Catcher in the Rye Poem

Catcher in the Rye Poem

The following poem sucks and is pessimistic.

He stands on the hill,

Watching,

Wanting,

Waiting,

For a sign,

A sign of goodbye.

He is leaving

From his school,

That he hates.

His crumby, Phony

School.

He hates

The people,

He hates

The lies.

He hates

Being surrounded by phonies.

He lives,

In a world of people,

People with bad hygiene,

People that lie,

People that are fake.

He is not a fake,

He is honest,

Candid,

Real.

Phonies,

Phonies,

Phonies,

He hates them so,

But what can he do?

Nothing,

For he is as hopeless as that annoying guy in ‘Ratatouille’,

But he is leaving,

His crumby, phony

School

…for ever.

He is an under achiever,

Who has really weird friends,

And a fondness for bad words,

He likes his brother’s baseball mitt,

For so long he has kept it.

He lives in a dorm with a guy

That he considers sexy,

Even though his razor blade is super-nasty,

But Stradlater- the roommate,

Is nowhere near as weird as the neighbor-

Ackley…

His name is Holden,

He used to fence,

Until he left the stuff on the subway,

He has flunked out of,

Four out of five classes,

He thinks that people are asses,

His history teacher was some old,

Creepy dude,

That smelt like Vick’s nose drops,

And now Stradlater has gone on a date with his old best friend,

Who keeps her kings at the back,

When she plays checkers,

And Holden like kings in the back,

Yes, he is a boring as an old Big Mac.

He calls the bathroom the can,

His roommate is a man,

This story is going nowhere,

All Holden seems to do is not care.

Why should I dare,

To go on to the end,

I probably won’t find a climax there,

This book is almost as slow as Avatar,

Watching that felt like being burned by tar.

But this book isn’t as excruciatingly boring,

So I guess I will read on,

And hopefully the boredom will be gone,

And I will be done.

Poetry Friday: My mother

My Mother

By Max Duckworth

is a saint,

My mother is a leaf,

My mother is play-doh,

The queen in a king’s castle.

My mother is a giver,

My mother is a teacher,

My mother the one,

Who watches the last slice from afar.

My mother is an ant,

My mother is a bee,

My mother is the guy that gives you

combo number three…at McDonalds

My mother is the bird,

My mother is a priest,

My mother is the one,

Who is to-the-beast.

My mother eats Mint Oreos,

Pizza, chocolate,

Pain, Sadness,

Boredom.

She is water in a desert,

Rain in summer,

Fun at a funeral,

Healthy stuff at KFC.

She watches Dexter,

Entourage,

True Blood,

Us.

Because of her: I am funny (or so I’ve been told),

Because of her I am able to help,

Able to care,

Able to eat a hell of a lot of food.

Able to dare.

Because of my mother,

I am me.

Which is a good thing by the way!

For some reason stanzas arent showing up in the poem :( I dont know how to re-stanza it because when I typed it in word it had stanzas in it. If anybody knows how to re-stanza can you post it in a comment or something like that? Pleeeeeease