Poetry

People who like poetry snap
their fingers instead of clapping.
They see the world around them
in an entirely different way.
People who hate poetry don't
notice the rhythm of words.
They don't notice the rhythm of
the people,
the city,
the world.

Broken

Miracles are beautiful;
surprising one at a perfect time.
When we are struggling most,
Someone is looking out for us
And making life a little easier.
When we are broken,
Miracles pick up the pieces.

Burdens are beautiful;
Thrown upon us at the perfect time.
When we least expect it,
A side road opens in our path
And our detour of life begins.
Burdens give us the opportunity
to pick up our own pieces

-Amy Kiminas

I Like Writing Where I Am

I like writing where I am
When I am in my bed
I am snug under my warm covers
I rest my notepad on my lap
And think of all the possibilities
That I can write about
As I sit in my bed
The room is quiet
I like to be alone
It helps me think more
And I don't feel judged
By people reading over my shoulder
As I come up with a topic
My pen glides on the paper
And letters become words
Which then become sentences
And at the end
I am pleased with my new entry
In my notepad

I can't breathe

I can't breathe
someone help.
The air is dwindling,
so is my heart.
Too many decisions,
too many people telling me what to do,
how to live,
too many people being cruel to me.

I can't breathe.
My lungs are kept shut,
from the words people say to me.
My mouth is kept shut,
from the fear of dying if I say a word about it.
Someone help
I can't breathe

I Live Poetry

Poetry is a valve of mine
It sticks out the small of my back, waiting for a twist
Pressure builds and builds, and waits
A giant sitting on my shoulders, crushing my spirit
Until I sit and think, and the valve is opened
Poetry flows into my life, whether on a page, or in the world
Like a book I am opened as the world opens to me
The beauty of a rainy day, the sadness within a sunny field
Truth flows as a river through me, and I am gifted a ladle
To draw life

Wonderings

I do not understand
Why so many people were given voice boxes
Why pizzas need tiny tables
Why tofu is such a hit
But most of all, I don't understand
Why people are so blind
The world could be (and is) falling apart around them
And they could still find a way to complain
When life gives them lemons
They pull a sour face
And blame someone else
What I understand the most are rocks
Who sit on the ground
And let life happen
Who do not whine
And when the world changes
They change to fit its needs
Whether a tool, a table or a seat
Useful until the sands of time wear them away

My Grandma and Me

There are so many ways
I can see myself in you.
We are alike it's so true.
We love to watch TV,
You like Jeopardy
And I watch MTV.
We act alike.
We talk alike.
We're on the phone at least
One hour a day
Just to chat
And blow some time away.
We pass time together
on the swing
As we
Laugh
Cry
Smile
Frown
We go through life together.
But when we need each other
We come running to the other.

Big and Small

Big things are beautiful;
a canyon gorge deep
a breath-taking view.
The mountain side steep
and ocean so blue.
A great redwood tree
and vast prairie plains
as far as I can see.

And small things are beautiful;
A butterfly wing,
the beak of a bird
that breaks open to sing.
An opening bud,
the veins of a leaf
a baby bunny,
one child's belief.

Flames of Life

Everything I knew is now in the flames
My life has changed forever
And nothing is the same
It seems that life, as I know it is over
But if it is, I am too numb with shock to care
I want to run to my room and hide beneath the covers
To dream and dream that what is happening now is a dream
But now there is nothing
There is no coffee no sugar no cream
What is happening to me?
Fate has called attention to me
But I wish that it never thought twice walking past my door
Poor poor me

Wait

What am I doing feeling sorry for myself?

I have lived and I am alive
I am solid and unbroken
Yes, my life is disrupted and it will never be the same

But I am me and I am granite
Nothing can break me down
And there are no cracks in this piece of perfect stone

I am proud to be alive

I am well
And with my family
This is nothing at all except a bend in the road of life
I will never forget this burning, blazing, freezing morning

But I will move on

And I will not feel sorry for myself

-Ashely Issacs

we've split in two

we've split in two,
I'm sure you've noticed.
it's time to separate,
but how do I tell you this?
you lost your interests
mine are just growing.

so how do we stay together when you're like this?
and how can we love each other when I'm like this?
we're different now, we need to let go of this thing.

you hold a special place in my heart, and I hope I'm in yours too.
but I think we killed it this time, all the intimacy gone.

but after a year of being with you,
how do I cut this off? how do we stop?

breathe in, breathe out, I guess I'll eventually figure this out.

it's the end of something reliable, and safe,
but now it's the beginning of something beautiful.
and for once, I'm okay with that.

I think I'm just ready to give up the good,
so I can replace it with the great.

-Arielle Knapp

The Morning

Shrill piercing noises,
Ring through my head,
I open my eyes
And wish I were dead

Six in the morning,

Did I even sleep at all?
I feel sick and get up,
And make my way to the hall.

"Why do I do this?"
I think to myself.
But my eyes are still shut,
And I run into my shelf.

-Scott Daily

Flutter

flutter

it went by.

I hear a chime sing in an off-key melody
whistling to the wind that bears
a scent, the scent

of spring

ready to live with joyous cry
that is not alive, but ALIVE

as I race amongst the awakened
who still lay quiet
unbroken by the mist,

a mist that curdles
in defiant surrender
to remain so still;

and so you too are alive
without being ALIVE

flutter

it went by.

-Ryhan Hassan

Broken Pencil

The words flow out of me
Onto the page
Coming from my brain
Electric signals
Move down my spine
Across my back
To my arm
Arriving at my hand
Which moves so eloquently
Across the paper
Gushing line
After line
After line
After line
My pencil breaks
...
Kill my day

-Jacob Martin

New Born

Tiny Fingers
Tiny Feet
Watch her sleep
Watch her eat
Bring her warmth
Bring her love
Show her things
Show she's tough
Make her laugh
Make her smile
Tell her secrets
Worth the while
Sing her a song
Sing her a rhyme
Tell her she's beautiful
All the time

-Jen Coppola

Screaming and Yelling

Screaming and yelling
Tears streaming down
Chest is a-heaving
Up and down

Eyes blurred red
Voice worn raw
Heart falling to pieces
All to the ground

Wishing that life
Would seep out of me
I'm worthless
And disgusting

No right to continue
No reason to care
'Cause no one else will
When my beat becomes still

Lighthouse gone black
Davey is laughing
Almost I run
To that locker of Darkness

Nothing is right
Trying doesn’t help
Starting out just fine
Only to drop under the line

-Ashley Issacs

Praying for Death

Praying for Death
Wishing to be cold
With pale blue lips
And hair gone frayed
Eyes glazed over
With the Peace of the everlasting Silence

Silence would comfort
Whether in blazing light or
Eternal heat
Glory and good
Or heat and demise
That’s all that I want
Silence forever

Tears wouldn’t stream
Voices wouldn’t cry
Hearts wouldn’t break
And minds wouldn’t sob

No one would care
Life would go on
No one would notice
If my heart became still

To be Nothing
To be Alone
To be Broken
and used

Silence is what I pray for

-Ashley Issacs

Our Nation

I’m staring off into space and I don’t know why I even care

Nothing seems right and everything sucks

This poetry sucks too

But who cares

I don’t

Because there is no reason to care

Because there is nothing left to care about

The hurricane came and left

But the destruction is still here all around me

My family and I barely scraped through it

Unlike so many others

I can’t imagine why something like this is breathtaking

But one hardly knows how much there is to lose

Until you have lost it all

Supposedly hardships bring people together, but all I have seen is greed, violence, and the need for self-preservation

Nothing brought this nation together

Not even the destruction of entire cities and states

Not even the destruction of September 11

Well, at least not the way it should have

It should have made this country turn and look at itself

And say what can I do to help my fellow Americans

But all people could do was cry, and scream for loved ones

Not that that is a bad thing, but we should be crying for all those lost

There is nothing that can hold this nation together

Long enough to get us back on our feet

And defeat the enemy that attacked us from the inside out

What is happening to us as a nation?

We are slowly decomposing, and the strength that we once had is fading

The power that we imposed on other nations, creating new strength in others

The soldiers that look to us for support

Are now lacking in that

Because we as a nation have decided to turn our backs on them

They need us, and all we can talk about is how much we need to stop the war

We demoralize everything that they have fought for in these long years and we strip them of the purpose that they felt that they had

How can this happen to a nation so young?

We feel so old, but we are still as immature as five-year-olds are

At least the men and women at arms, know why they lay their life on the line

While we sit back and watch, and criticize

At least they have grown up trying to set an example for us, to show us the way

Yet nothing seems to show us the light

We need an Enlightenment

-Ashley Issacs

Rwanda

The eyes burn
the nose itches
the belly craves, and
the bones in the wrists, ankles, and legs throb--
but the joys of the body are not unknown
as the mind grows, and perhaps
even a little wisdom is honed
I wake breathless in the morning,
deep from the warmth of sleep,
I hear the birds chirping in the dark,
think about God,
wonder what It is all about,
name my ten gratitudes,
try not to be cynical
or shrewd, try to remember the surge of spring in the veins,
the passions, the love,
All calm now, tempered
with disbelieving almost everything taught to me
by man.
What a brain-wash it all is,
steeped in the illusions of "our way"
which is the way
that has led the world to such
a catastrophe as Rwanda.
Saw a movie last night on the million dead,
created by our greed, our culture, our Christianity. the solution?
Forget the UN, propagated by our commerce,
Take all the Western Colonialists
(who thrive more today than ever)
add them to all the western-educated Rwandans,
and put them out of their misery.
Perhaps hen the 10,000 years of peace
will descend on Africa again.
When our civilization has failed completely
as a humanitarian enterprise,
why do we think we can solve
the problems we have
created? We don't.
We,
the generals and suited elite
enjoy the problems as "the great game"
like the British were playing
all around the world
in the old days,
destroying one culture after another.
Enter.
Divide.
Incite racial hatred --
and they'll kill each other.
While we stand by moaning our Christian hymns,
mouthing our hypocritical paeans of peace.
Whoever made enough money art war games
in peacetime? Greed is the creed.
Even though the birds still sing
in the pre-dawn light.

- Abel Araya

To Live

How can I describe myself when I do not exist? I am the wind; cold fingers running through the trees like a comb through a lady’s hair. I am the fog on a spring morning; too fine to feel and too thick to see through. I am a shadow dancing alongside a flickering flame. I have no heart to circulate blood or to feel emotion. What is heat? What is love? What is pain? What is grief? I am but a wraith. I can never know.

The man approaching his home is whistling a jaunty tune. Though his apartment complex is new to him, the building has stood for many years. It is not the austere castle or majestic cathedral expected of my kind. Even so, within these walls hearts have broken, trust has shattered and dreams have been cast away in despair. These forces which hold me here are at once eternally foreign, for I can neither love nor trust nor dream.
Upon reaching the elevator, the man is silenced by the other occupants’ irritated glares. His soul-light is so brilliant that it blots out those of the others. This light draws me to the man as gravity holds mankind to the Mother’s surface. Perhaps it is like hunger or envy, but it is not a longing; these are all human things. Instead, it is the light which is an objective force from without pulling me toward it, forcing me to follow. The elevator stops and the man enters the hallway with me following. Only once I have consumed that light will I be whole.

When the man reaches his bedroom and comes to his bed, he will find a deep shadow resting upon it. The melody he whistled with such cheer before with return in a slow minor. I await him; the shadow he will see pulsing eerily to the beat.
“Know me.” If I have voice, it is the wind. He is still approaching. And now we touch. With the night-song flowing through him, we begin to merge. He feels me at last, though I am made of nothingness. His light bursts through his fingertips and at last I can feel. We feel each other. And now, together, we dance. The music quickens with his pulse. We skitter through the room, through the night and her sky. I am the moon and he is the tide; I dictate the rhythm of every steep. He is the autumn leaf and I the wind as we skitter and swirl to a new life.
We are twin threads in finely sewn lace. We are tow drops of rain in the sea. Falling together we are one.
I am the harp and she is the music; through me she lives, through me she breathes.
He is the candle and I am the flame.
I am the cloud and she the rain.
I am the altar.
I am the sacrifice.
I am. I live. I breathe. I feel. Now I know bliss, for my voice is more than the howling of wind, my face as bright as the moon, my presence solid and absolute.
So this is what it is to be alive! It is the soft, silken fibers of a flowing dress swirling lightly with every step. It is the swooshing of breath into my newly formed body.
I am. I can walk across the room and I am not a shadow; I cast one. I feel. True humility accompanies my awe, this for he who gifted me with life. I know. I know heat and I know love, have fallen deep into its berth.
From the window comes an icy draft and for the first time I know what it is to feel cold. And there is blood on my hands: all that is left of Him. I am alone with only memory for company. And I taste. I taste the salt of tears. So this is life: despair. And memory! It is a wraith flitting cruelly through the shadows of the heart.

Wilted Love

Long ago it bloomed,
the colors of the sun.
No longer holding the glory
of what it once was.

Given to me
by my very first love,
as a sunflower in a vase
and his handwritten card.

As time moved on
so did we.
Our love wilted,
just as his gift for me.

The dried up flower
is still in its vase,
and the handwritten note
is in a secret place.


- Katie Klabbatz