The Ninth Wall

I sit and look out at the moon shining

I sit and look out at the children playing

outside the playground

I sit and look out at the water fountain

turning bright red

I sit and look out at the stars lighting

in the sky at night

I sit and look out at an angel walking

in the park

I sit and look out at my cell phone

trying to catch up to you

I sit and look out in the sky at night

seeing stars connected to each other.

I sit and look out two squirrels cuddling

each other on a tree.

i wrote this poem decribing the dance special they did for my friend in his memorial.. it started out with about forty dancers then narrowed down to three..

I have your pictures on my binder,

You really couldn’t have gotten kinder,

I have your pictures on my wall,

That fateful morning hurt us all.

A payer, a dance, a song,

You’ve gone been away so long.

September Twenty Fourth, Two Thousand and Six,

So much sadness, the singers put down their sticks.

I remember the night they danced for you,

They grassers just couldn’t wait for the que.

Dancers from Browning, Rocky Boy, and Cusick,

I can still hear the drums roaring with music.

With you, watching from heaven,

Kelsey, Julius and Randy danced until song seven.

‘Young Grey Horse’ was singing, along with ‘Northern Cree’,

Helping us to lift you up free.

If only they could hear those drum beats,

See the people cheering, standing up from their seats,

They’d feel better about letting you go,

We feel still feel you dancing, we want you to know.

When the night comes

I’ll sit passively in the tree

You won’t see a thing

You’ll go on your merry way

Absorbed with the world and not your surroundings

And if you’re my target I’ll pounce

Like a tiger extracting its claws

It’ll be silent

But deadly

And my shadow will be stark against the moon

My blade a shining fury

And I’ll unleash the wrath of my Demon

My beautiful blood thirsty Demon

A dark red chakra will surround me

And once I’m close enough

Will engross you also

And you’ll burn

Like a thousand men in the Sierra desert

Like acid running down cool pale flesh

And with a swipe of my blade

You’ll be dead

I am an A-class Ninja

And I will protect my village

But at the end of the day

I am only me

The way it goes

Live life to the fullest.

Don’t decline on your dreams.

Then your dreams are the coolest.

Don’t you like your coffee with cream.

Just like that it’s May.

Then comes summer.

Then it becomes another day.

Now its time to stack my lumber.

It’s time to eat.

Dribble the ball.

Now it’s time for me to sleep.

But I’m really small.

–Matiel Ghebreamlak

Oakland is a young man

Struggling to bring home food to his family

hungry,tired,poor

People as brutal as the fiercest warrior

laughing, gettin hyphy in their tall tees

smog coating his lungs like mud with every breath he takes

blood up to his knees

blank expressions of hatred and regret

he’s in poverty and has been robbed more times than the government has robbed us

but keeps more pride than a lion

stubborn to societies “mold”

staying unique

and happy

families who care more about thier kids

he lives, but just barely, wanting to give up

but he does not

he’s dealt with difficult things beyond belief of the average person

more drugs than bobby and whitney

more violence than the middle east

been arrested more times than he can count

yet happiness comes easy

family,friends, spending time together and satying together is a critical part of his life

he’s keeps his head raised high and perservers through all

I am lost in the earth’s orbit.

The earth is rotating but I’m standing still.

The sun’s ray shines on one hemisphere while I’m on the other.

It’s like I’m looking through a pair of dark tinted sunglasses.

The space’s zero gravity is keeping me from returning to the earth’s atmosphere.

Mars and the moon are too far away to reach it’s like a little boy reaching for the cookie jar that’s on the highest shelf.

I am floating around with the space junk waiting on Orion to come along and save me from the giant black hole I’m being sucked into.

 Sweeping

is easier than teaching

or learning.                 

So simple to brush away flaws

–the paper

            crumpled

            tossed

            missed

            left

by careless boys in fifth period—

–the orange

            under the table

            on top of a box of cups

            left to rot and stink

by a rude lunchtime guest—

–the assignments

            collected

            begun

            forgotten

by students who want to do better

but can’t quite remember how—

So easy to wash and wish away these faults.

These easy messes are small

Compared to the real ones

            Of broken promises

            Dropped hopes

            Spilled potential

            Abandoned improvement

Messes that elude me, unsweepable.

Still, swishing and brushing

Of green bristles

On filthy, muddy tile

Is making it better

As I dream a poem

This last chore today

And waltz with a broom

Washing the day away.

Kristi Dahlstrom

I’m a drummer

I’m an artist

I’m a lover

I’m a fighter

A caregiver, a friend

A judge and a defendant

A book with no pages

You figure out the words

I’m a photographer

A musician

The pain in your ass

The love in your heart

I’m the sparkle in your eye

I’m something to live for

And everything to die for

I’m simple

And sweet

And I stay true.

I’m a writer

I’m a singer

I’m a keeper

I’m your every wish

A girl you’ll love

The type “they” hate

I’m everything and more

And damn proud of it

I have soul

I have rhythm

I have my heart and it’s staying here

I’m a loser

I’m a freak

I have no doubt for what I am

I’m a jumper

I’m a rock

I’m a sword

I’m a climber

A sinner

And an angel

But your can just call me Rae

Roll it.

A cold echoe replases your heart-beat.

And the empty cruel hole replases the soul.

Light it.

Your sweet smile leaves your face.

You become posessed in an illegal passtime.

Smoke it.

You fly “high” like a devil with angels wings.

Anger is your released emotion.

*Smack*

How it all began

A daily routine

Bad days equal pain

Good days equal work

Manipulative demon

Inhaler of dreams

Black curtains cover your eyes

And your hands turn into fists

Each day

A bad one

Each bruise

Because of you

For you

It’s Roll.Light.Smoke.

For me it’s Run.Hide.Die.

I’ve ran.

You caught me.

I’ve hid.

You found me.

I wait to die.

Untill I endure the pain

Of a mothers love.