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Margaret  Jul 2014
the beach
Margaret Jul 2014
The beach
      WOOOSH
                   .......Whoosh.....
Sand
        Water
Whoosh swoosh of the waves
Cute boys in the water
Whoosh swoosh
Of the water.
In my towel
Whoosh..... swoosh......
Hanging out at the beach today.
No matter what happens at the beach the water stays moving consistently
Chloe M Teng Jul 2017
"Mama... Mama!"

Mama sometimes doesn't wake up when I want her to.
Mama must be dreaming about the ocean.

And there are waves in the ocean.
And the waves are outside my window.
And I hear them.

Swoosh... swoosh... swoosh...

I draw the waves for Mama everyday.
They are squiggly and big,
like the messy lines on Mama's forehead.
Mama's forehead is big, big!
And the waves are big, big like Mama's forehead!

They are blue like the sky.
The sky is blue because blue is your favourite colour.
I like blue too, because Mama loves blue.

I want Mama to know that there are waves outside our house.

I can hear them swooshing outside the window.

Papa says: "It's just the wind."
But he's wrong, Mama.
Wind doesn't swoosh like a wave does.

I know, because I hear it.

You hear it too, right, Mama?
And you dream about the waves too.

And in your dream, the waves are swooshing outside your window.

They are squiggly and they fill our room with the big ocean.
They can even touch the sky.

And the window can't hold the ocean anymore,
and their hands go-
BAM!

Mama mama,
The waves are coming into our house.
Wake up.
They're coming.

They're coming in Mama.
The room is so small, and the ocean is so big.

Wake up.

Isn't blue our favourite colour?
Don't you want to see the blue sky again?

The waves outside our window are coming in.

And you sleep like they don't.

Mama.
Do you know?
I can hear the waves in you
Deep, deep inside you.
They are big, big like your forehead.

Bigger than the bed you are lying on.

Sometimes
you don't wake up when I want you to,
But it's okay.

Mama must be dreaming about the ocean again.
Dawn Lambert Mar 2016
Drip, dropp Drip
The facet go
creak, creak, creak
the floor boards go
swish, swish, swish
the trees out front go
the sound when your alone

tweet, tweet tweet
the birds go
swoosh swoosh swoosh
the waves go
swoosh whoosh swoosh
the cars go
the beautiful sounds of alone
AJ  Sep 2014
Ode to Haters
AJ Sep 2014
You look at me and you frown in jealousy.
Yeah, you secretly know I have swag.
Pants a little low, black and red shirt that says
“Sit down and learn from the Master,”
and a matching hat that states what you already know-
“FRESH”

You taste the bitterness of your words as you whisper lies to my back.
Yeah, you secretly know I don’t care.
Pants a little low, red and yellow shirt that says
“My swoosh is bigger than yours”
and a matching hat of who you think I resemble-
Superman

You hear the high pitched hissing that I’m doing well and hope that I fail.
Yeah, you secretly know I’ll succeed.
Pants a little low, black and blue shirt that says
“Just Did It”
and a matching hat that reminds you of what you need to do-
“OBEY”

You touch my strong shaped shoulders with yours and utter no apology.
Yeah, you’re secretly freaking out with excitement.
Pants a little low, blue and red shirt that says
“Don’t Bro Me If You Don’t Know Me”
and a matching hat with the best known bickering buddies-
Tom and Jerry

You smell my confidence in the aroma of chocolate axe and you pinch your nose.
Yeah, you’re secretly going to buy it later.
Pants a little low, black and white shirt that says
“Don’t sweat my swag”
and a matching hat that proclaims my feelings for you-
“I <3 Haters” and under the brim it says why-
“MOTIVATION”
Wrote this poem in my senior yr in HS when I finally accepted myself as a more masculine lesbian and felt comfortable being who I was despite people's criticisms. As you can see I was oozing with new confidence. Still one of my favs lol
Emily May 2014
The first suicide hit like a bullet

BANG

One of us dead, and at his own hand

The tension in the hallways filed into the ears of all those who walked
through its thick silence

It was a struggle to move through the heavy weight of a quiet hallway

People cried, whether they knew him or not

Teachers made promises,

“It’s worth it,” he said “I swear to you, it’s worth it.”

A moment of silence for the boy who is no longer living,

Whose hidden pain was known by none

Whose family will never be the same

Whose future which once was mystery, is nothing but imaginary

The second suicide hit like a rock

THUNK

The hallways rang with growing confusion,

At every turn, each whisper faded into the next in a mirage of sadness

But mostly confusion

Letters were handed out, but there was no time for more tears and
speeches

They had postponed the moment of silence for the girl who is no longer living,

Whose hidden pain was known by none

Whose family will never be the same

Whose future which once was mystery, is nothing but imaginary

The third suicide did not hit

SWOOSH

It was not silent anymore

There was laughing and talking, as the excitement of yesterday’s
football victory buzzed throughout noisy hallways

The letters were passed out late and no one read them

Teachers continued with their lesson plans

Students continued with their joke making and picture taking

Because people don’t have to keep caring after strike three

There was no moment of silence for the boy who is no longer living

Whose hidden pain was known by none

Whose family will never be the same

Whose future which once was mystery, is nothing but imaginary



This is our dystopia
Alice Penny Mar 2010
With it's broom broom cars,
With it's bright bright lights,
With it's swoosh swoosh aeroplanes,
And it's cough cough pollution,
This is the world we are creating?
I think DEMOLISH should be the word!

The cars go broom, broom, broom,
Whilst we ****, ****, ****,
And the world dies, dies, dies.

What happens when the world,
Is dead?
What will the maleostic humans do?
What will the innocent animals do?
What will the universe do,
With out the world,
Right here,
Right now.

The cars go broom, broom, broom,
Whilst we ****, ****, ****,
And the world dies, dies, dies.
Joanna Oz Apr 2015
the wispy whiteness draped over the dome of the sky traps in the monstrous feelings loosed from their cages towards the heavens,
reflecting ghoulish mirrors
and refracting the light into saturated hues and heavy-soaked textured clues,
misty condensation of mis-matched questions and answers
muttered to no one in particular,
holding everything in the capsule with dewy fingers slipping at the pocket-knife edges and broken oak branches,
the bark is drunk on acid rain humming oh danny boy again and again,
the clouds are so convinced they love the asphalt
that the whole host has descended from perching atop the dome to bless the wedding of fog to pavement,
croaking bullfrogs make harmonies with the swoosh-swoosh swoosh-swoosh of tires running over rolling over pouring over the beaten concrete creases squeaking teases of open-air releases,
the whole world simultaneously holds it's breath and sighs,
as countless pairs of eyes haze over
in wistful wanting piqued by a wet world.
Shari Forman Jun 2013
On a summer morning,
Monkey had awoken early,
His eyes all sleepy,
And his hair wildly curly.
Swoosh,
He opened the door,
He had to use his mouth,
Because his tail was way too sore.
  Slam,
Monkey shut the door behind him,
His friend Panda,
Was called hungry, hungry Jim.
Monkey was off to work,
His tail dragging on the floor,
He was sure to be back in time,
To feed his family of four.
Although monkey was guilty,
He missed work twice,
Monkey was confidently sure,
His boss would be all nice.
Monkey had walked to the glass,
It said no dogs allowed,
For sure he was a monkey,
He walked in and proudly bowed.
His boss said he had to leave,
For he was not a monkey,
But monkey had explained,
He was very chunky.
The boss escorted his out,
Angry as could be,
For sure he was a monkey,
Can’t his work boss see?
He decided to go food shopping,
At the nearest grocery store,
He wanted to get home quickly,
So his family wouldn’t be that poor.
Monkey walked to the grocery store,
His feet were aching,
It was 10 miles away,
This was a big risk that he was taking.
Monkey got there very fast,
Quick as in running,
It said only monkeys allowed,
Wow that sign was stunning!
Monkey had barged in,
All the monkeys were looking at him,
He was told to get out,
So then he visited his old friend,
Hungry, hungry Jim.
When monkey had arrived,
Jim had told him he was a dog,
So Monkey left ashamed,
In the new deep fog.
Monkey had decided to go home,
And Comfort his 3 young ones,
He’d see his wife,
Oh, he loved them all a ton.
Hungry, Hungry Jim smiled,
As if he was really, really bad,
He decided not to eat him today,
He saw him so sad.
Monkey’s house
Was just around the corner,
It was a pretty color white,
But most of the time,
There was not much light.
He had opened his house door,
So lonely and ashamed,
He was a monkey,
He had claimed.
Monkey flickered on the light,
Nobody was there,
His wife and kids left him a note,
“You are a dog, we could not bear”.
Monkey was so depressed now,
He walked to hungry, hungry Jim’s house
He had tiptoed in,
And was as quiet as a mouse.
Jim had caught him,
And asked why he was not home,
Monkey had explained,
His house is just a comb.
Monkey said his family had left him,
Because he was a dog,
They think I don’t belong,
And am just a plain old hog.
All of a sudden,
The panda ate him whole,
And the only thing that was left,
Was his sad little soul.
Anand  Dec 2014
íFeliz Navidad!
Anand Dec 2014
Yee hee hee hee haw
ha ha ha ha ha
the old Laughing Santa wished
íFeliz Navidad!

with his eight little reindeers, carrying the sleigh
he came swiftly, flying our way
sleigh bells ringing, whooshing through the snow
his sturdy little reindeers, rushed in a row
Dasher, Dancer, Prancer and *****
Comet, Cupid, Donner, and Blitzen
they swoosh and crash and dash and scoot
they bolt so fast, and look so cute
children singing and dancing with joy
as he showers some glitters of happiness in sky

It's an occasion of celebration
there's no room for sadness
let's spread the joy by doing
a random act of kindness

Yee hee hee hee haw
ha ha ha ha ha
the old Laughing Santa wished
íFeliz Navidad!
life nomadic Jul 2013
A tomboy, naturally barefoot, gingerly walks the white painted line because the asphalt is just too burning hot.  Scrubby tufts of weedy grass are welcome respites on the way, briefly cooling her steps even if they are stickery.  The ***** soles of her now calloused feet were intentionally toughened just before school got out, with mincing steps across the roughest gravel she could find.  Her mother accommodates her preference, leaving a pan of water outside for her to scrub her feet before going in.  Even then, a black path has gradually appeared leading from the front door in the old orangish carpet.  Two months of summer barefoot every day when she had the choice. Keyed roller skates clamped onto last year’s school shoes were the exception.  She can flat out run anywhere.
  
This particular expedition began like every other thing they did, which was anything to fend off boredom.  She had been sitting on a cement step shaded by an open carport, just three oil-stained parking stalls for three small apartments on the tired poor side of town.  There is a little more dirt on the street here, and grass is a little neglected.  Just like the children, but these kids prefer that anyway.  Two scruffy friends stomp on aluminum cans, brothers sporting matching buzz cuts and cut-off shorts.  They are flattening them for the recycling money by the pound, so the carport smells vaguely of stale beer.  Another boy attempts to shoot a wandering fly with a home-made rubber band gun; rings cut from a bicycle tube made the best ammo.  “What do you want to do?” …”I don’t know, what do you want to do?”  Thwack…  The only requisite for friendship here is vicinity, yet it is still true.  The idea of choosing friends is about as odd as the concept that one could chose where one lives... Strengths and shortcomings are completely accepted because it is just what it is.  

Their amazing three-story tree fort with a side look-out had been heartlessly taken down by the disgruntled property owner last week.  Two months of accumulating pilfered and scrap two-by-fours, nails, and even a stack of plywood (gasp!) from area construction sites had yielded supplies for a growing fort.  A gang-plank style entry had crossed the ditch to the first level.  Nailed ladder steps to the second offered a little more vertigo and a prime spot to hurl acorns.  Another ladder up led up to the third floor retreat, with a couch-like seating area and shoulder high walls.  A breeze reached the leaves up there.   The next tree over was the look-out, with nothing but ladder steps all the way up to where the view opened up out of the ravine.  When the wind blew, it gave merciless lessons in facing any fear of heights.  But now that was all over, discovered gone overnight.

Someone says again, “What do you want to do?” …”I don’t know, what do you want to do?”  “ 7-11? ”  Good enough, so they head out.   Distance measures time.  Ten minutes is the end of the street past the cracked basketball court in the church parking lot.  Fifteen minutes and the lawns end at the edge of the sub-division.  Half-built homes rising from bare dirt and scattered foundations could offer treasures of construction scraps, (where she suspects the stack of plywood came from.) but they keep walking.  Twenty minutes is where industry has scraped away nature, and railroad tracks form an elevated levee.  But time is meaningless if there’s a wealth of it, so there’s no going further until an informal ritual is completed.  Wordlessly they each dig around their pockets searching for equal amounts of pennies.  Each of them carefully arrange them lined up on the rounded-surface rail, and they settle in for the wait.  It could be five minutes or it could be thirty.  They all understand it’s a crap-shoot of patience waiting for the next train. It’s an unspoken test; quitting too early means losing your coins to the one who stays, so that’s not an option.

Heat presses down and the breezeless air smells like telephone-pole creosote.  She sits in a dusty patch of shade found next to an overgrown ****.  She knows it tastes like licorice and breaks off a stem to chew, but doesn’t know what it is.  The boys throw rocks randomly until she finally stands up to join in, tempted by the challenge of flight and distance.  Then she stands in the center of the tracks, looking one way then the other, searching for the first random distant glimmer of the engine’s light at the horizon.   A flash, so she places her ear to the metal Indian-style, and the imminent approach is confirmed.  She calls out, “its here!” and double checks her pennies’ alignment.  Heads up or tails, but always aligned so the building might be stretched tall or wide, or Lincoln’s face made broad or thin.  That happened only rarely, since it could only be rolled by one wheel then bounced off.  If it stuck longer, the next wheels would surely smash it into a thin, elliptical, smooth misshapen disc of shiny copper.  Its only value becomes validation of a hint of delinquency, Destroying-Government-Property.  Once she splurged with a quarter, which became smashed to just a gleaming silver, bent wafer discolored at the edge.  Curiosity wasn’t worth 25 cents again though, so she had only one of those in her collection.

The approaching engine silently builds impending size and power, so she dashes back down the rocky embankment to safety because after all, she is not a fool, tempting fate with stupid danger. She knows a couple of those fools, but she finds no thrill from that and is not impressed by them either.  Suddenly the train is here, generating astounding noise and wind, occasional wheels screaming protest on their axels.  She intently watches exactly where she placed her coins, hoping to see the moment they fly off the rails that are rhythmically bending under the weight rolling by.  It becomes another game of patience, with such a long line of cars, and she gives up counting them at 80-ish.  Then suddenly it is done and quickly the noise recedes back to heat and cicadas.  The rails are hot.  Diligently they search for the shiny wafers.  Slowly pacing each wood beam, they could have landed in the gravel, or pressed against the rail, or even lodged straight up against the square black wood yards down the tracks.  They find most of them, give up on the rest, then continue on.

She has thirty cents and at last they reach the afternoon’s destination.  7-11’s parking lot becomes a genuine game of “Lava”, burning blacktop encourages leaps from cooler white lines, to painted tire stops, to grass island oasis, then three hot steps across black lava to the sidewalk, and automatic doors swoosh open to air conditioning.  She rarely has enough money for a coke icey; she is here for the bottom shelf candy, a couple pennies or a nickel each.  Off flavors but sweet enough.  She remembered when her older brother was passing out lunchbags of candy to the neighborhood kids for free, practically littering the cul-de-sac.  She had wondered where he got enough money for all that popularity, or could he have saved that much from trick-or-treat? She wondered until he got busted shoplifting at the grocery store.  The security guard decreed that he was never allowed in there again, forever, and the disgrace of sitting on the curb waiting for the mortified ride home was enough to keep him from doing it again.

Today she picks out a few root beer barrels, some Tootsie-rolls (the smaller ones for two cents, not the large ones that divide into cubes) a candy necklace and tiny wax coke bottles, and of course a freeze-pop.   Sitting on the curb, she bites off small pieces of the freeze pop, careful not to get tooth-freeze or brain-freeze, until the last melty chunk is squeezed out the top of the thin plastic tube.

“What do you want to do now?” …”I don’t know, what do you want to do?”
Zach Lee  Apr 2014
Nike
Zach Lee Apr 2014
Dear Nike,

No better felling then when I get that new shoe smell
Fresher than a spring breeze
Like a wizard making a new spell
I reach out and grab my Nikes
Pull them on my feet
They are
Comfy as a the softest cloud
Smooth as the purest silk
Magnificent as a majestic eagle spreading its wings to fly off into a deep red sunset
They make me feel relaxed as  sitting in the shade on a warm summer day

When I wear you
I feel as strong as the Rock lifting a thousand pounds
faster than Usain Bolt shattering a world record and hearing fans cream his name
All the pressure off
It's just my Nikes and I

I'm a blur with my nikes
Fast as a cheetah sprinting after a desperately bounding antelope
Can't even see me

People try to keep up
All they do is trip up
When they glance up from the cold hard ground thick mud covering their face
All they see are my beautiful piercing green Nikes

Running down the court
Legs pumping
Muscles flexing
So much sweat pouring off my face its like a raging river
I taste the sourness of salt in my mouth
Next thing you know
It's all over
The buzzer roars
Everyones jumps on their feet
All eyes locked on the ball flying through the air
Fans screaming like angry banshees so loud it could make you deaf
Swoosh
And it's all over

There's a reason Nike means victory
It's because no one can even compete
Before the battle is started they've already been beat

People who don't wear them
Just haven't realized
that the shoes they wear are inferior
Do their shoes give them the power to jump one thousand feet
Sprint at the speed of light
Make exery shot they take
No

On the torn up field
On the scuffed up court
It doesn't matter

When I wear my Nikes
They make me fly
Around the world
Through white wispy clouds surrounded by beautiful baby blue sky
Across the endless oceans full of green and turquoise churning water and silver jumping fish
Through fields full of long dark green grass
Feeling the wind blow through my face like an angry hurricane
Its like I'm in the flashing streets Hong kong
Nike shoe game is just too strong

Love, Zach

— The End —