Category: 2019-20 Submissions

Memories of a Song

My chair groans lightly as
the window does, for I
am like clouds that tumble and fall,
like a little child that has

Fallen, oh has fallen. For
the wind has knocked her flat.
Sweet music, however, she breathes deep,
and it serves as her lariat.

To bring her back to do
what she has never had to,
to lift her up by her scruff
so she can learn to be tough.

My Music will return
when he has come back home,
and the wind will stop its howling,
and music shall take its turn.

But the clouds don’t part for
music, and my chair will
creak under the same weight,
and as for the windowsill,

the Storm will press against it,
but won’t break through, not yet.
For your echo still resides here,
so I still feel you near.

Music still echoes throughout
this house, but the radio
now has gone, leaving behind
and empty silence, the memories
Of a Song.

Familiar Game

Sunlight falls, echoing through cat furs and invisible dust drifting through the air.
An old wooden chest, hiding under a stack of quilts and blankets
Within, it holds adventures and secrets,
Playable mysteries with printed boards
and pearly dice, excitement or sometimes boredom in cardboard boxes.
The chest is far greater than what it holds,
The intricately painted sides are much older than they appear, it came from across the sea to this country before this country was fought for and created.

My sister and I dig beneath the blankets, open the lid and explore throughout the man-made canyons of stacked board games, from modern times and decades past.
We set the game on the living room aged carpet of blues and black.
A carpet that has traveled with us from our first house, that sat on a corner under the shade of tall oak trees that sheltered many a lost toy and scraped knee, to the house where my sister and I set up the board game.

Next to us, the cat worms his way under the sienna toned coffee table, another piece traveled from the first home to this one.

Carved within the sanded and polished surface are scratches and gouges from sources unknown, to ones unfortunately remembered.
The cat doesn’t know this, he simply finds solace in a cavity between the floor and a lower shelf of wood underneath the regular tabletop.
Stacked upon the lower shelf are tomes, recorded in great detail describing history or art.

Maybe once of great value to a studying student, but now they sit, abandoned
Replaced by a greater tome of unseen wires, circuits and infinite sources, whether trustworthy or not.
The cat still knows nothing of the stories the books contain both on the inside and out.

He watches us, while we laugh and groan, as the rules of the game frustrate and amuse us.
We don’t pay mind to the artifacts all around us
We don’t need to, they have been with us our whole lives and we know their stories.

A+

I need my grades to go up
right now they just suck
can you give me some luck
or a buck
when i get a b,c or even d

I told my dad my grade
his smile started to fade
I told my mom my score
she always knew it was poor
I showed my grandpa my report card
even though it was hard
I showed my dog my progress report
she was always good support

Yellow Paint

scraping away all of the paint
not stopping until it looks faint
useless scribbles going through my head
so many thoughts going unsaid

painting another layer with another shade

hoping people dont notice and let the mistakes fade
hoping they dont read further onto the meaning
but the signs are so obvious who am i kidding

a tortured mind they might call it
swallowing up the yellow paint to the mask happiness, hoping i fit

black and white to fill my life, still dont know what im aiming for

three nights without proper meals
i’ve become numb, dont know what life truly feels
sanity, i cant keep up for so long, but all i can say is sorry
but i just think i cant reach the day where i’ll see books with my story

painting without a reason
maybe right now’s just not my season
dont really have traces to leave
whats the point? dont got anything to do except to grieve

perfection, such beautiful lies
mind just filled with idiocies
secrets fill my gaze

how i wish i can just get out of this phase

how i hope for an escape
too much plans i’d have to scrape
four days without the voice i loved hearing
whats the point really? ive done nothing but crying

a window to my own mind
whats there to see, theres really nothing to find
but i’d be happy for a sense of being around you
but i guess i’ve lost that too

safe and home were words i always associated with you
then again, ive lost too much, whats there to paint except blue

a castle made out of sand
falling apart, no one to give me a hand

but time will end and i’ll forget our written chapter
knowing i can progress further
consume the blue pill while i forget it all

i guess i could say it’s my fault too

things are turning out bad, and i couldnt get through
you were turning grey and things werent turning out good for me
guess the better move was to let me be

im painting different colors, i dont think i can be true
thinking about ways to get through
going through the days without your voice

but there really was no going back, no more choices

though i had my wrongs, i’ve grown to understand
maybe things cant just go as planned
maybe i didnt have time to think this through
no more paint thats shaded blue

The Movie Around Me

The musty lighting
The crowded halls
The constant chatter
Running to my class
A typical school setting

The dim lights
On a restaurant night
The laughter and conversations
All around me
The opening shot to a dinner scene

The quiet conversations
In a room
My friends and I
Experienced by me
A casual dialogue between characters

Through the walks of life
I witness the elements
Of the stories of other people
As others witness elements of mine
As our shared elements connect us
As Shakespeare once said,
“All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women are merely players”