Poetry
INHUMAN
Maya Alteri a certain stigma defines my entire being because if i can’t appeal to the public eye the me in myself distorts itself and falls further down in the grave i dug for it. the me in the mirror melts, disfigures itself beyond comprehension, searching for some kind of liberation, in the fallen pieces it forces me to pick up. even i, the me in myself and the me in the mirror expect to know exactly what they want to see. STRATOSPHERIC Maya Alteri a permanent state between existence and nonexistence, like sticking your hand through a pane of glass that’s the consistency of gelatin. to be forever in a lapse of time, a cycle of nothing. waiting for more to come, but only seeing a faint glimmer of possibility. nothing but tv static and a lack of oxygen. WHO AM I
Michaella Namiotka Who am I, really? why is it that I always ask? The uncertainty follows me, a never ending task. It's become like a stain, it never goes away. Why can't I find the answer? Will I ever, some day? Our little minds once thought, "I can't wait to grow up, to just be on own..." However, it isn't that easy, The heart had yet to be shone. We all must choose a path, why does it seem so simple to some? I wish I knew like them. Why do I feel so dumb? It seems like all I have, is the messy jumble I carry, my messy jumble of thoughts. It all just seems unnecessary. Purpose begins with a passion. Now what is that to me? Why it's to make others happy. That's who I desire to be. How can I make that happen? That I still do not know. At least it's a start, I wonder where I'll go. Who am I, really? Why is it that I always ask? Young lady, you're a precious being, with an ever so dominant task. You do not know it yet, but trust that the certainty will come. You're going to do astonishing things. Stay steady with the beat of the drum. Purpose begins with a passion. Now what is that to you? You want to make others happy? Your dreams have already come true. The Aged Fruit Falling
Abby Choi I am in my prime. At the peak of my life. The healthiest version of my body, the most I could ever learn, the kindest my heart could ever be. The life that the world has told me to lead, is right here and right now so what am i to do? what am i doing. While I dawdle and wait, for what? I don’t know, the stopwatch runs and runs and runs and runs and runs and i cannot keep up. It would be better if someone stopped it right now, to freeze the picture, while it is still happy, and healthy, and kind, and beautiful. Fear says that it is already too late. So what am I to do. Growing Up
Samantha Bradshaw I remember the days When I wanted to be older I couldn’t wait to be in highschool Or have a job Or have my license When I had just learned How to ride a bike Without training wheels I had wanted to grow up fast But now I realize Times were so much simpler And I wish they didn’t go by So fast Lost & Found
Keegan Barbarow-Ballenger Lost in the dark no way around it, not used to this. Before it was us, just us. Always playing and messing around. Working to solve the big mystery, but it was already done. We plundered the darkness, fought off the robots ate pizza, stayed up till 6AM. Then after the trip, I moved. I went away, I left the place in your hands I came back repeatedly, you never seemed to be there. After years I inhibited the area. But you were lost And not found. Be a Poet
Molly Hartnett Be an Instructor: Are you an instructor? Then be an instructor… Expect imperfection Expect progress Expect reliance Start small Start slow No two people are the same Your mind must be an art classroom, Belly button out, squish the bug, touch your toes Sit in the chair, bum out, knees folded Find something new Changes by the second Expect imperfection Expect progress Be as dependable as a mother Be open to anyone, Anything Snowflakes fall rapidly Where is your student You can barely see your feet below you Brave the elements Expect imperfection Expect progress Your glass must be half full Good will come You are relied on Focus, your toes aren't cold Expect imperfection Expect progress Be resilient Keep moving Ignore your blue fingertips And your icy eyelashes And your wet hair, Sweaty skin, Icicles forming on your student, Keep practicing Expect progress Expect perfection Farm Life Are you a farmer? Then be a farmer… Get up early Stay up late Knee deep in mud Don't forget who you are Foot on the clutch Then on the brake Hold Release Gas Go Your body covered in sweat Boots and pants coated in mud Streaks of dirt across your face Dirt under your nails Jump the fence Deliver the calf Body covered in mud And blood And a calf Calluses forming under your skin Grab your bucket Enter the chicken pen Prepare your nostrils Move the hens Collect the eggs Ignore the pecks from broods Blood streaming from your fingers Don't forget who you are Foot on the clutch Then on the brake Hold Release Gas Go Are you a farmer? Then be a farmer. Are you a human?
Dillon Ryan Are you one of us Nearly 8 billion who Stand at the cliffs That plunge into The sea Of life And wonder If we Should plunge too? Are you ready To embroider your spirit Into the fabric Of the Earth? Do you dance to The beating of Your Own Heart? Do you live And love And lie And lie out of love? Do you breathe And sweat And bleed And fight And flee? Do you mourn The loss Of love Of loved Of happiness Of feeling? Do you fear Change Uncertainty Or nightmares You dream With your eyes open? Are you one of us Who stand alone With the ghost of everyone else in the world Trying to trust that They are real-- The rock you stand on worn In the shape of their feet? Are you one of us Who stand alone With the spirit of everyone else in the world Who has stood in the same spot as you stand now-- The rock worn in the shape Of our feet? Are you one of us Who stand ready To plunge A needle through the fabric of the Earth And embroider your spirit Into it? So when you stand At the edge of the cliff Looking out Over the vast sea of life Turn your back To the edge-- Heels over and Toes clinging to the rock Like they would A diving board. Breathe Into the wrenching Of the gut-- The cold twinge Of fear-- The longing To feel the sand on The far shore. Spread your arms. Close your eyes And Drop. Rumors
Known Writer Insidious. Traitorous. Cancerous. Weather started on purpose, Or by a misspoken word. Rumors are always out of hand. They shift and change Conforming to whatever shape lets them survive best And must be removed or destroyed completely, Often causing damage To ensure that it's completely dead. Much like a cancer, They destroy their host in a bid for survival, Though often they die with the host they kill. They may start out harmless enough But they can quickly overtake, Overrun, Until it's too late. |
CURIOUSER
Elly Hume going backwards or moving towards: a rather wonderful puzzling conundrum. a mad-hatter riddle if you will. everything’s gone all topsy-turvy, all upside down and back around, and through the rabbit hole and up the teapot! whoopsie-daisy! there goes your head! “your head?” no, not my head silly! my head may be losing a few feathers, and seems to have a scarily high number of more pings-then-pongs, but my head is screwed on just fine, thank you. “but, that makes positively no sense!” ah, but my dear, sense is negatively relative. sense to you may be non-sensical, but sense is earl grey and sugar cubes to me! perfectly practical and totally understandable. now, i’m telling you, go collect your head! no, Alicce, don’t leave me with him! i didn’t mean it, i swear! no, no, Alice! … and ooh! there it goes! it’s rolling down to disillusionment now! “why are you standing there? help me collect my head!” im afraid that is virtually impossible, love. i may be mad, but i am not mad enough to collect belongings that are indubitably not mine! i can’t pick up your head! your thoughts certainly aren’t mine, plus, there’s no nametag on the inside! mother would unequivocally be upset with me if i picked up your head, i simply must not. “but, hatter! our head is escaping!” shush, voice! i can not explain to you in any other words, it does not belong to me. we can not go stealing other people’s heads, especially with things so private as thoughts. how terribly rude. “but, what if-” i said shush. Now, now, don’t cry, i am trying very hard not to yell. it was all your fault in the first place. you were in charge of keeping the head in check, not letting it wish for things that we can’t have. “I’m sorry.” i know, i know, i am too. for being too curious, for pushing too hard. now i’ve gone and wrecked it all, not proper, not proper at all. bad torrent, bad! oh, wait, my hat! my feathers! i lost a few screws! do i go backwards to collect my head? “I thought it was rolling towards us!” towards us? going backwards? how puzzling, topsy turvy indeed. but what clearly is the difference between towards and backwards, sideways, frontways, backaways, and around again? two-steps forward, two-steps back… How do we make change, If we are just going to argue And end up where we were to begin with? “My dear Hatter, I have absolutely no idea. And that certainly is a terrifying thing.” on the eve of ruin
Jocelyn MacDonough shatter me, break me; make me feel something other than this hollow cavity, cavernous, growing inside of me. i call this love, it is the only love i have ever known. i fear i will only ever know this, the jagged edge of words and hurts pressing into my skin, the illusion of a caress. love me. love me until i love you, desperate in the way only damage can create. without you, i feel nothing. without you, i am nothing. i turn myself into stone, ignore the fractures spiraling across my skin, your love seeping into the crevices. it is better to accept this, this poisonous, festering love, than to be an empty husk. i need you. love me in the way i have grown to crave. in the way that takes, leaves me immobile, helpless, drains my will until nothing is left but you, dismantles my lungs until i cannot breathe without your love. i fear that one day, you will leave me to die, gasping for air where there is none, for you have left me, for you no longer love me, for i cannot exist without your love. i fear that i will never know anything but this, your tight grip suffocating me, the polarizing neglect and affection you give me. i fear the absence of your love. i fear your love. Flame of Fire
Bryn Dillon The room is lit by a single flame of fire Sparking and flickering with no shame It burns with rage and desire It shudders and fills with ire It wants to play a game But it was only a single flame of fire Its need to spread was dire Longing to not be only a single flame It was fueled by desire The flame will never tire It had nothing to lose but everything to gain No longer was it a single flame of fire The flames rose higher Spreading and laying its claim Burning the house quenched the flames' desire Waiting for the sirens wail to transpire But the call for help never came It started with a single flame of fire Which was filled with rage and desire. Simplicity Itself
Logan Domineck The world’s a dull place at first sight Dull colors and too-bright lights Everything’s large and clunky Shapes and surface are really funky And nothing works together quite right Sometimes it feels inconvenient When physics and your mind have a disagreement When you can’t predict the arc of a ball Or when gravity causes you to fall You might resent reality’s treatment Time’s an exhausting sport And memory’s your last resort Then even that starts to fail And you hear biology’s wail By then your body has started to contort But as I find myself learning And I find my view of the world turning I see the small bits And how it all fits And I find my curiosity stirring The universe is an elegant process From a physics view, i must profess Each and every law has its place In the deep depths of space With formula that we force to confess We’ve found the laws of the world We’ve seen the base and observed The simplest bit We’ve managed to split Is a bit of space-time, all curled Observing the beauty of chemistry Some people are prone to pedantry But the dance of bonds And perfectly corresponds To the phenomena observed in a simple tree The beauty of the world is in simplicity The implicit natrality mixed with complexity An endless fractal of perfect design An image of superb design Defies the confines of possibility Think of the infinite detail Each little pressure of each inhale The depth of things as we go under Fills me with wonder Like the fractal complexity on every scale Preventing Cavities
Lilly Mastrototoro I always come to the same conclusions, Concentric circles, Bated breath, Trying not to swallow the lump in my throat, For fear of drowning. A foaming cleanser in my mouth, Soap. Filtering out my cries, And muffling my silence, A small flick of anticipation, Click. Waiting for time to pass. 7:02 AM on a Weakday
Minerva Vivoni-Ocon Beating hearts fall into rhythms And the steps I take won’t match anyone else The fossil at the front desk Could care less if the Lavender tea overdosed on sugar, The weapon of choice For the Army of Clones, Is drink, drank, drunk indoors. Vanilla pools should be seen rarely And right now their flooding Is enough to give me, A healthy, happy, humbled, hardly harried human a heart Attack! facial features are the feature At tonight’s Academy Awards show Can’t they hear the screams Of the baby in the back row? I can see a sector, Of friends from a past vector, I can’t tell If what’s growing in their hair, Are violets, grass, or worms. A jealousy so fierce Brought on by half a second of absent thoughts is starting to rot my core. I’m losing myself in an ocean Littered with stars Or scattered in trash, Either or, stagnant results are expected. Note: A side effect of safety => life being a bore Three clones took away My four-leaf clover Luckily there’s a garden next door Immune to the pollutants Of everything I’ll never Stand for. If I
Abby Flournoy If I planted a garden With an array of bright flowers Would you smile from ear to ear? If I stayed up and told jokes Till my voice fell from my throat Would you crack a smile? If I chased the sunset And paused time just for you Would you smile for me? If I captured your dreams And encased them in a beautiful display Would you smile genuinely? Or would you just walk away? Understand
j.j. no one will ever understand. why my anger overflowed I don't even know her not a big deal It doesn’t have anything to do with me, but I long to scream bloody murder at them, while they giggled softly at her, the girl reaching for her knee, sobbing on the field a feeling of hopelessness and defeat, the pain you wouldn’t expect, my heart goes out to her. I am reminded of our similarity, when I adjust the brace on my knee. Miki Berenyi
Iris Rhyee Frostbite heart carved into the silent cusp of June and July Just to leave Crack Baby and I split on the table 17 years of an unrequited love for life into box food I was born unto your unwanted, dead prayer I slapped a bandaid on your bulletwound with one cry (You’re still waiting for your standing ovation). I’m so hungry for applause that isn’t mine Starving for the marrow of your prayer, You know that I want it Always more, A mere critic to your surface showcase hung with blinking lights And scribbled on paper, a birthday present just for me. So when the world becomes your burden Be sure to know the lines to speak your mind So I can stand backstage and hold the curtains While I watch your prayer echo with an encore. Ocean of Curiosity
Sarah Bickerstaff the water ebbs and flows, carefully tasting what it is yet to know. each lick it takes: a new hello. the water touches it gently, begging, pleading, praying, wishing to be let in, wanting to learn so it can start again. the new place: a house, built tall, sturdy, strong. just barely apart from the ocean. unknown, the family waits patiently inside, waiting for the ocean to arrive. Walt Whitman, A Cosmic Inquiry
Emily Tonning Do you have a map of the stars? What did you use, Uncle Walt, All those years ago? What gave you the strength, Uncle Walt, To shamelessly walk against the scornful edges of this planet, Despite the chance that your clothes would catch Or that your skin would get cut up? How were you so brave, Uncle Walt? So sure of yourself, and so proud, Amidst a world where your kind wasn’t allowed? What constellations gave you the strength? Maybe it was as if the stars were inside of you the whole time. |
Are you a Violinist?
Bethanie LaBaire
Are you a Violinist?
Be a Violinist.
Be whatever the conductor needs
Be water, flow into any shape needed of you,
be flexible and dynamic, be able to change.
Sometimes you need to be icy, other times you’re like a mist.
You are a mere bolt of a wheel of a much larger car,
Your conductor is your driver,
But your mistakes make the whole car crash.
So focus on everything,
notes
posture
conductor
notes
conductor
Fingers, fingers, look at your fingers,
They are yelling in pain but you can’t hear
over the sound of the symphony.
They must be nimble, walking on tightropes over a c
h
a
s
m of mistakes
So listen to the metronome,
beating strong and still
keeping perfect pace to practice your piece,
try to be just like it.
Consistent, confident, continuous.
Never waver.
Never waver and never give up,
keep going,
wait,
wait for the moment.
You’ll know it when you hear it.
All of a sudden everything will fall into place
like when you finally remember something you've been trying to think of all day,
like when you first ride a bike all by yourself,
like when you get a good grade on a test you thought you bombed.
This moment will jump up on you
when you least expect it.
That,
that is the moment,
beautiful, pure, wonderful.
It will hook you,
And make you fall in love.
Bethanie LaBaire
Are you a Violinist?
Be a Violinist.
Be whatever the conductor needs
Be water, flow into any shape needed of you,
be flexible and dynamic, be able to change.
Sometimes you need to be icy, other times you’re like a mist.
You are a mere bolt of a wheel of a much larger car,
Your conductor is your driver,
But your mistakes make the whole car crash.
So focus on everything,
notes
posture
conductor
notes
conductor
Fingers, fingers, look at your fingers,
They are yelling in pain but you can’t hear
over the sound of the symphony.
They must be nimble, walking on tightropes over a c
h
a
s
m of mistakes
So listen to the metronome,
beating strong and still
keeping perfect pace to practice your piece,
try to be just like it.
Consistent, confident, continuous.
Never waver.
Never waver and never give up,
keep going,
wait,
wait for the moment.
You’ll know it when you hear it.
All of a sudden everything will fall into place
like when you finally remember something you've been trying to think of all day,
like when you first ride a bike all by yourself,
like when you get a good grade on a test you thought you bombed.
This moment will jump up on you
when you least expect it.
That,
that is the moment,
beautiful, pure, wonderful.
It will hook you,
And make you fall in love.
Another Tangent on Time
Known Writer
Time slowly drifts past us,
lulling us into a false sense of security about our deadlines.
Until we startle awake,
and realize that our time has passed.
That it drifted by us,
silent in the dark.
So we set up posts,
lights,
barriers and dams to warn us of the passing time.
But to no avail.
Our efforts futile.
So we resign ourselves to a constant state of alertness,
So that the flowing river of time cannot carry us past our destinations,
But in doing so we unwittingly grate on ourselves.
Never fully resting.
Or relaxing.
So when it comes time to jump off at our destination.
We miss it all the same.
We plunge into the river.
And without the raft,
Which we once used to steer ourselves away from the worst of the rapids.
We are pulled into and shot out of the eddies of time.
Unable to reach any land or stagnant point to find ourselves and plan
Until we are pulled out
Back onto a raft.
Beter learned
And back where they started.
Known Writer
Time slowly drifts past us,
lulling us into a false sense of security about our deadlines.
Until we startle awake,
and realize that our time has passed.
That it drifted by us,
silent in the dark.
So we set up posts,
lights,
barriers and dams to warn us of the passing time.
But to no avail.
Our efforts futile.
So we resign ourselves to a constant state of alertness,
So that the flowing river of time cannot carry us past our destinations,
But in doing so we unwittingly grate on ourselves.
Never fully resting.
Or relaxing.
So when it comes time to jump off at our destination.
We miss it all the same.
We plunge into the river.
And without the raft,
Which we once used to steer ourselves away from the worst of the rapids.
We are pulled into and shot out of the eddies of time.
Unable to reach any land or stagnant point to find ourselves and plan
Until we are pulled out
Back onto a raft.
Beter learned
And back where they started.
The Garbage Truck
Callan Asher
A school bus is like a garbage truck.
Parents leave them at the end of the driveway.
Waiting for them to be taken away
Taken to a place unfamiliar to one, but a second life to the other
Brought to a place to get dumped on with knowledge but at the end of the day,
It always comes back
And what do they do, they bring them back down
Not knowing what happens after they get wafted away,
Driven down the street and out of sight.
But they know that a little bit of what was brought down to the end of the driveway
will always come back
Every so often they go back down the driveway and bring them back up.
Not the whole kid or a bin full of garbage, but a drained, empty shell
waiting and wanting
to get filled back up again
Only for the process to be repeated repeated repeated.
Callan Asher
A school bus is like a garbage truck.
Parents leave them at the end of the driveway.
Waiting for them to be taken away
Taken to a place unfamiliar to one, but a second life to the other
Brought to a place to get dumped on with knowledge but at the end of the day,
It always comes back
And what do they do, they bring them back down
Not knowing what happens after they get wafted away,
Driven down the street and out of sight.
But they know that a little bit of what was brought down to the end of the driveway
will always come back
Every so often they go back down the driveway and bring them back up.
Not the whole kid or a bin full of garbage, but a drained, empty shell
waiting and wanting
to get filled back up again
Only for the process to be repeated repeated repeated.
Forgiveness
Michaella Namiotka
There is a certain intimacy that comes from being understood
Although we cannot understand
If we choose not to forgive
The human species is imperfect
We must allow ourselves to view human actions through a different retrospect
At times does an act of revenge seem tempting
Nevertheless does that fall far from what would be loving
Many seek to hurt us, and find no guilt in the end
It is only up to us, how we choose to reascend
Shall we ponder over ways to hurt them more deeply, laugh and applaud
Or choose to realize that we were each created beautifully
But remember that we are flawed
Trust me I know
I’ve experienced inexplicable pain caused by others in the past
However, allow me to share a method with you
That will cause this pain to flounder, and leave you in flabbergast
There is not quite much to it
Besides the fact that you must use your heart over your mind
Force yourself to simply unwind
Forget about yourself for a moment
Imagine Jesus on the cross
A man who died for your sake of happiness
Mocked and ridiculed
Human chests of emptiness
If one of these individuals were to beg for mercy
Jesus without a second thought would forgive
Which would soon provide this intimacy
You see
If he would do this
Than so can you
Why don’t we all choose to forgive each other too?
Now don’t forget to consider yourself as well
Learn from your mistakes, and from them allow yourself to excel
We are like the moon
Experiencing different phases
Yet the moon becomes full, and becomes the light of the night all embraces
Strive to see the good in all whom you encounter
In the end, we are all really just sisters and brothers.
Michaella Namiotka
There is a certain intimacy that comes from being understood
Although we cannot understand
If we choose not to forgive
The human species is imperfect
We must allow ourselves to view human actions through a different retrospect
At times does an act of revenge seem tempting
Nevertheless does that fall far from what would be loving
Many seek to hurt us, and find no guilt in the end
It is only up to us, how we choose to reascend
Shall we ponder over ways to hurt them more deeply, laugh and applaud
Or choose to realize that we were each created beautifully
But remember that we are flawed
Trust me I know
I’ve experienced inexplicable pain caused by others in the past
However, allow me to share a method with you
That will cause this pain to flounder, and leave you in flabbergast
There is not quite much to it
Besides the fact that you must use your heart over your mind
Force yourself to simply unwind
Forget about yourself for a moment
Imagine Jesus on the cross
A man who died for your sake of happiness
Mocked and ridiculed
Human chests of emptiness
If one of these individuals were to beg for mercy
Jesus without a second thought would forgive
Which would soon provide this intimacy
You see
If he would do this
Than so can you
Why don’t we all choose to forgive each other too?
Now don’t forget to consider yourself as well
Learn from your mistakes, and from them allow yourself to excel
We are like the moon
Experiencing different phases
Yet the moon becomes full, and becomes the light of the night all embraces
Strive to see the good in all whom you encounter
In the end, we are all really just sisters and brothers.