Jeff1

__POEM NUMBER 1__ = **Sassafras** **and Catbrier** =

Catbrier, waxy and strong, tastes like apple skins, dried up, and sour. Sassafras is like cold water, after a day in the dessert. Sweet. Refreshing.

The Catbrier is waxy, like a store bought apple, feeling sticky, and icky, like sap from a pine cone. Sassafras is soft, like the softest felt, not flawed at all.

You look at the Sassafras and see a small tree, a tree without bark, but the Sassafras is patient waiting, and knowing, that one day, it will become a tree. The Catbrier looks like a shrub, something it always will be, never, ever, will it be a tree.

The rustle of the leaves of the Sassafras is faint, flapping gently, like a giant fan. The Catbrier is flapping wildly in the wind, thinking of the beauty of its wild dance.

The Sassafras smells like soft ferns growing in the forest. The Catbrier thinks of its exotic sent, though all it is, is a waxy smell, icky and uninviting,

The Catbrier, tackling hither and wither, tripping straggling hikers in their unawares, daunting. The Sassafras lives in harmony, soft, and out of the way.

The Sassafras is as polite as a gentleman, while the Catbrier is as polite as pirate.

The Sassafras, lively and fare, is as soft as silk. Green, calming, peaceful. Composed, in an elegant air, yet not snotty, lending a hand, some food, some water, to the hungry traveler. Catbrier winds and turns, all over the place, snotty as a spoiled girl. Pushing plants out, in its own desire for space. Hiding in the woods, looking like a shrub, and thinking of its own beauty.

Sassafras is tall, slender, taking no space other than necessary for it to spread, focusing on going up, rather than out. Sooner or later, it will turn to the beautiful tree, while the Catbrier will always be a shrub.

// Though the thoughts of the Catbrier are self centered, thinking of its own beauty, but in the end, the Sassafras is the one with the glory, and the beauty. // SASSAFRAS

CATBRIER

__POEM NUMBER 2__

** Spinosaurus ** By: Jefferson Li, Yellow group

The Spinosaurus lives in the forest. Devouring all but the forest, the plants, in a violent trance. A living prehistoric Godzilla, stomping in the trees, but not in France.

The only thing the T-rex feared. Monstrous in size, 40 ft. in the sky. A giant crane, with claws and teeth. Towering above humans, towering like trees, it hunted in the woods, without a disguise.

The back its spine was a large fan, colorful and dangerous, used to blow the heat outside, or suck the heat inside.

Though the Spinosaurus was mighty and mean, the skin, if you felt it, was a leathery touch, (a leather seat, if you please), if you get close enough, which nobody could. Why? Read on!

Godzilla would have envied the Spinosaurus’s teeth. Like giant stake knives, the Spinosaurus was a living drawer of knives.

Animals fled in terror when the smelled the scent of this amazing dino, for it had a scent that all could recognize, a stinky sock in a mint wrapper.

The stomp of this dino could be heard from a Las Vegas casino, from the dino, all the way in Australia. The crunch and the creak of the sound was enough to scare a well trained hound.

// Many people thought dinos were cool; wait ‘till you see this one, you fool! //

__ POEM NUMBER 3 __
** __Fire, part of nature__ ** **By Jefferson Li, homeroom 309**

You have seen nature The texture But have you thought of nature?

It roars, it howls, it bites, and burns Though it slowly learns Not to jump or churn Or to burn a nearby fern

The fire crackles in merriment And casts a warm glow, It scatters its light, and dances in the wind, so fine Like a butterfly, it is so divine

As the flames slowly die down The cold rushes in, with a huge frown Until the fire is up again, and sending the cold downtown

The fire, a ruby, or perhaps a jasper Is deep, like the ocean. Its flickering light a sign of happiness.

The smell of wood smoke Is as welcoming as a home to a bloke Cheerful, even better than an ice chilled coke

Lovely, warm, deep, red, somewhere to be, to huddle around While the cold surrounds.

Smoke spirals up like a giant ribbon Seeing all, even great Britain. Taller than any structure man made, so mighty and fittin’ For it is part of nature, and nature rules all under the sky.

//Trust in the government// //Trust in the leaders.// //Faith in fire, and in nature//

__ POEM 3 __ ** What the Ocean thinks  ** **  (From the Oceans perspective)  ** By: Jefferson Li   The thing that the ocean sees When it opens its eyes? People pondering pickles, pondering ponds, pondering peas What is so interesting about these topics? It just defies all of these! If there is another thought, please let it not be peas But, what a surprise It is   Some thinking thinkers think only about what other thinking thinkers are thinking about them! How utterly pointless is that? Where are my waves, that makes the scene complete? You guessed it, none. Where is my roar that gives the sound? The roar as loud as a lion? Once again, none. Where is my gaping maw that gives it its formality and image? Nowhere. So why does mankind like this so much? Why does mankind think of things so far away? Like mars, or the Milky Way When they have me, the ocean, next to them, not so far away? Are all of mankind as blind as fruit bats? Fine, let them have their own way. I think that the thinking thinkers are annoying by thinking the unthinkable Are they run by an annoying TV cable? Humans want what is out of their reach, So much for the smart thinkers that think! Please just settle on a beach. Nobody has been on it except for a leech Sigh; please just come on my beach.

__ POEM 3 __ ** What the Ocean thinks  ** **  (From the Oceans perspective)  ** By: Jefferson Li   The thing that the ocean sees When it opens its eyes? People pondering pickles, pondering ponds, pondering peas What is so interesting about these topics? It just defies all of these! If there is another thought, please let it not be peas But, what a surprise It is   Some thinking thinkers think only about what other thinking thinkers are thinking about them! How utterly pointless is that? Where are my waves, that makes the scene complete? You guessed it, none. Where is my roar that gives the sound? The roar as loud as a lion? Once again, none. Where is my gaping maw that gives it its formality and image? Nowhere. So why does mankind like this so much? Why does mankind think of things so far away? Like mars, or the Milky Way When they have me, the ocean, next to them, not so far away? Are all of mankind as blind as fruit bats? Fine, let them have their own way. I think that the thinking thinkers are annoying by thinking the unthinkable Are they run by an annoying TV cable? Humans want what is out of their reach, So much for the smart thinkers that think! Please just settle on a beach. Nobody has been on it except for a leech Sigh; please just come on my beach.