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Ellis Reyes Apr 2013
He entered our classroom
Quietly
Something in his hand

A slip of paper
Assigning him
to English 11b

English words
Thick in his mouth
He whispered his name,
Jaime Chavez

Jimmy Changa!
someone mocked,
Had one of them for supper
Nice to know you burrito boy.

Jaime Chavez smiled,
And remembered.

He entered our classroom
Quietly
Something in his hand

A book
Shakespeare
Carefully noted
In Spanish and English

Jimmy Changa
Someone mocked
Whatcha got there?
A book?
You don’t need them to cut my lawn.

Jaime Chavez smiled,
And remembered

He entered our classroom
Quietly
Something in his hand

An award
Superior achievement
English 11b

Jimmy Changa
Someone mocked
You didn’t earn that,
*******, ******, ****

Jaime Chavez smiled
And remembered.

He entered our classroom
Quietly
Something in his hand

Full scholarship
Princeton University
In English Literature

And something else

A bumper sticker
"God Bless America,"

Which he carefully
tacked to the bulletin board

My name is not Jimmy Changa.

My name, is Jaime Chavez

And he smiled.
Se dice, se rumora, afirman en los salones, en las fiestas, alguien o algunos enterados, que Jaime Sabines es un gran poeta. O cuando menos un buen poeta. O un poeta decente, valioso. O simplemente, pero realmente, un poeta.
Le llega la noticia a Jaime y éste se alegra: ¡qué maravilla! ¡Soy un poeta! ¡Soy un poeta importante! ¡Soy un gran poeta!
Convencido, sale a la calle, o llega a la casa, convencido. Pero en la calle nadie, y en la casa menos: nadie se da cuenta de que es un poeta. ¿Por qué los poetas no tienen una estrella en la frente, o un resplandor visible, o un rayo que les salga de las orejas?
¡Dios mío!, dice Jaime. Tengo que ser papá o marido, o trabajar en la fábrica como otro cualquiera, o andar, como cualquiera, de peatón.
¡Eso es!, dice Jaime. No soy un poeta: soy un peatón.
Y esta vez se queda echado en la cama con una alegría dulce y tranquila.
She is not perfect, nor even very close.
But what she is for me is perfection, a shadow isn't as close.
She is not my savior, as The Christ already has that role.
But she is my salvation, the liberator of my soul.
She is not my property or even my right.
But she is everything I have far beyond sight.
She is my Jaime!!!
Redshift May 2013
dear
james,
i would like you
if you ever said
what you mean.
instead, you make up things
to make me think i want to talk to you
and then you proceed
to be the most boring human being
on the face of the planet.
your fake
peppy
exclamations
are deceiving,
tiring
and flat
after about four
hundred
of them...
i love you about as much
as i love a toaster oven
or any other
inanimate object
james,
dear...
you are so
boring.
Jami Samson Sep 2013
The books are wrong;
Samson is not his name,
But his last name.
Strength is his identity,
Though Jaime is what they call him.
He did not die lonely,
Nor will he ever do.
Regina Spektor got it right somehow,
As how people never do the first time;
A woman broke his heart
Whose name I cannot confirm to be Delilah,
She could have been anyone in his past.
But he married a woman named Michelle
And borne love by four beautiful children
With one which I know very well
And sometimes feel as if she were me
Or I were her.
But in his eyes I could not tell if I were her
Or she were me.
In fact, I could not see myself at all,
As if I am only, in those eyes,
A ceiling to keep from falling;
A mere test of strength,
Held up by pillars of sacrifice
And blocks of responsibility.
But I must be something else,
For there was something more
Than my nothingness in those eyes
Which keeps me from falling,
Besides those powerful hands
That steady the blocks
And secure arms
That lock the pillars;
It was his love regardless of who I am
That holds my blocks up
And embraces my pillars close;
His love which need me not contained in his eyes
For I am already contained in his heart.
I guess the writings on the wall
Failed to let us all know
That the great Samson's weakness
As well as source of strength,
Is not his hair
But his heart beneath that hard chest.
And so the legend goes,
Not with Samson's great strength,
But with his love as a husband
Which can cure a whole hospital
And as a father
Which can withstand all torture.
And his story will be told;
His love will be passed on
By his children to their children,
And they will live forever
In the name of his glory,
In the name of his triumph
Over the prophecy's false tragedy.
And not a soul will not know
Of how Jaime – the real Samson,
Was the strongest man of all.
#37, Sept.29.13
I hope you love this dad.
De qué sirve, quisiera yo saber, cambiar de piso,
dejar atrás un sótano más *****
que mi reputación -y ya es decir-,
poner visillos blancos
y tomar criada,
renunciar a la vida de bohemio,
si vienes luego tú, pelmazo,
embarazoso huésped, memo vestido con mis trajes,
zángano de colemena, inútil, cacaseno,
con tus manos lavadas,
a comer en mi plato y a ensuciar la casa?
Te acompañan las barras de los bares
últimos de la noche, los chulos, las floristas,
las calles muertas de la madrugada
y los ascensores de luz amarilla
cuando llegas, borracho,
y te paras a verte en el espejo
la cara destruida,
con ojos todavía violentos
que no quieres cerrar. Y si te increpo,
te ríes, me recuerdas el pasado
y dices que envejezco.
Podría recordarte que ya no tienes gracia.
Que tu estilo casual y que tu desenfado
resultan truculentos
cuando se tienen más de treinta años,
y que tu encantadora
sonrisa de muchacho soñoliento
-seguro de gustar- es un resto penoso,
un intento patético.
Mientras que tú me miras con tus ojos
de verdadero huérfano, y me lloras
y me prometes ya no hacerlo.
Si no fueses tan puta!
Y si yo supiese, hace ya tiempo,
que tú eres fuerte cuando yo soy débil
y que eres débil cuando me enfurezco...
De tus regresos guardo una impresión confusa
de pánico, de pena y descontento,
y la desesperanza
y la impaciencia y el resentimiento
de volver a sufrir, otra vez más,
la humillación imperdonable
de la excesiva intimidad.
A duras penas te llevaré a la cama,
como quien va al infierno
para dormir contigo.
Muriendo a cada paso de impotencia,
tropezando con muebles
a tientas, cruzaremos el piso
torpemente abrazados, vacilando
de alcohol y de sollozos reprimidos.
Oh innoble servidumbre de amar seres humanos,
y la más innoble
que es amarse a sí mismo!
Cantar a ese gigante soberano
Que al soplo de su espíritu fecundo
Hizo triunfar el pensamiento humano,
Arrebatando al mar un nuevo mundo;
Cantar al que fue sabio entre los sabios,
Cantar al débil que humilló a los grandes,
Nunca osarán mi lira ni mis labios.
Forman su eterno pedestal los Andes,
El Popocatepelt su fe retrata,
Las pampas son sus lechos de coronas,
Su majestad refleja el Amazonas,
Y un himno a su poder tributa el Plata.

No es la voz débil que al vibrar expira,
La digna de su nombre; ¿puede tanto
La palabra fugaz?... ¿Quién no lo admira?
La mar, la inmensa mar, ésa es su lira,
Su Homero el sol, la tempestad su canto.

Cuando cual buzo audaz, mi pensamiento
Penetra del pasado en las edades,
Y mira bajo el ancho firmamento
De América las vastas soledades:
El inca dando al sol culto ferviente,
El araucano indómito y bravío,
El azteca tenaz que afirma el trono,
Adunando al saber el poderío:
¡A cuántas reflexiones me abandono!...
Todas esas sabanas calentadas
Por la luz tropical, llenas de flores,
Con sus selvas incultas, y sus bosques
Llenos de majestad; con sus paisajes
Cerrados por azules horizontes,
Sus montes de granito,
Sus volcanes de nieve coronados,
Semejando diamantes engarzados
En el esmalte azul del infinito;

Las llanuras soberbias e imponentes,
Que puebla todavía
En la noche sombría
El eco atronador de los torrentes;
Los hondos ventisqueros,
Las cordilleras siempre amenazantes,
Y al aire sacudiéndose arrogantes,
Abanicos del bosque, los palmeros;
No miro con mi ardiente fantasía
Sólo una tierra virgen que podría
Ser aquel legendario paraíso
Que sólo Adán para vivir tenía;
Miro las nuevas fecundantes venas
De un mundo a las grandezas destinado,
Con su Esparta y su Atenas,
Tan grande y tan feliz como ignorado.
Para poder cantarlo, busca el verso
Una lira con cuerdas de diamante,
Por único escenario el Universo,
Voz de huracán y aliento de gigante.

Que destrence la aurora
Sus guedejas de rayos en la altura:
Que los tumbos del mar con voz sonora
Pueblen con ecos dulces la espesura:
Que las aves del trópico, teñidas
Sus alas en el iris, su contento
Den con esas cadencias tan sentidas
Que van de selva en selva repetidas
Sobre las arpas que columpia el viento.
Venid conmigo a descorrer osados
El velo de los siglos ya pasados.

Tuvo don Juan Segundo
En Isabel de Portugal, la bella,
Un ángel, que más tarde fue la estrella
Que guió a Colón a descubrir un mundo.
El claro albor de su niñez tranquila
Se apagó en la tristeza y en el llanto.
En el triste y oscuro monasterio
Donde, envuelta en el luto y el misterio,
Fue Blanca de Borbón a llorar tanto.
Allí Isabel fortaleció su mente,
Y aquel claustro de Arévalo imponente
Fe le dio para entrar al mundo humano,
Dio vigor a su espíritu intranquilo,
Fue su primer asilo soberano,
Cual la Rábida fue primer asilo
Del Vidente del mundo americano.
Muerto Alfonso, su hermano,
En el convento de Ávila se encierra,
Y hasta allí van los grandes de la tierra,
Llenos de amor, a disputar su mano.
Ella da el triunfo de su amor primero
A su igual en grandeza y en familia,
Al que, rey de Sicilia,
Es de Aragón el príncipe heredero.
A tan gentil pareja
Con ensañado afán persigue y veja
De Enrique Cuarto la orgullosa corte;
Pero palpita el alma castellana
Que de Isabel en la gentil persona,
Más que la majestad de la corona,
Ve la virtud excelsa y soberana.
La España en Guadalete decaída,
Y luego en Covadonga renacida,
No vuelve a unirse, ni por grande impera,
Hasta que ocupa, sin rencor ni encono,
De Berenguela y Jaime el áureo trono,
El genio augusto de Isabel Primera.
Grande en su sencillez, es cual la aurora
Que al asomarse, todo lo ilumina;
Humilde en su piedad, cual peregrina
Va al templo en cada triunfo, y reza, y llora;
Nada a su gran espíritu le agobia:
Desbarata en Segovia
La infiel conjuración: libra a Toledo,
Fija de las costumbres la pureza,
El crimen blasonando en la nobleza
Castiga, vindicando al pueblo ibero:
Por todos con el alma bendecida,
Por todos con el alma idolatrada,
Rinde y toma vencida,
Edén de amores, la imperial Granada.
Dejadme que venere
A esa noble mujer... Llegóse un dia
En que un errante loco le pedía,
Ya por todos los reyes desdeñado,
Buscar un hemisferio, que veía
Allá en sus sueños por el mar velado.
No intento escudriñar el pensamiento
Del visionario que a Isabel se humilla.
¿La América es la Antilla
En que soñó Aristóteles? ¿La
Atlántida
Que Platón imagina en su deseo,
Y menciona en su diálogo el Timeo?
¿Escandinavos son los navegantes
Que cinco siglos antes
De que el insigne genovés naciera,
Fijo en Islandia su anhelar profundo,
Al piélago se arrojan animados,
Y son por ruda tempestad lanzados
A la región boreal del Nuevo Mundo?...
¡Yo no lo sé! Se ofusca la memoria
Entre la noche de la edad pasada;
Sólo hay tras esa noche una alborada:
Isabel y Colón: ¡la Fe y la Gloria!
¡Cuántos hondos martirios, cuántas penas
Sufrió Colón! ¡El dolo y la perfidia
Le siguen por doquier! ¡La negra envidia
Al vencedor del mar puso cadenas!
Maldice a Bobadilla y a Espinosa
La humanidad que amamantarlos plugo...
¡El hondo mar con voz estrepitosa
Aun grita maldición para el verdugo!
El mundo descubierto,
A hierro y viva sangre conquistado,
¿Fue solamente un lóbrego desierto?
¿Vive? ¿palpita? ¿crece? ¿ha progresado?
¡Ah sí! Tended la vista... Cien naciones,
Grandes en su riqueza y poderío,
Responden con sonoras pulsaciones
Al eco tosco del acento mío.
El suelo que Cortés airado y fiero,
Holló con planta osada,
Templando lo terrible de su espada
La dulzura y bondad del misionero,
Cual tuvo en Cuauhtemoc, que al mundo asombra
Tuvo después cien héroes: un Hidalgo,
Cuya palabra sempiterna vibra;
Un Morelos, en genio esplendoroso;
¡Un Juárez, el coloso
Que de la Europa y su invasión lo libra!
Bolívar, en Santa Ana y Carabobo,
Y en Ayacucho Sucre, son dos grandes,
Son dos soles de América en la historia,
Que tienen hoy por pedestal de gloria
Las cumbres gigantescas de los Andes.
¡Junín! el solo nombre
De esta epopeya mágica engrandece
El lauro inmarcesible de aquel hombre,
Que un semidiós al combatir parece.
Sucre, Silva, Salom, Córdoba y Flores,
Colombia, Lima, Chile, Venezuela,
En el Olimpo para todos vuela
La eterna fama, y con amor profundo
La ciñe eterna y fúlgida aureola:
¡Gigantes de la América española,
Hoy tenéis por altar al Nuevo Mundo!
Ningún rencor nuestro cariño entraña:
Del Chimborazo, cuya frente baña
El astro que a Colombia vivifica,
A la montaña estrella,
Que frente al mar omnipotente brilla,
Resuena dulce, sonorosa y bella
El habla de Castilla:
Heredamos su arrojo, su fe pura,
Su nobleza bravía.

¡Oh, España! juzgo mengua
Lanzarte insultos con tu propia lengua;
Que no cabe insultar a la hidalguía.
En nombre de Isabel, justa y piadosa,
En nombre de Colón, ningún agravio
Para manchar tu historia esplendorosa
Verás brotar de nuestro humilde labio.
¡A Colón, a Isabel el lauro eterno!
Abra el Olimpo su dorada puerta,
Y ofrezca un trono a su sin par grandeza:
Resuene en nuestros bosques el arrullo
Del aura errante entre doradas pomas:
Las flores en capullo
Denles por grato incienso sus aromas:
El volcán, pebetero soberano,
Arda incesante en blancas aureolas,
Y un himno cadencioso el mar indiano
Murmure eterno con sus verdes olas...
El universo en coro
Con arpas de cristal, con liras de oro,
Al ver a los latinos congregados,
Ensalce ante los pueblos florecientes
Por la América misma libertados,
Aquellos genios, soles esplendentes
De Colón e Isabel, y con profundo
Respeto santo y con amor bendito,
Libre, sereno, eterno, sin segundo,
Resuene sobre el Cosmos este grito:
¡Gloria al descubridor del Nuevo Mundo!
¡Gloria a Isabel, por quien miró cumplida
Su gigantesca empresa soberana!
¡Gloria, en fin, a la tierra prometida,
La libre y virgen tierra americana!
w Nov 2019
92
jaime is over
jaime is gone
cathy decided it's time to move on
ganon yon, hindi pwedeng puro si jaime lang
Santiago Oct 2015
i love you
i miss you
i crave you
Truly i do
aka Pretty Girl
Calli Kirra Sep 2013
Gina and Dru, the perfect two
Killed a boy named Beau then went on the move
Maybe its sick, maybe its wrong
But for Dru, that Beau hurt his Gina, and love is **** strong
Pinned her down cryin, made her take it
Then those two lovers came back, as it went
Gina brought a tire iron to his head
And Dru was in shock, but wasted no time then
Got in his truck, set for a man named Carl
That new his brother Jaime, behind bars now
They ran and they ran, those two kids man,
But one day Dru passed out, and Gina was hurt again
So while her baby slept, dreaming of her
She ran the bath water hot, didn't care if it hurt
Slit her wrists snip snip, just like that, the end
And Dru woke up and found her, in that water running red
Yelled at the abandoned walls, "You took it all!"
Knees too weak, he begins to fall
Takes the knife from his girl, his entire ******* world
Slit his throat so again he could hold her
They dreamt of treehouses, bad dogs, forever
But in the end, after it all
Gina and Dru are still together
Chris Nov 2021
Los Angeles, 2016.

My roommate Jaime thinks it's strange that Americans take months on months to say "I love you" in relationships. He asks why.

The Spanish say it in the first few weeks.

I haven't felt love and meant it since at least then, so maybe the Spanish are onto something. Maybe I've had the wrong definition. Maybe it's time to re-examine crushing.

So what if I said that I'm Spanish-in-love with you? A little less than puppy love but a little more exciting. And not quite the honeymoon phase but a little more worth writing.

A little bit of a crush but maybe unrequited. Maybe not.

Maybe I'm just trying to prove the country wrong. Maybe I'm trying to take the L-word off a pedestal. Or maybe I'm just Spanish in love with you.

It's something to do with being punch-drunk, feeling shake-heavy, and catching your right hook like it was made for my face.  And face it, probably. Maybe this is just business casual. You can say goodbye like it's an email.

Something like a fling, but a little less irreparable. This isn't like the L-word because it isn't something inevitable. Play it cool, you're just Spanish in love with him. Maybe you'll meet someone new soon. Or maybe you'll both move to Oregon.

I think you're afraid to debate this with me, but I guess you're safer in the center. Next question please, like a career politician dodging bullets, full of it. Or maybe you're more like Honest Abe in the middle of it, perfect hands with signs that say "Do Not Touch." Back against the wall with the world wide open.

I might have to burn this House down just to get something done. Otherwise I'm only good for sitting across from you.

Don't worry, it's all just wild west make believe. Falling in love is the best high, but that's the kind that ends up more wanted Dead than Alive. So stick 'em up partner, you're just Spanish in love with them. They only call it a crush when the results ain't pretty, a little gushy, American, and ******.

Maybe I'm just putting myself through unnecessary roughness. Probably best for us all to stay romantically cautionary. Everyone plays a beautiful game but yours is better than theirs. Crackin' taters past my outfield like Don Julio. That's just baseball, baby.

So maybe love in Europe is more our frequency. More nonchalant love with a tad bit of leniency. Less expectation in all these fledgling relationships. I think that's something we could all get behind, right?

Let's just say I understand the zeitgeist.

Because love isn't something you give out little by little. It's not a hurdle to complete and it's not a marathon to struggle. It's not a circle on a calendar or a deadline to pass under. I've been thinking lately about how we're all a little daunted by the thought of saying it out right. Maybe we're too afraid of getting it right to even say it at all.

So maybe I'll never have a definition to describe it. Maybe the feeling is too fleeting to ever tie the phrase down to it. Best to stick with the same old same old, and snub the face of wishful thinking.

How did we get here anyway? Oh, that's right. It all started with Jaime's question.

Nobody ever expects the Spanish inquisition.
Alex Podolski Aug 2014
Jaime burrows her toes deeper into the sand.
She watches the sun sink slowly into the skyline,
it’s colors melting on the surface.
Waves churn,
blackness upwells.

It’s her third day on the beach,
her third day watching the color change.
She takes three deep breaths,
contemplating whether she should try to shake off the sand,
or stay sugar coated.

She stands,
takes three steps to the waters edge,
and sticks her sandy toes in the surf.
As silt swallows her feet,
she begins to sink.

She takes three more steps,
foam clinging to her calves.
The sand shifts beneath her feet, but it holds.

Suddenly, she stoops down,
scooping handfuls of water onto herself.
Sand streaks down her arms;
the hem of her dress clings to her legs.
She should sit.

Instead, she takes three more steps.
As her dress floats around her thighs,
she lifts her head, searching.

A wave slaps her back.
Soaked, she stumbles.
Another wave surges.
Her dress snags on the current,
she slips.

The salt stings, but she doesn’t struggle,
except to see three stars as she slips beneath the surface.
k May 2014
3
its how you make fun of everything i do
and how you always leave your clothes behind,
the way you tickle me uncontrollably
and occasionally give me wedgies,
its how you want to be a chef and be a politician and travel the world,
how you always go cross eyed in pictures
and think you're the greatest thing thats ever happened,
how you get unbelievably jealous
and always put me in my place,
its how you've grown to trust me
or at least pretend to to make me happy,
how you dance like an idiot
singing lady gaga and katy perry
and the way you smash me to make me giggle,
its your huge dumb dimples
and your confidence and your humor and your anger,
its the way you look at me until i say what, then never give an answer,
how you call me kellzzz to make fun of me
and never let me win,
its how you hold me all night
and how you snore so ******* loudly,
the way you slap my cheeks and grab my face to kiss me,
the way you call me beautiful even in the messy morning,
its how you're almost as competitive as me
and how you're so freaking smart,
how you taught me about geography and never let me forget it,
its how you love classic movies
and look kind of like jaime lannister,
the way you pick me up till i scream
and always, always make me laugh,
its how you drunkenly told me the words
we both promised we would never say
and how every moment I'm with you
you make me want to say them too
Stu Harley Jul 2016
Jessy
is
a fine
laddie boy
and
Jaime
is
a good
lassie girl
stop here
and
rest awhile
make yourself at home
in
the
green hills of Ireland
but
not to worry
your
weary heads
rayma Mar 2018
Mom I’m home,
Guess what I learned in class today?
I learned what rooms are safest for hiding.
I learned what it sounds like to hear my classmates scream.
I learned what it looks like when the bodies of my friends fall
like pretend soldiers that were never meant for a real war.

Mom, today I learned what war looks like,
because now it looks like our schools.
We wear bulletproof backpacks and carry
textbooks over our heads.
Our base is rigged with smoke bombs to
disorient our enemies and
little black boxes to let them know when we are safe.

Mom, today I learned the meaning of fear.
It means never seeing you again, or Dad.
It means sending texts in between clutching other people’s hands
as we all try to keep quiet as we quiver in the closets.
It means not knowing if the sounds outside the door are
another tortured orphan, another lone wolf,
or the sounds of our saviors coming to bring us home.

Mom, today I learned that I must fight.
I must fight for the future that I want to see.
I must fight for my friends, for other kids,
and for our right to live.
I must fight for Alyssa,
for Scott,
for Martin,
for Nicholas, Aaron, and Jaime.
I must fight for Peter,
for Joaquin,
for Cara, Gina, Luke, and Alaina.
I must fight for Meadow,
for Helena,
Alex, Carmen, Chris,
and all of the other students that won’t be coming home from school.
WE must fight for Parkland, for Sandy Hook, for Columbine, for Marshall County,
and all of the other schools that turned into historical battlegrounds.
Because this is history.

We are all actors if we continue to pretend that everything is okay.
We are all actors if we continue to think that anyone with a gun license
should be able to purchase an assault rifle,
though they continue use it on kids who haven’t even gotten their driver’s licenses yet.
Those of us here today, we are actors because we are fighting for what is right,
we are fighting to have our voices heard and our demands met.
But they are the ones who are acting.
They act like we are to blame for our own murders.
They act like the solution isn’t right in front of them.
They act like school shootings can be fixed with more guns.

No more.
No more guns in our schools.
No more wondering if we’ll make it off campus today.
No more hoping that the world won’t forget their names.
No more fearing for our lives in a place that should be dedicated to educating us,
to bettering us, and to connecting us.
No more.
Written for March For Our Lives in honor of the students and faculty involved in the Parkland Shooting
Timmy Shanti Sep 2022
HIM
i never chose him
never wanted him
never trusted him

knew he's a fraud
from day one

liar, crook, worm
not a thing gentle,
loving or pure about him

thinks himself
some fracking messiah

all the same
not even a common imp

it's on us
he rose so high
dizzied by his false might

the fall won't be only his
everyone's going down alongside

and in his agony
he will say

BURN THEM ALL!

mad king that he is

jaime, we need you now
more than ever

oathkeeper
22-09-22
Qualyxian Quest Aug 2020
Bit o' the Rebel in him
Sellin' arms to the Fenians he was.
Bob B Mar 2018
Seventeen minutes of silence;
Seventeen balloons released;
Seventeen roses in loving
Remembrance of those now deceased.

Tens of thousands of students in schools
Across the country expressed their grief
And solidarity together
In what has become a recurring motif.

Americans by the millions
Increasingly are finding their voices--
Speaking out, demanding change,
Reminding us that we have choices.

Do we choose to do nothing
And cower before the NRA,
Or do we say enough is enough
And get this change underway?

Speak up: no more mass shootings
Or ****** bodies covered with sheets.
Demand real solutions and keep
Assault-style weapons off our streets.

In the age of never-ending wars,
Political chaos, corporate greed,
And out-of-control gun violence,
Our youth are planting a hopeful seed.

May that seed grow and flourish!
Meanwhile, read the names below--
The names of those who lost their lives
At a school in Florida one month ago:

Alyssa Alhadeff, 14
Scott Beigel, 35
Martin Duque, 14
Nicholas Dworet, 17
Aaron Feis, 37
Jaime Guttenberg, 14
Chris Hixon, 49
Luke Hoyer, 15
Cara Loughran, 14
Gina Montalto, 14
Joaquin Oliver, 17
Alaina Petty, 14
Meadow Pollack, 18
Helena Ramsay, 17
Alex Schachter, 14
Carmen Schentrup, 16
Peter ****, 15

-by Bob B (3-14-18)
KorbydAngyle Nov 2020
no one as distant as I the one step I know
me and I haven't indemnified
one leap of faith as I have me to thank
for prosperity said I with a vertigo air

see slits cthulhu whips chains or switchy knives
see marriage prosperity demonstrative
satisfactions one lady not wives

I see the world icy the world I C D whirled in does in
a were illed ensign take your medicine!

this can go... to that can do what you believe already went
faintly cut mean blank reality
acclimate morning prayers that you
stopped before the rain cowl sent

so that's when they do...what if though you know
at least its a start how can it be
what makes the I introduced be more than those were through
and then on the first that was late through that to me

people sweep words that don't get us to complain
trying to starting over is more a major ******* PAIN in the ***

I'm expected by me now
a kid then rude a beast that saved
only thought inappropriate levels were do
faces make nor laces
nor or with of the knowledge
stagger free victory twist and pound
aye Jaime to the ground

Now that's the EEEE of Chop suey dude
at least i think?!
Peyton Apr 2018
We’re screaming now.
Can you hear us?
Beating down doors.
Spikes through heads.

Not.

We rally.
We vigil.
We scream
Through the silence.

We’re together.
A united force.
You can’t take us down
With the names from before.

A knife through the heart
Will **** a man
But a knife through a wall
Is impossible

We stand for those
Who stand no more
Alyssa, Scott, Martin, Nicholas, Aaron, Jaime,
Chris, Luke, Cara, Gina, Joaquin, Alaina,
Meadow, Helena, Alex, Carmen, Peter

We sing when we speak of them
We scream when we speak of fate
Not fate
Not them

A brother, a sister, a daughter, a son
An uncle, an aunt, a nephew, a niece
Grandparents to come
Grandchildren once was
Never again

We fight against what killed them
And scream to you “No more”
In hopes that all our efforts won’t turn into a **** war
Again
Qualyxian Quest Nov 2022
When the confusion comes
I try to be calm
But the anxiety attacks

Hard to say goodbye
Hard to let go
Hard to relax

UNC with Scott
Bruce Springsteen
Mighty Max!

The Secret of Roan Inish
Poor wee Jaime
Jax!

— The End —