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Oh! hush thee, my baby, the night is behind us,
  And black are the waters that sparkled so green.
The moon, o’er the combers, looks downward to find us
  At rest in the hollows that rustle between.

Where billow meets billow, there soft be thy pillow;
  Ah, weary, wee flipperling, curl at thy ease!
The storm shall not wake thee, nor shark overtake thee,
  Asleep in the arms of the slow-swinging seas.
Oh I wish so much you would remember
those happy days when we were friends.
Life in those times was so much brighter
and the sun was hotter than today.
Dead leaves picked up by the shovelful.
You see, I have not forgotten.
Dead leaves picked up by the shovelful,
memories and regrets also,
and the North wind carries them away
into the cold night of oblivion.
You see, I have not forgotten
the song that you sang for me:
It is a song resembling us.
We lived together, the both of us,
you who loved me
and I who loved you.
But life drives apart those who love
ever so softly
without a noise
and the sea erases from the sand
the steps of lovers gone their ways.
I like the^ way the "Q" looks in my name.
It's beautiful because it's here
And nowhere else will ever be--
Isolated in a corner of this twenty-first century universe,
As are we.
Three back and second from the left:
my home for period six,
a desk more scuffed and scratched than its parallel, footprint littered tiles.

Here, three quarters of an hour is a day for every minute,
where the name of the month is Algebra II,
and the year: 2009
multiplied by the square root of x
minus pi.

I have a front row seat to a bird’s eye view
of Josh’s back.
It is a russet landscape of rolling creases,
the ever changing dunes of the Sahara.

Tomorrow is Saint Patrick’s Day (God bless the Irish,
drowning it all in liquid ignorance),
and I hope to muffle the jaded sighs; the irritating pinches;
the variables
with a lush and verdant mountain range
subsiding to grassy plains
as Josh hunches—listening intently to his eraser—closer to his desk
(two back and second from the left)
to write the value of y.
I'd almost forgotten the blanketing beauty of sorrow
and the unbearable lightness of joy
that leaves you wondering why you were so happy
this must be what she felt when she decided to let go
I don't remember when I decided to stop trusting the world
or when that decision seemed foolishly myopic
but when I picked up my mat to walk it felt heavy
if there is miracle in healing, it is the miracle
of seeing yourself die, or at least an older version of it
then comes all the newness that really isn't new at all
like reminding myself that this is the first time
to hear our song, now that she's gone
or remember the way she loved the ocean
because I saw a seashell in a fisher's net at a restaurant
when did I ever start liking U2? Maybe she played it too much
and when did forever become yesterday?
maybe I saw the end coming, like a wave spotting another
breaking on the shore and disappearing never to be seen again
I suddenly felt my trough deepening, my crest folding
I felt my own demise inching closer to the rocks
reminding me of the pier in Longbeach where she said goodbye
they don't teach you how to have a broken heart
anymore than they teach you how to fall in love
then again, no one thought to tell the wave that it is the ocean
 Nov 2013 Alia Sinha
tyler turner
it was a kiss on the lips and a tinge of pink
rising on the cheeks
it was heated, warm, wet
never comfortable
yet so exciting and thrilling
it was risky and terrifying
but it was easy and cool

it was a few little blue words
on the screen of a monitor
little bee stings
to a boy who was far too allergic

it was easy to be
naive and stupid
and so
hopelessly endlessly wholly
holy
holy
wholly in love

it was so hard
trying and hurtful to pluck the stingers from my
skin
not my heart
never my heart
because im alive still alive
alive to this day

it's now a low tint
not quite enough to be a blush
not quite
h
     h
        h
          o
              t
               t
                 t

enough to
make me stir and squirm and
want more more
please more

oh love,
to be so carefree and happy
to fall endlessly and heavily into your arms

it was so beautiful
and so ugly
and so
so so
...
i dont know
i can't decide if i miss it
or if i never want to feel it again.
 Nov 2013 Alia Sinha
tyler turner
ex's and oh's
hugs and kisses
happy smiles
dreadful horrible
cheerful winks
subtle gestures
telling of
desire and passion
barely contained
restrained
then released
at which point
like butterflies
or their less
attractive friends
moths, they
scatter and disperse
and are gone
leaving only
bleeding hearts
chapped, winter-kissed
lips, peeling and
stinging as they
frown pretty.
at the time of writing, the author was unaware of the fact that the title of this poem was the same as a fairly well known atreyu song. he apologizes to everyone who was nauseated by this correlation.
 Nov 2013 Alia Sinha
adam hicks
if "you are what you eat"
was true
i would help myself
to a bouquet of sunflowers
everyday,
because
i want to learn how to shine
like the street light
outside my bedroom window
i'd line my stomach
with old leonard cohen records
so i could sing all my "i love you"'s
i would stuff my face
with the pages of your favourite book
so i could regurgitate the words
you love so much
whisper them in your ear
while you sleep
i'd take a bite
out of an oak tree
cut me in half
& count my rings
there are so many things
i wish i were
i am not graceful
i'd like to make a toast
to every day that i haven't fallen down
or slipped
or tripped
on my words
see, i am full of mistakes
i never learned
how to ride a bike
god, my parents really tried
but the ground was so unforgiving
& i was too afraid of falling
now,
i would eat those training wheels
so i could keep my balance
walk in a straight line
i'd swallow my watch
so i'm always on time
don't be surprised
if you see me
tucking into those sunflowers
please,
come & bask
in my rays.
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