After reading

After reading "archy" poems by Don Marquis, students in Mrs. Nevius's language arts class wrote poems about common Broadmoor topics. Don Marquis worked for the New York Sun and created the character "archy" who was a cockroach. Every night "archy" would write poems expressing the philosophy of Don Marquis through the eyes of a cockroach. In the groups in Mrs. Nevius's language arts class, students were given a topic and had to start a poem from "archy's" point of view. Each group had to write four lines of poetry with a minimum of three words in each line. Then they passed the poem to the next group. Often the way a poem ended was a lot different from how it began. See what you think.
Homework	Music
I was looking at my lesson one night Nervously I paced around my paper thinking of ideas I pushed my pencil, hoping it would write. 84 problems in math, Miss Snargie gave us tonight. I don't like her much, She gives most kids a fright. I hope we don't have any today So I can go home and play Oh, darn she's giving us more What a bore. They give us too much Expecting us to finish It is too hard, that's Why I have a blemish. It's hard to write When you're a bug It's hard to grasp a peril When you have no fingers. Homework's no fun for cockroaches We don't have dogs Us fellow cockroaches can't say Our dog ate our homework.	I went to the music room My ears are small, so they had to turn it up real loud for me to hear Most of the bands now a day are hard to understand. They also don't make walkmen my size. Suddenly the volume grew to be too loud It knocked me to the ground I climbed toward the music I struggled to turn down the volume. Bang, bang, bang Squish, squish, squish Clang, clang, clang I can't hear a thing. Boom, boom, boom Swish, swish, swish To turn this music down Would be my only wish. Music is way too loud Save my please Music is way too loud, Turn it down please. My antennae quiver at BSB Switch the station To 92.3.
Poetry	Poetry
I let others know my feelings while crawling through orange peelings Why do you hate me so? My poetry doesn't cost you any dough. In fact my poetry is free Who do you think I am? A flea, not me. I have no money as you can see Only poetry, which is free So if it is I you happen to see Would you share some poetry with me?	I am no larger than a hand Yet I still write poetry in the sand Every night when I write I give everyone quite a fright. When I give them a fright They kick me out of sight Can't they understand It's bad to kick the sand. As you read this silly rhyme, While I waste all your time. I forgot what I meant to say, I'm no longer going to write poetry as of today.