Caitlin's 11th Grade English Class Sonnet Poems

Recently, after covering Shakespeare's Macbeth in Caitlin's 11th-grade English class, we have moved on to a unit on poetry related to what is so prevalent in Shakespeare's works. A specific focus has been on sonnets from the works of John Keats - analyzing and interpreting his work to understand the literary devices used to convey complex messages including discussing how Keats' sonnets reflect his innermost thoughts and emotions. Having studied Keats' poems, we were then assigned to write our own sonnets. We had no restrictions on what we could write about; we just had to follow the structure of a Shakespearean sonnet. A sonnet, characterized by its precisely structured 14-line composition and adherence to a specific rhythmic pattern, posed a challenge for many juniors due to their unfamiliarity with poetry and the strict rules inherent to the sonnet form. Nevertheless, great work was produced in the end. Here are a chosen few; please feel free to commend them for their work:

Petal by Amanda Pieper-Wetmore ‘25

I noticed the family on the F train–

A mother, father, a son and daughter. 

The father held out a flower, bereft,

To the mother– A lamb to a slaughter. 

She scowled as the white petals fell onto

Her coat, and snatched the flora from her hair. 

The father’s face fell, the mood turning blue. 

The mother saw his melancholy stare

And looked down at the flower in her hands. 

Seeing the light sweetness in his intent,

A silent apology at a glance.

Her tension dwindled to gentle sentiment. 

I hope they love what they have someday, 

Sublime connectedness, on the subway. 

Life by Odessa Kanarick ‘25

When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.

When life throws you lemons, hit them with a 

Baseball bat, even if you are afraid

When you strike, don’t forget an umbrella. 

Companions and peers can make it better,

From humans to others, connection builds;

They can help when you're under the weather, 

Both emotionally and if you're chilled. 

Sour and sweet both come together 

Like bickering and laughing intertwined.

Emotions feel knotted by a tether, 

Sometimes try to unravel and unwind.

All feelings come in waves like sound and sea.

Both smiles and tears may come over thee.

My Yellow Cross by Sydney Bassin ‘25

Are those my yellow crocs I see prancing,

See them run and jump and twirl a galore.

But it is not me who does the dancing.

Why can they not just stay on the damn floor.

You may wonder who’s foot is in my shoe,

For they must be disrespectful and mean.

For this is something you should never do.

You are too old to steal that from a teen.

You take my things I am safe in no place.

You don’t think twice about my life and voice.

I just cannot stand you see your dumb face.

I hide my things I just don’t have a choice.

Not only that, I must do the dishes,

You just cannot fulfill all my wishes.

The Woman by Jack Lassman ‘25

The woman stands still on her balcony

Admiring her great, expansive view.

She overlooks her garden, with rainy  

Skies above, and stands in her dreams come true.

Her mansion, a famous historic home,

Her closet, with all the clothes she could wear,

Her backyard, where the bunnies like to roam,

Her husband, no other man can compare.

The woman has her perfect life, for she

Does not need to work. The woman has her 

Perfect life, for she does what makes her happy.

Yet every day, upon the same hour,

The woman will stare at the rainy sky

From her balcony, where she will then cry.

I Wrote This Sonnet at 2 am by Kailyn Cox-Caceres ‘25

 Dim glow, enough to fend off the night's persuasion.

 In a caffeinated daze, my mind sways.

 On this day comes the fateful occasion

 A sonnet takes form in a poet’s haze.

Heavy as bricks, my eyelids strain to stay ajar.

 In conscious strife, a daunting conflict I may lose.

Craving rest, I dream of lands afar.

Against the deadlines taunt, I firmly refuse.

Thoughts slow and muddled, the language turns slurred.

Words I’ll forget until dawn's rude awakening. Words that are a figment of a mind-blurred. In midnight hush, a poet's mind reawakening. Procrastination, a companion to the end

Who would know it could be a girl's best friend?