Sharing student poems:
after you found out she lied
it’s the uncontrollable shaking
when your eyes lock with hers
it’s the way you and her communicate
without any words
it’s the way you admire
the little things about each other
it’s the give and take you both go through
so neither will suffer
it’s when she walks away
and leaves you inundated with pain
it’s when you let her go
because she doesn’t feel the same
by Jackie Cummings
Where the heck did all the coffee cups go?
Enter the hectic disaster
a truck of my father
in it you will discover
why I don’t drink tea every night.
is simply full
of all kinds of flipping junk.
He use the thing as garage
and an office
and a fridge
It’s the bridge between his work and play
it’s his man cave
and it’s a mess.
Every time I address
this issue he simply waves
“I’ll clean it some day.”
In my 17 years of existence,
“someday” has never came.
But it’s okay, really.
I want the coffee cups back.
By A Winters Warmth
by Shelby Floan
One walks down a lonely path,
While the white winter was wallowing,
Each step getting harder; the snow swallowing the traveler,
He was lost in the white god’s wrath.
The traveler tried with all his might to see,
The wind bit his face, his vision failing him,
He fell down like a fallen warrior,
The snow began to consume.
His head slowly tilted up,
His gaze meeting with a flickering orange,
The travelers will lit up like a torch,
His continued fiery will aimed at his last hope.
By a fire lay a fellow traveler,
Offering a warm brown ambrosia,
The substance rekindled his will,
Feeling suddenly warm and relaxed.
The traveler laid down,
The warmth slowly dying,
Nothing left to feed it,
Until its tragic end.
The reason why
I haven’t been locked up yet
by Anthony Trudeau
Sitting with a guitar
In a circle with friends
Making sweet music our
Minds know no ends
No trouble in sight
No sadness in the air
We’re up all night
About time we’re unaware
Making sweet music
In a circle with friends
I hope I don’t lose this
This music cannot end.
by Cecilia Recchi
My childhood was wild spent in the nature,
trees and butterflies were my toys.
the jungle of my friend’s back yard
was our playground.
Summer afternoons were infinitive
back in that yard; if you were looking for us
that’s where you would go,
lifting your head up to the trees,
where we would spend our time,
climbing like monkeys
to touch the sky with our hands.
The peach tree was massive, entrenched
in the center of that jungle;
on hot days, sticky resin flowed
down the wrinkles of the tree,
orange and gold like fresh honey.
We collected it, sticking our fingers together
all the time, put it in heart-shaped containers,
waiting for it to dry, to become like amber
and then give it to our moms.
We waited all summer, but it still was fresh,
eventually we threw it away.
but we remember those days,
cherish the memory of the dreams
we used to share up on the peach tree,
old innocent dreams,
none of them we still keep,
maybe we should,
just to look at the world with more naive eyes.
by KayLynne Lyons
When things go wrong as they sometimes will
Like the roads your trudging seem all uphill
Days seem to go slower and slower by
You want to smile but all you can do is sigh
When life is pressing down on your a bit
Rest if you have to but never quit
Life has strange twists and turns
In our own way we all will learn
You might just win if you stick it out
The silver tint in the clouds of doubt
Don’t give up cause the pace feels slow
You make it through another blow
You never can tell how close you are
It may be near when it seems far
Stay in the fight when you’re hardest hit
It’s when things seems worst that you cannot quit