Vashti's Memoir Poem Anthology A Collection of my prized Treasures. memories.

Hi, and welcome to my Poetry Anthology!

In this little anthology, you will find my most treasured possessions. Memories. I have been fond of these particular memories my whole life. And now, to share them with you, would be an absolute pleasure. Enjoy!

The Reward

There I sit,

Ears tuned out,

Dress rubbing against floor,

Fretting,

Mouth in a thin line.

Then,

The Principal announces something for my ears,

They sense something tasteful,

I fidget in anticipation,

My spirits soar,

The Principal takes a long pause.

He waits,

I wait,

On the verge of jumping up,

Because,

I just know it’s going to be me.

Finally,

Finally,

Finally,

He speaks.

I listen,

Awaiting the first vibrant letter,

Of the name,

I lingered for.

Big mistake.

My whole body droops,

In response to The Principal’s words.

But then,

I remember,

That I still have a chance.

My chance has arrived,

The Principal takes a heavy breath,

And once again,

Finally,

Finally,

Finally,

He speaks.

I rise off the floor,

The crowd goes wild,

Basking in the glory of their applause,

I glide gracefully across the glistening marble,

To retrieve my reward.

The Reward

One of my best memories that I was itching to write about the time I won a writing competition when I was about 7 years old. I was doubtful that I would actually make this memory, but I did!

The Sea of Terror

Her mind on challenge ahead,

The girl gingerly steps in,

Her coach’s words echo still,

And her heart pounds at the depth within.

She plunges into the unknown world,

Her hands flail here and there,

Her jaw clenches in determination,

She thinks that by making her do this, her parents were being very unfair .

Her muscles ache with effort,

Her face burns with shame,

Her hands slice through the water,

And on seeing that everyone else had reached the end, her heart started to flame.

Her feet sink down,

Her fire burns out,

Her fears turn to the water,

Thinking that she wasn’t as good a swimmer as a trout.

Then came the miracle,

Breathing bubbles out through her nose,

Her hands grazing the rocky surface at the edge,

But whether she actually grabs it, who knows!

The Sea of Terror

This little poem was about the first time I swam in the deep end of the pool. I was absolutely terrified, as I had never done this before. Actually, the coach just plonked me in, so, you can imagine my terror.

Looking Down

On top of the world,

A whole kingdom,

To look down upon.

The many aspects,

Of the bustling,

Contented,

And chaotic,

Mini city.

The wind whistling cheerfully,

Brushing past.

The warm, welcoming,

Giant round star,

The carefree nonchalant provider,

Tickles,

Teases,

And finally settles down,

To give the eagerly waiting community,

A dose of its morning light.

The song of the early morning chatter,

Floats up,

Muffled but beautiful,

With the ease of a butterfly.

The scent of the rough rope,

Wafts around,

Like a familiar friend.

The ant like creatures below,

Trade trinkets,

Play games,

And have fun.

Arrogant youngsters,

Show off to impress,

And laughter echos,

As they fall down and turn as red as a ripe tomato.

Looking down from the giant fortress,

You have a perfect view,

Of what is below my special place,

On top of the great web of rope.

Looking Down

When Mr. Kay tasked us to write about our special getaway place, where we go when we are stressed, I knew exactly what, or should I say, where, to write about. In this poem I am at the top of a climbing frame. I had never actually thought about it, my special place. But as soon as Mr.Kay said it, I knew that my special place would be somewhere high up where I could watch life go on.

My Uncle

My uncle is six feet,

But he is ever so sweet!

He can swing me up and down,

And turn around a frown!

He can put me on his knee,

While I sit there filled with glee!

My uncle is six feet,

But he is ever so sweet!

He can find just the perfect shoes,

When I don’t know which ones to choose!

He can make time for me,

Even when he is as busy as a bee!

My uncle is six feet,

But he is ever so sweet!

He reaches the places I can’t even see,

In just the count of one, two, three!

He also goes to work on Saturday,

And never takes a holiday!

My uncle is six feet,

But he is ever so sweet!

He looks really good in office suits,

But, he doesn’t really like to wear boots.

He is super star,

Who is as sweet as candies in a jar!

My Uncle

When we were set with the task of writing about a special person in our lives, I really had to rack my brains, since I have so many special people in my life. I finally decided on my uncle, who, as you know is six feet but very sweet.

My Hideaway

A cluttered table groans in despair,

With a mountain of utterly squashed items piled on it.

The cabinets sigh with relief,

When their doors groan open,

For their daily stretch.

A band of paintings,

Bask in the glory of being put up on the door,

And feel that they were the ones worthy of this privilege.

A very business like bed,

Sits,

Neatly done up,

Wears it’s best sheets,

And waits for an exhausted occupant.

A multitasking window,

Sits,

And observes the happenings that surround it.

An eavesdropping closet,

Secretly whispers the conversations that go on beyond,

To it’s snoopy but stylish residents.

Wise old books,

Linger patiently like old wizards,

Wait to give an answer,

To anybody who seeks one.

And everyone feels sorry for the floor,

That cries when a pair of feet bombard it.

My Hideaway

This is my personification poem. Personification is when you take a non-living thing a living quality. I wrote a poem where almost every line contains some kind of personification. It is about my bedroom, where there are so many interesting objects to personify.

The Bold Struggle

On her toes,

Knees poised,

Waiting,

For the precise time,

To pounce.

Then,

A sudden flurry of movement,

Startles the eagerly lingering team,

Who are sitting down awaiting their turns.

Her feet fumble,

Her jaw tightens,

Her arms grip and stiffen.

But then,

Her feet still fumble,

Her jaw still tightens,

Though,

This time,

Her arms propel her exhausted body upwards.

She then moves swiftly,

Like a mouse,

Who has learnt the way of stealth,

And is scampering for its treat.

Then,

She uses the last hint of her energy,

As her goal comes into sight.

Then,

She grasps the black tape stuck onto the rope,

And stays there,

Frozen in the understanding,

That the glory of being at the top of the rope,

Was all hers for that minute to behold.

The Bold Struggle

My bold struggle was when I was climbing up the rope in gymnastics. It was the first time I had actually done it. I was elated that I got to the top, and shouted out to my coach.

Thank you, hope you enjoyed!

Thank you so much for looking through my anthology. I have put a lot of time and effort into each and everyone of the poems displayed here. I really hope you enjoyed reading all of my poems and will remember them.
-Vashti

Credits:

Created with images by jot.punkt - "s t u v w" • stevepb - "pencil eraser notepad" • Aquilatin - "water swimming pool blue" • monkeyatlarge - "Sky" • thinboyfatter - "Two Teddy Boys." • firepile - "Bedroom" • Brad.K - "Rope" • miradeshazer - "paper pen notebook"

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