Dancing all around
Frolicking through fields
Just like you!
Copyright © Smail Poems
Eyes of Seminary – Zamreen Zarook
Every day in our lives has different fragrance,
God give us various things in abundance,
Day by day knowledge is gained in accordance,
Things depend according to the attendance.
Two years of studies,
Helped us to come out with various abilities,
Extremely joyful moments with buddies,
But life said every aspect has its boundaries.
Teachers become very friendly,
They approach us very kindly,
They speak on us exaggeratedly,
Because they know, if not we might behave badly.
Big shots in the school boundary,
These are years of foundry,
It helped us to find and go for laundry,
Marvelous days, fully packed with sundry.
Various angles the kith and kins are civilized,
It’s because our knowledge is enhanced,
Guys and girls turned well experienced,
That’s why we call it levels of advanced.
Copyright © Zamreen Zarook
A temptation unlike myself unfurls
(Everyone’s here asking if I was in the hospital)
The shadow of movement has passed on,
And a cold electric scatters away from a scorched tree.
Our mutual acquaintance says hello to me again,
He was at the rehearsal and said you wanted us all to be closer
Why hasn’t your mother shown up yet?
I’m leaving this place hating you,
And I hear that you think we’re best friends
The sun strays out from beyond a great building jutted into an afternoon breeze.
Copyright © Dylan Stone
I do not know?
The year has passed,
so long ago,
And now its time for us to go
We've said or prayers,
So spread your wings,
its time to fly
We wont forget our childhood here
But now its time for
A Brand New Year.
Copyright © Mariam Traore
You send bolts through my skin
something I was never to
accomplish with you, when I
saw you it's like my heart sank
to my stomach and I was in
shock my body still my body
heavy felt like when I moved I
was about to fall to my knees
you make me want to get
inside my brain pick you up and
take you out pick you one by
one like a flower because I do
love you and love you not.
Copyright © brittney lopez
We met for poetry, found a lively group
occupying our space; Herculaneum
High School Reunion Committee.
They introduced themselves,
offered to move. "No," we said.
"We can use the other end of the room."
Distracted by their excited chatter,
we asked, "What year did you graduate?
1961 . . . your 50th reunion . . . wow."
"You're too young for this," she said.
"No, I graduated in 1953," I said.
"1953! Hey, she graduated in 1953,"
she said. They were astonished.
"You graduated when you were five?"
I thanked them and moved on
to the poetry meeting, floating on air.
cfa © 12/9/2010
Copyright © Cona Adams
When He breaks you
It is to re-make you.
If given the choice
To give destiny your voice
You would undoubtedly have picked this state
Such is the irony of fate
He breaks you now
So you later see the how -
How the pieces of your journey come to be
A slow but eventual solving of this mystery
He makes you work work work – then fail
So that you realize your means are of no avail
Without His will -
But feel His mercy fill -
Even through the aches still
He punctures your bubble of hope
To teach you the meaning of struggling to cope
To avoid you saying ‘this was all from me’
Which you might say if it always did come so easy
He lets you fall
So that when you stand
It’s straight and tall
Your past sorrows
Not letting you drown
Without your ego
Weighing you down
Even while the road appears smooth
He lets you trip and trip again
So that you might stumble upon hidden treasures
From the dirt, which you may otherwise not gain
He knows Best
The perfect Teacher
Who puts the perfect test
He breaks you
To re-make you…
Copyright © Aya Salah
Show me who you are and i shall paint out broken columns on the valleys of her back as if such figure is un-common
i have found no beauty bending as the vines that are her hair and the frailty of man upon her back is what she bares
bleed her body for the harvest let them feast upon her soul for the nurishment of mother is leaps beyond so bold
she is like the flower growing in the deepest of dark forests,amongst the ivy and hemlock but her skin is much too porous
to concern herself with games that tantalize the men, as they marry on crusade it is her children that she tends
sheath your swords with her ambition and tip your arrows with her will, craft your armour from her strength and in the battle you will kill
come now children from the pasture and lay each upon her side, suckle gently at your mother although theirs pain she does not hide
though the water leaks from rooftops her leaves are thick and block the rain, as the water level rises cling to her branches with no shame
she is the stone upon the beach, once a mountain pound and breached
yet still her disposition clear to love her children that are near
inspired by Roots Frida Kahlo, 1907-1954
Copyright © chriss todd
Grandma's dresser was a testament to time. Elegant in it's curves. Sturdy in it's
A thick piece of plate glass lay atop, to protect the wood surface. Under that glass,
sealed away, yet there to be seen, were pictures and announcements. Mile stones
important to Grandma.
There was a picture of each one of us grand kids when we lost our two front teeth.
Big, gap toothed grins on our young faces. Taken years a part. Yet placed side by
side, under the glass.
Positioned below them was a poem. Written by my Grandfather while they were first
dating. Lovingly kept to be read each day.
Over on the other side of the dresser top, was placed a short newspaper article. The
obituary of her mothers death. next to it lay the program from her funeral. Grandma's
tears, still evident on the parchment.
Towards the middle, was my brothers Certificate Of Graduation from The School For
The Deaf, at the age of five. There had been a newspaper article done on him by the
local daily paper. That picture of him with mother was next to the certificate. He was
proudly wearing his first hearing aids.
A bit of lace from Grandma's wedding dress.
A napkin from a fancy restaurant Grandpa took her to, once.
A flower drawn on brown paper. Given to her on Mother's Day by my mom at the age
Other little photos and bits of life kept to be enjoyed and shared...under that plate
Copyright © Paula Swanson