Category: 2022-23 Submissions

In this city again
I gaze in awe
At the paper fountains
That haven’t changed a bit

Still folded
By the loving hands of an old woman who knows about
Too much
Depth of the world
Love and hate
That she enchants into the water
Too much

Still crafted
By the candlelight in an otherwise dark room filled with
Too much
Sadness and hope
Love and hate
That she enchants into the water
Too much

The water from the stone fountains
Is sickly sweet
It tastes
Artificial
Like the color yellow
Like the sound of tinkly bells
Like the feel of plastic
Like the smell of perfume
Like lies

The water from the paper fountains
Is bitter
It tastes
Real
Like the color green
Like the sound of drums
Like the feel of sand under my toes
Like the smell of sawdust
Like life

Still created
By the power of a fall thunderstorm that has
Too much
To cry about
Love and hate
That she enchants into the water
Too much

Little, black, and hairy, that’s Lucas.
The most friendly dog anyone could ever meet.
His little face lights up the whole room.
His teeth rip apart toys.
Dumber than a nut, but smart enough to know the word “treat”.
Lucas is like a little teddy bear that just sits on your bed all day.
Nothing makes me happier than having him by my side.
Little, black, and hairy, that’s Lucas!

The leaves falling.
The wind blowing.
The smell of pumpkin spice.
The pumpkin patches are open and scarecrows are out.
The most important football teams playing on the TV screens.
The beautiful colors that come with this exquisite season.

It is library day
the teacher is Ms. Fay
she says to be quite
I do as she says
We check out books
I ask “May I pick two?”
It is time to go
I say “Thank you”
She says “Thank you too”

Anger
a raging storm
like scissors to paper
a monstrous beast
hard to tame
we’ve all had it

Inner beauty is what matters
Inner beauty starts to scatter
You hear a tatter in your head
All it whispers is your life that matters

Mittens dyed brown with chocolate stains,
a tiny pinecone tucked close to your heart.
A little boy smiles and kisses your cheek,
twirling your fingers around, a snowlake.
A dancing nutcracker, a wreath of holly,
A fairy of snow and frost
Like a statue of ice, magnificently carved
of the flourishes of winter,
brushing, swaying, breezes of cold.

Rosy twinkling lights
and benches crafted of ski poles,
white silvery logs gathered in piles high up.
A flutter of evergreen trees in the biting cold wind,
papers folded and passed like soaring cardinals,
Mittens dyed brown with chocolate stains.
a little boy smiling back at you, mirthful.

Blurred visions of pink and waves
The soothing aroma of sunday afternoon flower fields
Sugary ripe flavor dusting your tastebuds
Rose water pours out of its bottle
The rose water stream seeps into the grass

My deadly rose, you give a confusing sight.
How I hate the way you bite, poke, sway,
Pierce through my mind day and night,
You try too hard to go out and play.

You start to shrivel in November.
You are more evil, spiky, and intense.
Red frost nips the robins of December,
And thinking of wintertime makes you wince.

I dislike you for so many reasons.
I hate your powerful leaves, spine, and spikes.
Thinking of your shrivel spine in certain seasons
My hate for you goes til it strikes.

Now we must part til next spring,
Remember my dense words tho they may sting.