Poetry Anthology

By: Matt Kennedy


Student poet, Matt Kennedy, is a 14-year-old boy from Fort Worth, Texas. His beginnings of poetry started his 3rd grade year. Matt is part of a country-style, sports-minded, living family of 5; consisting of two twin brothers, Gavin and Logan Kennedy, who are both 13, and of course, his two lovely parents, Jeff and Teri. As you read of his poems, notice his creativity of the mixture between the sports he plays, and the elements of how a country-man would dream of living. These efforts truly tell the story of his theme and personality growing up.

Where I'm From

I am from golf clubs, from wooden bats

and the drive to hit a ball long and far.

I am from the open ends of a sports-held backyard

(Extant, authentic, the green grass is candy to visitors' eyes.)

I am from the steep-cut grass, the athlete's favorite bed,

in how they stand on it, jumping joyfully various times,

and how they get put on the grass somehow, never wanting

to get back up on their own.

I am from laughter and minium, from Troy and Hardman to Kennedy.

I am from the flow-goers and entertainers,

from doing what we are told and always keepin' a smile.

I am from: "God grant me the serenity,

to accept the things I cannot change,

courage to change what I can,

and wisdom to know the difference"; referring back to my mom's

necklace every time I forget, until I finally have it by memory.

I'm from southern North Carolina and generations of

top athletes, rare steaks, and homemade pasta. From the greatest

of a grandfather who survived through poverty, dying to get something to

eat everyday growing up,

then the way he brought the tradition of sports and

Navy service into the family.

I am from the moments of putting for par,

making a 3,

scoring a touchdown,

and even hitting a home-run, setting a new success to more generations

that come in the pedigree.

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9/11 Narrative

I am a young twelve-year-old boy

and I am always willing to show my joy.

I am a young boy who on that very day,

I had a mind of a man.

That very day was September 11th,

the sun was shinin' and babies were cryin',

on my way to school seemed alright while walking through the city.

And then, I saw a passenger plane roaming right over me,

its engines were roarin' and looked,

as if somebody crazy was flyin' it,

and one who wanted to kill a lot of people in that ol' plane above me.

I knew it, I knew it would've crashed somehow.

It had sadly hit one of those identical towers that I see everyday.

Goodbye tower.

After the enormous crash I noticed, with my common sense, that

debris was flyin' everywhere from the tower.

Big amounts of smoke and everything!

Then at the very next moment, 3 fine women were standing in fear,

waiting for their lives to come to an end.

But it was not my job to "just watch", my mother always said.

So then I attempted with all my might and fight, to pull these 3 women out of harm's way.

I did.

As of what I remember that very day,

I saved 3 women who were twice my age, and twice my size as well.

Even though I was in ragin' pain with blood

gushing between the insides of my two legs.

And now, the mind of a man I had that day,

would probably last me a legacy!

I am a boy who on that very day,

I had a mind of a man.

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The Ode of a Baseball's Affairs

A baseball's affairs,

looking at you with glare

its looks of downward eyebrows,

and frowns in its sealed-closed mouth

waiting for its favorite time.

Strikeouts, errors, hard-grinded play,

you name it, a baseball knows what to say

to a batter, with its mouth sealed,

being held by its best friend: the pitcher,

waiting for failure and violence to come.

To a shortstop, earning most action

where errors are made and embarrassments are played

by folks and fans, who are customed to hate.

A baseball affairs by its own physics,

hit-batsmen, the worst feeling in all of it.

Fights, strikes, might, made of hard rock, isn't it right?

If I were you, I would look out,

a baseball is always looking for its route

to grind with pain, agony, and pityness of effects,

toward its most favorite time.

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The Structure of the Tree


our first-to see

friends, who provide

so much, for the mobile species.

Houses for animals, shelters from

the cold and rain, oxygen,

shade from the sizzling hot.

How could you not say?

Trees, our first-to-see friends.

So big, yet so alive.

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Love Sonnet

You were made as of elements from life at its reality,

you look as of what I see everyday as I awake,

in what makes my day, everyday.

You most certainly tell the story.

Your wide eyes, so open it gives off the heat

as of the powerful sun would.

Your tight-tone skin, it's as smooth as the roads

we always wish to get to drive on everywhere we go.

Then of the peaceful night, I watch over the moon, and

your bright of white teeth show from a smile of a

goodnight wish, then a kiss,

that puts me to a lovely sleep.

Before sleep has come, we do our tradition of the

eskimo kiss.

I rub against your broad, prominent, button-like nose

in what reminds me of the bumps and blockades I encounter

everyday, but I always take the time to look back in

your luminous eyes,

in how my days truly get started.

In whatever way,

you make my day, everyday.

Just keep telling the story.

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My favored selections out of my anthology were "The Ode of a Baseball's Affairs" and the "Love Sonnet". Repetition was key in writing these two poems because it really reminds readers of the central themes, written mainly toward the beginning parts of both poems. I also used majorities of comma in punctuation because it gives readers more understanding of where my lines are coming from and of how it relates to the themes of the poems I've published, and also putting more emotion into readers as they read. I did not use a lot of rhyme when writing my poems, but when I did, or didn't at any time, I always had commas to back my placement up. Focus, repetition, comma, and proper placement are all my central points in writing a meaningful poem.