Writing at St. Bonaventure's College

Ode To Buddy The Puffin
H. Gosse

Cheerful, like children on Christmas day
Bringing joy and excitement all around
Not a word he will say
He doesn’t ever make a sound
With a beak of red, yellow, and grey
Off he goes, hockey game bound
On the railings, he loves to lay
When the other team scores he stomps hard on the ground
Taking pictures with fans, home and away
Fist-bumping fans; Pound!

His jersey has colors of white and blue
The number he wears proudly is ninety two
He’s black and white, head to toe
His cheeks the color of new fallen snow
On the ice he goes as part of the crew
My favorite mascot, yes it is true
The way he walks has quite the flow
And the way he dances and gets so low
If only you knew
All the wonderful things he does, imagine if he flew!

My favorite things would be his hugs
And the warm feelings he brings to all
His height is most impressive too
His fluffy hands clapping together
His actions are kind, sweet as a muffin
The other team laughs, he just shrugs
Looking down on the fans, standing tall
His love for hockey oh so true
Coming out to support, whatever the weather
Full of happiness and pride—Buddy The Puffin

“I am moving through the crowd” – Italian Sonnet

I am moving through the crowd
Trying to find myself
Just like a doll left on a shelf
Slowly watching the shadows that enshroud
Your life plays out
On the shadows on the wall
And you turn on the light, to erase it all
Everything much too full of doubt

There is no love for life
Albeit there is much room for frustration
It is strife
I must get through it all with great determination
Yes, it shall all come to light, my life
I have a sudden burst of elation…

Ode to Horses

Why do I like horses? I think I must be going mad. My mother isn’t horsey -
And neither is my dad.

But the madness hit me early – and it hit me like a curse. And
It’s never gotten better. In fact It’s gotten worse.

My stables are immaculate. My house is like a hovel.
Last year for my birthday – I got a brand new shovel.

I hardly read the paper – but I know who’s sold their horse.
And I wouldn’t watch TV – Unless Heartland was on – of course.

One eye’s always on the heavens -but my washing waves in vain
As I rush to get the horses in – in case it’s going to rain.

And though they’re wearing 15 rugs, the best that you can get,
I bring them in to keep them dry – while I get soaking wet.

I spend every cent I’ve got – on horsey stuff for sure
I buy saddles, bridles, fancy rugs – and then I buy some more.

I should have had my hair cut – or bought that nice blue shirt
At least it wouldn’t now look ripped to shreds and in the dirt

I can’t make a sponge cake -I don’t even try
But I can back a truck and trailer – in the twinkling of an eye.

It’s jeans and Muck Boots that I live in night and day
And that smell of horses just doesn’t wash away.

Once every now and then I dress up for a ball
Make up and a hairdo – with high-heeled shoes and all.

I ache from now long forgotten falls. My knees have got no skin.
My toes have gone a funny shape – from being squashed again.

But late at night, when all is still – and I’ve gone to give them hay,
I feel their velvet softness and my worries float away.

They give a gentle nicker and they nuzzle through my hair
And I know it’s where my heart is – more here than anywhere

English/Shakespearean Sonnet

Stars surrounding the moonlight
Like the planets orbiting the sun
The deep violet, fading to indigo of the night
I walked alone on the rocky path, one

The moon shining like a guard, protecting the sky
It’s taste buds gleaming, giving us sour and sweet
And I asked myself why?
As I stood alone by the icy streets

The snow was falling faster now
The moonlight out of sight
I felt fallen and took a bow
With what was left of my might

With that the moonlight went away
As I continued into another day

Italian Sonnet

Wisdom and truth, hand in hand
Unfolding like a secret untold
Distanced from forever, I felt cold
Knowledge wrapping me tightly, held by a band
I felt strong, like a boat that docked across waves to the land
But lacking in that I needed most; To be alive
But they were dangerous waters, like a beehive
When all I wanted was the answers in the sand

So with a turn of my head
I remembered what I really needed, the last piece
The wisdom and truth reminding me that I had nothing to dread
The famous release
Closing my hand around what I had read
Finally feeling the crease

Hope – A Sestina by H.G.

The field gathers little white stars
In the darkness the young girl is a snow angel
She rolls white dough between her red woollen mittens
Imagining her mother’s face and it’s rose glow
Frozen rivers crack open her pale skin
Fresh oven baked bread buttered by gentle hands

Begging for the comfort of gentle hands
She looked up for hope from the little white stars
The light reflecting off her pale skin
Feeling like a graceful snow angel
The young girl lacking a rose glow
Wishing she could cover her eyes, with the red woollen mittens

Peeking through the holes in her red woollen mittens
Warmth escaping her gentle hands
Quickly, it rushed to her face, coloring her pale skin
Now, with a bright rose glow
Light engulfed her now, from the little white stars
She felt as if she was touched by a snow angel

The hope held out it’s gentle hands
And the accent from her red woollen mittens
It fell down upon her, like a snow angel
With gentle pale skin
The young girls heart shining like the little white stars
Spotted in the darkness by her rose glow

Entering her like a bright rose glow
Taking away from her pale skin
The hope engulfed her in a second, underneath the little white stars
She held it close to her, inside of her red woollen mittens
Squeezing her gentle hands
She lay down, like a snow angel

Shadows covering the snow angel
Yet she still lay there brightly with her Mother’s rose glow
Released in gentle hands
A smile spread across her pale skin
As she fisted her palms in the red woollen mittens
Looking up at the little white stars

She pressed her palms to the sky
Removing the red woollen mittens
For the first time, touching the little white stars

The field gathers little white stars
In the darkness the young girl is a snow angel
She roles white dough between her red woolen mittens
Imagining her mother’s face and its rosy glow
Frozen rivers crack open her pale skin
From oven backed bread buttered by gentle hands

She picks up that sharp butter knife and starts to spread the butter with her gentle hands
The light shines and makes a sparkle against the butter, like white stars
She brushes her hair out of the way of her pale skin
As she eats that buttery bread, she looks out and watch’s the moon light Shine, bright as can be, on her snow angel
Hanging up her woolen mittens
Striking her soft skin with her rosy glow

As water drips slowly from the damp, wet woolen mittens
She picks up her round metal mirror with her gentle hands
To look at her cold cheeks giving off a rosy glow
As she looks out the window and watch’s the fall of sparkling white stars
She watches the light shine on her snow angel
As she strokes her pale skin

The glow begins to fade on her pale skin
Like the red on the hung woolen mittens
As she splashes water upon her face, her eyes sparkle like a sparkling snow angle
She wipes her face as a gentile river slowly brushes her cheeks, with her gentle hands
As each sparkle as she wipes them away like white stars
Across her cheeks giving off a faint rosy glow

As she slips into bed with her rosy glow
She wipes that last tear away from her pale skin
As her eyes sparkle like white stars
As she watches the last drip off her woolen mittens
She wipes the pain away with her gentle hands
As she looks in the darkness watching the glow for the last time of her snow angel

As she awakes to morning shinning with delight on the snow angel
Her cheeks give off a blush as she smiles with delight, giving off a rose glow
Slipping on her winter coat with her gentle hands
She wipes her hair out of the way of her pale skin
Stepping out into the day, her face gives off a rosy glow
As she looks into the sun she thinks of her mom, watching as the flakes glow in the day like white stars

As a tear falls gently down her skin shinning like white stars
She wipe’s her soft gentle face giving off a bright rosy glow
Showing the love for her mom within her pale skin

The white stars by B K

The field gathers little white stars
in the darkness there is a girl– a snow angel
she rolls white dough between her red woolen mittens
imagining her mother’s face and its rosy glow
frozen rivers crack open her pale skin
freshly baked bread buttered by gentle hands

Winter took away everyone’s gentle hands
people in background move back and forth like shooting white stars
soft breeze on pale skin
everyone is waiting for his snow angel
frozen red flowers in the snow reminds her of her mother’s rosy glow
bulldozers shovel snow like red woolen mittens

Elliptically shaped, snowballs thrown by red woolen mittens
hot chocolate in a mug surrounded by gentle hands
a ray penetrates through clouds and crowds as a rosy glow
huskies in girdles dazzle like white stars
a snowman gathers people around like a snow angel
white clouds under the sun appears like pale skin

An imaginary hug from her mother covers her pale skin
she remembers her mother’s heart and its rosy glow
a giant white gull flaps its wings like a snow angel
couples walk on a pond holding one another’s gentle hands
snow is the dance of the white stars
her hands feel warm and tight in her red woolen mittens

The sun rises in spring showing its rosy glow
a warm sunny day cannot change the girl’s pale skin
during night the sky becomes clear and full of white stars
eveyone is bare-handed but the girl and her red woolen mittens
memories of the touch of her mother’s gentle hands
the winter disappears as the mother appears to the snow angel

Now she always dreams of the snow angel
a woman in white comes to her with a rosy glow
she gives her a pat on her back and holds her gentle hands
wiping her face to get rid of her tears freezing in rivulets down her pale skin
now she feels warm so she takes off her red woolen mittens
she wakes up and look at the sky staring at the white stars

She turns to the moon looking at its lamp-like pale skin
while looking at the moon she throws away her red woolen mittens
because now she gets warmth from the white stars

Sestina by G B

The field gathers little white stars
in the darkness the young girl is a snow angel
she rolls white dough between her red woolen mittens
imagining her mother’s face and its rosy glow
frozen rivers, crack open her pale skin
fresh oven baked bread buttered by gentle hands.

Bitter cold settles on gentle hands
while frigid air pushes white stars
away from pale skin
even though the snow angel
bathes in the rosy glow
of her blinding, bright red woolen mittens.

The cold wind blows red woolen mittens
as the gentle hands inside are shining with a rosy glow
even though white stars
melt, a snow angel
always has pale skin.

Though the pale skin
is covered with red woolen mittens,
she is still a snow angel
her gentle hands
beckon me to white stars
bathed in a rosy glow.

The rosy glow
grabs my pale skin
as white stars
as soft as red woolen mittens
made by the gentle hands
of snow angels.

The snow angels
may think less of my pitiful rosy glow
I still reach for their gentle hands
and grip their cold pale skin
with my red woolen mittens
and smile at white stars.

English Sonnet by G B

Lost hope gnaws on my chains like a rat
even though I scream at my jailers for food
it becomes apparent that I am like a mat
easy to ignore and quite crude.

Even though I may be a noise in the background screaming
as you trample by, I realize that the key
to my prison is gleaming
unfortunately I cannot reach what would give me glee.

I now know that the only person to listen to my plea
is my jailer, even though he laughs
it never gets to me
because I know that he is like a sickly calf.

But even though you think I cannot escape
when I do, you will gape.