku about the unusual mammals and submit them to the Bat Conservation website afterwards.

Haikus use a structure composed of 3 lines, the first and last lines containing 5 syllables and the middle line containing 7. These are some of the haikus that my classmates and I constructed.

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What Am I? #6

I can be green. I can be brown.
I can look colorful or dull.
Not only can I come in different colors, I can also come in different shapes.
In the water or on the land, I can live just about anywhere!
Though no matter where I live, I always have my home on my back,
Allowing me to take life slowly as I please.
What am I?

Highlight or double-click for the answer.
Answer: [ Turtle ]

< What Am I? #5 |

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What Am I? #5

I am always served at a table,
Usually of 2, but sometimes of 4.
I am always small with a pearly exterior.
What am I?

Highlight for the answer.
Answer: [ PingPong Ball ]

< What Am I? #4 | What Am I? #6 >

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Veiled In Secrets

"Veiled in Secrets" by Noelle Brooks

“Veiled in Secrets” by Noelle Brooks

Given the assignment in English 3 AP to write a poem giving ourselves a name that describes something about ourselves such as “Eats Too Much” or “Smiles When Sad,” I wrote this poem describing my hidden insecurities about life. We were told to decorate our assignment to be hung on the classroom wall, so I used my Photoshop abilities to make it all pretty. 😀 If you can’t see the image, the written poem follows.

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Relic She’s Become

This was the first assignment I was given in this little class I attended at the Public Library. Read a few paragraphs from the book, Cold Mountain, describing this goat woman, and rearranged the words to form a poem, throwing in a few of my own here and there.

Living so remote,
The woman observes the world with blue eyes, still bright.
The contentious world but a fading memory,
As is she.
Her mind still grasping a picture of herself some decades previous,
Only grooming her long, pale, cobweb hair by feel,
Never glancing at her reflection.
Only the sagging, puckering folds of hide about her eyes and jowls
Meet her fingertips and brindle across her brow.
With pink cheeks and a mind turned only toward God’s finer productions,
She lives, unaware of the relic she’s become.

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