By Elyse LeBeau
Elyse LeBeau was born in Arlington Texas, and is currently living in Rhome Texas. She began to write poetry this past summer about her friends and family. She has written five poems including, a Where I’m from poem, Narrative poem, Structure poem, Ode poem, and a Sonnet poem. Each poem includes a little bit of herself within the stanzas.
Where I'm From
I am from max volume,
from dull number two pencils, and a thousand wishes.
I am from the letters thrown in the pond,
(Which are still visible to read,
if the sun creates enough glare on the water).
I am from pinecones, bluebonnets.
I am from fires on days below 40 and homemade ice cream on days that pass 90,
from Payne and LeBeau.
I am from the conversational and the confident.
From the monsters in the closet and the boy in the stop lights.
I am from the citizens on their knees with their arms starched wide
exchanging words with the king upstairs.
From the worn hospital on Randal road,
and the sweet smell of chocolate chip cookies and brownies I come home to every so often.
From the clumsy men on Christmas Eve
and the girl with the broken tooth
and the boy with autism.
I am from the films my family watches to re-live the happy memories.
Too far (Narrative)
He looked to his left and to his right and they were already staring at him.
The words exchanged between the groups of students are unpredictable.
A day passes and he begins to find things out about himself
that he didn’t even know.
Walking to seventh period, more eyes were fixed on him than usual.
The pointed fingers and whispers caused him to shake due to his anxiety,
but he never let them see.
He heard his name repetitively along with words such as
“ugly”, “different”, “annoying”, “mistake,”
and began to believe them.
Tear fell from his bright blue eyes,
which he thought so highly of not too long ago.
He became quiet, which became violent.
He swallowed the pills thinking that maybe they would make him
attractive, fit in, loved.
He told himself that it felt good not to feel anything.
His funeral was the following day and they showed up.
They had unsteady hands, and wet eyes.
Little did they know, they were making themselves cry.
Once is too much (Structure)
The new kids
to high school just
Wanted to fit in,
so they tried it.
“Only once” they
told everyone. Once
became twice, and
twice became a
habit. Before they
knew it, they were
in too deep. They
lost control over
their minds, and
strived for nothing
except for the meet
up after school.
The deep, the meaningful (Ode)
Morning tides and night tides wash up the worlds fondest treasures,
that starts sparks in children’s eyes.
[It sings to the animals beneath itself] and shows comfort to those above.
Its starts up a disturbance for the men sailing, but only makes them stronger.
[Like us, it’s always changing and growing.]
An image of ourselves, it appears so simple but contains so much depth within itself,
which only certain people are able to see.
[The way the ocean dances] when violent gushes of wind strike creates a show for every eye
and how the[ waves wash up people’s wishes]
and how it has seen some of the widest smiles can only put me into awe.
The [gentle touch] it gives, which runs individually through each finger,
send reassurance to us that no one else is able to portray.
A bliss, a contentment, a paradise, the ocean.
I suppose love can be compared to trees,
the leaves fall as the seasons are changing.
It has all of us looking for hope and begging on our knees,
while in our heads we have so many scenarios that we are arranging.
We tell ourselves that love will make us better,
but some of us believe that’s just a trick.
I often ask myself why I wrote him so many letters,
because it all ended so quick.
Then again, in the spring the leaves will grow back,
and the bruises on our hearts will heal.
Our souls will recover from all the cracks,
and pain is something we will no longer feel.
So maybe love is both bad and good,
because it just adds another story that makes us who we are to our childhood.