My first stab at slam poetry. The audio is below and then the text is below that. 

The Fiery Gift

He was told to accept failure; 
he was told to be satisfied with an imperfect result 
What they didn't understand was that it was impossible
This tenacity, ferocity, intensity and stubbornness was in his blood:
Injected like a permanent poison

He was a boy full of passion, 
full of energy and commitment
But when it came down to that one positive, 
he could not let go 
He clung on to it like a mother to her newborn child
Or a child to his new lego set

This feedback seemed impossible to listen to 
How could he change human nature
It seemed insurmountable and unsolvable 
Like rocket science
Like they were chaining his legs to a pole and telling him to run

He thought and he thought until his head spun 
Feeling like he went to a theme park
Which was in fact one of his least favorite places

Then, after time digging
An epiphany
A revelation that took hours, 
days, 
months, 
and even years to discover 
Game after game, 
season after season
Time and time again until he found it out

He didn't have to change who he was
That indeed would be impossible
He just needed to change his mindset
He could keep his tenacity, ferocity and intensity
He figured out he could do all of these things and still accept failure 
He could still have that scrappy terrier inside of him

He just needed to mix in a little golden retriever

It was about putting in 100% and then letting go 
Like a mother to her growing child
Like a growing child to his outdated lego set

And he let it go 

       Trying something new can be challenging but is almost always rewarding in the end. In English, writing the poems was certainly challenging, but I learned a lot about myself in the end. In the beginning, I had writers block. I didn't know what I was going to write about, and I had no idea where to start. Then it hit me. In class, Fitz told me that the subject of the poem didn't matter; he said the content was what mattered. With this advice in mind, I chose to write a poem about not knowing what to write a poem about. The poem was about my experience writing the poem, and I added a lot of detail and images on top of actions to make the content good. I quickly realized that once you come up with a topic that is relevant to you, the words just flow. On top of that, I discovered that I enjoy writing poetry. I am glad that we were given this assignment, and for me, it has been a positive learning experience.

Chains:

Chugging like a freight train,
He flies around the net.
Head up, he is heading for the far goal.
Bump,
The blade twists into the ice,
Violently throwing him down onto the slippery surface
And sending him crashing into the boards.

Pain, pain is all he can feel in his body.
Yelling, eyes closed, he clutches the ankle in agony.
He sees a lady come onto the ice,
She talks to him, tries to calm him down.

Fifteen minutes later, the building rings.
The men in blue come in, 
Putting him on the bed,
He sees the red and blue lights of the car.
They put him in and drive away.

Flash forward four hours.

On the coach, he lies. 
Eyes closed, he rests.
Still, he feels the pain.
He wants to get up and walk, 
But the pain tells him no.
He wants to get up and run,
But the pain tells him no.
He wants to get up and break free,
But the pain tells him no;
It holds his body down like chains.

The Pirate:

Unperturbed,
He sits alone.
Mind in deep thought.
He is as quiet as a windless air.

Hand trembling with a pencil,
A blank white page lays,
Resting on the old, brown, dusty table.

With only dots and scrapes,
The paper lays motionless,
Waiting to catch wind.

He thinks and thinks,
And thinks some more,
But his mind is blank, 
Hollow as a cave,
His sail is still;
There is no wind.

With persistence he may find,
The right gust of wind.
For now there is nothing,
All is quiet but the tapping of the worn 
                                                  down 
yellow pencil.

The boys mind is cold and dusk, 
waiting for a spark or lightbulb to go off.
He can write about anything, 
But can think of nothing,
and so he sits alone.

He is a pirate on his boat,
lacking wind,
On a quest for the golden treasure chest.

Alas the wind comes to him,
what is it,
it does not matter,  
for the ocean is his and he is the sailor.
The tide is weak,
But at he is off to the races.

As the ocean gets deeper,
The winds get windier.
The pirate finds the path, 
And he goes on his quest.

It has been my home for the past six years.
Some of my most cherished times were spent here.
Within the robust white buildings I was cared for,
given a fantastic education and foundation was what I came for,
but through the years I have received a whole lot more:

Friendships that will last a forever,
Taught to give it all you've got;
 Now my main endeavor. 
Unbeatable teachers who care for me, 
Learning to appreciate all who help me.
Knowing that I must get back up
When I fall.
But most valuable of all,
Finding out who I truly am,
Given a path to follow,
Through Fenn I know to cease the day,
And not wait for tomorrow.

At the end of the day I now know,
the sky's the limit,
and soon I must go. 
 

In comes the cool,
No more swimming pool.
Less time spent outside,
In warm blankets we hide.
In the kitchen we sip,
Our hot cocoa drink,
Our cheeks are red,
And toes are pink.

In comes the cool frontier,
A warning sign
That winter is near.