The Poems - part two

November 14, 2010
It all started about a month and a half into my senior year, after I started to show him that I consistently do my work and study, where “senioritis” has already kicked in for most. This is around the time I handed in my first attempt at a poem.

Love Poem
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Is the corniest way
To say I love you.

If I write you a poem,
It’ll have a lovely rhyme scheme
With beautiful words
And of course you’ll be the theme.

I’ll start with your eyes
And how they stare into my soul,
Then your contagious smile
That makes me melt when I’m cold.

I’ll talk about your intelligence
And how you blow my mind,
Then I’ll talk about your personality;
You are truly one-of-a-kind.

I’ll end with how much you mean to me
And the gift you have of inspiring.
You are wonderful and gorgeous too
My expectations have been blown because of you.

It’s hard to formulate
The perfect way to say
“Hey, I love you babe”
But you probably know anyway.

Then he commented: “Cute poem! Nice rhyme scheme, except stanza five is different, but that’s your creative freedom. Whoever receives this poem is one lucky person. ? See me after class.”
He inspired parts of my poem, but I’m not “in love” with him, just crushing on him. Every high school girl crushes on one teacher. It’s only natural… right? I stay after, and he shuts the door; he has lunch, I have gym.
“Rachel.”
“Yes?”
“I read your poem, and if you didn’t notice, I didn’t put a grade on it.”
“I did.”
“This is because I wanted to talk to you about it first. You have the potential to be a great poet, but…”
“This is very amateur feeling?”
“Yes. Look here. Your first stanza is fine. It introduces what you’re feeling, but the second stanza you could use better adjectives than ‘lovely’ or ‘beautiful’. I want you to go through it and plump it up. Juicify it. Tell me more about the eyes and the smile. What makes them so lovely and beautiful?”
I sit down. He hands me a sheet of composition paper and my poem. He’s smiling and his eyes are assuring me that I can do it.
“What if I lose my rhyme scheme?”
“You don’t need one.”
“But I talk about how beautiful it is.”
“Just focus on the words.”
I rewrite it:

Love Poem
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Is the corniest way
To say I love you.

If I write you a poem,
It’ll have a lyrical rhyme scheme
With genuine words
And you, my muse, my theme.

I’ll start with your eyes
And their ability to see the depths of my soul,
The blue so pure, so clear
And they invoke love, not fear.

Then your contagious smile;
It makes my heart go wild,
At the sight of your gleaming teeth,
As stunning as ivory keys.

I’ll mention your intelligence
And how you blow my mind.
With your logic and theories;
You are truly one-of-a-kind.

Maybe I’ll talk about your personality.
Your quirky habits and intrigue,
And your gift to inspire me
To write my thoughts freely.

But I’ll end with a phrase,
A sweet little reminder
Of how I’m counting the days
You’ve been on my mind.
But you know; you do,
That I, I love you.

I hand it back to him, and he smiles as he reads, his eyes glancing over every word. I wonder if the thought occurs that I’m referencing him. He is sitting on top of a student desk. His gaze on the paper is broken when he looks at me. He smirks. He stands up, paper in hand, while he walks over to his desk. He takes out his quill pen.
“What grade do you think you deserve?”
“I don’t know. Can you put a letter grade on your emotions and what you’re thinking?”
“Good answer.” He writes a little then he sits back on top of the desk. “I want you to write more poems. I want you to improve your ability to express thoughts in a poetic way. Bring more in, and I’ll read them, without grading them, so you don’t get caught up in the GPA aspect of it.” He winks and places the poem face down on my desk. He hands me a pass, but the period is almost over. I walk to gym and read his comments: “Definitely improved. Has a more mature tone, but it feels like it’s lacking a little bit of heart. Seems more like a crush than love. ? Do I know the kid? A-”
I never did tell him that the poem was about him, but he’s smart and can read between the lines.





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