In This Little Town; Summer Sand

By: Charlotte Astley

IN THIS LITTLE TOWN

The birds start chirping, never out of tune,

and the people never stop smiling.

 

In this little town

the waves are always crashing

on the rocks.

Crash

         Crash

                  Crash

In this little town

the fishermen on the dock

keep fishing with a smile.

 

In this little town

the people are never down.

 

SUMMER SAND

The summer sand-

it’s warm like a mother’s hug.

 

As you climb 

farther from the water,

the sand gets hotter and hotter.

 

So, you run

into the water

that is freezing.

   SPLASH

Then you hear “It’s time to go.”

You have to get out of the water,

and run up the sand, hotter and hotter.

 

 



Set Me Free, On Mute

By: Kiana Joler

 

SET ME FREE

I kindle and wither at your request

I torch and burn at your dismay

I cannot touch without suffering

I can only suffer without touch

I bring agony and distress

I live with only affliction and desolation

Life is filled with pain and envy of those who surround me

Life is filled with control and helplessness from myself

I can only hold on

Hold on to my sanity and pride

Let go of my worries and cares

Staying until I am released

Without fight or hatred

Without surrender or love

Holding on until my blaze is doused

Until I am set free

Set free.

 

 

ON MUTE

I'm drowning in the sea of pain

I'm screaming into the smoke for anyone to hear

I'm crying to the heavens waiting for an answer

I'm still trying at my will's end 

I'm still awaiting answers that I asked for years ago

I'm still burning in the fire that has blazed for an eternity

I am still tired

My exhaustion has lasted it's own lifetime 

A lifetime of pain and dismay with only glimpses of happiness

The glimpses keep me going

Going on and awaiting the next moment as patiently as possible

Until then, I try

I try to continue

Because that's all we do

Continue until we can't 

Until we can't try anymore

Until we can't.

 



I Am Not Wild

By: Kaitlyn Knight

Placed among faces
with which I’m acquainted,
I find a time
where I was wild in a pack.

The sun rested and lent
the earth to its cooling brother.
That blind eye looked down on
five wolves, females,
before our prime.

The day was spent in celebration,
as was the night. Paws imprinted soft dirt.
Headlong we raced, young tongues lolling,
youthful eyes absorbing the moon-drowned road ahead.
Crouched behind bushes we lay in waiting.

We waited for the light-filled eyes of our prey,
speeding ever closer until our battle anthem rose behind us.
We charged, pelts glinting ethereal dances to the sky.
The car belted an energetic approval.
Startled by the noise, we fled, only to return to the hunt later.

We were not wolves.
Yet wild with our dim dances beside rural roads,
not to be remembered, nor found again.

Alone. Eyes glint only dimly,
darkened orbs that distract from keen teeth.
Precautioned people skirt left, right.
I crave only the life I live, with the moon and myself.
Being a wolf, pelt dancing. Being a girl, teeth clenched.
 

This poem was selected as one of the winners of our 2014 Wild Words writing contest.



Too Old

By: Molly Malczynski

 

His sad, unblinking eyes stare at me.

Why did you leave me? he seems to call.

I grew too old for you, I say to him, as if he can talk back.

He stays in his never changing position,

Perched on the sunny window sill.

A bright smile stitched on his face,

Faded green buttons for eyes,

His ears worn down from years of play;

His expression never changes.

Dust gathers on top of his soft, fuzzy head.

It gathers on his colorful arms and legs,

Candy-colored stripes running down them

Still warm to the touch,

As if I had only just put him down.

His face is full of longing,

A longing to be played with

Once more.

It’s as if he’s frozen in time,

A time when I was still a child,

Pigtails in my hair, a smile on my face,

And never-ending energy.

He sits patiently, waiting.

He waits for a hug that will never come.



Poems From Waterville

By: Emma, Alaina, Sofia and Chocolate

Do Bunnies See In Black And White?
by Emma, Alaina and Sofia

Bandit!
Black around his eyes
and on his ears.
Maybe he does see in black and white.

Soft like fabric
Oh, so sweet.

Wiggly and strong
Twisty and bendy
Bandit! Don't jump out of the box!

The Scared Conejo*
by Emma

Quiet.
Makes a little sound
when he moves his ears.

Rolled up in a ball.
Nervous.

Calmed down,
he flattened out.

Peace and Quiet.

*Spanish for rabbit

The Krolik* Is Cute
by Sofia, age 5

I felt nervous
because he would bite me!

On boaylysa
(He was nervous)
Because he didn't know if I was good or bad.

He nibbled the strawberry
he didn't put his mouth on me!

Oh! Oh! His ears are standing out.
Now, they're down.

On bul myagkiy,
(He was soft),
soft like a puffball
not hard like wire.

*Russian for rabbit

Weekend
by Chocolate, age 10

Sweet, melted gold
smooth, creamy music
relaxing at home.
 



Telling Rooms

By: Jacob Rutberg

The white walls make the green paint pop.
Your eyes wander, your nerves stop.
The brick walls are strong and sturdy,
Holding in a writers paradise.

Words from books spill out
Across the rug-covered floors,
As the noises from outside spill in,
Not knowing why or what for.

Near me, like-minded people converge,
Like an avalanche
Of ideas, feeling, and thought
All beating in a rhythm unknown.



Up the Hill

By: Dianne Yattaw

 

Silence
Dead silence
Fills my empty street now
But then
Then it was alive
Then it was a whole other world
Where your imagination could take you everywhere
The original child-like games were the Olympics
We owned it
And it was a part of us
From every end of our dead end street
That was anything but dead
That world was the real world
No limits, and no one could stop us
They couldn’t if they tried
But now stuck in this bland moment of so-called reality
All we do is pray for our blissful imagination
To be unlocked again and our street to be reborn



Sweetie Soup

By: Amy Tran

 

The soup is sweet and spicy 
and bright orange and red. 
We call the soup “Sweetie.”
The soup is like nothing I have eaten before. 
It tastes like it has a lot of garlic in it. 
I am at home eating with my mom, dad and brother. 
Mom is wearing a blue tee shirt and blue jeans, 
Dad is wearing navy blue shorts and a green t-shirt. 
My brother is wearing blue jeans and a blue tee. 
We all look out the window next to our glass circular table
and we watch the sunset. It is orange and red, 
the sky above it is blue, purple, orange and red. 
Suddenly the room is quiet. 
Everybody is shocked by the prettiness of the sunset, 
sitting perfectly still, like statues. 
My mother has her spoon halfway to her mouth 
and her lips are apart but she doesn’t move. 
The yellow wall behind us turns the color of the sky. 
The soup and my family’s faces have a similar orange glow. 
We watch the sun sink and suddenly I remember 
a story my grandmother told me about eating pho 
by the ocean, 
watching the end of a day. 
My family was in Ho Chi Min city in Vietnam 
listening to the noises of the cars and motor scooters 
whizzing past. 
Their soup was sweet and salty and very spicy 
and they all slurped the noodles making their lips tingle. 
When the sunset is over we go back to the soup. 
The soup is so creamy. 
The flavor explodes in my mouth. 
I keep hearing the spoons clinking on the bowl 
and the slurping of my mom, dad, and brother 
eating the soup. 


"Ode to my Family"

By: James Mitchell

Their presence frees me
Of all fears and worries
Lifting the forbidding presence
From my shoulders

Helping me when I am down
Lifting me off of the ground
Lightening the burden
Of all that I hold

Loving me
When no other will
Sustaining me
When the pressure bears too hard

Time and time again
Supporting me when
They themselves need it
Loving me as always

Giving me everything
But never taking for themselves
I can never give enough
To compensate for what I receive

My family is there for me
As I am for them
Loving helping and caring
That is what family is for.

James Mitchell, Portland, ME, Age 13



"At Night"

By: Isabel Bates

Still and silent
no movement except
the trees swaying
reaching
REACHING
out to you
like deranged hula dancers.
The darkness beckoning,
shadows slipping across the ground
free to roam
at night.
The house lights off
windows dark
the ocean inky black
at night.
Boats silent, but
wind whispering
softly laughing,
in your ear
boats
knocking against each other
in the stormy ocean,
waves splashing against their sides.
Absence of sound, just
the laughing wind
rushing water
bobbing boats
But even then
the noises of the dark
seem distant.
Everything is muted,
stifled
at night.

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