Category: 2022-23 Submissions

Heritage reminds us about our culture,race, and history
It lets us embrace our past, present, and future stories that will be passed on throughout our generations, so we can learn about our own nations
Heritage is who we are, where we come from, and what we believe in
Whatever people tell you, having different cultures is definitely not a sin
So, you should be proud of your race, history, and heritage!

Writing many poems about feeling dark nothing tired I then slept long and awoke
Lighter than air now and able to breathe deeply

Cobwebs and dust settled in me so dark
Swept off with the breeze of good food warmth and sunlight

Tasting deep rich spice and bright sparking citrus
And smelling sun-baked earth and bright green grasses

Every rock plant bug I missed before,
looking down and seeing only my own walking feet,
Feel now as close to my face as my own eyes.

Believing in magic like a child when I watched
and saw how my friends could laugh so loud
and saw teardrops in their eyes, faces pink like infants
Laughing with them too and thinking how strong seemed this light.

Dark nothing tired poems, dark nothing tired times,
yes real. Yes hard and cold and painful,
Long hopeless lonely.
But not forever and not alone.

I promise you that.
hearing my mother’s laughter from the living room
smelling clove vanilla cinnamon from the kitchen simmer pot
tasting water so icy and cold it leaves a frost trail down my throat
Seeing sunset shadows trailing through my window
Feeling light and peaceful and rested,
I can promise you;
Not forever and not alone.

He just won’t stay calm
I can see his clenched up palm
As mom scolded him.

“Go clean up your room!”
He just stood there wondering,
This is so not fair.

I looked at the clock, it’s still 12 o’clock
The time seems to freeze
I turn around and face the door where comes a faint knock
The door swings open and in comes light along with a soft breeze
There stands my mother blanket in hand, a quiver in her knees
“Where have you been” I say with a sigh as she walks.
I know where she was but i still ask again with an air of displease.
She ignores the question and plops on my bed and talks.
I lay down my head, not even bothering to listen to the words she breaths.

Life, what is it ? So precious, yet so dull, for one will hate, one will love, one will pace and one will slug. So diverse, yet we’re all the same.

An infinite amount of impulses to attain
The beauty of the expanse
Wonders of worlds too intricate to explain

Ancient remains of the petrichor a mere stain
Finding an epiphany in the dance
An infinite amount of impulses to attain

The stunning syzygy of our domain
The genesis of a realm in a glance
Wonders of worlds too intricate to explain

A limerence towards the realities we must contain
Mellifluous song we enhance
An infinite amount of impulses to attain

The call of the marvels making some insane
Attempting to explain around a never-ending prance
Wonders of worlds too intricate to explain

The web of reality an infinite membrane
Finding the atoms only by chance
An infinite amount of impulses to attain
Wonders of worlds too intricate to explain

In the winter
Our skin splinters
Just like the floorboards,
Of an abandoned house in winter.

It creaks in anguish
It’s cradled memories for as long as the season
Very few are joyful,
Most are melancholic.

A despairing woman once sat on the porch
Sweetly she sang,
Like the fruit grown on the now bare trees
Now she weeps a ghastly cry.

My happy dog, you inspire me to write.
How I love the way you run, walk and sleep,
Invading my mind day and through the night,
Always dreaming about running on hills that are steep.

Let me hope I always remember.
You are invariably lively, pretty and shiny.
Your ears frost in the snow of December,
And wintertime makes you so whiny.

How do I love you? Let me count the ways.
I love your excited eyes when you sit.
Thinking of you biting toys fills my days.
My love for you is huge and will never quit.

Once I had felt trapped in a box,
like a whale in a lake,
peering at the ceiling while I lay awake,
until my heart eventually stops.
For a character who did his all, I got no props,
nothing more in life at stake,
wanting to believe I was more than just a mistake,
almost like a lost, newborn fox.

Recently I decided to rid of this maze,
locking away the dreadful past,
electing myself to quit being a stray,
beginning to set my heart ablaze,
vulnerability and compassion blossoming at last,
for one day, I said, “hey.”