Chapter I
I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in.
I am lost... I am hopeless.
It isn't my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.
Chapter II
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don't see it.
I fall in again.
I can't believe I am in this same place.
But it isn't my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.
Chapter III
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it there.
I still fall in... it's a habit... but,
my eyes are open.
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.
Chapter IV
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.
Chapter V
I walk down another street.
- Portia Nelson
Life has loveliness to sell,
All beautiful and splendid things,
Blue waves whitened on a cliff,
Soaring fire that sways and sings,
And children's faces looking up
Holding wonder like a cup.
Life has loveliness to sell,
Music like a curve of gold,
Scent of pine trees in the rain,
Eyes that love you, arms that hold,
And for your spirit's still delight,
Holy thoughts that star the night.
Spend all you have for loveliness,
Buy it and never count the cost;
For one white singing hour of peace
Count many a year of strife well lost,
And for a breath of ecstasy
Give all you have been, or could be.
Were I a fish beneath the sea,
Shell-paved and pearl-brocaded,
Would you come down and live with me,
In groves by coral shaded?
No washing would we have to do;
Our cushions should be sponges--
And many a great ship's envious crew
Should watch our merry plunges!
By A., E. and M. Keary, from
Enchanted Tulips and Other Verses for Children
, MacMillan,
1912
by Laura E. Richards
Once there was an elephant,
Who tried to use the telephant--
No! no! I mean an elephone
Who tried to use the telephone--
(Dear me! I am not certain quite
That even now I've got it right.)
Howe'er it was, he got his trunk
Entangled in the telephunk;
The more he tried to get it free,
The louder buzzed the telephee--
I fear I'd better drop the song
Of elephop and telephong!)
by Leroy F. Jackson
Grandpa dropped his glasses once
In a pot of dye,
And when he put them on again
He saw a purple sky.
Purple fires were rising up
From a purple hill,
Men were grinding purple cider
at a purple mill.
Purple Adeline was playing
With a purple doll;
Little purple dragon flies
Were crawling up the wall.
And at the supper-table
He got crazy as a loon
From eating purple apple dumplings
With a purple spoon.
by Laura E. Richards
Antonio, Antonio
Was tired of living alonio.
He thought he would woo
Miss Lissamy Lu,
Miss Lissamy Lucy Molonio.
Antonio, Antonio,
Rode off on his polo-ponio.
He found the fair maid
In a bowery shade,
A-sitting and knitting alonio.
Antonio, Antonio,
Said, "If you will be my ownio,
I'll love you true,
And I'll buy for you
An icery creamery conio!"
Oh, Nonio, Antonio!
You're far too bleak and bonio!
And all that I wish,
You singular fish,
Is that you will quickly begonio."
Antonio, Antonio,
He uttered a dismal moanio;
Then he ran off and hid
(Or I'm told that he did)
In the Antecatarctical Zonio.
by Walter De La Mare
Some one came knocking
At my wee, small door;
Some one came knocking,
I'm sure - sure - sure;
I listened, I opened,
I looked to left and right,
But naught there was a-stirring
In the still dark night;
Only the busy beetle
Tap-tapping in the wall,
Only from the forest
The screech-owl's call,
Only the cricket whistling
While the dewdrops fall,
So I know not who came knocking,
At all, at all, at all.
by Emma Lazarus
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
By Mary Robinson
Pavement slipp’ry, people sneezing,
Lords in ermine, beggars freezing;
Titled gluttons dainties carving,
Genius in a garret starving.
Lofty mansions, warm and spacious;
Courtiers cringing and voracious;
Misers scarce the wretched heeding;
Gallant soldiers fighting, bleeding.
Wives who laugh at
passive spouses;
Theatres, and meeting-houses;
Balls, where simp’ring
misses languish;
Hospitals, and groans of anguish.
Carpe Diem you said
And I ponder that line as I sit here in bed
Seize the day; don’t stop ‘til you’re dead
Don’t fight with your fists, but with your head.
Be the rebel they used to be
Be the inspiration you want to see
Chase your dreams, fulfill your destiny
It was meant for you, like the sand for the sea
Go after the life that you want
Turn away as they tease and taunt
Even though their words will haunt
And they tower over you and daunt.
Be free and choose your life
Fulfill the dreams you dream at night
Follow your heart, it’s always right
Never let your dreams go out of sight.
You told me to hold on
To the things that fill my heart with song
Don’t let them tell you that you’re wrong
Don’t be afraid though the road is long.
And I won’t forget these things you said
Carpe diem ‘til you’re dead
I won’t fight with my fists, but with my head
It’s the most powerful tool in your tool shed.
MaryEllen Gozzo (Middle School Student) 2014