When Sophia is not at class, doing homework, trimming hedges, spelunking, sleeping, eating, reading, or spending time with her frieds, she writes poetry. 'I first became interested in poetry when I took a class on it in the ninth grade, ' says Ms. White. 'I am enthralled by such poets as Shel Silverstein, Alfred Noyes, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Don Marquis.' When asked where she finds her inspiration for her poems, Ms White thoughtfully twirls one golden red curl around a finger before replying, 'I think that people I know well and care about a lot can move me to words, as well as particularly emotional experiences. That is when I write my more personal poems, such as 'Darklings' and 'When ... more »
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Sophia White Poems
Dare I Hope?
Dare I hope to hope? Is it safe? Is it right? Am I hoping for nothing But a black and empty night?
Something About a Forest
There’s just something about a forest That makes the turbulent soul fall still And listen to the mournful dirge Of the solemn whipporwhill.
A String of Simile
Words bind me, wrapping around me like vines And like vines they grow, and constrict, like a boa And like a boa they hiss in my ear, the most wonderful things.
This place is now a nest of darklings. The air is rank with all their lies. Once it rang with truth so sparkling; But now, in the storm, truth dies.
I've made a paper airplane With wings of Crayola blue I made it just for me To fly away with you.
A Child's Dream
I loved to look upon him, The Hunter near the Way. So strong his arm and long his bow And so bashful of the Day.
The sky is bright, the sun’s on the sea The salt’s in the wind and the wind’s on me. The world is good, the weather’s fair,
To The Storyteller
Spin us a tale, tell us a rhyme, What happened “Once upon a time”? Give us a ballad, sing us a lay Of kings and princes far, far away.
A Woven Web of Light
The clouds have scared the stars away And I am left alone. So I weave above my head A thousand of my own.
An Angel and a Violet - in the Garden
A small garden, lush with flowers Pinks and whites and lavenders Specked with candles in colored glass Strolled two young and handsome lovers.
I see His mark writ in the stars And in the ocean’s roar I see His hand among the trees And in the eagle’s soar.
Sometimes I can be zany-zony orange Crazy as a loon, Light as Splenda Popping here and there, Floating in the air
The sky is blacker than a bottle of ink Spilled across a panther’s pelt In the deepest, darkest cave.
A Light and Fair Wind's Blowing
Come, boy, and let us run And soak up all this lovely sun. Let no one dictate where we’re going, For soft, a light and fair wind’s blowing.
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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Edgar Allan Poe
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Dare I Hope?
Dare I hope to hope?
Is it safe? Is it right?
Am I hoping for nothing
But a black and empty night?
Hope should make me happy.
I should laugh, sing, and dance
Because I am hoping. Right?
Ha! Not a chance.
How is it that hope can leave me
Trembling in the darkness?
How is it that something so “good”
Should leave me feeling helpless?
Dare I hope to hope?
What difference does it make?
Fate will be fate in the end,
It will either “make or break.”
Does Fate regard my hope?
Does She listen? Or care?
Am I shooting for a ...