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  • LFLA Poetry Club

GAME: Guess the Poet!

The Lycée LA Poetry Club has written poems inspired by different well-known poets from the romantic period to the post-modern period of poetry. But alas, the heavy rain has jumbled up all of our poems away from the poets we were inspired by… it’s your job to unscramble our poets and poems! The rules of the game are simple— just match the poet whom we were inspired by and check your answers at the bottom of the page!

Poets: Edgar Allen Poe, Jack Kerouac, Percy Shelley, Sylvia Plath, Langston Hughes, Maya Angelou, Walt Whitman, Emily Dickinson, Ernest Hemingway, T.S Eliot, and Benedict Smith.



In Spain the bulls are true and good

Sometimes bloody but always there is passion 

And I search and look for the big fight 

Bull against bull the courage and if it is true 

Then it rolls across the hills like a woman



Blistered by the sun as I walk 

Into the bustling city.

The worn peace that percolates on days

When my mind festers with resentment. 

Do you know how it feels to be a thought given no answer?

I’m left suspended, lingering for your embrace. 

Do you understand how it feels to be always left in one place?

My stomach knots, and my head pounds.

Do you know how it feels to be made unsure of your own heart?

Orange warms the skyline, and I drift into it.

My head fevers as I follow the bar music.

Why must love take so much of me?

My angel is cruel to me- she sings of joy.



The window creaks at dawn

The dead bird’s veins

Run through me like a child

My whispers are muffled and frail

A bit crushed

Tethered to the siren of your hair

My neck falls to your soft side

And I am held as a torn dove

Your claws madden the body

Disjointed and aching

My date is bitter and the mutton’s flesh rare

At dusk you leave me

My heart black and blue



In the evening daylight

Glistening jewels of Rain—

One day after another

In dawn’s soft glow

He blooms—

Unfurling its Sorrow cover—

Cronos whispers, “Fear” softly

Like dreams we Discover

It makes me swoon—


“The Garden of Lost Dreams”

Maybe today I will take a walk through the garden,

And feel the warm, summer sun on my skin.

I will reflect on the memories of my past,

While I think about how long it has been.

The lovely events of my childhood,

Which have become a speck in my mind.

All of my happy moments out in the world,

Times which have become long undefined. 

I run across a hill of memories,

Filled with tiny pink tulips. 

I stop to smell a few,

As memories begin to tune up.

Sometimes I like to walk through the garden,

Reliving all of my fondest memories.



In cages small, they wait, they yearn, 

For human touch, to love, to learn. 

Let us be their guiding hand,

To lift them from a barren land.

Let us hear their wordless cries,

See the world through their pleading eyes.


“Time slips out”

words choked

as time slips out

like sand in my hands


tiny and stretched

and blurred

turn into ash beneath

my soles


i wish i would shrink 

back down

i wish to go back

to the size of that ant

i hated

so very much

but it is likely i don't

and instead just


of those photographs



Eternally frozen in time 

as the vastness of space unfurls;

The glow of infinite stars 

illuminates galaxies of worlds;

Each tells our histories 

and holds what is to come;

How are they so far and so close

to them I succumb

The allure of universe is not only its grandeur nor its beauty

But to feel interconnected in its infinitude


“Mountains and Valleys”

Blessed is the waking hour of dawn;

The corners of the earth wait in expectation.

A golden blanket envelops the land,

The flora and fauna sigh in content, grateful as they receive warmth.

This hour marks the beginning of an age,

My age.

No longer will I shed tears,

For the Sun dries up dewdrops on each blade of grass.

No longer will I wait to walk in the dead of night,

For flowers can only grow in light

Before me lays a vast expanse of mountains and valleys,

Ups and downs of varying heights and depths

I breathe in deeply as I begin my trek

Silence, broken, by my soft exhale 

Woodland creatures await with anticipation,

Fleeting foxes chase one another,

Rabbits burrow in the homes of a brother,

I quicken my pace in desperation.

Slow down, Nature calls in Her sweet, sweet tone

You wish to travel faster than how quickly the wind has blown

The earth begins to slope upward

Realization, as my journey meets a difficult point.

I breathe in deeply once more,

I ascend the mountain beneath an eagle’s soar;

Slowly now, I make my way,

The sound of Nature becomes louder in the day.

Pain is beneath me with each step I take

I fear my stance is beginning to break

The Sun begins to hide, 

Casting long shadows across the plain as I lose my stride.

Nothing limits you, Nature cries

I ponder to stop near where wisteria lies

My journey is difficult and no easy feat;

Yet I am a wary traveler who refuses to be beat.

At last! 

I have crested the peak;

The mountain is surmounted,

From sunrise to sunset I have flourished in the Sun.

As the flora and fauna do during the breaking of dawn, 

I welcome the sweet warmth of my own golden blanket,

I bid the Sun farewell while its final rays fade

Mountains and valleys alike I have overcome,

Now to sweet sleep I will at last succumb.



A bird so stately black and blue, deathly still with life still true

Twined with spider’s webs and widows blending unto wretched wings

Till pushed away from the dark floral floor, landing up above the chamber door

There he perched, on a bust of Pallas, waiting to murmur once more

Waiting to murmur once more but yet could not croak like before 

For the man had besought his maiden and to his maiden he was brought 

And now the raven surceased to quote “nevermore”

To the man against the door, to the man missing Lenore



There another angry chicken 

Doesn’t care, doesn’t live 

No matter — we all go anyway 

What does it matter? 

If the chicken eats the rooster 

No end no dinner — Chevrolet 

No start. To the end. Of what you say




Answers below:

1 - Ernest Hemingway ; 2 - Langston Hughes ; 3 - Sylvia Plath ; 4 - Emily Dickinson ; 5 - T.S. Eliot

6 - Maya Angelou ; 7 - Benedict Smith ; 8 - Percy Shelley ; 9 - Walt Whitman ; 10 - Edgar Allen Poe ; 11 - Jack Kerouac

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