Metaphorically Speaking
Metaphorically Speaking
by Laurel Cunanan
Like the lonely tree that stands while the rain pelts down, we feel the burdens of our problems.
Like the wheels of a car, we roll when the road is downhill; we struggle when the climb is uphill.
Like a cloudy day, we know the sun is there, we just don’t see it.
Like the pieces in jenga, when we stand alone we all come crashing down.
But like the tree, we have hope; for the rain always stops sometime.
And like the car, we keep rolling, even when the road is rough.
And like the cloudy days, we don’t see the sun, but we can feel its warmth.
And like the pieces in jenga, when we stick together, we’re quite perfect; just the few of us,
holding on.
Starving Soul
by Liptak Taylor
Full of emptiness
Drowned out by silence
Surrounded by no one.
Abandoned.
Choking on unspoken words, thoughts, feelings
Grasping for the absent hand
Seeking warmth from icy hearts.
Alone.
Clouds part
Gray turns gold
Friend is found
Soul is soothed.
Love.
My Bitter Winter
by Brianna Favazza
There were the warm, balmy nights steadily superseded by cold, bitter evenings.
There were the amiable fall creatures malevolently ushered into their stone cold dens by the sharp
December winds.
There were the amicable gatherings of gregarious carolers huddled around the hearth.
There was the smell of my benign benefactor’s crisp apple pies and warm ginger cookies baking
in the oven.
There was the gloomy day when the blue skies abdicated their throne, only to make way for the malicious grey storm clouds.
There was my great abhorrence for the sleet and snow that battered my untenable tree house.
There were the mornings that I would wake up shivering and maledicting the white skies that seemed to haunt me in my sleep.
Cat Nap
by Lucero Ezekiel
Stretched wide
Glistening threads reach to the sun.
A pointed ear of velvet twitches lazily
Glowing ember warms the room when eyelids
Pull halfway open,
Then slowly wane again to delicious slumber.
Musical, beautiful, lullaby rumble
Wells up, overflows from long, proud throat
Or deeper
Deep as the tender, throbbing heart.
Reflections
by Phoebe Hall
How can I bear
To let others see
What colors
My inner selves are?
When I am sad,
The whole world is
Grey with an “e.”
The color of slate waves.
Silent leaf drops,
Green turns to russet;
Tan-faded face
Turns toward Autumn.
Train whistle
“too-hoos” in the night,
Striking lonesome chords
Of my childhood.
The Guinness Book of World Records
by Mike Hopkins
People have gone down in history,
Tan-faded face
Turns toward Autumn.
Train whistle
“too-hoos” in the night,
Striking lonesome chords
Of my childhood.
People have gone down in history,
For doing things much more interesting than me,
They might have scored most goals,
Suffered greatest tolls,
They could be very strong,
Written most of the world’s songs,
But now, some average Joe you see on the street,
Could become a member of the world’s elite,
Not for doing something well-known,
But just for writing a simple poem.
Life
by Austin Auger
Life is like the waves at the ocean,
The new wave crashes into the world, full of happiness and potential,
The power of the wave is unmatched in its own eyes,
The great wave, in its youth, is oblivious to everything but its joy,
But, slowly the great wave of life loses its strength
And the wave begins to realize that it cannot engulf time,
And the wave grows wiser from the knowledge of its vulnerability,
And eventually, it rolls slowly back to the ocean.
To Drink
by Chris McEachin
Old enough to vote
Old enough to smoke
Old enough to drive a car
Old enough to fill our lungs with tar
Old enough to go to war
Our allegiance we swore
They say eighteen is old enough
To go to prison for our own stuff
They tell us to pay taxes on our wage
Is twenty-one the right age?
My Brown Race
by Reynaldo Rodriguez
Brown is the color I was meant to be,
Purepeecha and Spanish blood, both inside me.
Feeble-minded and lazy are our stereotypes,
You think we are drunks and steal your new bikes.
Some of us short, tall, dark and light,
But together we’re in the same fight.
Illegals, residents, and citizens united together,
To make in America our lives a bit better.
However, Anglo-America discriminates
My people who only work to put food on their plates.
We walk out in protest, but Anglo-America makes a big deal,
You want to send all of us back and the border you want to seal.
To show us your hate you created a computer game,
Where you shoot “Mex-Spicks” and leave the Rio Grande with bloody stains.
You make fun of me for being real poor,
And expect me to grow up to clean your floors
Or prune your trees or mow your lawn,
And shape up that bush into a little fawn.
But No! I will not stay subservient to you,
Like hundreds of my people to college I’ll go too
We’ll be teachers, doctors, and politicians too,
And leave the housekeeping, gardening, and fieldwork to you.
America! America! What’s up with the ignorance?
Wasn’t this country founded for diverse tolerance?
We are not so stupid or lazy as you say,
Because we move up in society every day.
You call me inferior, yet my brown race is strong,
Without my Brown people, you won’t rule for long.
Sky
by Tarik Masarweh
I said to the sky, “Why are you always there?”
The sky replied, “I am here to protect the earth and you.”
So I questioned, “What are you protecting us from?”
The sky said, “I am protecting you from the dangers of outer space.”
“What dangers?” I asked.
The sky answered, “You will know someday when I have to leave and you no longer see my brilliant blue.”
Silence.
Bloody War
by Julio Hernandez
Boom! – Boom! – Boom! That is all I could hear,
Those murderous bombs dropping so near.
The enemy
marching with thunderous force,
While we hid as if with remorse.
The smell of decaying bodies is horrendous,
O!—Those poor men dying graveless.
Women and children cry for their fallen family members,
Who died honorably and everyone remembers.
Those long nights I had to endure, because this president had something to prove
And this scar that no doctor can ever remove.
During war times Death feasts like a savage beast,
And still roams around the Middle East.
So I call upon all to stop this bloody game,
And bring our troops home and tuck our heads with shame.
A Poem Must Be
by Chris Braun
First a poem must be meaningful,
Like a story in the bible.
It must be hard to understand,
But when you do understand, you
Shall get the most from it.
It must teach you something.
It must remind you of
Something that is hidden in
Your mind and your heart.
It must be a sign of trust.
A poem, a gift from God.
Dear Billy
by Jenea Sutton
Dear Billy,
I did what you said and held the poem up to the light.
Like you said, I dropped a mouse into a poem and watched it probe its way out.
I did what you wanted and water skied across the surface of a poem
Waving at the author’s name on the shore.
I did not tie the poem to the chair with a rope and torture a confession out of it.
I didn’t beat it with a hose to find out what it meant.
Therefore, I was different than those “other people you talked about”
I read with my heart, then put my feelings on paper!
Sincerely,
Jenea Sutton