Captivated, he stepped unto the plank
His sword unsheathed; his smile was broad
He cast his glance aside, waving his hand
The sea was tyrant; the fish were bored
He shuffled his feet and bounced upon the sea
Upon the water, one heel he did ski
In the hat, The Never Bird sat afloat
Merrily, he danced upon the leaping sea
The waters laughed as he jolted back
Smiling away, he threw his sword; it landed not
Through the air it flew, and so did he

I wanted to talk about how much I love Pope Benedict XVI. The love I have for him is inexpressible. The moment he came out on the balcony, I was so excited that I cried.
When Pope John Paul II died, and I was watching the funeral Mass, Joseph Ratzinger (Pope Benedict XVI) was saying Mass. I asked my mom if he was going to be Pope, and she said no, it won’t be him. Yet sure enough, he became our Papa.
Since I love the Pope so much I am going to give ten reasons why I love him.

Many have slept, but not all
Many have awakened, but not all
The world never sleeps?
Not all

As the sun rises, it sets
As the sun sets, it rises
As the moon rises, it sets
As the moon sets, it rises

So tell me, dear, does the world sleep?
Does it rest, so not a thing is awake?
But you have said: the sun always rises
Always sets

The world is always awake
The world is always asleep
How can that be?
It can be
Because the world is a ball

Can’t take away a tear
But can prepare a wound
So bitter can it be
To see the sea rise
Like a mourning wave
Inside a fearful eye
Can’t take one more breath
Captive in an angry look
To see another step
So take a look around you
To see if you can find
The resting you need
For those weary little feet
Don’t go beyond your home
For no one will see you cry
Don’t gaze around this room
To see someone appear
For He is right there
Like a rain in the desert

Ezra: So my brother and I are both aspiring writers, with some limited experience.

James: Indeed. And, being homeschooled, we are for the most part self-taught.

Ezra: Yup. And that's kind of how we learned creative writing - by doing and then doing some more.

James: Sounds a bit amateurish, but I think it's the best way to learn. So, Ezra, I have been impressed with the large amount of quality poetry that you've been writing. Now, when did you begin to write all these poems? It was after I went to college, wasn't it?

This isn't at all like my last poem. Though I like it just as much.

It moves in the soul,
soft but strong,
It has been here
inside all along

The kiss of each note
the touch, light and airy
the touch, just like
the wing of a fairy

So perfect, so good
not seen, yet felt,
Soon I'm caught--
can't be helped

I'm caught by the wonder,
held by the sound,
The magic of music
is here, all around.

She was wrong--
she won't admit it
She is lonely--
she won't let you see it

She is trapped--
but she won't say so
She is sad--
but she won't cry

She is broken--
but she refuses to crack,
She is searching
for what life seems to lack

She's alone in a crowd--
but she puts on a smile
and acts fine for a while
becuase she is proud

My legs long to run,
my heart longs to beat,
I yearn for the feeling,
of lifting off my feet

My voice longs to sing,
my ears long to hear
the song of the wild,
that is calling so near

My soul longs to soar
above rolling hills,
I wish I could wander
and climb trees at will

I know that I must
follow my spirit, away
and live with the land
till the end of my days.