Everything Else

Poetry can be either hard or easy. If you get inspired to do something then you could run off five or six easy.
However, if you aren't inspired it is an arduous process that can feel like it's ripping your soul into tiny pieces.
Hey, I could write a poem about that.

I think that poetry can be best defined by "Everything else" or, "If you can't classify it then it's a poem"

Anyway, we've been writing poems in class and I actually like a few of mine.
These couple were inspired by being led around and touching things while blindfolded.
Seeing as all the class pretty much knew where all the things in the school were it wasn't that difficult to guess what everything was.

Mine are in haiku.
Five-seven-five is cool.
It excites my mind.

Lock
Small and cold dial.
Expected. I thought of it.
Think of something new.

Vendor
Huh. No change in it.
I wish my hand was smaller.
No free drink for me.

Table
I can fit under.
I shouldn’t rub it too much.
I don’t want splinters

Another one we were told to write had to begin with "If someone put a gun to my head"

Oh dread
If someone put a gun to my head.
I think that I would wish them dead.
Should they ask “Is your name Fred?”
I’d say “I wish that I had stayed in bed”
They would say “Want to eat lead?”
I reply: “Of course not sir, for I am Ted”
“Oh dear” they’d say “You’re a herring, Red.”
A shot rings out. He falls, soon to be bled.Should this scene happen, I will have soon fled.

For this last one we were given slips of paper with places around town on them and told to go there and write.

The Sanctuary
The prickly limbs of the pine trees shield me from the harsh sun as the willow branches tentatively weave a cloak to shroud me from the blaring noise.
It is hot out, but in this sanctuary it is cool.
The ever encroaching din is silenced for a moment, the trees breathe a sigh of relief.
Almost as soon as the quiet began, the blare begins anew.
The neverending war between Tranquility and Dissonance.
A lone bird strikes up a chorus.
Fighting an everlosing battle he sings harmony to the peaceful lead of the trees.
Their music cuts a hole in the wall of noise and another sanctuary is born.
Perhaps this battle may yet be won.