A Global Magazine for Thinking Youth

Month: April 2015 (Page 1 of 7)

Excerpt from Poetry Anthology

POETRY

Poetry is something, odd
Just inexplicably, abnormal
It’s where all these words and phrases are smushed together
And create some beautiful and complex
Thing
The wholesome odor of grass and buds
The breeze making my hairs stand on end
Brrr..I guess that myth about spring breeze being invigorating is slightly overrated
Everything is so peculiar and out of order
And yet, in some strange, harmonious unison
The Black-Capped Chickadee sounding off its signature chirp
The rippling of the pond
The vibrant Northern Cardinal giving its say about the world
With the geese chiming in
It sounds so weird
Yet, it’s so authentic
So real, so vivid
It’s like you can feel the breeze on your skin
The rushing sound of the creek water
The vibrancy and beauty
Of spring
Poetry is something, very obscure
Nobody really knows the true term
Undefinable, declarative, passionate, beautiful read more

Changes

Changes

The plane takes off
Leaving the stress behind
The cold behind
The snow behind
Three hours go by
In darkness
In quietness
In boredom
The whole flight was totally worth it
I look out the window
I see light blue crystal clear water
I laugh because its not ice
Theres no mountains of snow
Just clear water
I see white but its not snow its sand
I see reefs and boats
When I see land I see
Beaches, Palm trees, and bright green grass
I can’t count how many islands there are
but there are so many read more

The Best Feeling on Earth

The best feeling on Earth.
(Extended metaphor)
That first time you step on the ice
you feel exhilarated, elusive
the warm-ups are like the night before Christmas
or the morning before a test,
you are just putting the finishing touches on.
The breakaways are like the peak of the mountain,
the goals against are like your gear falling off
or the branch that you built your tree house on snapping
The end is near,
your worst fear is.
Gone?
Buzz, the crowd erupts, your feelings burst
your mind splatters,
your senses sense happiness.
It’s over. read more

Triolet

Shackles Of Hatred

I forge my own shackles
From the metal of my sins
That nobody can hear clank and crackle.
I forge my own shackles
filled with hatred that crackles
Over the freedom I cannot win.
I forge my own shackles
From the metal of my sins. read more

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