The Bird is the Word: Sophisticated Schoolyard Shenanigans
By Gladys Canby
My joy is
starting to return.
Colors are brightening and
I have been
smiling more.
No more is the me who
keeps her eyes
fixed on the ground.
No more do I fight myself
over whether or not
I am important.
Now,
I am starting to feel
like I matter to
someone.
I’m starting to feel like
I exist.
I have begun my life,
and ended my survival.
Editor: Holden Hartle
Our Fashion, Food, and Travel Correspondent Jeremy Cheng breaks out into A Poem.
I fell into the deep;
I am unable to breathe.
You bring me air.
In this moment,
Nothing else can stop me from loving you.
I follow your steps;
You lead me to see the light.
Sunlight forms a spotted shadow through the gaps between leaves which makes me realize the meaning of life.
I imagine
Sitting close to the river,
Picking up a guitar.
You
Just playing and singing for me.
Lying down on the grass,
Smelling the fragrance of grass.
Then,
I realized that
If you were not here,
I would die.
I think
This is love
And you
Are my air.
Editor: AJ Patencio
By Warren Peace
I wish you had never called
our time together a
dream because a
dream is
something that you
wake up from.
So,
if it was all a dream,
then does that mean that
our promises
never meant more
than a dream?
Does this mean that
those very promises
weren’t broken
because they never
existed?
I never wanted to
wake up,
but now,
I wish
I had never fallen asleep.
Now,
I only see our time together
in my nightmares.
Editor: Makena Behnke
By Reg Oyce
I was in elementary school when
The Big Pain happened.
I was never the same
after.
I was in middle school when
the reality of the Big Pain hit me.
I was never able to heal
after.
I was in high school when
I first talked about the Big Pain.
I was never seen the same way
after.
I am seventeen and
the Big Pain still affects me.
I will be able to heal
after.
I will be an adult and
the Big Pain will always be a part of me,
but it will never
become me.
Editor: Luke Langlois
By Leo Milmet
For Ms. McGrew
I’m a polar bear in a snowstorm.
I blend in well with all the snow.
Or with a whiteboard.
Or whatever.
My red eyes and green nose, however,
drawn by an obnoxious sixth-grader
on Mrs. McGrew’s whiteboard, don’t really blend in as well.
What, am I a damn Christmas tree?
I hate my red eyes.
I look like a vampire in those god-awful
Twilight movies, or books, or whatever they are.
Y’know what I mean, right?
I want blue eyes.
My best friend Emily — the
Polar bear in a snowstorm to my left — has blue eyes. And she has a gold nose,
regally created for the Hanukkah season.
She’s so much prettier than I am.
She was just drawn yesterday.
I guess our job is to get people in the holiday spirit no matter what holiday we celebrate,
but it’s kinda hard to be in a celebratory mood when you look like a sad, tiny, disjointed wreath.
Whatever though. It’s fine — I,
born of two markers and a Satanic sixth-grader,
am a polar bear in a snowstorm, and a polar bear in a snowstorm I will stay.
I still want Emily’s eyes, though.
I mean, seriously, how hard is it to erase my eyes and redraw them blue? That hard? Really?
Really? Okay, fine. Whatever. You win.
Editor: Luke Langlois
By Arty Fischel
I didn’t cry
when you ended us.
But,
of course,
it did hurt.
Of course I felt
the tell-tale feeling
of my stomach
sinking.
My heart had
become an angry bull
bucking wildly in my chest,
suddenly released from
its pen by the
impending doom
that your words had
delivered.
But there were no
tears,
no unstoppable sobbing.
It was as if
I was saving my tears.
Editor: Leo Milmet
By Fae Dowae
I will let my eyes
adjust to
the colors as they
fade and
the world takes on a
muted tone.
Colors will be less vibrant
than before, and
everything will
wilt.
The beauty that
I once saw all
around me will
fade until it is
almost gone.
I will be okay with this
because I will know
that you have been happier since
you found
a more beautiful love with
Someone Better.
Editor: Holden Hartle
A prose poem by Poet Blogger Makena Behnke
does human nature like to be trapped? do you, specifically, like to be trapped? you always go on about liberation and being free. but, you were the one who trapped yourself in that stupid box in the first place. i think you wouldn’t know what to do if you weren’t looking for a way out. you’re always griping about how everything sucks and how your life is terrible. if you unleash yourself from your own restraints, you would be so much happier, you would enjoy life. what would you do if you were content? how would you handle yourself? who would you be if you weren’t stuck in that box?
Editor: Luke Langlois
by Anita Knap
I will watch
the world
as it falls.
The colors around me
will melt and
slowly,
ever so slowly,
they will wash
over me, and
the image
that I have been
holding onto
ever so
desperately
will melt
and wash away
with the rest
of the world.
And,
finally,
I will be able to
let You go.
Editor: AJ Patencio
By oft-poet Blogger Leo Milmet
I died.
I saw nothing.
For years I lay quietly in the cosmos,
In the space between reality and…whatever.
Then I saw pink and blue and purple and orange and green and gold and red and silver.
Then black and white and gray.
It was weird.
Like 2001: A Space Odyssey on steroids.
After the brief, psychedelic, Kubrickian mash-up, back to an eternal nothingness, full of peace and quiet.
Is this Heaven?
Probably not, but it sure is a trip.
Editor: Luke Langlois