your vision, your voice
poem submission post for 2017
I can’t remember
what was written on that
chipped chalk ceiling,
but it must have meant something,
because I couldn’t look away.
The fluorescent light wavered,
fading,
like it was grieving
something lost.
The scent of the aloe vera hand soap
repulsed me,
punctured me;
my knees giving out.
The rancid pink
of the aluminum stall
against sharpied text,
disturbingly vivid,
and so
forced.
I just wish I could remember,
what I said
and what I didn’t.
Light is the path to freedom
You see so much more than the sky
Freedom is more important than money
She was old-fashioned
in the most peculiar of ways.
She never saved a phone number, but instead memorized them all:
technology was unreliable.
She was the proud owner of a ’57 Chevy Bel Air, despite its having virtually no safety features,
save the seat belt she never bothered with,
and was perpetually in the habit of running red lights because she “hadn’t the time to sit idle when there’s so much left to be seen in the world”.
Sometimes it was infuriating,
but only in the way that curiously made me desire her
more.
She could tell me things about the past — things she shouldn’t know, without having been there.
And because of that very fact, I knew she would never decide to stay.
She already knew too much for one life to satiate her —
even the stars, in all their mystery and grandeur, were too still for such a
drifter.
Teachers are full of kindness.
Teachers are full of greatness.
Teachers teach you to follow your dreams even if you are separated from a friend because you are on different teams.
Teachers teach you about light. Teachers teach you to love everything in sight. Teachers teach you to do the right thing. Music teachers teach you to sing. Teachers teach you math. Teachers send you on the right path.
Teachers love you the way you are… trying to be someone else goes way too far. Teachers help you find your heart… teachers make you so smart.
My hair is on my head
It sometimes gets messed up in bed
I can put my hair in a bun
It helps not get in my way when I run
My bangs are long
It makes me see some things wrong
I have to comb my hair sometimes
It tends to bounce when I rhyme
I get called a girl a lot
Even though I am not
Sometimes it holds my sweat
But sometimes it makes me wet
In January I love jumping on my trampoline, and
I feel scared that I’m going to fly out of the trampoline if I jump too high.
I feel the coldness swell up on my feet.
I feel exhausted when I keep jumping, jumping and jumping.
And I feel happy when all my friends and family are jumping with me
On my trampoline in January.
I am bored in January
because there’s no fairy
I am bored in February
cause it’s just like January
I am bored in March
Because I don’t like arch
I am bored in April
Cause there’s no maple
I am bored in May
Because it never make my day
I am bored in June
Cause I don’t what’s a pune
I am bored in July
Because you can’t lie
I am bored in August
Cause it’s the foggiest
I am bored in September
Because my friend’s name’S not Timber
I am bored in October
Cause I don’t wanna roll over
I am bored in November
Because I don’t remember
I am bored in December
Cause there’s no cinder
Running free on the wind
Feet barely touching ground
Nothing keeping her down
Endless energy for an endless chase
Never stopping never slowing
Moving forwards never backwards
One day she starts to slow,
The ground she’s barely touched
Is now holding her back
Slowing her run to a stop pulling her to the ground,
Chains keeping her down.
Now for the first time she has no freedom.
Can no longer do as she wishes.
The simple gift she has always taken for granted is now gone.
Maybe as many days go by the chains will loosen allowing her to stand and maybe walk.
Perhaps one day she will have her freedom again,
Free to run with the wind again
Then maybe after that the chains will come again,
Stealing away her freedom.
Being careful when she is able to run again,
But on the ground chained hoping and waiting for her freedom .
Until then she waits.
Gorzycki Middle School
8
Dark
Don’t close your eyes,
Or the darkness will over take
The darkness creeps up on you
Your fear, Your fear of the dark
What?
What did you say?
You’re not afraid of the dark?
Then why?
Why do you hide beneath the covers?
What is it you fear in the dark?
You fear what you cannot see?
What could be there
And what isn’t.
In the dark you cannot see;
In the dark you can hear and smell.
Hear the growls smell the swampy air
So that is what you fear
What hides in the night
When your nightmares come to life
At night in the dark,
The pitch black,
When you can’t see,
That is your fear of the dark.
In a room where you cannot see,
The light is what you need the most.
You can hear water,
The gentle splashing you cannot hear.
Only the rolling thunder of waves pounding rocks.
You can only imagine how far down to the rocks.
The soft padding of small paws probably a cat,
That thought is lost with a roar of the lion.
It’s now hot, so hot you think you’re burning
The rumbling beneath your feet,
You’re in a volcano. As it erupts all you feel is cold.
Now you’re in a blizzard frozen as ice
Your chattering teeth shaking body try to keep warm
When you feel your eyes close the feeling vanishes.
You’re in a bed where you can see.
Is this a dream or
Reality.