15 Feb. Written Post 2008
“Valley Night”
Desert dry lips will slowly come to stick,
Breaking the edges of our pink tenderness
With dark woodland creatures, and blueberry spit.
We wake, to a breeze passing through,
Washing away our regrets in the clear morning dew
Coming to find our doleful thoughts, more than somewhat subdued
We are nothing, we are all
We are rooted, weeping kin
Barren from one cold winter
Longing for mother’s white blanket to tuck in
Through the silence found deep in the dark of our heads
Eyes adjust, light greets sin.
Screams from the gallows
“I can save you from him”
I scream from deep in my hollow halo walk
“Thanks for the offer , but I’m just giving in”
- Wynn Koval, Salesianum School, Class of 2009, DE
“when we are married”
when we are married
which we both agreed we’re against
i hope we have two children
that we both agreed would be mistakes
and i hope we’d have a daughter
who would have your same green eyes
and that our son would have my mess of a personal composition
because i think we boys are most charming at our damnedest
and when we show up together at parties
and still have things to say
i hope that our friends hate us
so that we can be alone
during our time when we are married
which we both agreed we’re against
- John Michael, Boston
“Lycanthropy: A Sestina”
It is the last few seconds before I lose
control. The clouds above me part, and I stare into the face
of my greatest fear. It hits my skin like silver
cables, entwining me, and I can feel
it start to happen. It’s like my limbs
are being wrenched from their sockets and replaced
with ones that have only the desire to cause pain. Placed
on the ground, my feet elongate. I lose
any sense of self as my face contorts, my mind in limbo.
My eyes grow bloodshot, resting in my repulsive face.
Nails become razor sharp blades, yearning to feel
flesh. I am bathed in silver
and adapt further, sprout fur with a silvery
hue. I try to speak but find my voice is replaced
by snarls and barks. I let out a long howl and take off, feeling
the grass cushion the leathery soles of my feet. Completely lost
in thoughts of innocent faces
to bite and rip and tear, my limber
body carries me over fallen tree limbs.
Teeth bared, they look almost silver
in the moonlight. Senses heightened, I am aware of every facet
that surrounds me. Suddenly, I halt. Placing
my nose angled in the air, I sniff and almost lose
it. Finally what I hunger for is found. I feel
a malevolent shiver go up my spine and a feeling
of sinister elation courses through the veins lining my gaunt limbs.
I dart forward, hunting for lost
children or late night strollers in the silver
light. I prowl through side streets, placing
one clawed foot quietly in front of the other. Facing
a weathered park bench from my hiding spot, I see the face
of a young man with auburn hair. I feel
adrenaline pumping through me as I bound toward him. His calm expression is replaced
with one of pure terror as I attack his limbs.
When I am through with him, silver
fur decorates his lacerated figure. I slink away into the shadows and am lost.
Against his will, the man will be responsible for losses, faced
with a silver enemy each month, unable to feel
pity or remorse. On bony limbs, he will be able to do nothing but let this agony take place.
- Sara Group, Central High School, Class of 2010, PA
“Perspective”
The way I see it,
You’re fall, wrapped up into a weathered jacket,
Cool hands and a face slightly stinging from the wind.
Chapped lips, stretched across teeth, endearingly imperfect
A smile speaking more candid words than we’ve ever exchanged
Your dirty fingers are at my sleeve with careless precision and painstaking artlessness
Sweeping away the heart that I keep there just for passing breezes like yourself.
You litter down uneven words and daftly brush against my shoulder with a pace as broken as your speech
My own grainy lips are mimicking yours and I’m smiling more than I should.
I can feel your dull, dark eyes asking me unspoken questions, and I’m wanting to pretend I don’t hear them.
My hesitant answers are fighting against the underside of my dry tongue.
The way I see it,
I’m spring, wrapped up into a fading raincoat,
Nervous hands and a face tinged with fluster,
Bitten lips, closed over a mouth of teeth distraught with wory
A smile to hold at bay all the dirty insecurities we’ve never talked about
My anxious fingers are at my pockets with rough uncertainty and meticulous concern
Thinking of darting away in search of your own fluttering digits’ company.
I pour out doubtful grins, trying not to lean into your staggered touch with an awkward comfort, unsure as my laughter
Your crooked lips are focused on me and I think you’re starting to notice
You can see my eyes, hazed and avoidant, and you’re pretending it’s not obvious.
Your clumsy questions are laced with laughter to ease my apprehension.
The way I see it,
We make the perfect seasons.
- Mollie McGill, St. Mark’s High School, Class of 2008, DE
“Pyrrhic”
i. smoke (and mirrors);
breaking tiled, seeded, knitted smiles.
And maybe I do have
little veins,
but that doesn’t mean they can’t crave.
Don’t be so
deceitful as to
feel like home. If
you are home, then
I am more than foreign.
ii. Shiny cars in shiny parking lots of shiny churches.
Trains speeding holding kind women with hair spun of fool’s gold.
Ships trudging on seas that drown us in long
endearing words and unhealthy beautiful flesh.
See? Still, we move, carrying like ants our
new pleasant dreams on our dented backs.
iii. I can only feel the
square of my face
circle of our hands and the
triangle of your dusty heart.
You were geometrically imperfect, too, so.
iv. I don’t know what forgiveness means.
v. Don’t try too hard.
It hurts your pretty
mouth
to tremble like that.
vi. If this boils any longer we will have to pretend it is something else.
I’m not alarmed.
vii. I can only feel the
square of my face,
circle of our hands, and the breathing
rhombus of your living heart.
Geometrically perfect.
- Brittany Corrigan, West Chester University, Class of 2011, PA
“Time on Earth”
Heaven and her faithful troops scourged a trail of destruction; reinventing morality.
It carved a path through the hearts of those too feeble.
Her piercing arrow; ripe and soaring promises of life ever-after;
Needed no bow; the devout would rather stab themselves. She overthrow their souls.
Away in their iron clad vaults they hoarded their possessions.
Like greedy dogs storing and burying their most precious desires;
Eliminating, per-chance, the threatening moths of decaying time;
Wanting to preserve the riches of an existence lacking meaning.
Deep in the dirt and muck of memories vacant; lost and with no emotion
They worshiped to the worms; declaring and showering the mud with their devotion.
Beneath boulders, lying bare and overturned, her followers eternally hunted;
Missing, in their blind and wild quest, the writing on the stone.
To the skies they turned their pitiful gaze of misunderstanding.
To the clouds and sun they demanded a remedy for suffering.
Despite the pearls and gold that lay in heaps,
Still persisted something lost within their fruitless musings.
In all endeavors, their focus and energy, concentrated to a pointless purpose.
A job for treasure hunters, measuring freedom in quantity of tenures.
A life wasted to pursue an end that reveals no answers,
When being’s purity, beauty, energy, is all around, not hidden after death.
- Nick Resler, Newark High School, Class of 2008, DE
“Patchwork Fury”
A stitch here.
A cut there.
Pick out the face we want it to wear.
Claws of bones
To cut the skin
Of prisoners held
To reap their sin
Wings of red and needles too
Poking through the flesh
Long since turned
Deaths precious blue.
- Dennis Preski, Holy Ghost Preparatory School, Class of 2010, PA
“Unofficial Ballad of High School”
It’s funny how we don’t get along so great together
We like the same things: Music, parties, and not liking one another.
You and that girl I saw, you’re best friends forever and ever?
Do you think I could get her number so we can fall in love with each other?
I got girls lined up to take me out tonight
Most don’t know me, the rest don’t know my wallet.
Would you want to go see a movie with me this weekend?
I know you have to ask your mom, I don’t know if she’ll let you see it
It is a good thing that our parents aren’t too strict
Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here, wasted and high as shit.
I got my boys outside waiting in the car tonight
We’re gonna go out and start ourselves a pretty fight.
So we have found ourselves on somebody’s bed at this party.
I guess that now’s the time, let’s go, alright, already.
C’mon, if I didn’t love you, would we really be this hot and heavy?
Oh wait now, you missed what? It looks like I’m grounded forever, baby.
Driving 90 on windy roads tonight
What is life if you don’t have some fun, right?
I’ll do the right thing later, and just make the girls laugh today.
Did you know that one kid finally killed himself the other day?
I mean, you saw him in gym class, he didn’t deserve to live anyway.
Let’s just not worry about the world, I heard that that is the American way.
- Ben Falandays, Salesianum School, Class of 2009, DE
“For Every Failed Relationship There is a Poem”
A runner who is married to the road
will sleep
standing up
and only take showers
so in intimate situtations
the two are together.
The bond between him and his feet
is constant
and beating like a heart.
You are a runner too
but without
this pulse;
A runner who jumps hurdles on the track
and for seconds
stands on nothing
until you come crashing back to her.
But in that leap
I could carry you on my shoulders.
We would tetter
and our sleep would be unbalanced.
- Mia Cammisa, Temple University, Class of 2011, PA
“Nicotine in the Arctic Circle”
In the morning, we stand
huddled, penguins under
an awning by the street,
out of gray rain. Our fingers
are moths that tweak and flutter
towards the peach moons
at the ends of our cigarettes.
Outside our igloo float umbrellas
that beat like arteries slick and black,
pumping towards offices,
boutiques, restaurants, schools.
Your lips bring a moon closer
then float towards mine
to reach a destination free of
cash registers and responsibility
but filled with warmth. I hold you
closer. You open our shady heart
and guide us down the pavement.
The rain drops fall like melting stars
around the slick black pulsing eye
of a mourning beast.
- Rachel Milligan, High School for the Creative and Performing Arts, Class of 2007, PA.
