Once there was a celestial golf ball
Floating in space, a mystery muddled, Containing everything, one and all. It was an intergalactic huddle. Then someone said, “Break!”—a great explosion. It was faster than a New York minute. Every object and human emotion, The sky—not yet existing—the limit. Spherical masses and new miracles, Every item and its compliment Became columns, rows, truth empirical: The Periodic Table of Elements. There’s no limit to what can be achieved With infinite time and space to move free.
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this is fall
leaves crunching and crackling beneath my feet as i walk slowly falling, swept by the wind a fresh crisp breeze blows past this is fall my dark orange scarf warms up my neck my nose turns red from the cool air i walk down a gravel road leading me to a place i don’t know this is fall i walk past a mocha brown grandfather tree and see an owl’s big yellow eyes staring back at me from the top of the tree this is fall i hear the rustling sound of leaves, scurried across by chipmunks and they scratch up the tree trunk making way to their cozy nests for an afternoon nap this is fall i stumble upon a small coffee shop, hidden beneath the trees i order a peppermint tea “it’s on the house” they say this is fall i step back out into the cool air turning my cheeks bright pink this is fall So many people see this man
As a hero; a new beginning. But all I see is A man with a mask That is so insecure. He hollers his hatred towards women Only to make his mask thicker. People see through his lies And decide on the lesser of two evils. But what the population Doesn’t understand Is that lies spread like gossip. Our country, our country, is going to rot. Like a lurking smell, From some words, some men Black Sand Beach, By ShayMy feet were buzzing with the harmonies of curiosity. The droplets of black stone kissed my fingertips with the gentleness of autumn wind. The crash of the waves was in C major, the wind was the melody of Moonlight Sonata. The sky was a palette of tear-stained blue ink, the clouds were school uniform gray. The rocks we climbed tore our hands and we bled pure adrenaline. When we reached the top we kissed the sky and said our goodbyes to our Black Sand paradise. Everything Wrong With My Car, By Mr. SchoMy car—I call her Annie after her previous owner--
suffered a stroke one sweltering summer afternoon, rendering her left side useless and me her caretaker. Her left side-view mirror suspends like a derelict draw bridge aided by duct tape. (I tried gorilla glue, but the August inferno made quick work of its primate strength.) On cool Texas evenings, winding through hill country back roads bordered by bluebonnets, I roll down my window not with the automatic switch but with the palm of my hand, and my pincher fingers pull it back up when I park. The keyless entry works fine except, you guessed it, on Annie’s left side, and anytime I signal to hang a left, her bright lights flash the cars in front of me. It’s been a couple of years since Annie had her stroke and I notice the effects spreading. The tires squeak when I brake, a belt screams when it rains, and an orange light the shape of an engine with the word “check” underneath it keeps blinking and blinking at me. But the sunroof still works! Sometimes, and Annie decides when it’s time for it to close. Pockmarks of hail damage speckle her hood, reminder that if you don’t like the weather in Texas, just wait a little while and it will get worse. But Annie brought me to Montana and by God, she’ll bring me back home. She’s got new spark plugs and fresh oil, and the engine-shaped orange light turned off. Besides, it’s all downhill from here to Texas, right? Love Letter to Home, By Anna
I could be anywhere in the world, From pole to pole, Polynesia to Siberia, The worst place known to man, Even paradise itself, But I’ll always miss you. I could crave for adventure, I could grow restless, Run as far away as I could, Say I’ll never come back, But you know I wouldn’t mean that. You know I’ll always come back, Willingly, Readily, Excitedly, And I know that you don’t mind, And you’ll be there, When my free spirit longs to fly. Have you ever felt out of control
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PoetryWelcome to the poetry section. Here, you will find insightful poems by O. Henry students. Archives
December 2019
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