- GET PUBLISHED
The Sharon Academy
I could sleep here, among the trees.
I could lie here, close my eyes, and just breathe.
I could sleep here, staring up at the snow;
But I won't; I just wanted you to know.
I can breathe here, in this fresh tingly air.
I can wonder here, why life is not fair.
I can breathe here, or maybe I'll not;
But I won't; don't worry, it was only a thought.
I could sing here, let sound free from my heart.
I could dance here, and stop playing my part.
I could sing here, let the world hear my love;
But I won't; my voice is all yours, my dove.
I could hope here, where time seems to stop.
I could dream here, on flakes the trees seem to drop.
I could hope here, where my face meets the day;
But I won't; because you think it's better that way.
I could love here, crystals hanging like hearts.
I could live here, icicles like darts.
I could love here, and you tell me no;
But I won't; (I like the idea, though).
We could age here, under this cold.
We could age here, stay until we grow old.
We could age here, where ice freezes our sleep;
But we won't; the mountains are just too deep.
I could love you, with your eyes of black coal.
I could love you, with your ice-crossed soul.
I could love you, with your lashes of frost;
But I won't; with the red rose, I know that you I have lost.
Winter is not meticulous
It kisses every inch of bare skin its
Snow fox flurries come across
The pink petals of noses, the red riddles of ears
Opening up to the sound of the
Wind’s unraveling silk.
Winter is a map of silver
Each snowflake its own
Demographic doorway to perfection
A shock of crystal detail
Sprinkled in my sister’s infinite hair.
Winter is a gift to the blind
For even they can feel
The morning light
Bouncing off every blade of frost and
A gun and a man went out on a hunt.
The forest was vast,
but warm and welcoming.
On a three-hour train ride to a conference in Boston, I had the chance to talk to a very interesting, impeccably-dressed man named Bernie who was going down to visit family. I’d brought some take-out Chinese food with me and I was eating it on the table between us while Bernie introduced himself. By pure chance, Chinese food had a huge emotional effect on him. He apologized in advance for sharing his “pointless story,” and I motioned for him to go ahead. What else was I going to do for the next two and a half hours?
It was cold in the room, very, very cold. The concrete floor seemed to soak up all of his body heat, sucking it into it’s core. The chains around his wrist had rubbed his skin raw. He lay on his side, watching the puddle of liquid ruby expand around him.
Imagine yourself swimming in an ocean filled with all different species of fish. You can breath under water, but you have a subconscious sensation that you are going to drown. Turns out you are trapped inside a bubble in the deepest depth of the ocean.
She walks in blue waves,
like the sky;
The sky is a dark swirling mess when the car stutters to a halt, its remaining life juice draining from it.
This poem was written by both Izzi and Gus Byrne. Gus is in 5th Grade at Open Fields School.
There's a man outside my window
Who will not go away
He showed up there this morning
He's been standing there all day
I know that he is watching me
He hasn't moved an inch