Oprah Winfrey Poem
I am going to collect all of your secrets and redistribute them. With another person's secret, write a poem telling the story of that secret as if it were your own and addressing what you think about it. You could even look back at the secret as if you were older and wiser.
Good luck and be creative!
posted by annes @ 7:09 AM
27 Comments:
This is Alexander Davis, the first one to blog
This is my poem...
It is a bit long and about the person who sings opera in the shower in their POV:
I sang opera in the shower
The shower was an ear
It needed some music
The water was flowing
To the beat
The shower was dancing
Though it had no feet
There was an opera in the shower
It sounded like an elephant
It grew louder
The shower started rumbling
The opera shook the floor
The music was so loud
The shower could stand it
It creaked in agony
And then it fell apart
That was my Oprah Poem
Interesting poem, Alex. I liked the rhyme and the rhythm of the second stanza. You may want to change a few words here and there to make the poem flow better, but I think you did a good job making the secret into something more.
Ok children here's my poem. It kind of long and some of the words don't make a WHOLE lot of sense, but it conveys the general meaning of my dirty little secret. So, Oprah, here is my "revelation":
Curls
Dear Mrs. Oprah, I have a confession to make,
The hair I’ve had this year is naught but a fake.
See, naturally my hair is really quite curly,
But I find that it makes me look very girly.
So every morning at five and a half,
I stumble out of bed and have a good laugh.
When I look in the mirror I find overnight,
My hair has turned back into a curly fright.
Several years ago when I found all this out,
I went to my hairstylist with an air of doubt.
I told him all about my recent confusion,
And asked him if he could find a solution.
A few days later he called me back,
Carrying what looked like a heavy leather sack.
He opened it up and to my surprise,
Pulled out a straightening iron of compact size.
He said that it would help me with my hair troubles,
It could puncture my problem like needles in bubbles.
And ever since then without missing a beat,
The resulting hairstyle is oh such a treat.
When I go to school all my fans adore,
They rate my hairstyle and give me a score.
And though I enjoy this newfound attention,
There is a thought in my mind I let pass without mention.
I find this new straightener in style is flexi,
And results in my looks becoming quite sexy.
But in the back of my mind I can’t help but think,
The effect of the product is making my hair shrink.
So Mrs. Oprah, if you would be so kind,
Would you help my mind get out of this bind?
Alex:
I like your poem. The rhythm of your poem is very evident. What are the blue words for? If they are links, they I cannot figure how they work.
Dan:
Again, you have a good poem. I like how it seems like you are on the couch with Oprah explaining your troubles. Try working on your rhyme scheme a little. Out and doubt do not rhyme all the way.
Ok, here is my poem. If someone was willing to tell me where I need punctuation and help me shorten it, that would be nice.
There is something about me that you just don’t know.
In Indiana I competed in a rodeo.
I got applause and first place in trick riding.
Yet I haven’t told anyone not even Joe.
I decided to enter with my mom’s chiding.
I try to tell her that I would rather be hang gliding.
I got a horse and sent in my entry form.
I cleared my schedule so nothing was coinciding.
I practiced every day unless there was a storm.
Riding for 3 days was the norm.
Before long I could rope in my sleep.
Soon Horse and rider were ready to perform.
The night before I tried to count sheep,
Yet still my sleep was not deep.
All I could think about was my horse,
I hoped he wouldn’t fall in a heap.
The big day was here in due course
When we arrived, we saw the whole town out in force.
My stomach was filled with wings that fly
I heard the crowd yelling themselves hoarse.
Before long I heard the cry:
“All for the trick riding be spry.”
I grabbed my horse and headed for the ring
It was my moment to shine, I won’t lie
My horse and performed so well I could sing
We ended up winning the whole thing.
That day we rode above them all
I felt royal like a king.
I have told my secret to y’all.
You have ye to send me to Nepal.
Maybe I will tell you something else I did long ago,
Did I tell that I used not eat pickles if the had been in a halll?
I love everyone's so far! It seems to be a fun one to write. I still need to start on my own... So, anyway:
Alex, your poem was very good. I liked the rhythm and it definitely got your point across. It seems like a fun secret to write about!
Dan, your poem was also very good. It was somewhat interesting coming from a guy...
Emily, yours, too, was good. How could it not be when it's about horses??? Just as a note, though, words like out and doubt don't have to be EXACT rhymes. There IS such a thing as a near rhyme, and it is used quite often in professional poetry.
That's true Anna, I just thought it seemed out of place. (Excuse the pun)
Dan- I personally really liked your poem, and considering the interesting secret, I thought you did quite well. I disagree that out and doubt don't rhyme, and even then, poetry doesn't always have to rhyme.
Emily- I'm a little confused on your rhyme scheme. I think that paricular style makes it hard for the poem to flow. Good job overall though.
Well, here is mine, and I warn you, it is very long. However, I couldn't figure out a way to confess in a shorter poem. So for that, I apologize.
Thievery
I’m really quite sorry; my head must have been clouded
I never should have tried, and never should have doubted
That I would be convicted for the crime I committed
What can I say; I seriously hope to be acquitted
I’m a normal human you see, and gave into temptation
It’s easier than you think and how can you miss the sensation
Of being a cold dirty thief, a jewel thief to be exact
And hold ten tiny jewels, all of which were intact
But I’ll stop all my whining and give the details
Of the day I grew teeth and thick pointy nails
I was evil you see, a cold blooded criminal
And my experience was really quite minimal
I was walking along yesterday night
When I cam across three men having a fight
One socked the other, and when he did
A bag of velvet went flying and landed with a skid
Those silly men, neither of them cared
They were too busy giving nose-bleeds and I was plain scared
But not scared enough to scurry right over
To see what was in the bag that was embroidered with clovers
I opened the bag and what did I find, ten diamonds
All suddenly mine
Today’s my lucky day! I thought, and the clovers shall prove it
When all of a sudden a gruff voice said“MOVE IT!”
It was a police man you see, and he stopped the two men brawling
And with the jewels in my hand I clambered away, almost falling
So there I was galloping away with my prize
Although I realized I needed some cardio work-outs for my thighs
But the point really is, that I was a jewel thief on the run
A refugee escaping and hiding from the rising sun
Now you must know that I am a respectable soul
Never stayed out too late, or broken my mother’s china bowl
So why did I do this? I asked myself
I know it wasn’t for the endless wealth
What if I get caught and the cops take me away?
I bet I’ll cry on sentencing day
So then I slowed to a walk and considered my situation
What would it be like, to be a 15 year old on probation?
I can’t do it! I say, and the mighty jewel thief threw her mask away
I’ll turn these into the police; “I found them” I’ll say
So there it is, my rotten confession
From the day when I obtained a horrible obsession
Once a jewel thief, always a jewel thief, it may be
But the cops will never know, and how could they convict me?
Dan- I like your poem. It is very funny and you have good rhyming.
Emily- Your poem is good as well, but I don’t really understand your last stanza, especially the last line.
Anyways, my secret: I live among the Jedi. (my light saber’s jade.) And now for my poem:
I live among the Jedi,
My light saber’s jade
I trained in a temple
Yoda was my master’s name.
Now I live on the planet Earth;
This land is very strange.
I am here undercover,
my secret you must keep,
for if you let the others know
I would be treated like a creep.
Alien, freak and other names are what I would be called
when really I am like anyone else be it tall, skinny or bald
So once again, I beg of you, keep your lips sealed,
and look for those of the Dark Side, I’ll keep my eyes peeled!
Hannah S.~ I really liked your poem! It had good flow and was fun to read...good job! Here is my poem:
My face the size of a large blueberry, though not the same hue,
And my poor little finger held together with naught but glue,
My fragile eight-year-old self was in for a ride,
When I went to New Mexico and got a cut an inch wide.
That silly can full of reeking trash
Was up to no good when it gave me that gash.
Seeing the blood and wanting to help,
The natives gave me a mixture of herbs and sea kelp.
Their good intentions, though they meant well,
Caused an allergic reaction that made my face swell.
The nearest ER was forty-five minutes away,
And there we rushed with little delay.
Stitches were on the doctor’s mind,
But as he stabbed and sewed he was not kind.
My survival instincts started kicking in,
And I began to screech and yell, biting his skin.
Disgusted with my painful abuse,
The doctor declared he could be of no further use.
Slathering glue on my tiny scraped limb,
He scooted me out, acting on a sudden whim.
Sobbing at the pain and my ballooning face,
I stumbled to my mom at a painstaking pace.
We returned home with no further ado,
And today I am amazed at how I got through.
That is my little secret and may explain
Some little quirks that do not make me plain.
Doctors and trashcans still startle me quite a bit,
But I thank the Lord that my finger is now quite physically fit.
Secret Poem
It was very late that night,
Every shadow gave me a fright
Lost as I was I could not find
The way to calm my frightened mind
When all of a sudden out of the dark
A figure appeared, right by the park
My poor heart was beating faster and faster
That evening was such a disaster
As nearer I drew to that figure in blue
His knife came apparent, I screamed “oh Poo!”
He lunged at me, though I knew him not
I punched and kicked, oh how I fought!
The battle was fierce, luck was not in my favor
When at long last my opponent began to waiver
I saw my chance, and with one final whack,
I stomped on his arm, and heard a loud crack.
I did it on purpose I hope, I think,
At least, that’s what I tell my shrink.
Ok ok ok, this was my most favorite poem to write. Phil I know this was your secret, and once i started writing I just couldnt stop, so read it all trust me its worth it.
Google It
Here I sit,
this typical afternoon,
Alone again,
In my parents living room.
The HD's on,
1080i,
Maximum resolution,
I'm feeling so fly.
Sci-Fi's has reruns,
The History Channel does too,
But I have no doubt,
Of what I intend to do.
Oprah is on next,
The time is now,
My passion I must confess,
But how?
What best describes,
My secret kept,
My favorite programming language,
All except...
Would she understand
C#.net,
Or perhaps C++,
Or better yet.
I'll impress her with Java,
Or will I regret,
This unexplained entailing,
Of my inner most secret?
For I am a programmer,
I make programs you see,
But would she understand,
Marvelous Oprah Winfrey.
For I am considered a loser,
I've never gone on a date,
My hero and idol,
Is Microsoft's Bill Gates.
I live for the floppy,
The USB, the CD-ROM,
I went to COMP USA,
Instead of the prom.
I built my own tower,
It the technology of the millennium,
My passion is for computers,
I dream about Pentium.
I still live with my parents,
I'm nearly forty-five,
I dwell in the basement,
My soul companion is my hard drive.
I hardly see daylight,
Though my glasses are large,
My disappointment is raging,
My laptop battery is not charged.
I'm still old school,
I use a tape deck,
My favorite TV series,
Happens to be Star Trek.
My utensils are protected,
They are safe in my pocket,
My wristwatch is so large,
Its pulling my arm out of my socket.
My hair is combed over,
My mother likes it that way,
Tera bites turn me on,
But what would Oprah say?
She is a woman of character,
A symbol of strength,
But would she listen to me,
At such great length?
Maybe I will be a loser,
Perhaps I won't get the chicks,
It would appear at this point,
I'll live with my folks till I'm at least 46.
Here is my pathetic poem, about a rat...
I once hit my sister
In the head with a bat
Not a rat
But a bat
With that bat
I meant to hit the rat
That had lay on that mat
Before I hit my sister with a bat
On that mat
The rat had scat
So I meant to hit that rat
With my bat
To my dismay
My sister May
Had just sat on the rat
On the mat
I once hit my sister
With a bat
Not a rat
But a bat
I'm just wondering, How does this relate to Oprah Winfrey? Anyways, here's my poem. This person's secret is "I was born in international territory."
I hope they won't find out;
If it stays a secret, they won't, no doubt.
But if my secret becomes known,
Then will it be condoned?
I was born across the border,
If they know, will my life be over?
What will they do to me, you see,
may make me history.
The fact I was born in international territory,
May make for a pretty good story.
But being so, it my be,
that I am an illegal immigrant, you see.
So keep it a secret if you do so please,
I'm begging you, I'm down on my knees.
I will not go,
So they must not know.
That here i wasn't born
So when I leave, I will moarn.
'Cause I am not of here,
I really do fear
That my secret just may
Cause me to go away.
Well, there we go. I need to work on the punctuation, but thats the gist of my poem.
Oprah Winfrey Poem
I sat on that couch, where everyone sits.
It smelled of Febreeze.
She looked at me, and I looked at her.
She said, “Hello.”
Oprah was getting old.
I told her this, and she became angry.
Then she regained composure.
“Tell me, girl, who is Nat Coughlin?”
“Me,” I replied, a grin on my face.
I went to the Olympics, and no one knew me.
“Who is that girl, the one winning?” They’d all say.
Then I would look up and say “ME! Natalie Coughlin!”
Oprah looked at me.
She itched her nose and readjusted her shoes.
“Do you need help girl?” she said, looking concerned.
“It’s you who needs help,” I said, “Get out of my face.”
Then I walked out. A smile on my head.
And Oprah just sat there, looking important.
brian- amazing poem....epic....super long, but epic
phillip- creative and...awesome
everyone else- average-awesome
Ok, I tried,
I was born in Germany
Not too long ago
I really don't remember anything
Except hopping on a plane with Mom, Dad and brother Moe
I am here in America now
Where there are people like Donald Trump, and Lil' Bow Wow
I go to school
And have many friends, it's pretty cool
So I will say goodbye for now,
It is time for me to go
Alright, alright, hold on one minute
I'm coming right now Moe!
And I also liked your poem Brian!
Oh and here comes the atempt.
I find myself a humble person
But I must admit
My family really can afford
A jet plane on a whim
We could fly wherever we want
To New York or maybe China
And in those places I could shop
To my heart's content
But oh we have to share that plane
and I admit I'm not a fan
of those other families
I wish that could be all my own
But for now I guess I'm happy
Dry Tears
The dark sky, pounding rain
Dreary dark slumber,
Dread filled me all day.
Then the call came.
The ring.
Sweaty hands,
Shaking. Shaking.
Wishing. But no
Hope.
Despair. The day approached
No escape,
Fear.
He died that night.
The battle lost.
Tears burst forth;
The strong, broken
The weak, in shambles.
And I, alone.
Rain and dark
Filled days to come
I cried. cried. cried.
Why? I asked
But no answer.
Why…
Death.
Loss.
Destruction.
Rock hard, I moved on.
To forget.
How I tried to forget.
But nothing left.
So ignorance stepped in
To bar the door
Ignorance.
And now reality returns
Haunting dreams
But only emptiness.
Feelings fled
And now my best friend, may end up dead.
Can I change?
Secrets Poem
Oh dear Oprah I have something to say
I wish to share but have not had the courage until now
My friends make fun of me
They don’t understand
Just because I am delusional
Doesn’t mean that I cannot tell the truth
Though no one believes it
I am the King’s Third Son
The third Favorite
The third in line for throne
My cousin is Leif Ericson
Eric the Red is my Uncle
I have met Elvis Presley
He is my favorite singer
I wish he was still alive today
I hope to bring him back someday with my magic wand
These are all my secrets Oprah
No one seems to understand
How I am telling the truth
Not just telling lies
My Music Fascination
It was one rainy night,
I was twelve years old,
Alone in my room,
I heard beauty coming from a car outside,
And I watched as the car quickly drove away,
But the amazing song continued to haunt my thoughts.
The next few days,
I asked among my peers,
Just to find out what the song was,
Who it was by,
Just to revitalize my soul.
Other artists are anything but original,
Trying to fit into the crowd,
Staying with the same people again and again,
Music continuing to worsen,
I think the best music comes from those with one hit,
Proving the artist could not become any better.
My collection of these musicians grew,
From artist to artist,
Each song more original than the last,
But as my collection grew,
I grew more afraid to relinquish my love to the world,
Afraid to be mocked, jeered, and taunted.
From Carl Douglas,
And his Kung Fu Fighting,
Or playing funky music
With the delicious wild cherry,
I had it all,
Not to mention I know all the words.
I’m getting older now,
And I’m afraid to be alone,
But I need someone to share with me the love,
The love for the music,
The one hit wonders,
But where do I go,
Who do I seek?
-- About everyone's poems:
Alex M.- I'm not sure if it's just me, but I'm not quite sure what your secret it. I was kind of confused too.
Lane C.- Is your secret that you don't like to share planes with other people? Try to explain more.
Phillip: Try to have fun with your poem. You just repeat yourself and I can tell that you didn't want to write the poem in the first place.
Others in general: A lot of the poems are really good. There are some that I don't know what the secret is from reading them.
Ok so the secret I had to work with was, "I was born on an island in the Pacific Ocean. This is partially true because I was born, just not in the Pacific."
And here's the poem:
One bright sunny day in the middle of May,
A baby was born, but to the family’s dismay,
She was born on an island, and her appearance was grey.
Now why would this be such a bad thing you ask?
Well upon her they placed a ridiculous mask.
For this child was so ugly, they could only look smugly,
(And looking was a quite disagreeable task).
Now why was the birth of this child so regrettable?
The family would tell you she was most unforgettable.
Her face was all mangled and didn’t look right.
To see it was most certainly a horrible fright.
Her nose was rigid on the top of her head.
And her mouth was where eyes should be instead.
The family was ashamed and cowered in fear,
Anytime people of the island came near.
So when this child did grow much older,
She brushed all the insults off of her shoulders,
And said, “Beauty is truly in the eye of the beholder.”
She got off that island and went to the States,
And found that she had great personality traits.
She went into Hollywood and got her name up in lights,
This girl was no longer a horrible fright.
No longer could her family make fun,
For this girl turned out to be Jessica Simpson.
So fortunately the end of this story is happy,
Because after all this, her family didn’t feel so crappy.
Tell me what you think!
Hey Dan LOVED the poem Ok heres mine the secret was: I crossed the street before the light changed and looking both way. A mini van ws coming a swerved to miss me and hit a telephone pole. The mom was badly hurt, I don't know about the kids. I fled the scene imedialty.
Oprah Poem
Now that I look back on that day
it seems so far, far away
Memories flood my head
Memories of dread
I wish I would have looked both ways
And maybe it would've cleared the haze
Smoke and screeching breaks
They swerved for my sake
A mother and two children left at a pole
So I didn't have to pay the toll
No help I gave to the people in pain
I look back and think it was quite vain
So there's my Secret in plain
If I could go back I wouldn't do it the same
So please know family
Thats not the person I aspired to be
It's really not me.
I now feel some guilt
Because my secret will soon be spilt
But I cannot hold it in any longer
I believe my experience will make me stronger
Walking home from school one day
And finding much to my dismay
A flash, a green light beam
Thought that I was in a dream
Soon I was inside a space ship
With some aliens, as they began to nip
“Cooperate” they say, “or else this won’t be your day”
What could they want? My only choice was to lay
Soon gas comes pouring out
All I could do was scream and shout
Before I knew, I had arrived in
My home sweet home, with my kin
To my forehead, attached a note
“Thanks for your time, here’s your coat”
What did they do? Would it happen once more?
I was scared to death to walk through that door
Another day, on my way home
I saw the ship, its big circular dome
Again, the beam, aliens, and the gas
The “knock out” came awfully fast
I woke up in my room
Feeling a slight sense of gloom
The note, again, but this time it reads
“Some complications, we have some needs”
Will I be abducted again by my alien friends?
Who knows when this mayhem will really end?
Chelsea-
Great job with the poem! Its really funny!
Her plastic legs entranced me
Her nylon hair put me in a spell
I was in love, can’t you see
I wanted to marry her, and if I didn’t I wouldn’t be well
I want to be the plastic doll’s man
I will do anything for her
We are all going to live in Disney Land, it’s a plan
I will go through the rough time with her, even when she desires expensive fur
I have always wanted a million bucks
But not for the reason you think
I would buy as many Barbies as possible
I wanted me and my Barbies to have that link
I have heard about that crazy man named Ken
I am willing to take him out
If killing Ken is what is needed, then
I will do it to take Barbie out for some trout
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