Freshman high school cheerleader,
long hair the color of the summer berry,
heights of strawberry flight.
Lithe athlete with sky-hued eyes,
smile of a garden fairy.
Teenage enthusiasm,
flier,
storming the sidelines.
Crowd with alumni roaring,
celebratory September night,
heights of strawberry flight.
If one refuses trials that test the soul,
Content to walk where comfort draws the line,
The mind grows small, its vision dulled by ease,
And dormant strength lies buried, unexplored.
For challenge is the fire that shapes the will,
The weight that teaches muscle how to rise;
Without resistance, purpose learns no form,
And latent gifts decay in silent dark.
We do not know the heights within our reach
Until we strain against the pull of fear,
Nor hear our truest voice till doubt is faced.
So growth demands the courage to endure,
For only those who dare their limits learn
What greater selves await their becoming.
A telephone rings
At Druid Heights.
Nobody is home.
“If you already get this message,
‘Ego in a bag of skin,’
Hang up the phone.
For all others ‘tis the wrong number.”
The person at the other end of the line
Talking to their boss:
“Bag, ego, skin
Are ONE
or many…
whatever!”
She stands like Everest—jaw-dropping, distant, sublime—
No timid plea will ever bridge that height.
Yet the one who climbs with tender steps and earnest heart
May trace her warmth through courage’s light.
You stumble on your words—your voice betrays your desire,
Each awkward phrase fuels your hope to try anew.
Like a climber training on icy slopes, you rise again from slip and fall,
For each earnest reach builds strength inside you.
She may seem unattainable, aloof behind her lofty snow,
Still, effort carves a pathway where affection slowly grows.
One gentle gesture after another—steady, brave, sincere—
Becomes the rope that binds your hearts in close repose.
As the mountaineer knows: summits yield to those who persist,
Each step endured, each setback met with grit.
Likewise, a heart is won not by luck—but by steadfast, caring climb,
For in love and heights alike, those who try never quit.
O breast, broke and bruised, hide your hollows
Tho tears will fall, the night will call...
Calling...calling from the shadows
Beam beckons, bent orb, O twisted smile
Ego chipped, firmly gripped, gripped denial...
Falling...falling far amongst the shadows
Woe, withered, worn, wind whimpers
Tragically torn, torn and twisted...
Wallowing...wallowing in the shadows
White light, a new day born, still, I'm sworn
Hiding, hiding from the light...
Swallowed...swallowed by the shadows
This was inspired by my first reading of Walt Whitman
from heights
majestic beauty
rushing to a roar
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
They called him a child of the sky,
a storm-born spark, a rising sun
His steps were light, his hands were quick,
he climbed before he learned to run
The world below had sung his name,
its voices laced with awe and might
You’ll reach the peak they whispered low,
where all the stars align in light
He climbed through fire, through fractured bone,
through sleepless nights that burned like day
And at the top, at last, he swore
there’d be no farther left to stray
But summits blur, and clouds deceive,
each height unfolds another gate
Above him, figures loomed like wraiths,
their flesh decayed, yet climbed for weight.
And so he clings, too proud to fall,
too lost to chase another flight.
He wonders if the climb was worth
a life spent fearing a lesser height.
I’ve lost my heart among the woods,
Where now it flutters in the drafts
And moves about close secrets kept
Within the floras’ whispered breath.
I know because there glimpses break
Between the bark-skinned living things,
Where there it flows from one to next
In jubilant discovery.
I feel it yet, though standing yon,
Of how the boughs absorb the sun
Among the shafted beams of light
That pierce the hazy, busy air.
Despite observing, yet I sense
The stirring of euphoria
That rises from the forest floor
To giant heights within my heart.
I think that I should join with it
If I can catch it in a pause,
For time can pass so ever slow
And ever speed to its demise.
Onto that pillow,
she fell asleep standing up;
Constellations shone;
That parallel universe,
she found her way out of it;
Knowing how to fly
led to seizing every chance;
Dreams woke self assured;
Lost to the spell of the heights,
nothing could call her back down;
Rich reality
took the place of fantasy;
Clear sight in blurred lines;
No need for a far off land,
stars fall through tangible clouds.
Upon the misty heights I roam
And wonder, as I wander lone
For she who mystifies my dawn
And listens as I muse along
Is nearer still, as lone I walk –
I speak in silence from the heart
Of days gone by when we were young
And knew our moment in the sun
Was brighter then than it would be,
For even then we knew, could see
That time and distance would parlay
And deeper still for us portray
The breathless passion that we knew,
Which sprang from wells from which we drew,
Not knowing when the moment came
How we would never be the same –
And now I never walk alone
For deep with her in thought I roam
And still recall with vivid sight
And memory untinged by night
The flame we burned with passion bright
When lone I roamed on misty heights
Watch that big moon,
It smiles far away.
It's brighter than ever,
It has so much to hide.
The queen among the stars
takes care of its castle
with all the secrets inside.
A princess with no name
has its moods to show,
sometimes feeling full,
sometimes feeling blue.
Listen to that big moon
when she talks to you,
she has so much to say,
so many whispers,
so many songs to be listened to.
Look at her best show
when you are in the wuthering heights or when you are in the clear valleys.
It will always be bright for you to admire it above the wuthering heights.
My height hurts my height,
I mean of freedom,
freedom in any angle,
mainly for my inner self.
Unjustly treated height,
opportunities between my fingers,
anger conquering my heart,
hurting that right of love,
mercilessly.
The time is near,
for heights to faint
and have no more control,
over love, trust and opportunities,
through sacrifices, sweat
and sweet fruits.
What's inspiration other than a glimpse of what's not in store for us
Most games are well-grounded,
To earthen goals they can defeat.
While few rise above the horizon,
With constant volleys they can repeat.
The game elevates to new heights,
Gracefully reaching above it all.
As angelic figures fly beyond,
Earthbound shackles that seem small.
Although clear boundaries guide play,
There's no limit from what divides.
The mortal effort to touch the heavens,
Where the ethereal collides.
Breathtaking views
the brochure said.
But for me
it was nothing but
a sheer drop, gravity's
worst nightmare lipped
on an edge and way below,
a brutal landing
of hard rock.
I don't like heights.
Up here I have the lot,
a panoramic view offering
no distraction to what
really waits for me
salivating beneath
my jellied feet.
Just a step away,
nothingness wells its hypnotic
horrors, a free fall into
the minds worse fate, flailing
limbs frantically reaching
for something firm
to hold onto in thin air.
Just think of it !
The last few seconds
of life bulleting downwards
towards oblivion.
No, I don't like heights.
I prefer to take my views
without a precipitous ledge,
closer to the ground,
then if I fall
it would be less likely
to be terminal and I'd
have no time to think
as I went down.
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