Amelia Barr
Chloe Paul
A little bit of traffic,
curvy Ochs Highway,
Where the tourists almost reach a halt.
Constant yelling of the locals,
“There are pull-offs for a reason!”
Scenic Highway,
the straight-away.
Windows completely open,
seventy miles per hour breeze on a warm summer night,
The fresh smell of Italian pizza and wildflowers.
Friendly waves from fellows in old Ford pickups,
Blasting songs by Caamp
and “Cover Me Up” by good ole Morgan Wallen,
With the quick plucking of guitar strings.
The little shack,
the Mountain Mart is only a blur.
There it is.
The Overlook,
Or the Hangliding spot, if you will.
All of Georgia,
As far as the eye can see.
Cows, as small as ants in the pasture.
Lights from the city towards the east.
The little bright-colored triangles,
lightly floating down.
Time stops.
Sit there on the rocks,
Oh please don’t fall off!
Shoes off,
Feel the light tickle of the wind between your toes.
But, that is not what one’s eye is drawn to.
It’s the rich painting,
Painted in the sky.
The deep purple,
on the verge of lilac.
The cotton candy clouds,
Pastel pink,
a little red overmixed with white.
Bright orange,
like orange Crush soda,
Streaks of gold,
they are blinding.
Round sun,
With a warm orange hue,
Slowly disappearing,
as time continues to pass.
One perfect night,
Silence fills the air, as night begins to creep in.
As the song, “Saturn” draws to a close.
Pondering the meaning of Beauty,
Friendship,
and Peace.
Oh, what a sunset can do for the soul!
Author
'There is one heart whose thoughts are strong, whose very dreams are lives.' - G.M.
Evening remnants patter softly on
the roof, though whether driblets from
an oak or just the rhythmic cadence
of the ceiling fan is more than I can
say. It siphons me hypnotically above
the bed and through the drywall, above
the yellow house where all the branches
congregate to share their scented secrets.
Up and up it ushers me till I’m beyond
the Milky Way, where there I apprehend
that yes, surely this is someone's dream,
if one in which I'm but a lucky participant.
Lauren Tyler
Figures pass by in perfect time
Fading eyes are staring into mine
There are dark circles under my eyes
And fuzzy lines on the horizon
I can feel death coming from behind
“Tell me, is the damage done?
Have they all come?”
Should I stay or should I run?
I’ve risked it all, I’ve had my fun
But I’ve become comfortably numb
Emmy Hubbard
The vicissitudes are coming
I feel it in my bones
Like the smell of rain,
Dark clouds rolling in,
Color gathering on my radar
The vicissitudes are coming
And I anxiously await them
Mr. Harvey
Alarming how a well-artic-
ulated argument can shift
our apprehension of reality—
but then, I've heard a penny
can derail a thundering train,
so maybe it's much the same.
Either way, we need to travel
to the Mountains there, so help
us, Lord, to prudently determine
proper means of transportation
that will bring us to the Peaks,
be it iron tracks or bloody feet.
Mr. Harvey
Yes, it was me who let it out
the cage, but I'd projected it
as tamer when I did the deed.
Now the kids are on the desks
and begging me to make it go
away, like I were fast enough to
catch it with my own bare hands,
like I were really capable to find
a way to lure it back to the safe
terrarium of theoreticals they love
to ogle but never touch themselves.
I had only hoped to pump a rush
of blood to this cold sarcophagus
they call a class, but now it's past
my expertise, and all that I can
do is pray they run away to find
a Teacher who possesses more
composure in the existential storm.
Mr. Harvey
But what if this would constitute
as Holy Ground as well, and that,
and even over there, and really all
of it’s aflame with something well-
beyond our marginal ability to see,
much less apprehend? And maybe
all our heads are hissing with the
tongues of pentecostal fire, our des-
ert pilgrimage preceded by a pillar
just as big and hot as theirs. Consider
that you and I are currently engulfed
in lightning on a mountain's peak! If
this is true, Eternal Flame, forgive us
these our sandals and our tennis shoes.
You understand, I trust, our tender feet.
Lauren Tyle
Notes, poems, and letters
All litter my bed
And every single one of them
Is about you.
Letters I’ll never send,
Poems I’ll never read,
And notes you’ll never see.
The only exception is this.
A poem I’ve written for you.
Something to say I still remember.
The only problem is,
Everyone will read this
Except for you.
Addie Miles
It has become a trend for flowers to be sitting in a glass vase
on the white marble kitchen countertop.
They normally appear about every 3 months or so,
Sometimes the flowers appear more frequent.
They sometimes seem to appear
when my life is falling apart
Even though it is not
The flowers bring me
comfort
strength
perseverance
when it seems to be impossible
to muster them up myself
In the spring months
tulips appear on the counter top
which happens to be my favorite flower.
I see
the vibrance
that they have and they
make me strive to have a vibrant energy,
even when I don’t
think I can
I am very
undeserving of these flowers because
I did nothing to deserve them
I don’t always go out of my way to care for the flowers
like they have done for me
But the flowers keep me going
they help push me through
the hard moments
and keep on coming
Words cannot describe
how thankful I am for the flowers
Or the green eyed boy
who stands on my front porch with the flowers in his hand
and a smile on his face
