Poetry

Poetry Selections

"Her Imagination" By Ashleigh Bowen

A secret world hidden within the staff lines Whose portals are the measures of rests. The notes, who are love letters, are welcoming even on dark days, But how can days be dark with music always there? O music, take her away somehow The quiet and peace of her imagination now.

Unlock the gates and let her enter To a heaven on Earth through heaven's portal A heaven whose music never dies, But goes on forever, never stopping to pause. Her music, her true love, the songs of the Earth. Heaven's harmony singing with the beauty of Earth's melody A beautiful song that she loves so, Who enters and from her imagination refuses to go.

Love's endearing words remain sketched on her imagination's door Who sits meekly on its bed with a stick who chooses to smile, A smile that blankets any fears that have been carved on that door. So a dream may be a dream, one not deferred. That is her imagination.

A German tree who lies sleepily in bed Awakens to the wonderful world of music. He is turned over and so carefully played Being held in arms as fragile as himself Cradling him, never to hurt him or cause him harm. The best part of her day spent in music's unkempt chamber, her home. Her home away from home; she is herself alone. No longer needing to pretend, she is the composer of her world, She is no longer forced to speak when there are no words left to describe. She lets Earth's songs take over--the sweet, beautiful music-- And escapes to her solitude she has been denied so long Where she could be truly happy; in this place Her beloved Earth never wears a frown on his face. Where people do not lie to prevent the truth from being told, Where hearts are full of love and never once turn cold, Where rainbows are forever painted across the sky, Forcing buds to bloom and birds to spread their wings and fly. Where the songs of the Earth never die and go on forever. And it all starts here with a note from her imagination and hidden love letters, In this magical place she left long ago. Her imagination, she's coming home.

// "iRun" By Ashleigh Bowen

It is a runner's sin to walk instead of run. Perhaps a sin, too, to talk when there should be none. A runner must have a watch, her best friend, Clicking start to go and stop when she ends. A runner should have good running gear And appropriate clothes for each season to wear. If running should burden, burden it Remember to stretch, relax and sit. Running is a competitive sport, but should still be fun. This is why I run.

A runner should only breathe through her mouth if running fast And should only start to stride on her last lap. A runner should always work hard each day, For each practice is always a race. Running is a competitive sport, but should still be fun. This is why I run.

In order to do well, one must enjoy what she is doing. This, too, applies to the wonderful sport of running. To do well, one must be motivated and set a goal, Determined to "pb" and get a medal, Especially in meets that matter most. Running is a competitive sport, but should still be fun. This is why I run. //

//At Leagues, she was pumped More than she ever was to run the strenuous Mountain And prove how she would not give up her position on the team. She ran her race smart, as she always did Knowing exactly when and where to change her pace. The Mountain approached and she knew how to ritard. She eyed her friend ahead in blue--her pacemaker, Knowing she needed to help her out when the downhill came. She sprinted and sprinted until tragedy hit. Her pacemaker fell, but got up in time, And she fell, too, having called for her. She was in so much pain and wanted to stay where she lay But she needed to finish, needed to achieve her goal. Between her dry tears of agony, she got up and fought the pain The burning pain that numbed her whole body. She finally got to the breakaway, able to finish. She did not break 22 as she so desperately wanted to.//

Running is a competitive sport, but should still be fun. This is why I run.

"Racism" By Roodline Cineus Lost in a world with unequal rights. We saw conflicts between the blacks and the whites. Remember segregation, remember the attacks. Remember how we couldn’t run for president because we were blacks. They judged us by the color of our skin. For equality and respect was impossible for us to pin. Racism didn’t start because we were aiming low. It started because we wanted to grow. We wanted to grow in wisdom. And mix with others kingdom. But to some our opinions weren’t strong. And our words did not belong. I guess they didn’t know that racism only leads to war and division That just goes to show how much they needed supervision. For that type of human ignorance I was in despair. Racism was around me and it seemed unfair. Some people felt powerful so they differentiate. To the people that were different than them they discriminate. All the people that were facing racism had to stay strong. For they couldn’t tell the racists it was wrong. Some searched and searched but felt lost in this world. Some people screamed and screamed but couldn’t find a word.

Lost in a world with unequal rights. We saw conflicts between the blacks and the whites. Remember segregation, remember the attacks. Remember how we couldn’t run for president because we were blacks.

"I Am Man" by Michael Dohmann

My heart holds rhyme and meter, heat and passion As it without falter keeps the tempo, which, Of course was derived not in my own heart but millennnia ago In the heart of men. It without being told pumps the history of man from the cuticles on my toes And through my fingertips And through these intruments I bleed humanity. I bleed the blood of tsar, And eancipate a slave A slave, that is myself, for I am not the governing body I am merely an instrument of the universe I a the Caesar, I am the god, king of my domain Yet I am a slave to my conscious, and the elements which surround me Elements which I, man, have created And I bleed this, I scream emancipation through the strokes of my pen! Because I am man. And all me yearn for freedom, power and control Man s divine if not only in his own mind But that is where he lives; the unvierse has placed him there And I have, placed in my soul, the soul of man I did not choose it, it chose me, but I love it, I live it, I breathe it, And through the strokes of a pen others will read it

By Dylan Finley
 * "Ode to The Pier House in Island Beach"

It must have been the damp ocean air that led to my soggy fries and waterlogged house salad at The Pier House. My potatoes were inedible but only to my fastidious taste. The eggplant parmesan like fresh from the can, The lemonade like curdled milk with juice from the lemon rind dipped in the green mire of the opened lobster across the aisle at Table 22. Dear, dear spacious waitress seemed distraught every time collecting our dishes with the large vertical piles of fries salad potatoes eggplant lemonade

"Magazines" By Stevie Guida

I watched the magazines go by Flapping their covers like butterflies. I watched them go to find new friends Because here, paper has found its end. I’ll miss the feel of glossy sheets The binding where the two halves meet. Money talks and computers abound But the magic of paper will not be found. In those leaves was the pulse of time A pulpy rhythm with perfect rhyme. I fear that next will go the book – TV-stoned people will barely look. Such stories grand and surely great Will feel a //Farenheit//-like fate. And then? What then? Once all is gone What minds will we have to grow on? I watched the magazines go by Paper’s long reign is soon to die.

"Her Story" By: Danielle Hart

Her story needs to be spoken; All of her bones are broken. Her heart is a bloody mess. As she lay on the floor, a crumpled heap. Waiting, to be woken from her troubled sleep. She has no eyes; She cannot see."Oh why won't someone rescue me?" Her body, stiched back together, time and time again. But keeps falling back apart. What's going to happen to her heart?

Will it stay in her chest, still frozen cold? Or will it be ripped from the place it rests - She feels a tug. Has someone come to take her from her cold reality? No, it can't be.

The cold stone in her chest bears a heavy weight. Is this cold, lonley place, meant to be her fate? She hears a sound. One mans attempt to knock down the wall, the wall that surrounds her heart. She turns away, knowing the stones won't budge. But hes persistant, knowing how to give each stone,just alittle nudge.

He can talk to her from the outside in. He's on a mission: To win.

She wonders: Will this be like the last? "I love you", he says. But she's heard it all before.

But this time, it's diffrent. She feels it, she KNOWS it. And she wants it. More and more each second. So she helps him, helps him break the wall down. Kicking and screaming, ripping each brick. Till the last one tumbles down....And blindly, she stumbles into his arms. But there, she is safe and warm. He takes his world, once the same gray place as hers, and wraps her with everything she needs. 'Till at last, shes in the place, she's supposed to be.

"Perfect Liar" By Danielle Hart

How about you take your ugly lies, and hide them behind the ugly things you call eyes. Never speaking the truth, decitful ways is your life, Hollowing out the life of others, stealing away their souls. Do you care? No. These girls are just another prize. Add them to your bounty, for you feast upon their lonley hearts, gobble up their innocent eyes. Fear and fake admiration glistens in them, they don't know all you say is lies. Beliving every word you speak, they spin themselves a comfy web. Hiding in a cocoon of your words. They wrap themselves in your every touch. Suck out the meaning of the air you breathe. They all belive its for them. Saying they'll love you till the day they die. What a lie.

Forever, they think. Forever, they dream. Never knowing, caring, that there was another just like themselves. Soaking up his fake admiration, Basking in his glory. The powery touch of his muscled hand. His strong arms wrapped around you. Feeling evey muscle beneath the skin. And his lips on yours. You think to yourself, "Im so lucky, this is all mine." But your wrong. You don't know about the girl who thought the same, not long before.

Everything he does wrong, you don't mind. Brushing off the minescule details. The things you chose not to see. Becuase he's "Perfect". How untrue. Little girl, he dosen't love you. He is incapable of love. A word he throws around with no thought. You will never know the ugly truth. Until it is too late. A broken heart, poor bird, is your fate.

And then your sad, your broken. Without him you feel there is no meaning to life. Another lie, you tell yourself, "You'll never want another." And this is only true, unless you let go. Throw the peices in the air, don't catch them. Let them hit the sidewalk like the rain that falls down your cheeks and hair. And don't care. Keep your head in the air, turn your back on the memories. Lock them in a draw. And throw away the key, into a fast flowing river. The river of time. And let the past stay there, held under the surface, until it drowns. And never look back. Or you to will drown in that river. Of lies. And hate, so close your eyes on the past, and open them them to the future.

“If” Kara Heuer

If you trade lies for money While others suffer for your sins If you have the eyes of snakes, And cheat at all your wins. Hurting everyone who comes in your way While keeping your true emotions at bay

If you never wish for an angel, Instead you are in the alleyways at night; If you keep throwing the punches But still want to give up the fight. If your life seems like one big flash, And your only concern is your stash

If you feel stuck inside a box, With no way out. If you do not know where home is, There are just places where you wipe-out. If you never worry about the present, As you continue your deadly descent.

You may be dancing with the devil, so, Always remember there are people who care; Always try to solve your problems; Always remember your mistakes, be aware. Never give up on your life; Never worry about the pain, we all feel strife.

“I am from…” Kara Heuer

I am from a box of tissues, From soap and overused pens I am from the blue walls in which I reside; I feel calmer than ocean. I am from the wild dandelions sweeping out of the ground The evergreen tree reaching for the sky Whose long gone limbs I remember As if they were my own.

I’m from exuberant charades and quiet voices, From a serious surgeon and a charismatic banker. I’m from hikes at dawn and Sunday dinners, And from adrenaline rushes from snowboarding on fresh, snowy slopes

I’m from persistent encouragement and quiet scoldings And “we are going crazy, want to come?” I’m from solemn candle lighting on Christmas Eve. I’m from Nyack and a proud blue and yellow flag, Swedish meatballs and corn on the cob. From a great grandfather’s adventure To an unknown world beyond.

All the used memories Locked forever in my mind. A strong, tall tree stands Through it all Even as the leaves rustle My family will never fall

"How Wonderful" By Elizabeth Lazo

leaves sway in the direction of the wind, silent invisible to see, slowing down and gaining speed. hear the whisper through the cold trees, sun breaks through the grass, kissing my cheeks. waves collide and slam on a sandy beach touching my feet. having to breathe, living a dream once thought by a child, thought ending to have everything in need, wishing but still wanting, missing someone to spend it with like a river missing streams leading to dangerous creeks but coming together and making a wonderful and speechless fall once you see.

"Your Every Move" By Elizabeth Lazo

Your smile must be wonderful to praise the way it squeezes your cheeks together so you can see the way your face can be when it's happy. I bet your laugh is like singing angels so strong from the inside but soft from when it's let out. I wonder how your voice is when answering a question or how it sounds when you tell a story? I'd do anything to hear it. How it feels when your arm's tight around my waist or how your soft hands run across my cheeks pushing my hair back from my delicate face. Your love I feel from miles away, Your feelings as equals to mine. I wish I could hear you feel you and watch your every move.

"A Human No Longer" By Amanda Marshall

From one second to tens of years, man lived his life. Beginning in the womb and ending in a tomb His life was lived with happiness and strife. But where did man go after he left his presence on earth? It is in his new land that he would learn his old life's true worth. What is this land and where does it lie? How could man be long dead and gone and still be alive? In his heart and soul his followers found his might, His will to live, though he was part of the earth, and his usual delight. Man was happy once and happy once again. But when would his new life, he wondered, ever come to an end? "Goodbye my lovers and dear old friends," He proclaimed to himself while standing on the moon. "I lived a life that is new and pure, but it will also be gone soon." And the average person wonders each and every day what life is like when we die. If you are deep in thought and questioning this, look up to the moon and ask why. The man will be there with open arms as he had been before, But this man is no longer a man; he is a human no more.

"A Smile Swept Away" By Amanda Marshall

A girl was sitting on the beach, her hair flying in the wind. Her hands were brushing against the sand and her green eyes looked into the ocean. A smile spread across her face. But hidden under this peaceful grin, she just wanted someone to adore her. Her life never maintained a perfect course; It continued to have ups and downs as it had before And by looking into the blue and greenish water, she knew she could not take it anymore. So she looked in her heart and began to explore. She saw the troubles of maintaining friendships throughout her past and present. She wondered if it was just those people, or if it she herself was indecent? She thought of her inability to please the men that she had once loved And the disapproval from her family, her peers and people watching from above. She didn't know a way to improve or make things work her way. She didn't want to let things go as they were, for forever like this she feared she would stay. She also didn't want to throw her life away. She didn't know how to make things better, to take a higher step, She longed for happiness on a normal level, which she believed she would never get. But who is to blame a girl for feeling so alone? She's sitting on a beach, by herself, all on her own. Her smile, once bright white and straight turned bad, Now an ugly brown from tears that she had had. And with once gust of God's light, breezy wind, her life blew away. With her old life becoming a new one, her ugly smile was swept away.

"Home" By Greg May

Days, Weeks, Months. Time drags like a snail struck by a passing car. The wheels of time stopped by the wrench we call distance. The ones we left behind seem a world away. A life away.

The faces that once seemed familiar Dazed by a quickly thickening fog. We remind ourselves "It is for the ones we love" But how can we fight for something That no longer exists in our thoughts; Only in a distant dream? There's no chance for replacements For those who can be lost in one thunderclap, One rattle of rain.

Days are lost, weeks invisible, months swindled. Suddenly the forgotten rusty wrench is heaved out And time starts again. A group of us are assembled And a soothing rumble, very different from thunder, fills the crowd. "Home." How does it soothe when it sounds like a foreign word Said by a seemingly foreign tongue?

What is "//Home?"//

//"//The Fallen Tree" By A.J. Ranzato

The ground was shallow, but my roots were deep. I wondered why I was 'roused from my sleep. My branches swayed, the wind blew hard. I wondered why I let down my guard.

Up I was pulled, yanked from my rest. I tried not to fall; I did my best. I wondered why I could not hold fast. My time to fall had come at last.

Now on the ground, I lay right here. I wonder what will become of me next year? Perhaps my seeds will plant then sprout, To continue my legacy centuries throughout. Although the tree may be gone, its spirit lives on and on.

And so we wonder as time will pass, When the mighty wind blows for us at last.

"She Bleeds Pretty." By Deja Raymond With their love churns a great obsession Her doubts expose his raw insanity Consuming the late night clown which resides inside of them; it was a //laugh// in the sorrow of the night Her accusations are spiteful in his mind As her trust is a decaying wound, His eyes are but a pitless core She has his back against the wall Questioning the rancid evidence at her fingertios The answers are mere shadows of the truth She asks him more and more, No longer trapped in her youth The scent of rage stains the expectant air Their clown is long gone, gone, gone. The first could have been called a dreadful mistake But what do you entitle the second strike? The third? Fourth?

& his words are embedded on her delicate skin, While their minutes together seem eternal to her When will his cruel fist uncurl? If only to splay scratch after scratch- On the faces tainted by his madness He flings her to the cement ground with a //crack// Then, for the first time he stops-waiting for somthing unknown She who has the will to go & could escape at this moment Awating his departure; To be left is when she shall take leave Stretched seconds occur until She lets a harsh scream from her newly unlocked lips And he is on his way, with his dismal self She arises and //screams// once again Her first cries of help are unheard by the eardurms of a witness But it is a start; & among many to come A calm silence rushed over her limp body, Signifying the finality of the heartbroken pain that has been And for the last time, She bleeds pretty
 * Stays**, warped into a fetal position

"Hand In Hand" By Stephanie Amanda Rich

They stand together hand in hand, But they're alone. They walk next together Into the unknown

Every night they argue "This is love" they say. They forget all of their arguments Who knows what love is anyway?

The wise know all about love, The naive show no knowing. The media says love is magic, But me, I say love is tragic.

She follows every move he will make Their relationship keeps going down the drain It hurts her with every tear Her heart keeps pounding with fear.

She stands in front of his face He puts up his hand and pulls it away He strikes her right into place What is love anyway?

"Plea of Aengus at Loch ​Bél Dragon " Jen Westphal

Come and speak with me, my love. Softly as the water stirs beneath your wings beckons my voice; still, now, and listen. For from first sight in sweet, somnolent dreams you, with your mistletoe, your timpán, made my heart to shudder, seize, just as this breeze rouses your feathers. A face as fair as yours, there never was: hair of sun-kissed roses, honeyed lips; //a stór,// your cerulean eyes were so vivid, far more charming, ever lovelier than the heavens. They left me stunned, ailling, with wound, worry on my heart. Despite wanting, longing for your softest touch, I spoke not of this misfortune; ne'er a murmur. Plagued by visions of you, your beauty, the warmth of your eyes, I journeyed forth. On aching feet did I fly; so certain, always, that you were nigh, I felt not the distance. Years, I searched, my treasure; years away from home; still pursued by dreams, still taunted by the sound of your voice. Oh, but every footstep is justified, such torment is surely worthy of the triumph: I recognize you, for my heart is within you, in the curve of your neck, elegance in movement, the wisdom in your eyes. Chain of burnished gold outshines brightest silver in ethereal moonlight; by chains no longer are you bound. Beauty is the freedom of your wings, the stilly splendor of the night that bows before you. Beauty is the quickening of my heart in response to your gaze. And so, my love come and speak with me. If your wings will carry you, come fly with me, for tonight the skies are clear. = =