My tongue is red
My feet are (not) blue
And in the summer I skip the rope
I dance in the meadow and
No one can tell me what to do
The sun is down, it’s time to
Gooo!
Ridgetop Elementary
2
Looking around
The blow of the wind
hits my face. Blowing
my hair .
I look around me
and see different
types of people.
Some small and
Others tall. I hear
Laughs from children.
The ladybug on
my leg and it tickles
me.
Then I wonder about
tomorrow.
Cunningham elementary
5
Advice for Poets
Hello Poets!
We hope you’re busy putting the finishing touches on your poetic masterpieces so you can submit your poems by the February 19 deadline!
Wondering what the judges will be looking for when they read your poem? Here are a few hints:
Imagery – images need not be only visual; any of the five senses (sight, hearing, touch, taste, smell) make a poem vital and interesting.
Originality – Use your own voice in your own way.
Use of Language and Form – How does the work look on the page? How does it sound when you read it aloud? Don’t sacrifice a great phrase or image just to make a rhyme.
KLRU Videos of 2017 Vision+Voice Winners
Earth
Is resilient
Is tough
Cosmic collisions can get to Earth
But Earth is resilient
And
A place full of laughter
A place full of fun
Where people and animals live in unison
Until
We use the earth
And find all its secrets
And destroy the beautiful gifts it has given us
Until
We change
We save the earth
We preserve its beauty
Until
All is the same as it was before
Heart Strings
It started with the doubt that gnawed in my mind to the core
then the searing self loathing leaving my soul in ashes
But it was the loneliness that enabled the
shears to snip strings to shreds
It sounds like your voice
tangled in my thoughts
The shadow of your arms
wrapped around my waist
It sounds like the tug of a smirk when you whisper
into my neck and me into yours
the feel of your fingers makes shudder
a look at your lips and my heart flutters
The way we’d lean into each other
After all we never went through
Ann Richards
9
Army Men
Army men
Fast, scared,
shooting, screaming, dying
They serve and protect us.
Soldiers
Zilker Elementary
3rd
Letting Go
Have you ever just wanted
To let go to not be here
That the feeling you have
Makes you feel miserable and not loved
That the thing you want
Could be deadly but you hold back
That feeling that you’re hated
Nor loved but also abandoned by everyone
You feel like it’s over
You imagined a world without you there
You think they will be happy
Because you know it’s a way out
In the end it’s truly
Extremely sad when it comes to that
Point in your life when
When you have made the choice to
End it all for yourself
Because you know that suicide’s right there
Postscript from DaneS’s mom:
He wrote it for all the people who feel bad but don’t have a voice to share. He did not write it about how he feels.
Perhaps his poem will spur conversation and let some child know there are others who struggle like they do and reach out.”
Murchison
8
Proof of Fact and Lies
“It never happened”
The words are burnt onto my tongue
Its burn, a constant reminder of the truth.
An ache in your chest, a stinging in the eyes,
the flashbacks proof of fact and lies.
I hear sirens blare its sound throughout the hall,
yet I know they’re not there to save me.
The end is near, I fear, but with a final push,
I jump up, racing, the stairs growing nearer as sweat and tears blind me.
The resolution, I gather, will come as long as I don’t listen to those who yell,
“It never happened”
Ann Richards
9th
The Last Drawer On The Right
In the bureau in my room
A stack of drawers sit atop one another
Filled Up With
Clothes
Clothes
Clothes
Each drawer is likewise to the first
Except the last
The last drawer on the right is
Lessons
Laughter
Pictures
Memories
Junk
Love
Overflowing with
All the adolescent mess that make me, me
All the funny times
All the lessons learned
All packed into
The last drawer on the right
Gorzycki
7
Past, Unknown
Tears stream down the unconscious child’s cheeks,
as her hair,
matted with dried blood,
flows gently in the harsh winter air.
Her mother’s arms,
loosely wrapped around the girl’s small frame,
are shaking with fear.
Fear,
not for the innocence bleeding in her hands,
but for herself,
and her own clear conscience.
The destination grows nearer,
as does the child’s safety.
When,
at last,
the mother walks in.
Hesitantly,
she hands the child,
her own flesh and blood,
blood that is now stained onto her hands, clothing, wall,
to a nurse.
The events that follow are vague,
as is what had occurred before.
Still, the truth is hidden in the family,
whispers and glances prove to be evidence,
and tears,
fact through the fiction.
All that is known will be revealed through time,
but, until then,
the child shall live her life without thoughts of her past.
Without the torment of not knowing the truth.
Blissfully unaware.
Ann Richards
9th