I left my
of wonder and
awe. A place that
knows me better
than any other place
I’ve been. This place
has changed me and
molded me into the
person I am now.
The forests, trees, creeks,
and open skies instilled in
me a love for God’s works.
The harshness of the winters has
taught me to be patient and to endure. My small
town is where I learned the small-town work ethic;
you don’t get what you don’t earn and earning what
you want takes a little bit of sweat and tears. Here
I learned that you don’t have to be blood to be
family. Brothers and sisters are made throughout
years of school together. We relied on each other to
be happy. This place will forever hold my heart and
soul. I am a small town girl through and through.
It’s who I will always be. Forever. Thanks IDAHO
for shaping me into something more than I was.
Copyright © Samantha Farr | Year Posted 2013
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 | Year Posted 2015
A is for algae, red, green, blue cells, soaking up sun, sliming teeth
B is for bacterial mat, clumping underneath, earliest born, never asleep
C is for coral reef, the place we all find cover or the sand parrotfish chew and release
D is for diatom, all seeded calcium, all float free, all denizens barely seen
E is for eelgrass, nursery meadows of the anchovy, and other browsers of green
F is for fan worm, filter feeder like a flower, 8000 species on which fish feed
G is for giant kelp, floating on bladders of air they’re forests of cold waters clean
H is for helmet, the royalty of snails who protect our feet, queen, emperor, king
I is for isopod, the chameleon crustacean, they color match what they eat
J is for jellyball, or cannonball jellyfish, not upside down or moon, avoid their heat
K is for keyhole limpet, favorite food of ochre stars, will erect its own wall
L is for laver, the sea lettuce of nori, it swirls red skirt as ocean falls
M is for mermaid’s purse, the sack of the skate whose yolk keeps them alive
N is for nerite, the prisoner striped snail of the rocky zone as numerous as a hive
O is for oyster drills, the snails that slurp oysters and use them to lay eggs
P is for pleurobranch, a sea slug answer for oranges, with one active leg
Q is for quahog, the bivalve seaman who can survive eating the mud
R is for rove beetle, the one waiting to snatch the unwary beach hopper for good
S is for saxitoxin, those red tides produced by mating that can paralyze humans
T is for tubular sponge, they squish, bore and encrust as space lends
U is for urchin, those spiny skinned balls, no eyes or noses but dig food in sand
V is for Venus, Music Volutes dined or Vampire Squids skimming along land
W is for whelk, not the musically inclined, but the slow moving snail in a shell
X is for X and a half, the six rayed star, hungry for anything on the half shell
Y is for yucca, blooming on the beach, they bloom nice and tolerate the sand
Z is for Zostera marinara, the address of eel grass when they're feeling grand
All of this green life is what crunches, stinks, dries and slips underfoot
The rest that find the housing and dining compatible means someone’s on the look.
Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper | Year Posted 2013
Like sick allergies,
Boredom can be passed around
I call it: THE BOREDOM DISEASE
Like a horrid storm,
Boredom can catch you off guard
Hold on for DEAR LIFE!
Like the whooping cough,
Boredom can be serious
If I were you, I’d
Get a vaccination !
Copyright © JW Earnings | Year Posted 2013
OUR BABY GIRL TURNS 21
ON 1ST JULY 1990~ THE ANGELS DID SOMETHING ALMIGHTY
FROM HEAVEN THEY SENT US OUR LIFE-LONG DESIRE-A PRECIOUS DAUGHTER TO LOVE AND ADMIRE.
TRUE TO YOUR NATURE YOU ARRIVED WITHOUT FUSS OR PAIN--THE FIRST TIME OUR EYES MET WE KNEW OUR LIVES WOULD NEVER BE THE SAME
AS A BABY AND TODDLER YOU MADE US SO PROUD
YOUR VERY LONG HAIR, GREEN EYES AND SMILE-
ALL THOSE GOOD LOOKS MADE YOU STAND OUT IN A CROWD
YOU STARTED TALKING EARLY WITH MANY VOICEPRINTS
YOUR CHARM AND GOOD LOOKS HAVE NOT STOPPED SINCE
YOU LOVED YOUR DOLLS AND PRAMS-- DREAMT OF BEING A “SINGER”
AND VERY QUICKLY LEARNED HOW TO WRAP YOUR DAD AROUND YOUR LITTLE FINGER
YOUR BIG BROTHER DEVON--BEST FRIEND AND PROTECTER
MOST OF THE TIME YOU GOT ON PERFECTLY TOGETHER
FROM AN EARLY AGE YOU SHOWED YOUR LOVE OF SWIMMING
AGE TWO AND A HALF YOU WERE ABLE AND WILLING
TO SWIM UNDER WATER AND DO MANY LENGTHS
THIS WAS CLEARLY ONE OF YOUR SPORTING STRENGTHS
AT AGE THREE YOU COULD BARELY WAIT TO START PLAYSCHOOL
“MISS INDEPENDENCE”, WAS YOUR GENERAL RULE
THE SLIDE AND JUNGLE GYM WERE YOUR FAVOURITE SPOTS
AND TO OUR HORROR YOU WOULD CLIMB RIGHT TO THE TOP!
AT AROUND THIS TIME, YOUR FIRST BOYFRIEND YOU MET-
HE LIVED NEXT DOOR, AND HIS NAME WAS BRETT
SOON IT WAS TIME FOR PRE-SCHOOL
YOU LOVED YOUR TEACHER--YOUR NEW FRIENDS WERE COOL
‘SPRING BONNETS’ AND THE END OF YEAR SCHOOL PLAYS
THE TEDDY BEAR CLASS GAVE YOU SOME REAL SPECIAL DAYS
NEXT WAS ‘BIG SCHOOL’ AND YOUR FIRST CLASS
WE WERE SERIOUSLY ANXIOUS BUT FOR YOU JUST ANOTHER ‘MISS INDEPENDENCE’ TASK
LETTERLAND, MATHS AND LEARNING TO READ
YOU EXCELLED AT ALL THAT WITH INCREDIBLE SPEED
YOUR ACHIEVEMENTS CONTINUED THROUGH GRADES 2, 3 AND FOUR
YOUR PLACE IN THE SWIMMING TEAM HELPED YOUR SCHOOL WIN MORE
OUR MOVE TO AUSTRALIA… SAD FAREWELLS TO YOUR FRIENDS AND YOUR PETS
BUT, GREAT EXCITEMENT YOU FELT AT ADVENTURES TO BE MET
A NEW SCHOOL--“METHODIST LADIES COLLEGE”
NEW FRIENDS--JUMPING A GRADE-- MET WITH SUCH POSITIVE COURAGE
YOU MADE US SO PROUD IN THE WAY YOU ADAPTED
MRS. WILLIAMSON SAID YOU WERE THEIR NEW CLASS ‘ASSETT’
THE ‘MR BEE’ SPELLING AWARD AND MANY MERITS LATER
WE ALL GOT HOMESICK-- BUT YOUR POSITIVE NATURE DID NOT WAVER
THE DECISION WE MADE TO RETURN TO CAPE TOWN
CAUSED YOU HEARTBROCKEN TEARS AND A PERMANENT FROWN
ONCE AGAIN A SAD FAREWELL TO YOUR NEW FOUND FRIENDS
RETURNING TO S.A. FOR OLD ONES TO MAKE AMMENDS
IT WASN’T VERY LONG THAT YOU PICKED UP WHERE YOU LEFT OFF AT ALL
ADDED TO YOUR TALENTS WERE NOW TEAM HOCKEY AND NETBALL
AS YOU APPROACHED THE FIRST OF YOUR TEEN YEARS
WITH YOUR LOOKS AND CHARM, INEVITABLY THE BOYFRIENDS WOULD APPEAR
SHOPPING, MOVIES AND MANY PARTY SLEEP-OVERS
CHOOSING TRUE FRIENDS AND DUMPING THE LOSERS
DANCE SHOWS AND DANCING EXAMS… YOU EXCELLED AT HIP- HOP
FUN AND OF COURSE THE DESIRE TO SHOP
THE END OF JUNIOR SCHOOL-- THE FINAL ASSEMBLY—AWARDS
TROPHIES FOR SPORTSMANSHIP AND YOUR S.R.C. PRIZE GOT MANY APPLAUDS
SAD FEELINGS AT LEAVING YOUR OLD SCHOOL BEHIND
EXCITEMENT AT STARTING HIGH SCHOOL WOULD SOON COME TO MIND
NO PROBLEM TO YOU, IT WAS ALL JUST A BREEZE
AS YEAR BY YEAR YOU CONTINUED TO ACHIEVE
SWIMMING AND ‘A’ TEAM HOCKY MATCHES ON THE ASTRO TURF
YOU EVEN STARTED TO LEARN HOW TO SURF
FRIDAY AFTERNOON CHRISTIAN MEETINGS AND EVENING CHURCH YOUTH
WE WERE SO HAPPY YOU FOUND GOD AND HIS TRUTH
THE REST OF HIGH SCHOOL PASSED IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE WHILE
YOUR LIST OF ACHIEVEMENTS REMAINED EXCEPTIONALLY HIGH
YOUR ORGANISATIONAL SKILLS WERE ASTOUNDING
COPING WITH TOUGH SUBJECTS LIKE MATHS, SCIENCE AND ACCOUNTING
IN HOCKEY AND SWIMMING YOU MADE THE TOP TEAMS
NO SURPRISE AT ALL THAT SWIMMING COACHES MOVED IN ON THE SCENE.
THEY CULTIVATED YOUR TALENTS FROM STRENGTH TO STRENGTH
EVERY YOUR NIGHT YOUR PASSION SAW YOU DOING MANY LENGTHS
WEEKENDS OF GALA’S AND NATIONAL SWIMMING
S.A.SHORT COURSE, YOUR P.B’S, AND FAIR SHARE OF WINNING
TOGETHER WE CELEBRATED YOUR PLACE IN W.P. SCHOOL CHAMPS THAT YEAR
SO PROUD OF OUR BEAUTIFUL SWIMMER ALWAYS AHEAD OF HER PEERS
FIRST YEAR AT UNIVERSITY YOU BECAME SO INDEPENDENT
STARTING YOUR STUDIES AS A B.Sc. STUDENT
IT WAS ALSO THE YEAR YOU LEARNED TO DRIVE
GOT YOUR LICENSE—DAD SPOILT YOU—NEW CAR—RESPLENDENT
YOUR FAITH AND TRUST IN THE LORD STILL REMAINS FIRM
AS YOU WALK AND GROW SPIRITUALLY DAILY WITH HIM
SO MUCH HAS CHANGED, AND YET SOME THINGS REMAIN
YOU BEAUTY AND TALENTS SO EASILY MAINTAINED
YOUR LOVE OF SWIMMING AND OUTSTANDING ACHIEVEMENTS IN WATER
YOU KNOW WE WILL ALWAYS BE YOUR NO. 1 SUPPORTERS
AND NOW YOU ARE 21, SWEETHEART
YOUR WHOLE LIFE AHEAD OF YOU-- TODAY IS JUST THE START
IT SEEMS LIKE JUST YESTERDAY THAT YOU WERE BORN—
OUR DAUGHTER~LOVES BRIGHT SHINING LIGHT~ WE ADORE
YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL AND TALENTED IN EVERY WAY
WISHING YOU GOD’S RICHEST BLESSINGS ON YOUR SPECIAL DAY
HAPPY 21ST BIRTHDAY TO OUR BABY GIRL
TO HAVE YOU AS A DAUGHTER HAS BEEN A REAL PLEASURE
-YOU HAVE AND ALWAYS WILL BE OUR MOST BEAUTIFUL TREASURE-
(FOOTNOTE: OUR DAUGHTER WILL BE 23 THIS YEAR, HAS COMPLETED HER BSc. AND HONOURS DEGREE’S IN PHYSIOLOGY AND GENETICS AND NOW DOING HER MASTERS DEGREE IN EXERCISE SCIENCE. SHE IS ALSO A PROFESSIONAL TRIATHLETE—DOING SWIMMING, CYCLING AND RUNNING AS ONE DISCLIPLINE)
Copyright © Kim van Breda | Year Posted 2013
Numerous number systems beyond the real:
complex numbers, octonions, omnions which can eat whole black holes.
It's axiomatic that your personal history, preferences, how you feel
account for nothing at all.
$30 buys a flock of chickens for a needy family (International Rescue
$29 gets a girl a school uniform (CARE), for $300 you can stock a fish
pond (Heifer International)
$69 can start a female entrepreneur in the sewing business (Mercy
$5 will buy a bed net that protects a family from mosquitoes (Against
20th century experiments demonstrated that electrical charge is
quantized; that is, it comes in
multiples of individual small units called the elementary charge, e,
approximately equal to 1.602
x 10-19 coulombs (except for particles called quarks which have charges
that are multiples of
Why has the experimentalism of the avant-garde, which has failed in the
novel, succeeded in
poetry? Because poetry is always experimental; while the novel, on the
contrary, by its nature,
cannot be . . . which is to say that experimentalism is synonymous with
poetry, and that applied
to the novel, it leads simply to the substitution of the novel with poetry.
Man made the town, Fibonacci inflated zero to be the wheel
around which the universe turns and language is the soul
walking and talking quietly or going angrily to war.
"Counting is in its very essence magical, if any human practice is at all.
For numbers are things no one has ever seen or heard or touched."
As are words.
Joan Didion thought the scariest stanza in all of poetry
begins Row, row, row your boat gently
down the stream. The elements, the material penumbra,
irresolvable for the mortal, readily dissolve in words and numbers.
Copyright © Robert Ronnow | Year Posted 2015
Put the children out to play,
to walk in fields, to roll in hay
No concrete halls, no dues to pay
Just clouds to watch till end of day.
Copyright © Suzanne Delaney | Year Posted 2013
As the dawn expells its authoritive cast; they awake, but are abandoned. They
turn--but their friend the sun ignores and they understand. They commune
their relationship and part with their memories; and sigh.
They say their good-byes in a tone of fullfilment, but aface their anxieties
toward the skies for hope; but are denied. A clouded sky brings a chill in the
air and a rustling of rakes and flames.
Old as hell, written in HS for publication, circa 1971 by me. When I was young in the 60's in Ohio, we burned leaves in our backyard; sometimes our household trash too. You had to be me to be there GV. Count me in as last place. Take care.
Copyright © Dave Collins | Year Posted 2013
The clock strikes nine. Ink fills the night sky, until the silvery orb in the heavens is the only source of light.
The clock strikes twelve. Tiny pinpricks of light dot the raven-dark heavens. They shine brightly; as if each was
trying to outdo the last. I sit. And stare. And wonder. The clock strikes three. I shift and pick up my
homework. The assignment is a three page essay, due today. Should I do it? Nah... I toss it aside and resume
my staring of the sky.
Copyright © Tei Mickey | Year Posted 2010
Teens walk the streets full of fear,
A ton of murders every year,
Hate and knives,
These are the things I see,
But they shall never create me,
It's crazy how most of our teen
murders are gang related,
For some teens never had love,
After joining a gang,
They will fight for their lives,
To the point where guns are being
More than a singing bird,
And murders are being committed
more than child birth,
And some see Detroit as hell on
But no one pays attention to the
intelligence our teens are worth,
For Detroit is a city full of broken
Hoping one day all gangs will work
And unite as a team,
Then we will create a great future,
For Detroit's wound will rejoin with
And one day we will make a
Detroit is a city full of hope.
Copyright © Anthony Scandrick II | Year Posted 2012
I Wasn’t enough to just be myself
I had to be what you wanted of me
Without any creativity
And a façade for a personality
So I Guess I Just Live a Lie
Just to Satisfy
And surely survive
Your torment spitting opinion
A Semblance of the independence I held inside
No matter how small it let out a cry
I will redeem my pride
And be perfect, free, me
Copyright © Wyatt Loethen | Year Posted 2012
Visits long ago
to the Blaskets Islands,
to untouched areas
on the Dingle peninsula
came to mind
on this sleet winter’s eve.
nestled in heather mountains.
tongues of lonely white sand.
drenched in blue mussels
alive with shrimps and periwinkles
A sea-salted life
unspoiled and free.
Only marine life remains,
but I still hear the music
our native language,
the voices of Seanchaí
the ballads, sean?s,
who shaped our school years,
her renditions of island life
her mad pise?gs,
from generation to generation.
Islanders huddled together
open turf fires
cooking pot on a hook,
the sweet air wafting
of clay pipe tobacco
a pinch of snuff
sniffed from a silver box,
nursing a glass
of neat Poitín, uisce beatha,
the strong smell of tweeds
and geansaí báinín.
I think of times lost,
where goats roam free,
An Blascaod Mór
my history, my heritage.
Gaelic words in this poem
* Seanchaí – storytellers
Sean?s – singing without music
Peig Sayers and her mad pise?gs – A Gaelic writer who we studied in school and her mad superstitions.
Poitín, uisce beatha – very strong alcohol made from potatoes, called the water of life.
geansaí báinín – strong sheep wool sweaters usually in a cream colour with complex patterns.
Copyright © Eiken Laan | Year Posted 2011
Paddling, struggling, striving,
We're canoeing and living.
Camping, hiking, sleeping,
We'll be journeying and dreaming.
Eating, singing, lifting,
We are having an adventuring.
Paddling, leaving, packing,
We're going and floating.
Arriving, accomplishing, celebrating,
We'll be returning, our homecoming.
Remembering, wishing, thinking,
We will be having lasting memories.
Copyright © Marissa Faries | Year Posted 2012
It’s mid-October, and the cool morning air
refreshes and replenishes the players as they march
across a muddy lacrosse field, the low sun
that manages to peek through the gray clouds
glistening off the beady surface of grass blades.
The stage is set for glory.
Copyright © Jesse Jones | Year Posted 2007
It was official. There would be no school today due to heavy snow. We heard it on the radio, during the early morning show, while Mom was preparing our breakfast. Mom sighed and dropped her head when it was announced while we danced with jubilation around the kitchen table shouting “No school today. We can play all day!!” Little did we know this excitement would be short-lived.
on a windowpane---
A hearty breakfast was followed by watching some cartoons. The rest of the morning was spent playing in our rooms. The weather outside deteriorated into the afternoon as our morning’s jubilant joy was soon depleted. Our longing to play outside was denied us and we found ourselves quickly bored. A day out or school was not meant to be stuck inside looking out at the falling snow…or so we deemed.
Copyright © Debra Squyres | Year Posted 2013
My only companions are my dreams
my only friends Who call out for me
their voices a melody for me to fallow
save me my friends from this Dark World
Wolfs teach me to be loyal and to fight the dark
and when make love to the dark embracing
it becoming dark myself yet not to succumb to its control
Fae teach me to kill with words And when to use them to save
Of the meanings of speech and its clever twists
To speak a truth one does not want to hear
And still make them hear tote truth
Twin sprits teach me to know the sprits
Those elusive things some call souls
Not knowing how to talk with them, we converse
Not knowing how to feel their presence, I touch them
I feel the hands brush against my skin
As dragons, teach of fire, rage, and bloodlust ,when to use it
and how to use it well like a well made WAR HAMMER
,and from the masters I learn lore and flight
for though I have no wings still I fly with them
Trees teach of patience
And the earth’s presence and how to care her
Of the minds herbs and streams to feed my roots
As my branches wither
Their Skills With The Wood Are Rival To None
Succubus and Incubus you teach of the heart,
it’s betrayals, loves, comforts
how to guard the heart, and still feel
for they know best, its mysterious ways
Whilst my heart, mind and body scream
Scream for release from this reality
To dreams and the worlds found
through their doorways
Call out to me my friends
save me from those who ridicule me
who constrain me in chains of iron as they sear my flesh
Holding me fast to things, I must not do or have
cages of words, deeds, people, and their judgments
I Hate Them, And Their Ways are both evil and cruel
I know not how long I have left
For my blood screams for vengeance
To bathe in its fires ,to soar free in the skies
where none but you can reach me
SAVE ME, MY FRIENDS I BEG YOU!!!
I long for your embrace your fiery breath
the sweet scent of wet moss you warm sprit upon mine
the pack running singing the songs
that change me to your likeness
the sleep where my heart lies in your hands
as you feed your lustful hungers upon my troubles
leaving me to sleep untroubled free of my cares and worries
giving me my heart backed still with its worries and cares but unburdened
you cleaver teachers I lust for your wisdom
and the peace you bring me
please come open the doorway
to the forests and the fire moors
save me my friends
this is also a personification
Copyright © Wolf Lief | Year Posted 2012
You, Man … Are The Angles
To My Curves
Hard and Sharp Corners
To My Circular-Swerves
You Are Exact
To My Abstract
You Are Algebra
To My Pre-School Math
You Are Calculus
To My Abacus
You Are The Chemical
To My Stimulus
You Are The Extra
To My Average
You Are The Multiply
To My Nothing Added
You Are Autonomy
To My Anatomy
You Are The Fractal
In My Infinity
You Are Geometry To Me:
You Are Steep Mountains
To My Mounds and Valley
You Are Raindrops In The Forest
To My Snow-Ballet
You Are Hot Desert Sands
To My Cold Ocean Waves
You Are The Mirage man
To My Love-Slave
You Are Dimension-Diamonds
To My Parallel-Pearls
You Are The Universe
To My World
You Are The Prism
To My Beam Of Light
and You Are The Days
Resting Upon My Nights …
And You Are Geometry To Me …
Geometry (?e?µet??a; geo = earth, metria = measure)
is a part of mathematics concerned with questions of size, shape,
and relative position of figures and with properties of space.
(uncountable) The branch of mathematics dealing with spatial relationships;
(countable) A type of geometry with particular properties;
Geometry is one of the oldest sciences. ...
Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2009
Why was my whole special school life,
An interpretation of nature and school?
A philosophical contemplation and analysis,
A freeway inquiry into the education tool.
Because the god concept was lain out,
On the household table, delicately spread,
I was sharp at social phenomenon,
Even as a primary child was not off my head.
When I journeyed down the corridors,
Slowly, because of my disability,
I was more often than not on my own,
‘Cos the others would show off their mobility.
So I thought about the politics,
Of the special school and our integration right,
Our need of ramps and disabled toilets,
The importance of everybody’s mindset height.
I classed the whole organisational structure as wrong,
For using the carers as playtime supervisors,
‘Cos in my old nursery school the teachers contravened,
In any tit-for-tat playground misdemeanours.
The teachers knew us in the classroom,
So adjudicated fairly and with respect,
Were able to administer justice,
Wherever there was a point of regret.
The carers were just not on my level,
And you had to do what they said,
Which overshadowed my whole experience,
Which made me much see red.
It was believed that the carers had a light on,
Because they scribed for us in maths,
But your profession level sets your reception,
Of high-flyers’ stares and laughs.
I mean, I didn’t ever laugh at them,
For their low rank and position,
But that just meant they never put me with,
My parents speech and religion.
But I considered myself determined philosophically,
Not in the free-will line of thought camp,
And just needed a man, board or committee,
To rejuvenate myself and amp.
So I often spoke with the school doctor,
The boss of the cliques and staff,
But the other pupils resented it,
Laughing at my physical prospects, chaff.
When your life does not go right,
Insist, if you can, on calling the shots,
Make appointments with the gods,
And beam with importance watts.
Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2015
Row, row and sing,
Rest, rest and listening.
We'll listen to the lullaby of a siren's voice.
We''ll hear the ambience
Of the night's silence.
Walk, walk and talk,
Stand, stand and be proud.
Copyright © Marissa Faries | Year Posted 2012
Round and round they go,
Hands criss-crossed in the middle
Of school yard whirl winds.
Copyright © Leon Stacey | Year Posted 2008
My home state loses a football field,
Of coastal land each day of the year.
I’m no cheerleader about this,
It fills my heart with fear.
I wish I had funds to donate to the cause.
Maybe if I expressed my thoughts of the situation,
It would cause others to pause.
As the pelicans swim to the beat,
Of their inward drum,
And contribute to the state,
That many other states of the union,
Were carved from.
Way back before humans existed,
Our dear state Louisiana was merely sea floor.
If we humans that exist today,
Don’t get serious about this erosion problem,
The state where jazz was born,
Will be sea floor once more.
Our coastal industries, beautiful magnolia trees,
And the capital of the Old South,
Will no longer exist.
We won’t be able to reminisce about anything,
If our hindrance persists.
Like bacteria attacks a cell,
Our precious land is being attacked as well.
Like our educated out migrants,
Land is leaving without being replaced.
Saving this land helps us ecologically:
This includes the human race.
Please fellow residents and people who once,
Or never lived here before.
Fill Louisiana’s heart with cheer,
By contributing to this worthy cause.
If one can’t give monetarily,
He or she should then take a pause.
Be creative and think of other ways,
That one is able to help this wonderful state.
We would certainly appreciate anything you do,
To help us out.
I know the pain of the land will be eased,
Without a doubt.
Our state has faith in us as we have faith in it.
Let us not only be cheerleaders, but star players.
So that our precious land can stay strong,
Throughout its layers.
This erosion problem can be very costly:
Climatic changes, loss of land, animal and plant species,
And human lives are just a few.
Please help save our wetlands,
Because it is part of the old and of the new.
Wrote November 2003 almost exactly 2 years before Hurricane Katrina,
while student @ ULM and concerned about the issue, as a student and scientist the topic of
New Orleans going under and the Mississippi River flow and creation of Louisiana was talked
about since I was in elementary school in the mid '80s was a main topic of concern for the
gubernatorial election held that year, and during that political official's term as governor,
Hurrican Katrina hit, Louisiana politics I tell you- they simply tell people what they want to
Copyright © Nicole Sharon Brown | Year Posted 2009
Tackle box, fishing poles, radio, a good book to read
In a quite little alcove , the back outskirt of Lake Mead
The desert sun burning the sky, I’m comfortable in the shadow
I see the shad chumming toward the shore, my bait a live minnow
Suddenly, down the shoreline, I see the water, rapidly rippling my way
I was about to see, a vicious act of Nature: a school of large striped bass
A hundred strong with a school of fifty tagging along : the bass kicked …
I wonder Are The TROUT biting??
Inspired by Amy Green’s Contest : : I saw with my own Eyes
July 8, 1979 -- 10:50 A.M. Lake Mead , Henderson Nevada
Copyright © HGarvey Daniel Esquire | Year Posted 2010
I do not know?
i see an ocean wave crashing with no mercy
destroying everything in its path
i see an ocean wave killing other people
swallowing their houses and their life
all of what they worked for
is now gone,
nobody can save what under the water now
this one wave took everything
killed all of their dreams and hopes
but still it did it so gracefully
that it made me hope
it made me think of flowers
in an open field
flowers so colorful
that even when their asleep
they take your breath away
from the beauty they unleash
a beauty so disastrous
that it kills everything in their path?!!
wow, this beauty's like a curse on earth
it serves as well
but at the same time it kills are hearts
the hearts of people filled with dreams
well, none of that matters now
because their dead and so is their dream
some may have thought of college
after a four year high school degree
they all had hopes just like you and i
well now they dont even have a home
to look out of the window on a long dreadful night
but those who made it out alive
they can still dream
in fact they can make it happen
build a knew hope far away from the water far away from the light
they may even escape the cold dreadful nights
but its useless because even in the desert will they live
a hurricane will start the grief again
so you keep building, keep achieving
going nowhere with your life
just remember you can never run enough
to hide from the wrath of God
Copyright © aleksandra ivanova | Year Posted 2011
I do not know?
OMG the smells of the woods and the old musky smells of the building,
the texture and smells of a good book.
The beauty in it all, wishing I could be a child again, but this time free, free from the
bondage's that once held me down.
The innocence ripped from the child sitting in this chair,
the only comfort she could find was in the woods.
Mother Earth was her best friend, the one she ran to for protection and nurturing.
Copyright © Anna Borsick | Year Posted 2012
I would like to see,
Snow, frozen H2O this year.
It hardly does here.
Copyright © Nicole Sharon Brown | Year Posted 2009
I Am MoonBeam
My Sisters, StarLights
My Brothers, SunRays
My Family of Heaven
My Mother, DawnSky
Father of Celestial Lights (James 1: 17)
Taught At Universe-High
By Father’s Master-Degree
And Mother’s Alma-Mater
Dine At Dimension-Table
In Our Galaxy
Our: Cambridge, Yale, Oxford and Harvard
Are: Comets, Orbits, and Asteroids
Black-Holes, Pulsars, Waves and Quarks
Red Giants and Red and Snow-White Dwarfs
Enlightened Astronomers, Radiant New Worlds
Time-Continuum, To Unfurl
And A Big, Blue Jewel, Freed From Cataclysm
Light-Years Away, From Today …
But Still Quenching Thirst, On Milky-Way
and Planetary-Rings and Eclipse
Satellites, and Soaring-Rocket-Ships
Atomics and Evenings-Scholarly
Lectures, On Pure-Energy
To Explore and Expand Brilliantly
‘Diplomas’ … thru Eternity
I Am MoonBeam
My Sisters, StarLights
My Brother, ‘Big’ SunRay
Shone-Academic-Bright ! …
Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2009
lets the sun spread it’s grin
Slowly warming the beds
awakening the flowers
as they raise their heads
birds chorus dawns delight
melancholic tunes contrite
Nature’s charms begin to stir
Doors slam shut and engines whirr
A shout of ‘Hello’, or ‘Good morning dear’,
Friendly waves and nods of cheer
Then traffic jams and people queue
Paper stands sell the daily news
Off to work the adults go
mums to school with kids in tow
A lovely day is off to start
Fulfilled with joy ‘till sun departs.
Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2009
Colored pencils in an artist’s even hand
sketch rolling fields of wavy grass
sprouting from the barren plain
of barren pages.
Now she reaches for Burnt Sienna.
Copyright © Jesse Jones | Year Posted 2007
A bird lays an egg
She keeps it warm
It starts to crack
And it hatches, during a heavy storm
It was a beautiful Lorrikeet
You could tell mother bird was proud
So out of her own happiness
She joyfully tweeted aloud
Time to fly, little Lorrikeet
Mother Bird encourages him
So he jumps off the tree
And swoops through the sky like a queen bee
On a quiet night
A van pulls up to the tree
A shadowy figure scales it well
And he was tranquilized, faster than you could to five
Daybreak in a pet shop
He was in a cage, that's all Lorrikeet knew
Surrounded by a rainbow of birds
Name a bird and It was in view
The other birds learnt of Lorrikeet's intelligence
But then they bullied him for it
Lorrikeet grew depressed
There was no bird to make him not want to throw himself in a pit
So Lorrikeet was trapped
Trapped in a cruel world of hate
One day he'll be free
But there is no specified date
But then a little girl walked into the Pet store
But like anyone her age, she was looking at the puppies
Little girl asked Mum for a pup, but she said no
But then the tears roll down her face, What a sad show
Then something is spied in the corner of her eye
The beautiful Lorrikeet looking out of the glass cage
The little girl runs up to the cage and admires the beauty of the birds
Which are staring at the girl like one giant herd
The little girl decided for ages
Deciding which bird. There were cages and cages
But then Lorrikeet tweeted. Oh It was beautiful like a flute
The Little girl said it was a lovely toot
And so Lorrikeet was chosen
Chosen to be taken home by this sweet innocent child
Lorrikeet was happy to leave the cage of sorrow
He'll be playing with bells and eating the finest seed this time tomorrow
I wrote this poem to teach that through the hardship of bullying, victims can go on to
live long fulfilling lives. Which is the only thing that keeps my head high :)
Copyright © Tyrone Johnston | Year Posted 2010
Twinkle twinkle, little star,
93 million miles far.
Giver of light, supporter of life,
energy, climate and season device.
The sun is a star, we're glad it is here,
as our life support, for 5 billion years.
This star is among the brightest in space,
though close, many questions about it remain.
With violet ,orange, and reddish of hues,
our home solar system pivots on you.
8,000 degrees of Kelvin heat,
elements of Hydrogen and Helium meet.
Over 100 times the size of the Earth,
rotating once is a seven day turn.
The first of three layers is visible light,
the thick photosphere is a veil of white.
The atmosphere there is a plasma in ways,
which emits a series of wavelengths and rays.
A more defined trait are the patches of dark,
Sunspots are cooler, magnetically charged.
These spots tend to vary and alter in shape,
every 11 years, new cycles take place.
Solar cycles can affect the weather on Earth,
filters and color are how they’re observed.
Direct observation can damage the eyes,
I'd advise that precautions be sought and applied.
The heat is supplied by a core via fusion,
and exits as energy and light distribution.
Plasma is also among things released,
Solar Flares on the surface are a common sight seen.
All around they emit rays, X and UV,
which frequently jam radio frequencies.
Close to the sunspots, the flares can be viewed,
particles majestically travel in loops.
The Sun, like the Moon, is a welcomed companion,
life without it cannot be imagined.
Twinkle twinkle, little star,
93 million miles far.
Giver of light, supporter of life,
always shining, through day and through night.
Copyright © David Dowling | Year Posted 2008