Free Verse

Self-Portrait

Fiona

My love is a constellation of brown stars in a milky white sky.

It is a soul truly listened to.

It is a bug, carefully cradled, close, and content.

It is pencil shavings and old spice deodorant outweighed by self-doubt.

My sadness is anticipated and painfully peaceful.

It is a phone call.

It is backbreaking sobs and an old poem.

I wish for two simple things:

First, to be a light breeze that carries sound across the greenest grass you've ever seen,

and second, to smell pencil shavings and old spice deodorant.

An ode to two books

Fiona

One smells of crisp spring crocuses blooming in a dusting of frost.

The other smells of water in the wind and the happy sound of rain hitting glass.

They lie in a small stack of other treasured texts, by a window.

The sun leaks through like golden syrup and spreads a clear coat of gloss on the dusty covers.

They lie there, nothing but paper and ink.

The very ink that flooded my mind and the paper that built a boat and sailed across it.

One taught me a beautiful way to live:

To be kind, always, lest some wayward willow tree be an ally in disguise.

The other taught me that there is always a third option:

To be ever on my toes and let those toes be in boots, just in case.

One with its harmless memories and the other’s firm resolve,

they are the reason my mind is shaped like two hands-

One to harbor and one to hold.

Summer

Anika

I joined the circus

because you asked me to.

I swallow swords and I

Guess birthdays and I

Balance on a tightrope in a cotton-candy sailor dress.

Sweat.

Overheating. Makeup spilling down my face.

I like to wait until the children leave

I like to bathe in the air and the dark and the cricket sounds, how they make me levitate.

Look away! I’m talking to the moon.

Not about you. Never about you.

How I would have run my hands over the sun when it gets too cold

How I would have drank the air and coughed up the pollen

Thrown myself off a mountain just to see if the clouds would catch me.

And it is beet red watermelon syrup now,

When you break me open (I say as I tear my hair out.)

(I say as I choke it down.)

This is not as innocent

As i thought it once was

It’s splitting, and it’s fracturing,

It’s seven years of bad luck

It’s turquoise and gold, this vanilla and gasoline, and violet and burnt-crimson orange and the taste of bitter apples all in places they shouldn’t be.

I’m sick of it.

Take me home.

Imbolc

Anika

I have been a single ten-foot long fish

At the bottom of a lake

(it was a dream, just so you know)

I felt pretty

I let the sun ripple off of my iridescence

I loved the cool water,

And the seaweed like confetti strips.

And so I saw a hook

A lure with a worm on it

And I knew it was a hook

And the way it glinted in the sun I couldn’t help but bite it anyway

My breath ripped out of me like an i.v.

I opened my eyes and the light was painfully real

I woke up (just so you know), like you do.

This is a way to leave that isn’t so difficult.

I drift away,

In dreams, and things

In shiny, disillusioned metaphors

Words on paper

From holographic ink

A barely-there fantasy in the back of my mind

It isn’t even real.

I made it all up.

Then tell me why,

Sitting alone in my bedroom,

Am I still pulling these lures out of my mouth?

Submerged Avion

Jaden

Rusted wings

Can you believe that I could fly?

Oil seeps

From bullet holes along the side

A final flight

To face the fate of my designs

What a world

As I pull away from the sky

To the sun

I speak to you my final cry

Underwater

I sink unto my own demise

Labyrinth

Nicole

El alma todavía vive.

Our day, today, is also yesterday and the week

Before now. Clockwork turns over on itself, cyclical

Humming a resolute resounding negation. Day is night

Is day is night, each the same.

Shall I have checked the time too many times

To count, and would it matter if I did?

Each day the same.

Lines of six separate us, me and you,

The lines of gears, tick tick tick towards another.

I saw a shelf of fungus on this walk, stepping stones

Leading to nowhere.

Lines of six, maybe more between me and you,

The lines on a cracked sidewalk

Traffic lines on empty streets

Twisting lines of cherry blossoms, etched soft against the sky

Lines on my face, gnarled hands worrying the watch face.

Gears turn over themselves in the wash bin,

Rise and repeat.

Each day the same.

Does time move on?

I think of you, on this walk,

Shouting without the words I need

To say what I need to say.

Lines of six separate us so far

Words cannot say what touch must.

On this walk, I saw an unknotted tree chalked with the word ‘SMILE.’

I wonder if I should have.

The day and night fall over on each other, growing slow

Like a knot on a tree

Covered by moss and choked, lineless.

Eerie Calm

Nicole

There exists a lake of eerie calm

Shore edge rocks whisper

Ripple water from invisible waves.

Water skippers homemake in reeds

twinkling

rustic

they dance up, over, under ripples.

Unmade silence breaks with child’s chime on nature,

footsteps beat in rhythm

laughter melody in song

Movement unchanging, escaping

Frost’s harsh bite cannot reach through swirling blood and reeds.

Reeds hold tight, if you know how to sing to them.

There exists a place they hold children tight

hugging warm, swirling blood pumping to footstep’s beat

jumping where earth trembles as a trampoline.

A World All Our Own

Emily

The sound of a beating drum

echoes across the hills

in the pounding of heavily booted feet

against the rocky ground

A leader dressed

in red, blue, black

winding, delicate strips of golden embellishment

pushing forward, onward

A line of misfits traveling together

linked by skinny arms

and how they differ

from the rest of the world

Now a crowd

the force of youthful heroes

begins to swell

growing, pulsing, living

The dark of night cascades down the open sky

their bodies tired

limbs aching for rest they curl

around the jagged edges of moss covered stones

The first light of dawn

is greeted by outstretched arms and flailing legs

as tiny feet leave the ground

when their senses scream for them to stop at the edge

They swim in the open air

flying forward

searching for something

a place where their feet don’t touch the ground

The golden light hitting their faces

as they leave the boundaries of their bodies

to live in the world of

imagination

Everyday We Walk, We Work, We Survive

Emily

Our life will always

be a struggle

for children & adults alike

working with bleeding palms

hearts

minds

families

picking and sowing

sewing on patches to shredded knees

elbows

shirts stained with sweat &

tobacco filling pipes & being chewed

& spit onto the ground

where aching feet walk

backwards

forwards

into the

future our

children

play in the clouds of

pesticide clinging

to the skin

seeping into veins and blood

poisoned and sickened

we continue on

always moving & working

surviving

sometimes thriving

in communities all our own

small inviting

a cure for homelessness & loneliness

a constant fear looming above

out of reach to solve

the problems stretching in front of us

in the form of

neatly plowed rows of

green leaves

rich fruit

richer men

stealing from our very hands

fingers aching after days of plucking & picking

palms painted

purple

blue

with bruises

migration

banishment

onwards to the unknown

people & places wanting us

gone

invisible

complacent

through the darkness

into the

dawn

when it finally arrives

with warmth

& pleasantries

morning meals

empty fields

yesterday long gone

we walk

we work

we survive

Dear Younger Me

Lauren

Dear Younger Me,

You knew what I wanted

You made me who I am

And to you I am always thankful

You still push me when things are hard

You inspire me every time I step on the dirt

And constantly remind me why everything matters

I look back at you

The little girl who fell in love and never looked back

I see you in strangers

I see you in friends

And I hope I always see you in myself

You are my heart that I sometimes try to hide

And sometimes let shine

You created the blocks that I stand for

And stand on

Thank you for making your favorite saying

Again again again

Which grew into my

Just one more

Younger me I will thank you

Just one more

Time

Poetry

Duncan

This is a secret, between you and me,

I was never good at writing in a poetic way

Prose is all fine but once I get to poetry

I can only rhyme A, B, A, B, A

Sometimes I’ll try a different rhyme

But this writing’s so bad it could be a crime

I’m really just trying reach the tenth line

So I don’t go down the low grade pipeline

Well that’s enough whining I suppose,

I could take a little break from scribbling prose

At this point you’ve likely had enough to read

Any more of this trash might cause a brain bleed.

On Philosophy

Katrina

Sometimes I wish

The world would stop spinning

So my head would stop spinning

So many thoughts

Flying through

Impossible speeds

I can try to grasp them

But only a few get through

These thoughts could change

Everything

If I could just

Reach out and

Take them

But the world doesn’t stop

My head doesn’t stop

I am in a constant chase

With my own mind

Sit and listen - Poem on Writing Poetry

Avi

Sit and listen.

Respect your surroundings but draw from yourself,

Stare at a page, a blinking dot, or think so hard that stanzas are conjured in your head,

Pen to paper, scrawl until satisfaction is made

Speak,

Open your lips, let the words flow like the breeze past your ears..

With passion or drawl, let the words be enthralling to all who wish to listen.

Open your eyes, and see an audience in front of you,

And watch as they,

Sit and listen.

Friends - Imitation of “On Being an Artist” by Noelle Kocot

Avi

Lifelong struggles are natural,

Adding interest to everyday boredom

As we drift through constant neutrality.

Lest we not forget that which entertains,

As we owe credit to our troubles.

I may forget names and faces yet,

Memories will remain.

To those whom I’ve endeared

Know there will be others like me.

And do not despair in the face of struggle

For your memories will lie beside you

As I did in day and night past.

And if I can remember that which I’ve forgotten,

I would be happy to rejoice in days far behind us.

Dear You

Eleanor

Success, bravery, satisfaction, courage, joy.

These words come to my mind when I now, freshly 18 years old, sit and write about how your life may be now, or how I will want my life to be when I am older, reading this little poem to my future self.

Success.

College is important, I hope you did well, hope you chose a good major. I hope you took hold of every opportunity there and immersed yourself in your time at Boston University so that you are successful. Successful in your career - and that enjoy it. I have high hopes now for what I one day might be and I hope you achieved all that I think about now as an 18 year old.

Bravery.

I hope you are brave. That you stand up for what you believe in and that you take on the next challenge in your life with your feet strongly in the ground and your head held high.

Satisfaction.

I hope you are satisfied with all you have done, with your successes, and even your failures, you learn from them.

Courage.

I hope you had enough courage to say what you wanted to, to be the person you wanted to be. I hope you had enough courage to go out of your comfort zone, and try something new. Maybe you have gone sky diving, maybe you have swam with sharks, or jumped off a cliff and plunged into the deep blue water below, or pursued your interest in sign language, or started an organization to contribute to socialize girls and encourage them to be comfortable with imperfection, or traveled to an amazing place to study abroad, or perhaps you now live in an amazing place.

It’s not perfection or bust, it’s about experience and taking part in the desires you have, to live your life to the fullest.

Joy.

I hope you are happy, that you still find joy in the simple things in life, from the sun rising and shining through the window onto the carpet that then turns warm, from the birds chirping in the spring, from the wind blowing in your hair and the feeling of freedom.

I hope you have good company around you and that you are on good terms with your mother and father, and also your sister.

I just hope you are happy and on the right track, enjoying life, living life, and appreciating all that is around you.

All the best,

Your 18-year-old self.

One Year From Now

Olivia

By now I hope the city doesn’t seem so big

and I hope your sense of awareness

so precise

was not lost in the bustle

Whatever you do

don’t be too timid

you’ve learned that your actions end best

when you listen to your Gut

Don’t ever lose your imagination

but don’t let is trespass your common sense

Don’t take steps, take leaps

There’s noroomforspaces

And remember that voice of yours

is better heard through you

than through the minds of those around you