Copied throughout time,
From simple bacterium,
To complex amalgamations of single cells,
To the humans and invasive species,
Scratching and crawling upon the scarred dirt,
Showing the earth,
The true power,
Of The secret of life, and the spawn of man.

Remember to think better
Think further
Think deeper
And with vigour.
Pepper your remember
With colour
With light
With friends who delight.
Boost your remember
With story
With histories
With cramped group selfies.
And remember your remembers
Whenever
Wherever
You drift off centre.
And there you'll discover
Your defenders
Your never surrenders
Against all contenders.
Then you'll remember
Your forevers.

Remember.  It's the best self defense.
Kaya 7d

and
I will say it once more
each tile has its history
In these four walls
they have come alive
now I know, it's possible
to go back to the past
and to stand on something
you thought would not last

-Kaya

Soph Apr 12

There was two,
three, me and you
A whip cracked over a back
A man who'd kill for another taste of smack
Jazz clubs and the Harlem nights
Cotton fields and coal mine fights
Will you go home again?

Based on the novel Homegoing by Yaa Gyasi
Nylee Apr 10

From history to present time,
Technologies evolved ,
But humans remained same ,
There were terrible people back then ,
There are good people even now.

Montana Svoboda Apr 10

Walking sticks carved by hand
Grown thoughtfully once
In a place abundant with life
And a well documented history of surviving,
Cut respectfully give to take- a piece of me
Left behind to seed and sprout
Syncopating ancestor and beating heart,

Wander unnoticed leave but still be remembered,  
Little bit older
It’s a little harder to run

Dried for year or two tucked
Next to sage nest flowering alabaster,
Plucked when cracked
Worked with bramble talons scratched
Then scored give to take hands textured
Wrought field rock, leaves whittle flesh to form
Passion is pain is forgiveness is amelioration is repetition
Is hung to cure for a few days-finished  
Well, at some point separation becomes inconceivable
Willow bough adds a year through law of conservation
And I’m twenty-one
But my knees are a broken foundation of sawdust

Makula Hala Apr 7

Within the creases that
outline your eyes,
I can see
traces of the things
that have made you smile.
In the hearty whistle
that is the gunshot of your laugh,
I can taste the places you have lived.
In the wrinkles
in the palms of your hands,
I can feel
the happy you have
tried to spread in the world.
In the sighs
that you whisper at night,
I hear your successes,
the dreams you have lived,
your setbacks reconciled
before the close of the day.
The scent of your skin
emits hope
and all that is good
and peaceful.
The dust
and tatters in your clothing
bear witness
to your honest attempts
to stay true to you.
The gentle strength
with which you hold me
at night,
screams promises
of your intentions
and the tales
of your own past bruises.
My mind searches for these words
so I can tell you in my way
that my soul sees you.
I see where you've been,
what you will do -
I see your errors as well as your winnings.
I see your flaws as well as your excellence.
I hear the shame in your voice
when you admit a mistake.
But my soul,
it still cries out for  you.
Despite anything you've done,
I see you,
and I love you.

National WWII museum,
New Orleans,
summer.

Somehow
we have ended up here.

1,387 miles from home.

Here,
where war is so close
yet so far away.

I look at this boy
and for a moment
I swear his smile looks just like v-day.

And his laugh sounds like peace.

And when he calls my name through this crowd,
It feels just like a homecoming.

I didn't intend to not post any poems these last two months.

Back in February, I made a promise to myself to write a little bit every day  (even if it's terrible). And surprisingly, only two-and-halfish poems came out of it. I'm been writing a novel that may never be published, but I write anyway. Knowing that writing shouldn't be about publication, even though it would be nice. So, while I brush up those two-and-a-halfish poems, here's a short little something that I wrote in the gift shop at the National World War II museum about a very innocent and hopeful crush.
BloodSkarlet Mar 28

I'm here watching the wind blow the leaves right off the pavement
Wondering what it would feel like to be lifted an carried away in a breeze
Wondering who would want to catch me before I go
Believing no one would notice but everyone would stair
We are not what the world beats us to be
Just simply someone wanting to be something..

Next page