Floats through dormitories A pale and translucent sprite, Or else a specter with Blood-red head, body white, Unclosing eyes follow, the soul ‘Round a corner vanish. Pick the tank up; Red Cap Oranda
Peering around the corner, I feel my heart is pounding. Sinking to the floor, My lungs are heaving. Do I dare look and see that face? No! I freeze in terror. Every moment
When I have doubt that God is near to me, And plunged to blindness, flail about for peace, And find my grasp is weak, and the increase Of sleepless evenings weighs down heavily,
A plague built this house out of thirty silver pine pieces cut from the woods with solemn hands It hovers above the Georgia sands on white brick pillars, this pine box built for
How often I write things last minute Until there’s little effort in it, Because I’m so much better Right as I see the turn-in time. I write a less-than-robust rhyme, So
Prepared to set the world ablaze, You were a glowing ember, So full of vibrant life until The eleventh of September. I heard the phone at nine a.m. And prayed it wasn’
O God of earth and sea and sky, You stay the same all of the time; O Lord upon a timeless throne, You reign supreme; You reign alone: Help me in these shifting
If I were God, I would not have cursed the earth. If I were God, I would have dwelt among the ponds and peaks I made instead of leaving it all behind. What
The watchmaker sorrowing as his shop’s aflame hears a moaning child call out his name. Without hesitation, he runs back through the frame, only to find that the child’s to blame.
Winner of the English Language and Literature Division Creative Writing Contest - Poetry The mountain range resembles a particularly dimpled red potato, or purple sand dunes that could be changed by the mere
Runner up in the English Language and Literature Division Creative Writing Competition - Poetry I gazed upon the burden of my flesh That clung about my soul like dirty rags: A hated cloak
Anytime the crows are singing, The fields are full and barely clinging To their ripened form. 'Tis when breath is full of flavor Of all that's good to seek and savor When the
The problem with a dreamer Is I dream a web of Futures for myself— Five full lifetimes of Potential, Scratching the surface Of the vastness of Impact Or Service or Knowledge— A craving
If the world stopped spinning, Maybe you would hold me for a minute… And there wouldn’t be the what ifs of tomorrow Or the should haves of yesterday Or the maybe wills
I am trying to remember. How did I heal After Mama’s death? I have not forgotten Truth, but a tad, Faith to believe the Truth. The churches tell me to remember Where
Songs are like birds in my chest Unlocked by warmth and laughter, Bursting free in a fast beat, Alone and free in the empty sky, Suddenly I’m breathing. Poems are like dark
I used to Come home from school, Drop my books and run Through fields and woods. Boundaries big As the horizon. The horizon hefted by hills— Hills I took in stride, Bare feet
Higgledy-Piggledy Hades’ Persephone Six Months in Underworld Darkness and Cling. Ceres, or Demeter, Extra-possessively Calls for her Daughter to Usher the Spring.
If you walk a winter’s night, Listen, and you will hear The shrieking wind evade your sight And cry into your ear. It whips away at flowers, And the roses bow their