But now you’re quite small, and lay on your side hoping. Maybe one day you’ll be cleaned and used again. (But you will not.) Instead your paint will continue to chip and fade with summer’s rain. Black and red with a hint of dirt, your net is shredded all over my yard. You once were huge and mighty.
Walking Out the Door, Headphones In
Running shoes on. Glance up to
The blue-ceiling and know it’s a
Good day for a run. Start down the
Rocky-road. Snakes slithering
Through the green-carpet. T-Rexes
kicking up sticky earth. And the
USA dropped a nuclear bomb
In a tiny-ocean. Buffalo
stampede through the plains.
Run to your houses
Below the thunders
he shall rise
I meddle with no tradesman
two hearts beating
Art thou a cobbler
Go Good Countrymen
Flowers on his way
yellow half moon
faintest lights flee
tap on the pane
Do kiss the most
fear of war
yet happiness lives on
Ode to Bald Eagle
Bald Eagle how does it feel to fly free
I bet it feels comforting
Can I fly with you oh Bald Eagle
I do not want to be a human or a tree
I just want to fly for when I fall
I can catch myself oh Bald Eagle
Please take me with you so I
Can finally see
Happiness is Sitting in a Duck Blind
on a cold morning
listening to the Mallard Hen quack as she flies by.
Happiness is a group of Teal in Spetember landing into
Sadness is when they see something they don’t
like and fly away.
But Love is what I have for the animal
and Love is what I have for Nature.
Your bisymmetrical butterfly of a face
With caterpillar eyebrows, and tree-stumpy nose
And ears as those of an alpaca.
Your tire-burn facial expressions
Of a face and her swamp of your cheeks.
Your lightning eyes of a face
Shine bright against the thunderstorm of your jaw
Your pea-cock voice, and wing of
Teeth of a face. Contrast darkly with your jet black hair.
I want the freedom
Enemy of the people
Melon split inside
isn’t a purely Scientific Problem
Road to the Contagious Hospital
Die I begged my mother
Except for the Baths
That going to for
Make a fist. Years later
I forbid you, you obey
Hear. I was seven
I who did not Die
Became Reborn into a New.
I live forever, Surviving.
Sand, for Helen
Gentle and frail it slips from your fingers
soft and kind as your feet seep down into
free as the wind blows, running away.
Sticky on your skin as in your mind,
memorable of all the good times.
Sky high you can build anything you imagine
smiles appearing as you experience freedom
running across what seems like clouds
and feeling everything at once.
In a Lemur
Every moment is cherished
like a warm summer evening with
a steady breeze.
For when we begin to move
all things begin to crumble in the moments
of flight as we sail from limb to limb.
We hope for fresh berries to illuminate
the remnants of our shambled abode.
I walked outside one day and fell on my face
I got up + turned around to see a kangaroo
What was that for I asked
It was funny he said
You should have seen the look on your face
I couldn’t help but smile as he imitated me
Then he kicked me again
“Why?” I asked, out of breath
“It’s hilarious,” he said as he doubled over laughing again
Do you know how hard it is to find humor in a desert?
Then, in a cloud of dust, he hopped off
My friend came outside + stood beside me
What are you doing out here he asked
Without warning, I kicked him to the ground, laughing hysterically
The color of chocolate glistening untouched
it always has the faint smell of lemons yet i’ve never seen mom clean
it. Every night mom makes dinner yet it’s never used but
instead the small table in the family room. I don’t know
why it’s there we’re not allowed to write on it might
scratch the glossy wood so every night I look
at it before heading out I think why do we even have
it. If it could feel it would be lonely.
I am from:
a yellow slide on a blue tarp club house,
from acorn-filled popsicle packages, a land of
dinosaurs coming at me from the lava land.
Our small family running to shelter under our clubhouse home
I am from crispy egg rolls straight out of the warm stove
sitting on a swing in the blazing heat of July
I am from smiling neighbors with cool smiles and cozy hearts
A Poem is Like
A poem is like King Kong.
A Poem is Like
A poem is like a sharp knife, if not protecting, hurting.
Mountainburg High School
Date of Visit: May 11 – 12, 2015
Faculty Sponsor: Traci Kannett
Grade Levels: 9, 10, 12
Appx. Number Students Served: 170
Visiting Writers: Caroline Beimford, Zach Hester, David Kinzer, JT Mahany, Julia Paganelli, and Chris Tamigi