Category: 10th

My clockwork metal gears,
Swivel and spin swarming together a chorus line,
Blundering beneath man-made copper skin.

My conscious perception,
In my flawlessly gilded head,
Like widespread nuclear warheads,
Bound together by silver threads.

My bearings cease mid-rotation,
In my robust bulletproof body,
Standing among innumerable automated peers,
pondering that maybe one mellow day I will embody,
What it feels like to be human,
to be once again known as the infamous Frankenstein.

My Steampunk days have finally ruptured,
In explosions of molten golden cogs,
But I am left to stand,
Amidst the air of copper brass,
All alone, just as planned,
To vanquish the rest of my inept clockwork creations.

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Cedar Ridge High School

10

I count the hours, the minutes, the seconds on my hand.
The journey has begun, around me, a nauseous dome.
I sit there, I wait, wait for the motherland.

I imagine my feet running in the sand.
My mind, in an endless roam.
I count the hours, the minutes, the seconds on my hand.

The moving carts are like a loud, unsynchronized band.
The noises overwhelm, but the clouds outside a calm, soft foam.
I sit there, I wait, wait for the motherland.

I watch them waiting for the dreamland.
Rotting away, still as a garden gnome.
I count the hours, the minutes, the seconds on my hand.

I listen softly to the music strand.
The journey is at its end, around me, a sleepy dome.
I sit there, I wait, wait for the motherland.

The long, long minutes we all have to withstand.
I just want to go home.
I count the hours, the minutes, the seconds on my hand.
We sit there, we wait, wait for the motherland.

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McCallum High School

10

Walls
Walls that have seen me grow up.
A small girl who ran and played.
Every sleepover, play date, and mess that was made.
Seen every fight and every night that I cried.
It’s seen toys and decorations go,
and said goodbye to friends that I used to know.
Seen hundreds of movies and read many a book.
watched me eat meals my mom would cook.
Seen my changes in style and clothes.
Watched me dance and put on shows.
Seen dusting, vacuuming, and complaining galore.
Seen mountains of clothes bury the floor.

And in all these years the walls have filled.
Become wrapped like a present in posters, calendars and poster boards.
Now the time has come to unwrap the silent watcher.
The four walls that surrounded me.
Almost like stripping a museum of its history,
the posters and paper come down.

I look at the blank walls and only now I realize,
that they’ve been looking back at me all along.

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Stony Point High School

10

All dreams are stolen we had no other choice but we gonna lift the whole damn world
I think of you when I’m evanescent in to the gun smoke going across my face I think of you as my favorite so arduous to let go when bullet went pierce her skin I conjecture my self as Im skating away I think of you and no other I don’t understand why people start hating but you got nothing on you I still think about you behind my black and white mask in the dark corner loading my 38’ being more careful while i’m getting cheese he’s cruising through dark blustery night when we show up in a black SUV no tags to its going down it’s going down keep it quite peace let there be peace in the east side next sunny bright day 6 am feels jubilant after his retribution and heads to the tattoo artist and interpret his outfit on his arm he’s going until he’s finished but misses her every night but he has no worries now.

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LBJ Early College High School

10

to the groups going out for nightcaps, he is nobody; a mere extra in the television show of their night. his presence only clouds their vision of the next bar, where they’re going to get drunker than a sot and slam pints of murphy’s.

by the performers, he is a listener; he entangles himself in the crowd of half-sober locals and apprehensive tourists losing themselves in the slippery fiddle and the bubbly accordion.

and in the smoke room, he is a therapist, someone who listens to the drunk germans and drunk italians pour like a tap about their grandparents’ health and how they’re being exploited at their jobs at the construction site. he kindly gives them back their pouches of tobacco they mistakenly drop on his table.

to the street-sellers, the jewelry-makers, he is an opportunity. they speak in their foreign accents and worldly tongues as they point to their creations of silver and stone. the street performers grill their guitars and puff their pennywhistles to the great beat and bustle of life all around and flash their ample smiles when he drops a crumpled euro into the tin can.

in the pubs, he’s a celebrator. someone whom you imbibe with, someone to shout with, someone that listens to the cries of “eirinn go brach!” and “pog mo thoin!” he becomes equilibrium in the coldness of alcohol and the warmness of people and his mind goes as foggy as dawn in the rolling hills to the western irish coast.

and to the nighttime, he is a drinker. the sound of music bleeds out of every pub like the block’s own merry, drunken symphony. the concoctions of guitar and fiddles, accordions and whistles mix together to make this grand cultural cocktail that inebriates him more than guinness ever could.

by the buildings, he is a seeker. he explores the rustic buildings with rigor, buildings that are older than his country. he finds all the hidden gems; quaint knit shops where the kind old women ask where he’s from as he puts a hank of lambswool on the counter for purchase.

to the city, he is an observer. he notices the beautiful plated fountain with the historical plaque providing shade for the lovers underneath. college students, newlyweds, and tourists bask in the sun in the park, resting on the crunchy emerald grass.

the horn honks of impatient drivers amuse him, because the thought of a tour bus slithering through grafton street, being slowed down by the great tumult of life, is ludicrous. the cries of “slainte!” worm their way into his heart.

to the city, he is many things, he is another welcome in a hundred thousand welcomes. cead mile failte! he is another character, another pawn in the great tale of the city, another set of footprints worn into the boundless cobblestone.

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McCallum High School

10

All eyes on you
All eyes on you
The girl with the curly black hair sitting all alone
She’s the one with the attitude.
The girl who’s always never talking but the one
Who deep inside she has a voice.
When I look at her, I see a leader — someone that
Can speak her mind.
But sees all the discrimination in these hallways
The girl with the curly black hair
The girl that everyone looks at but never talks to
Her pride is inspirational the way she walk with her smirk.

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LBJ High School

10

I’m a girl, whose only fifteen,
a Hispanic girl, with immigrant parents.
Parents who have gone through so much
and still do.
It’s disappointing.
Parents who get up so early and come home so late,
to be able to make sure their kids are straight.
Parents who didn’t get a very good education
but still do what they can to see their children happy!
knowing that its not just one.
It’s disappointing.
How they still get discriminated,
mistreated,
because of their race,
because they don’t know English that well.
It’s just disappointing.
How they are amazing people, great personalities,
and still get done wrong.
It’s just disappointing.

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LBJ High School

10

The world is a messy place, no matter where you go or who you see there is always negativity. People always ask me am I lonely, but I just simply say “lonely is for people who are shut out by the world , but I shut out the world so therefore I am never lonely”.

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LBJ High school

10

What is a white Christmas
is it when the floor is covered in a bed of white
or is it all the snowman smiling?
A white Christmas is what exactly?
A white blanket with patterns of angels and prints.
I dream of this white Christmas.

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LBJ high school

10