My Sweater by Jadyn Jones
You are no longer my sweater,
Protecting me from the brisk autumn weather.
The harvest air sings me songs,
Of how you were lying all along.
Despite my cries,
You raked up those lies.
The smell of pine,
seeps into each breath I take,
Healing my heartache.
You are no longer my sweater.
You carve into my heart.
Like I am your pumpkin art.
Now I lay observing the midnight moon,
Reminiscing back to June.
Before you were my sweater.
You are no longer my sweater,
Protecting me from the brisk autumn weather.
The harvest air sings me songs,
Of how you were lying all along.
Despite my cries,
You raked up those lies.
The smell of pine,
seeps into each breath I take,
Healing my heartache.
You are no longer my sweater.
You carve into my heart.
Like I am your pumpkin art.
Now I lay observing the midnight moon,
Reminiscing back to June.
Before you were my sweater.
It Will Never Be Just One by Alyanna Grim
Inspired by George Ella Lyon’s “Where I’m From”
I am from everywhere,
Not just one place,
It will never be just one place.
I am from the nights with stories read to us,
Pleading,
“just one more chapter, Mama, please?”
I am from the broken relationships and bad friends, Some moving away,
With the serenity there to sooth it.
I am from the farmers market,
With the “fancy bread.”
I was from the farm show,
Faux pink leather boots,
And screaming,
Surrounded by crates.
I was from the McDonalds play place,
And the bar by dad had to go into.
For “work.”
I am part of an all-online generation,
Snapchatting strangers.
And despite all of this,
I have become the re-pierced ears from my childhood.
I make mistakes, but I start over.
A new shiny stud,
Right where the old one stood.
Now, I am from rocks and buttons.
Collected,
Stored.
I am from old antique bottles and flowers doodles on the back of hands. I am from backstage antics and goofing off.
I am from callused fingers,
Playing the same four ukulele chords,
Over, and over.
I am from the knowledge & wisdom my mom’s old retired English teacher friends
Pass onto me,
Encouraging me to read and write,
And read and write again,
And to expand the places I am from.
I belong to all of these places,
Because I am from everywhere,
Not just one,
It will never be just one.
Inspired by George Ella Lyon’s “Where I’m From”
I am from everywhere,
Not just one place,
It will never be just one place.
I am from the nights with stories read to us,
Pleading,
“just one more chapter, Mama, please?”
I am from the broken relationships and bad friends, Some moving away,
With the serenity there to sooth it.
I am from the farmers market,
With the “fancy bread.”
I was from the farm show,
Faux pink leather boots,
And screaming,
Surrounded by crates.
I was from the McDonalds play place,
And the bar by dad had to go into.
For “work.”
I am part of an all-online generation,
Snapchatting strangers.
And despite all of this,
I have become the re-pierced ears from my childhood.
I make mistakes, but I start over.
A new shiny stud,
Right where the old one stood.
Now, I am from rocks and buttons.
Collected,
Stored.
I am from old antique bottles and flowers doodles on the back of hands. I am from backstage antics and goofing off.
I am from callused fingers,
Playing the same four ukulele chords,
Over, and over.
I am from the knowledge & wisdom my mom’s old retired English teacher friends
Pass onto me,
Encouraging me to read and write,
And read and write again,
And to expand the places I am from.
I belong to all of these places,
Because I am from everywhere,
Not just one,
It will never be just one.
Portrait of my Heart Part one By Ellie Knapp
Sudoku.
She slides, seducing the squares,
sequestering them into solutions,
setting the stationary into smoking sixes and sevens.
She shines, slightly smugly,
stylus to square, storing solutions.
She is a spy, sneaking into
stupefying stations of surprises,
snakily stalking stagnant secrets.
Somehow, she solves the sets,
snacking on their simplicity.
Some salty, some sour, some sweet,
not slow, not submissive, not snide,
But skillfully, surfacing the simplicity unseen by most.
With silent sobriety and stillness,
she sits, smiling at her sleuthing.
Sudoku.
She slides, seducing the squares,
sequestering them into solutions,
setting the stationary into smoking sixes and sevens.
She shines, slightly smugly,
stylus to square, storing solutions.
She is a spy, sneaking into
stupefying stations of surprises,
snakily stalking stagnant secrets.
Somehow, she solves the sets,
snacking on their simplicity.
Some salty, some sour, some sweet,
not slow, not submissive, not snide,
But skillfully, surfacing the simplicity unseen by most.
With silent sobriety and stillness,
she sits, smiling at her sleuthing.
An Exploration of Autumn Alliteration by Grace Pak
Crisp crunch crash
The weather, deep inhales of fresh air, the leaves beneath our feet as we walk hand in hand, falling back into piles of magnificent red and gold
Sweet steamy sip
Mugs of coffee on the countertop, piles of whipped cream, pumpkin k cups reserved for Wednesdays
Cozy comforting color
Sweaters and boots, scarves over flannels, cardigans of mustard and olive
Festive faded foliate
The mantle and its façade of fake foliage, scattered pumpkins knit and ceramic, jelly stickers clinging to the window
Warm wrinkled weathered
Ancient blankets, jackets hauled up from basement bins, heavy socks too thick to fit in shoes
Authentic autumnal aromas
Spiced apples, warm mug cakes, cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger
Close calm cartographic
Mental maps depicting mazes of corn, clouds that form with each exhale, hugs goodbye as we part under a harvest moon
Crisp crunch crash
The weather, deep inhales of fresh air, the leaves beneath our feet as we walk hand in hand, falling back into piles of magnificent red and gold
Sweet steamy sip
Mugs of coffee on the countertop, piles of whipped cream, pumpkin k cups reserved for Wednesdays
Cozy comforting color
Sweaters and boots, scarves over flannels, cardigans of mustard and olive
Festive faded foliate
The mantle and its façade of fake foliage, scattered pumpkins knit and ceramic, jelly stickers clinging to the window
Warm wrinkled weathered
Ancient blankets, jackets hauled up from basement bins, heavy socks too thick to fit in shoes
Authentic autumnal aromas
Spiced apples, warm mug cakes, cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger
Close calm cartographic
Mental maps depicting mazes of corn, clouds that form with each exhale, hugs goodbye as we part under a harvest moon
Fish by Baker Sebastian
I will coat you in a woolen worry,
a soft sorry full of regret.
I provide food a plenty -
I feed you till you break.
As the sun basks on your cold flesh
I will carry you to the lake,
I will drop you in and watch
as the fish take you away.
I sit still in the tall grass
head in my hands, and I shake.
I look in the water to see me,
an image of your past mistake.
You worry no more
for you’ve breathed your last.
My wool a noose
My food poison.
Through rope and purposeful allergy
we had good times.
Maybe they were masked
with the dark clouds that rolled in.
Many ripples carried
through the lake where I saw you go,
the fish that had taken you
watched as the rain turned to snow.
Cold has become my world
as hades in a frozen hell
I approach the frozen lake and fish
stepping on the once thin ice.
A reflection of your mistake
as I break through the ice,
efforts thwarted soon
as it’s become too thick.
I will go without you
as you did to me
a sort of revenge
or is this destiny?
I will coat you in a woolen worry,
a soft sorry full of regret.
I provide food a plenty -
I feed you till you break.
As the sun basks on your cold flesh
I will carry you to the lake,
I will drop you in and watch
as the fish take you away.
I sit still in the tall grass
head in my hands, and I shake.
I look in the water to see me,
an image of your past mistake.
You worry no more
for you’ve breathed your last.
My wool a noose
My food poison.
Through rope and purposeful allergy
we had good times.
Maybe they were masked
with the dark clouds that rolled in.
Many ripples carried
through the lake where I saw you go,
the fish that had taken you
watched as the rain turned to snow.
Cold has become my world
as hades in a frozen hell
I approach the frozen lake and fish
stepping on the once thin ice.
A reflection of your mistake
as I break through the ice,
efforts thwarted soon
as it’s become too thick.
I will go without you
as you did to me
a sort of revenge
or is this destiny?
