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Submitted by: K.A. (age 10) Down in the garden, under the leaves
The chickens fly in the breeze. Some with muffs, others with clean legs Down in the garden which holds a sleigh The Buff Orpington leads yet full of glee, As they continue on their way As they get to the garden with a stretch of the leg They lay down by the sleigh, They look inside on this fine spring day, They find lots of water, as much as they may! And, when the sun sets They go inside to dream away, And the next day they would go outside, Yet again, to play.
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Submitted by: Joan Testori The mountains stood in the distance,
Snow covered, Beautiful, So far away, Like the years that stood before me As I stood on the shores of my future in my 20’s. Yet with each decade that passed me by, As I climbed the many hills in between, I kept my eyes upon the horizon, On the distant mountain range, And it seemed that with every passing year The mountains drew a little bit closer. Now, as the sun sets behind these same mountain peaks, I gaze once again at their beauty, And the welcoming glow of the end of yet another beautiful day, The mountains have drawn almost close enough to touch. As I face each new decade now, I still enjoy the mountains and all that they represent, Yet the size of these mountains no longer strike the same fear That nearly overwhelmed me As my younger self. Submitted by: Elayna Cardillo As beautiful as an angel,
With the thorns of the devil She gets picked at first glance. The cries of her pain, Being torn from her bush and brought away Is all ignored, Just to be given away. All her effort growing from a seed Is all in her mind of memories, With her beauty starting to wilt away, She loses hope and fades away. As people say she is nothing more Than a weed that grows from the ground, She notices how far she came And was pretty enough to get picked from the ground. As she takes her final breath A tear rolls to the ground, She smiled and knew all roses are beautiful No matter what people do. Submitted by: Eliott McQuade We usually like the feeling of sleep.
Something so calming in heavenly deep. It's like swimming in open water bare. Not thinking about what awaits to scare Us out of our bones and out of our flesh And out of our mind just waiting to press Us between two slices of freshly made bread The layers of fabric that you call a bed I’m aware of these monsters so each night I take It upon myself to instead stay awake. Submitted by: Patricia Martin It’s now the brilliant season
and so I imagine living a farmers market kind of life one which so often eludes me eyeing the perfection of my new woven French market basket found for a song at the thrift shop I imagine drifting gracefully from booth to booth hand picking perfect produce for my evening table I step outside and cut a bundle of peonies this sunny June day trying to decide between the white, pink, and burgundy purple heavy headed they are like ladies wearing layers of frilly petticoats I decadently gather some of each to arrange in the squat green metal vase they look so lush and abundant I go out and pick even more to nestle in with my austere bamboo stalks Stepping back I feel satisfied at last the heady scent filling my cottage Shutting out the world I need to shut out the world and I am thinking this is the way to do it Itchy for more sunshine I drive to the new sacred garden site after the party is over to meander in solitude along the stone paths among the raised annual gardens as the Zen rock waterfall babbles soothingly minding its own business not questioning my motives or asking anything of me Turning into a different maze I face the labyrinth intricate with stone and brick circular paths some patterns seem vaguely Moroccan others like man-made best attempts at industrialized nature in shades of slate and faded terracotta Stepping deliberately slowing my pace slowing my breathe I know I cannot hurry to the center that awaits me with the simple stone bench It’s about the trip not the destination as they say listening to the chattering sunset birds moving one step at a time sequestered from the chaos of the outside world cloistered from the hubbub the exhausting useless energy I find that prayer wells up easily like another song chorus I did not know I could sing on this most brilliant day Submitted by: Bethany Maccalous Okay…
Okay… Okay… I use this word all the time, But what does it really mean? I tell my Friends, My teachers, My parents, My community, that I’m Okay. Yet in reality I’m not, But who actually cares? Who would respond differently, If I say I’m not okay? I guess it really only matters to me, But even I lie to myself, There is really no escape, From the word Okay, What does it really mean? Submitted by: Bethany Maccalous It’s all around us,
So why do we fear it? After all the future isn’t set in stone, There are too many variables. Too many things that we can’t control. So why don’t we embrace it? Why fear it? If we fear it, Does that control our lives? Life is about taking chances, Taking risks, Hopping into the unknown. So I’m making a decision, Right here, Right now. I will not be scared of the unknown, I will embrace it, Like an old friend. Now my life has begun, Unto the next adventure, The next challenge, Onto the start of my life. You should choose the same, If not routines are fine, But I encourage you to try, Come out of your comfort zone. Submitted by: Lyahnize Rojas sometimes,
when words have a weight, i like to sit and think about the things that would calm me down. i remember those nights i'd fall asleep to your steady breaths. i remember taking comfort in the silence that fell between. i remember how your presence was enough to submerge me into a state of relaxation no metaphor could comprehend. you were my constant. you were my heartbeat. you were my clarity. and with you, i was stable. but these nights i lie awake speaking to another. one who's begged to be that remedy. one who i would wish cure me if i wasn't so preoccupied searching for you. these breaths they take don't fill my lungs like yours did. i still find myself overwhelmed with insecurity, in times i'm surrounded by security. that's just one of the many things that returned in your absence. something in me broke that day, and the piece that shattered was too significant to sweep under the rug. see, in the fragments of that glass rest my sense of reality itself. when i look through them with a microscope, everything is as it should be. yet i still spend these hours examining every shard, searching for something i know cannot be found. then every time i pause, i look back at all that time wasted and the pile in front of me and i think about giving up, because i know that this is insanity. I am insane. Submitted by: Coryse Villarouel This is a country of firsts
A long list of those who broke the curse The curse to unite, read, lead and fight But yet the race has no end It has a strong beginning and it bends Today was won, tomorrow's begun The clock resets, restarts at one. We must look past this test Look to those who have done it best There are countries in the world Whose lists of first have long been told They've raced and reached every first and continue to climb past what was their worst Lessons have been taught, races have clear endings they strive for newer, brace for better, build for stronger and unite together. Let our firsts be like theirs and move past all our fears Lead through all our tears to build a nation that belongs to all of our peers. Submitted by: Liam O’Connor We are the sons of our father's
We were the lovers to be We are the ghosts We were the boys so vain In the field’s of green once a river of red flowed but we shall never rise from it’s depths We are the echo of the past though your ears remain deaf to our dying breath In the field's of shattered dreams lies the bygone of what was In the room lays the tattered book of rhymes of joy The giggle of the child so fragile and still when life was but a fleeting thought The mother's weeping over the cradling tomb What was and what is can not be understood The stones now stand up for all who pass But they can not comprehend yet still they try to see For the rain washed away the pain but not our cries! Forget me not! Forget me not! I am here! See the flowers grow! In the field's of poppies and the sea of gold we are here still! We are the breath in the wind! Yet we are forever silent like the Guns of War..... |
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