Poetry 2006-2007

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Poetry 2006-2007
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Progress Reset
By Craig Bradney

Moving forward,
Never looking back.
Making strides,
And improving one’s self.

Coming from darkness,
Into the light.
Tearing down those built up walls,
Baring your soul.

Meeting someone,
Caring for them.
Feelings abound,
Love blossoms.

Plans are made,
Dreams are laid down.
Futures planned,
First steps taken.

Information is found out,
Details revealed.
Lies discovered,
Hurt begins.

Reasons sought,
Never any found.
Friends’ support,
Truth undiscovered.

Progress once had,
Return to beginning.
Work lost,
Progress reset.



Dreams of The Day
By Craig Bradney

When the sun rises,
And the day begins.
One’s hope stretches,
Out to embrace the day.

Within the time,
That the day consists of.
One does think,
Of what could have been.

Once that thought,
Embeds itself in your mind.
You begin to dream,
And truly shape what you wish could be.

As the day goes on,
That dream becomes more real.
And the reality of what truly is,
Diverges from the ideal.

As the divergence becomes more great,
Your heart begins to realize that fact.
Your dream fades,
As does the light of day.

When you finally release the tension of the day,
As you prepare to sleep.
You lay your head and pray,
That you will have good dreams.

As you slumber,
You surrender yourself to the full power of your mind.
And with that power,
Come the Terrors of The Night.



Terrors of The Night
By Craig Bradney

Now I lay me down to sleep,
How many times have we heard these words?
I pray the Lord my soul to keep,
If only those words were true.

When we sleep at night,
We hope to be at peace.
When we close our eyes,
We wish to have sweet dreams.

But for some of us,
This is not to be.
When we close our eyes,
All we dream of is darkness.

We awake in cold sweats,
Barely escaping from an unseen demon.
Not recognizing our surrounding,
With our heart thudding in our chests.

As this happens night after night,
We approach our limit of endurance.
We long for a peaceful rest,
At last to escape the terror of the night.




Candids of a Best Friend
By Emily Drayer

Photos spread over the floor
reenacting the last year--
from weddings to family funerals,
Saturday boredom to a planned weekend away;
the sun faded a majority of those best friend moments.

I pick them up, one by one
remembering why each was taken.
These old candids are all that is left,
of a time when smiles came
as quickly as the tears now form.

You never came back,
like you said you always would.
Moving can be tough--
It’s worse for the one left behind.



Mary had a Little Lamb
By Sierra Eidet

Mary had a little lamb
Its fleece as black as coal
And everywhere that Mary went
The lamb was sure to follow
Until one day
Mary went to town
To buy herself
An evening gown
The lamb followed
Unaware of his fate
For this would be
His last trip through town
Across the street Mary went
Followed by the lamb
Across the street Mary went
To the butchers is where she’d go
Back at home
She found her dinnerware
And put on her evening gown
Lifting the top
To the oversized platter
She put a piece of meat
Onto her flowered plate
Mary had a little lamb
For dinner



Modern Times
By Kristin Gilbertson

There are
those of us
with the intellegence
and foresight
to see
the world
is unraveling itself
greed
has taken over
and no one cares
anymore
so we
escape
any way we can
tortured
by our thoughts
and fearful
for what
our children
will face
tormented
we move on
discouraged
at the thought
of what's
to come.



Ode to a Donut
By Nicole McDonald

To the donut I did not eat
I would like to say,
I’m sorry.

Your brothers and sisters
did their job well.
The growling beast inside is sated.
Though that does leave
The Issue
of the one, last victim:
you.
What to do, what to do?

I would not eat you just now
for fear of angering the beast within,
so stay in the box,
sit in your box,
and we shall wait for my whim.

The beast will growl again someday
and, little lonely donut,
you’ll br needed.
Your time will come
when your purpose will be fulfilled
and the monster will be greeted.

So, for now
sit and wait
in your box
for your fate.



Age
By Elizabeth Weidenbach

My grandfather’s face is old and wise.
His expression, stern.
Rarely does he smile
Rarely does he laugh.

His face is aged with spots;
Skin, loose and wrinkled.
Stubble grows from his chin and nose
Fine gray hairs can be seen in his ears.

My grandfather’s body is old and strong
His arms still defined.
Never does he rest
Never is he handicapped.

His hearing is helped with plastic;
Eyes, with thick lenses.
Metal hold his knees and
Pills run his heart.

My grandfather is old and wise
He has taught his family many things.
My grandfather is old
But age has hurt him not.



Art Museum
By Elizabeth Weidenback

Life is an art museum
Open nine to five
Oieces put on display
Parts loved more than others
Mona Lisa smiles
And beautiful Starry Nights
For curious eyes to see.

But, underneath the floors
The vaults, the places no one goes
And behind closed doors
And under sheets
Is what the public faces will never know.

And still yet
The open doors will close
Shut tight at five
The publis and private blend.
The life.
The art museum.



Starting Is....
By So-Young Yang

Looks clear without any problems, though
inside, there are storm to roar; it's gathering
all black clouds and then finally get ready to
appear; hotter, windier, cloudier; it will be raining.

Before something start, we all struggle with and
think many times to do the right things and never
disappoint or make mistakes;
however, when we are worried about making mistakes
too much, then, it makes us not even start

Once we get into it, we can do it done well,
although it's a big stone to be lifted up to the sky.
Not just starting, but should keep going until it's done.
That's the reason why people say it is difficult to start

Starting is not easy all the time, but it has the key to open
the door that you can choose for your future.