Freedom

I feel like a wild animal
born in a cage;
a cage too small to move in,
to breathe in
to spread my wings in.
I am trapped.
I have never known what it is to run
to leap
to fly;
I have never known
FREEDOM
I have never known what it is to survive
to find food
to fear danger
I have never known another of my own kind
I don't know what that would mean.

I feel like a wild animal
bred in captivity
in a cage too small to move in...
...except...

except the door is hanging
hanging loosely
open

Submitted by Miriam Hitchcock

Away

Trust in the wind to blow where it will
Fall into its gusts
away, away, away...

Trust in the tides to keep their own rhythm
Listen and feel it
come away, come away...

Trust in the stars to sail through the sky
Bind their paths to your souls
Come away, come away...

Trust in the Earth to sing through space and live
Sinking into its orbit
away, away, away...

Trust in the leaves as they fall to the ground
to gust every direction
Fall away, fall away...

-submitted by Miriam Hitchcock

the wind and the rain

a little girl playing in the sand
dancing with joy in the light
twirling away in the summer's wind
and everything was beautifully right

a single drop falls right on my head
and upwards she glances, stunned
but it has passed and onwards she moves
basking with grace in the sun

the smallest of puddles down at her feet
she stomps just to watch it move
she tries to hold some in her hands
and laughs as it falls through

but the little girl's not laughing now
as the storm comes flooding in
knees to her chin, hugging them close
drenched through clothes and skin

everything's lost to the wind and the rain
there's nothing but darkness to see
the little girl's gone and all that remains
is the shell of what was to be

submitted by "the Face of Boe"

Memories

Memories are locked up into a
little box that only
we have the key to.
Some memories
we bring out all the time,
others we never allow to escape.
Memories can reopen
wounds that we never
want to feel again,
but they can also bring back that
special moment,
that we love and want to relive
over and over again.

Untitled

The sky is gray and light is gone
Darker days are soon to come
Something lingers in the air
Too many problems too little care
A sliding tear, a dropping word
Normal changes to absurd
Some whispered lies
A new world dies
A life to live
A soul to give
A new defeat
A failed retreat
My life is used
I'm consumed
The light is gone and the sky is gray
Soon to come are darker grays

Trust and Love

Trust is hard to gain
Love is hard to lose
I hate going through this pain
I hate missing you.

Trust is time
love is blind
I wish you were here
I wish you were mine
Trust is blank
Love is bold
To me you're so fake
I've also been told.

Trust is love
Love is trust
Both of these combined
Is a must.

-Submitted anonymously

The Stranger

I take the picture in my hand
Looking down at a stranger
A little girl almost three
Unaware of future danger.
In a little pink dress
She swings from a tree
Hair glistening in the sun
She seems so free
Who would have known this little girl
Would grow up to be behind bars
She gave up on being good
She never reached for the stars.
She was twenty-eight that awful day
when she hit a pedestrian
And she was thirty-two four years after
When she got her life back again.
But the girl chose a darker path
And pays now every day
Wishing for a better life
Wishing for a way.

People who Like and Dislike Poetry...

People who like poetry
wear berets
Eat healthy
And are open to new ideas
They follow the ideals of trancendentalism
Protecting and enjoying nature
They will always continue
To enjoy poetry

People who dislike poetry
Are too cool to enjoy poetry
They are busy with parties
And friendships
They do not realize
What they do not know
Poetry speaks to them
but they do not listen

-Matt Mansfield

Nature

Nature

As the fire makes the forest ashes

An idea emerges

And time continues on

Nature has a funny way

Of making ideas

Rising like the phoenix

A thought drifts high above uor heads

Brilliance doesn't always come from us

But from the beauty surrounding

Nature

As the fire makes the forest ashes

Growth begins anew

One sprout

Green among grey

Refreshing

Like rain in the desert

Like fire on a glacier

Life will carry on

Purpose

What is our purpose?
In the vast expanse of this universe,
Our existence is less than a blip
on the universal radar screen.
For all we accomplish
At the end
What do we have
If it were to all end tomorrow
What difference would it make
What we did with our lives.
But before we question purpose
We must first question existence
And what it is to exist
Are we not just a makeup of atoms,
Interpreting other atoms
Is anything really real
Or is it just an illusion
Whatever we do
At the end
Did it really matter?

What If?

What if you could step back into yesterday?
Would you change your regrets and lock them in a box?
Or would you leave them alone and hide the key?

What if I could step into the future?
Would you want to see the treasures you gain?
Or would you want to take back what you've lost?

What if you stay where you are?
Will you sit there and not change the world?
Or will you stand up and leave a legacy?

What if you changed the world?
Would you quench the flame of hate?
Would you feed the hunger of any kind?

What if you watched and never did?
Would you understand how the dying woman on the streets felt?
Or would you know the thoughts of the wounded heart?

What if?
If only...

-Sarah Hernandez

People Who Like/Don't Like Poetry...

People Who Like Poetry...

A stereotypical poet.
Sitting in a cafe,
a cup of black coffee in hand.
A beaten old journal almost full,
open and ready to be written in.
This artist has somewhat of a stoic look,
contemplating what to write about this day,
trying to concentrate, and start to decide
what insight they can give to others,
who may stumble upon their work,
and read what they have to say.
A stereotypical poet's words
just seem to pour out onto the paper,
their metaphors, similes, and rhymes,
all working together in perfect unison,
creating a masterpiece no one else can manage.
These stereotypical poets, these passionate people,
write these poems, giving us a small piece of wisdom.

People who don't like poetry...

Some people don't like poetry,
they just like to hear things how they are.
No metaphors on life, or love.
A blunt statement is good enough.
Some people prefer other forms of expression.
And then they will just poke fun
at poets, and all their written work.
I guess poetry, just isn't for everyone.

Categorizing

People who live poetry...
See the world in an artist's eyes
Are alone while amidst friends
Touch the pen, not the brush
Feel the pain hiding within beauty

People who don't like poetry
see the surface, and are satisfied
Find joy in all aspects of life
Can do the mundane and not complain
Love the world for what it is

-Jacob Martin

Lost In My Own Thoughts

My mind tends to overthink things.
My mind ilkes to jump around
from topic to topic,
person to person,
place to place,
as if there isn't enough time in a day
to think everything through.

My mind is right.

Sometimes I think so deeply,
that I lose track of time,
I forget about where I am,
I forget about what I'm doing.

My thoughts ilke to trick my mind.
They start itself off on a tangent
thinking abuot every single detail and aspect,
to the abslute utmost,
full of thoughtless thought bubbles,
and right when things start to make sense,
my favorite song will come on,
sending my mind in a whole other direction.

It's like dreaming when you're asleep.
You're in the Olympics,
Standing on the edge of a diving board.
The crowd is shouting your name,
signs and smiling faces surrounding you,
your adrenaline is pumping faster and faster.
You take a deep breath,
the crowd falls silent,
and just as you leap off the diving board,
Your alarm clock goes off.

Welcome to my life.

The World Between My Ears

I like writing where I am
On my own planet
That lives inside my head, and shows itself
As I travel through its chamber
Marveling at what lies within
Music whispers thruogh its halls
Strange beasts turn to look at me
I stare back in fascination
Each room its own continent
One a field of gymnasiums
Where I can watch my playground and childhood
Another an island, great beasts surrounding
My fears realized, miles-deep water only meters of sand
Another a forest, a hayride, a bonfire
Surrounded by friends, joy defined
And then the exit
Where I leave my head
Dumping it onto my paper
And return to the not-so-real world
Where I am forced to live

The Definition of Depression

The autumn leaves turn into dust
The living slowly dies
The moon sweeps softly into place
As the sun begins to rise
Embers of fire begin to burn
Fading into black
New lives are born to grace the world
Making up for those who lack
Birds of song drift through the air
With melody of life
Cautioning of what lies ahead
Pre-warning of the strife
The calm is broken; afternoon
The tart but sweetened air
The gathered go about their lives
With nothing of a care
The lives consumed are soon released
Letting go of hope
Causing all but pleasant thoughts
Leaving nothing left to cope
Life at its best is life at its worst
An act of calm aggression
The peace of love is the hate of war
The definition of depression.

-Emma Hein

Snow

Delicate, peaceful
A glaze falling so gently
Like icing on a cake

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