Busy

On Monday, a project, a paper and
Thirty math problems I can't understand
On top of all that, rehearsal at 3
When finished, do I have any time free?

Of course, but that's taken up by my chores
And daily practice for at least an hour
So what do I do all of this stuff for?
It almost requires superpowers

Because without these things life is boring
I'd rather rush around than be snoring

Land Surfing


The wind we go thru when we ride
but wind threw Dylan and I aside
the pavement rose, a rising tide
of asphalt here to rip skin wide.

No time to worry about the pain
we ran to catch our boards and blame
the fall on wind, or rocks, or cracks,
as blood ran dripping down our backs.

My vision was much sharper now
the pain I felt made me say ow
my arm it throbbed and it stung
we had lost and asphalt had won.

Though arms and cuts have fully healed
now when we longboard, we wear shields.

One Life Lost In a World of Loss 

The body of a boy not yet fifteen falls to the ground with a thud, 

A single tear runs down his cheek, 

His body is caressed by his mother as she holds him in the mud. 

She screams for help but her voice is meek. 

Her shirt, once white, is now stained,

 with the memory of her beloved son. 

She screams for help but is pained, 

with grief of the lose of her only one. 

One life lost, who is she to grieve?

For the lives of millions have been lost as well 

their souls are blowing through the branches of trees.

Society’s decision to kill, destruct and destroy has left us living in hell. 

Whilst she sits among the mud and holds her baby tight, 

Three-thousand other mothers, 

have lost their sons tonight. 

A weapon of mass destruction, 

a vehicle of death. 

Why can’t our world function, 

without this bloody mess? 

A pill that can stop the heart, 

a bomb that can turn a city into dust. 

Why would we ever start? 

Why does society feel the need? We have to, we must! 

We call it self protection, 

we call it our defense 

But when it comes to interjection

when cannot stop and hence. 

The bodies buried by the millions 

a boy, a girl, all dead. 

Their shirts are soaked the color of vermilion. 

Some day the war will end... they said. 

Driving

Crunching gravel under grooved tires

Laughter of the young, and philosophy of the old

Encompassed hopes, dreams, desires

Silent secrets whispered by the brave and bold

Miles and miles, with many more to come

Providence to Freeport, travels abound

Coasting the road accompanied by the pounding drum

This is happening now, we are western bound

Roadblocks are starting to appear ahead

Headlights are blinding the road in front of us

The downpour outside filling drivers with dread

Its late out people headed home on the bus

The hours are waning now, the dark is encroaching

Full throttle now swinging into motion

A growing up Sonnet

There comes a time when we must all move on.

Move past the lives we have always known.

For it won’t be long until we are gone.

Our mothers on the doorstep, weep and moan

because they know we won’t ever return.

Sure, we’ll come back every now and again,

but as soon as we arrived we will turn

away and once again bring back the pain.

But it’s these days that we are born anew.

Finally, the rest of our lives can start.

Think of it as our “adult debut”.

It’s a chance for us to truly restart.

My great times here and now may be over,

but now I have found my four-leaf clover.

Is it even spring?

We patiently await for spring to start,
As we pray for the last snow fall.
The cold weather we wish to part,
because it doesn't feel like spring at all.

Our breath still visible in front of our faces,
and the crickets song is two weeks late.
This spring is turning into a disgrace,
how much longer should we have we wait?

The sad excuse for a snowbank laughs at us,
"It's the apocalypse" they say, "The end of the world".
Travel seems the best option, by train or bus,
This spring is like no other, the laws of nature it bends.

We beg for warm weather which spring should send,
Oh, when will this winter come to and end?

Performance

15
"Do you get stage fright?"
of course not, I reply
I am lying through my teeth
as I allow myself to drown in anxiety
The inundation of nerves suffocate me
as I prepare to step out on stage
I can do this, I can do this

I hear my name

I can't do this
I shuffle out
I look at the audience
I know these people
I stand in place
I am petrified
I sing
I leave

And it all rushes out
I have done it
It's over
I didn't forget any words
I hit all my notes
but I am a wreck
Yet for some odd reason
I want to do it again

16
"Do you get stage fright?"
Everyone does
I haven't really answered them
I wait nervously
As a girl sings a generic pop tune
I note her mistakes
as if they can reassure me
or make me better than I am
I look at the list only to confirm I am next

I hear my name

I breathe in
I breathe out
I walk on
I smile vaguely
My music begins
I sing
My music ends
I smile vaguely
I rush off

That was awful
I made so many mistakes
I never want to perform again

17
"Do you get stage fright?"
Yes I do, I'm really nervous
At least I am honest
I am used to this feeling
I pace nervously
Am I going to be able to hit my high note?
Am I going to look good?
Is my music going to work right?
Am I going to be the best?
But it is too late to worry

I hear my name

I step out
I smile
I nod
My music starts
I sing each word carefully
I emphasize each note
I can't make any mistakes
My music stops
Applause
I rush off

I messed it up
I'll never do it as well as I practiced it
Did people like it?
But I move forward

18
"Do you get stage fright?"
Of course I do
This is only partially true now
I sit back and enjoy the act before mine
I'll have to make sure to congratulate them

I hear my name

I stride out
I grin at the MC as he makes a bad joke
I look into the audience
I smile
The piano begins to play
I open my mouth but do not sing
I have fun
The final note rings
Applause sounds
I curtsy once
I stroll off stage

I smile encouragingly at the nervous freshman
Who is about to go on
You can do it
I tell her, knowing how she feels
But I am not that girl anymore

I am not doing it because I feel I have to
to prove that I am better
or even to show off
I am doing what I love
I am a performer

Unconscious

your claws are so sharp,

they dig through my sternum and

pinch each chamber of my heart

until the tension is no longer bearable,

you are anxiety.

you are the force that drags me down

when my pride has finally found its balance,

you are the substance that

makes me question if I can ever feel this sturdy again,

sturdy again,

will I ever be sturdy again?

I feel stuck,

I can’t remember if I hate you

or if I love you so much that it makes

me want to carve a hole in my chest

just so my heart can have more room to breathe.

I keep running, and running

in circles that keep shrinking-

so now I’ve finally caught up with myself.

I fell,

I fell, I fell, I fell

and you kicked me while I was down, down , down.

I went to go push myself up but a memory shot

a bullet through my psych and I had to start all over.

I pushed, I pushed, I pushed up

until one day I smelt the dew,

and the clarity felt like Spring.

Who We Want To Be

It’s easy to say what we want to be
Maybe an astronaut or an singer
Or in the army, to fight for the free
Or a baseball player, the best swinger.

It’s easy to say what we want to be:
The president, a big Hollywood star,
A millionaire, house across the sea.
Better: a golfer always under par.

But what about who we all want to be?
That is the much more difficult question.
Do you want to be the coward, to flee?
The one to stop the bully’s aggression?

Stand up for those who can’t stand for themselves.
Don’t be the one to collect dust on shelves.

Goose Sestina

Driving down the greasy street
I saw a man holding a dead goose.
Her neck was broken, there was no blood.
He stood pinioned on the median,
Weeping for his snapped-back friend.
The geese return in April, many fall.

He waved goodbye last fall.
Somewhere barefoot in the Baltimore street,
Hands still oily from the wrist of his friend.
The head of the V was meant for his goose
He lay, arms out on the median
And felt their parallel lines in his blood.

He is convinced only he has blood:
A small girl flew from under a car, he watched her fall
Hard and twisted in the I-95 median.
She did not cry out in the Baltimore street.
She did not bleed, he thought of his darling goose,
Because her bones snapped, just like his friend.

In the years before he met this friend
He walked around trying to taste his own blood.
There were years before his goose
Where he wanted to feel his fall
Perched in the center of I-95, to become the street
Hunched to spring from the median.

She found him there on the I-95 median
Stood before him and his asphalt friend
He lay whole in the street
The fault lines pooling with his blood
He survived his fall.
And woke up to his goose.

He saw his God in her, his goose
There on the I-95 median.
He made her his reason he did not fall.
He asked his dear friend
To come back when spring comes or his blood,
He told her, would be back in street.

She flew too fast back to Baltimore, playing his God, his friend
Through the night until she dropped, there was no blood.
Just a delicate broken body, twisted in the street.

Senior Year Symphony

Senior Year Symphony
Haley Perkins

I feel like I am running out of time,
It seems that I have it, but I pretend.
These thoughts form melodies like a wind chime,
Floating through my mind, my worries they mend.

They produce a symphony in my head,
Starting quietly and becoming loud.
Constantly playing as I lay in bed,
I have to remind myself to be proud.

But now it peaks, as the end draws nearer,
At last my thoughts change from what I have feared.
The girl is different in my mirror,
Broken from the symphony, I am here.

Embark, explore, adventures make me grow,
Off to discover new music, I go.

I wonder

In the wide fields the flowers grow.

I quickly glance at the gorgeous glow

of the bombs and fire that shine,

in the distance.

My feet are hurting

as I walk the seemingly endless road.

The serene and quiet landscape

remind me of better days.

As the world reverberates,

the earth beneath me trembles.  

My direction takes me towards the glimmering lights

not knowing what I will find.

I see tall buildings in the distance

and fear and uncertainty seem to overpower me

as I move closer to where my loved ones reside.

Infinite

Infinite 

It’s
Never a reality. Merely a
Feeling felt
In a fleeting moment.
Noise that
Inspires you
To achieve
Everything you’ve ever dreamed.

Twitter Beef

In this kind of battle you are the chief.
You use you fingers as your sword and shield.
You type until you find some decent beef
and duel him with the keyboard that you wield.

You war ‘til the wee hours of the morrow
in front of a crowd of excited fans.
You go ‘til one of you leaves in sorrow,
and the other feels like a manly man.

But what do these battles at last achieve?
Do they test a man’s valiant spirit?
When the winners cheer and the losers grieve,
what valor is there in this to admit?

If you want to fight do it hand to hand.
Throw down your damn keyboard and take a stand.

Change

Change 

Carefully analyzing the past
Has never helped
Anyone move on. There is
Not a thing you can do to alter the outcome.
Getting past it is important.
Everything is different.

MODERN POETRY:

 “Gore, with Iridescent Phenomenon

Consumeristic Materialism

Putrescent Corroded Greed, leave things on

Voluptuousness, Imperialism

Insidious, Licentious, cool cronut

Obsession with everything that’s mainstream

Repeating, Repeating, Repeating, shut.

Society just make you want to scream.”

Why have poems been degraded to this

Artistic rebellion against grammar?

Growing beneath the surface like a cyst?

This intellectualized rant and clamor ?

Why can’t they just be quiet and let us

enjoy ourselves without all of the fuss.

What the Future Holds

Sitting here, on the side of this turf field,

I know that there is something to be done,

There is only talent to be revealed,

Now we are ready, it has just begun.

There is only one difficult option,

And there seems to be only one question,

Everyone takes the field with such caution.

I feel that this is in my possession.

It begins with the blow of a whistle,

We take off, leaving nothing behind us,

Blasting off, similar to a mistle.

There are many things that we have to adjust.

Now we await to see our destined fate,
I’m out of Maine and into New York state.

The Road Ahead

An unknown road lies ahead,


full of twists and turns all around.


Hearts beat, thoughts in our head.

Wonderful group they have said.


Stage filled with us in caps and gowns,

an unknown road lies ahead.

Of the life we so far have led,


a chapter is now buried underground.


Hearts beat, thoughts in our head.

Another begins instead, 


for here we stand college bound.


An unknown road lies ahead.

Our strong mark we will embed
,

on history it shall be crowned.


Hearts beat, thoughts in our head.

Our stories shall be read.


 This is the route our feet have found. 


An unknown road lies ahead,


hearts beat, thoughts in our head.

You are told to be the fragment of your grandfathers wishes,

you can only be smiling, happiness is the only emotion you can behold,

There's more to me than my DNA and my stitches.

I’m more than his last kisses,

I'm more than my parent's voices, telling me how to grow old,

You are told to be the fragment of your grandfathers wishes.

Earth is a tank and we are the fish,

but no one fits societies perfect mold,

There's more to me than my DNA and my stitches.

Echoing voices telling you to be swish,

if you love who you love you will be scolded,

You are told to be the fragment of your grandfathers wishes.

You’re more than never eating, never cleaning off your dish,

don’t wait to be who you are till you’re old,

There's more to me than my DNA and my stitches.

Why don’t we follow our own wishes?

Can we all just be bold,

You are told to be the fragment of your grandfathers wishes,

There's more to me than my DNA and my stitches.

Way of the Robots

I walked down the aisle and heard someone shout,

For I blocked the way; they shouted “Robot!”

And from the aisle, that shout queued me out,

To clear the way for that shiny new bot.

Such an occurrence may seem very strange

But not where I am, where kindness is creed

Where everyone will help, lend and exchange

To their opponents they’ll give what they need.

Where am I you ask? It’s so very clear:

A sporting event, of sorts, one could say

At a venue filled with shouts and good cheer

Gracious and kind is the FRC way

So regardless of which team wins the brawl

Everyone wins; doesn’t matter at all.

I promised I wouldn't preach

I was the small animal, shivering in the cave,

Scarcely breathing, trapped, pushed in.

My beating heart revved like a motor engine,

Like adrenaline in fierce hostilities.

Though I could not see it,

I was too busy trying to frolic among the alpha-males,

As though that was the only way to live,

Sharpening my claws when I could have been sharpening my cunning,

Because here we live not understanding,

That not everyone is gonna flaunt themselves as the big dog.

I’m out now,

I grew opposable thumbs and was able to turn the key,

And say “Do svedanya”

To what I realized was just,

A pile of males competing to be on top.

If people wish to take a stand,

Against something they cannot truly feel,

Then I implore you,

Do my lungs not breathe the same air as you do?

Does my heart not beat just as yours does?

Do my eyes not perceive the same wonders as you do?

For those of you who enjoy

Distinguishing right and wrong,

Look at the animal to your left and

Watch if he tries to steal from your plate

Instead of letting your eyes burn

With that overwhelming rage.

Those claws can’t scratch the surface

On understanding that the same blood

Flows within our veins. 

Vitality

Trapped. Frozen.

Like an animal in a cage.

Pierced. Pained.

Like a gunshot wound.

There are no more days.

The wheels must keep on turning,

The heart’s flames must keep on burning.

That vitality must keep on yearning.

The mind must keep on learning.

We’re survivors.

We’re against the odds winners,

We’re one in a million.

Let the heartbeat tell danger in morse code,

“We’re not afraid.”

The world’s full of demons and monsters ready to rob us of our lives,

But we cannot show our fear.

We can only show vitality,

Automatically, no hesitation, no um

No maybe in a minute,

Just now.

Stand up.

Get on those two feet and show the world that vitality is

The shining God fingers,

The leaf buds on the tree.

The beginning, unconcerned with the end.

Clock ticking, chest pumping,

Nerves shaking, ears thumping.

The time is limited, so why waste it?

Why not use every drop of life down till the last?

Why not enjoy every second that passes?

Leave anything that holds you back in the dust,

And run like Mercury.

Those threats against vitality,

Affect your personality,

Because every one of those threats has a duality.

Don’t sink to the life of a gambler,

Hoarding aces in his sleeves,

Grabbing at the stacks of chips.

For life is not a game,

People need not snuff out others’ lanterns

To fill their own with vile shame.

The flames need to burn on their own.

Slow, bright burns, persisting through

The blows that cause them to flicker.

Life doesn’t need to be tragic,

Just throw in a little magic,

And there will not be written another page,

Chronicling that lifeless rage.

Here we are,

Armed with semi-auto vitality,

Ready to face the world just wanting to

Drag.

Us.

Down.

Life is an hourglass,

But it’s a choice in how each grain is spent.

Every little moment.

Every little grain.

Don’t let the hourglass crack before the last sand falls.

It’s not your time.

Never.

Give.

Up.