HELP! Major Computer meltdown needs resubmissions from January, February, March, and April 2002
Yes, we had a fatal loss of data including all original submission from January, February, and March of this year. We desperately need to get your content up, so if you submitted during these months please click here to re-submit.
We were best friends back in the day,
We used to ride horses and feed they hay,
We climbed trees,
And knocked down hives full of bees,
We rode our bikes up and down hills,
And even ripped open fish gills,
We threw rocks in ponds,
And knocked over some porter johns,
Until one night, we found this gun,
I told him to put it down or our friendship is done,
He looked down the barrel and pulled the trigger,
That was the night my heart got bigger,
I realized that friendships are more then they seem,
Instead of reality I only had dreams,
I pray every night that I'll see him in heaven,
And play just like we did when we were seven.
|Casey, Adam and Barry
Feeling so lonely in this point in my life,
I sit here, thinking;
depression takes its grasp around me once again;
Never again will I be happy.
The scapegoat of my depression and sadness enters,
Riding on its white stallion,
The choirs of my former self sing their melancholy love song,
To praise the new hero.
The whole world was my enemy,
Vowing vengeance, I formed my plan,
My evil plan of war.
One side fights another for ultimate control.
When this hero of my heart;
the prince and keeper of my love; Rides in on his stallion,
Gracing me with a sweet smile,
My plan fades away into the shadows.
He fights for the good side,
He draws his sword of love and raises it;
With all the might in his body that he possesses,
He swings the sword at the lead of the depressive army.
Unexplainable, if you're not here, then I want you here with me,
When you're here, I pray your mind won't let you leave me again.
Fighting the battle of my heart; rides; he rides, into the horizon, into my dreams;
Once more happiness thrives until you leave,
These childish emotional, popularity "battles" are killing me;
Just tell me;
Do you love me, or not.
Brownsville, Pa, USA
'He Told Us Once....'
He told us once
What life could be
But why didn't he say
What it really is
He told us once
That you shouldn't lie
But if he says that
Than why does he do it
He told us once
That we must be perfect
But when we look around
No one is
He told us once
Life is easy
But in the long run
It is hard
Who is this 'He'
Can you take a guess
This 'He' is the one and only
|About the author of 'He Told Us Once....'
I am a 14 year old student who enjoys reading and writing. My favortie subject is journalism.
What I am
Who am i?
am i a saint or a sinner
am i a loser or a winner?
different people view me as either
so who am i?
Remain the same or shall i change
be whoever they want me to be
is it better to be sunny or to be rain
so i do what i feel
and that's who i am.
|About the author of Lisa. Born in Perth, moved to Albany at the age of 11. Beginning year 12 at Albany Senior High this year. Current subjects are Chemistry, English Lit, Human Bio,
Discrete Maths. In my spare time I enjoy listening to various types of music, creating my own music on my bass guitar, writing poetry, reading, spending time alone in places of beauty and isolating such as the beach, forests, my bedroom.
I've been writing poetry since early primary school.
How light it feels, to watch the distance set
bathed with your hands in an attempt
to slide underneath it, the gray film of my skin
burns red in its corners.
the flutter of moths show your wrist a
golden sculpture of decay, and your eye
a marsh of black water.
love, you whisper, is the blood that runs
to my heart in vain.
i turn toward the horizon, to the yellow that it always echoes,
and murmur the ethereal songs of a
|hmm. i am on the inside. i would love to be a part of some movement, some social anarchy, eh...but it all seems such a joke. i write...and as someone answered once...they will write and write and write...and forever write. peace i think it says, to calm. this poem eh, what is it. though i didnt notice, it somehow is. i am quite broken arent i..in this about this writing space. ahh, i much love spoken language more.
If we are Nothing and you are Something and then the Flowers turn to dust, and Earth's ashes start to rust, and Heaven's eyeballs fill with crust, and the Milky Monkeys and Gorillas like to bike to Lord Vanilla's and Life's colors are all flying, and relying and supplying Rocky Boats that break to splinters, all the mommies eat their babies' dinners, and the Angels are all sinners, and in the end the Losers? Winners.
Edison, NJ, USA
|Hi, I'm fifteen years old and I've been writing throughout high school. I hope you enjoy my writing, this piece is slightly odd but I like it.
Dreams to Reality
The top is high,
The bottom low.
The top is reality,
The bottom is dreams.
Close but far,
Far yet close.
Dreaming for reality,
Dreaming of reality.
Your goal is the mountain top,
Yet you are the ground.
No climbing utensils have you.
Just hope and prayers
And those alone will get you there.
Live a life of dreams to reality,
Or live a life of reality to dreams.
|About the author of 'Dreams to Reality'
This poem was written to show how many people's dreams are often lost throughout life because sometimes people find that to reach the top, to reach their goal, it is too far, and they often end up falling again to the bottom, back to reality. Often people while chasing dreams get confused, they might think 'why am I doing this, what if I never reach the top?' but you have to keep going, live a life of dreams to reality, not reality to dreams where you end up only with dreams and nothing is real. Dreams are the Basis of Reality. Live your dreams.
Peace on earth,
A statement that should be for real
Three simple words that mean a big deal
Why can't everyone be happy?
And bring peace to others
Is that too much to ask?
It shouldn't be
But yet people still suffer
I'm tired of hearing on the news
About all the conflicts that bring bad things
School shootings, murders, child abuse,
Suffering from things no one should
Have to go through
We can to the world a favor,
If we unite as one
Together we can change the world,
By bringing kindness and peace,
To one life at a time
Athens, Alabama/United States
|About the author of "Peace"
I love to write poetry. My biggest dream is to publish all of my poetry and to become a journalist in New York City. I am currently in the 10th grade and am on my school's publications staff.
De Mémoire D'homme
Salty water trickle down lonely cheek,
memories run cold shivers through warm blood.
Broken so am I, so close, yet so far.
I see your pain but I cannot help you
for I am safe, cradled among the clouds,
held where life exists only in our minds.
But you have the life, the hope, and the dreams.
You have my guidance, to walk further, more
than I ever could walk, to reach further,
to reach to the stars and higher, to live.
Do not weep for me as I look from the
sky. For I can still see. I can still feel.
In your heart I feel warmth. Remember me,
for I shall be there. In heart I shall be.
|This poem was my second attempt at writing a full sonnet and also brought a certain degree of success with it. I came 2nd in a heat of the Ottakar's national poetry competition in the UK in October 2001 despite not having a great love for English literature and not having any exceptional skills for writing essays or stories. I enjoy listening to music, creating websites and playing the drums.
why does it go by
it has wings but i cannot fly
too fast i cannot mime
not allowing me to cry
flaunting how it gets so high
dodging my every crime
laughing while i sigh
falling until i die
stuttering while it will rime
unable to say it without my
speeding when i say bye
crawling until i hit a chime
more of it i cannot buy
fading. will i find my time
I'm so tired and I want to go home
to things that were simple and well known
I find it hard when you are gone
but these harsh times can't last for long
Because the ghost of you still lives and it breathes
to remind me of all the tears and I'm sorry that
the ghost of you still lives inside me
I can't give you justice I cant convey your truth
of all the love you gave
and all the love I took
I hope you don't regret the silence of your room
because maybe I'll be able to hold you soon
because the ghost of you still lives inside me
To The Hands.
To the father making his hands into fists, throwing them violently at his
Innocent wife and children.
To the girl meticulously slicing her wrists because
she can bear life no longer.
To the crook two doors down wearing a black mask and gloves over his hands,
breaking windows and taking things that aren't his.
To the man putting his hands where they don't belong, dragging one of them along the fragile body of a small girl, the other hand cupped over her mouth keeping her silent.
To the woman living at the spa, spending time neglecting her children and getting manicures to make her hands beautiful as not to draw attention to her ugly inside.
To all of these hands, wash them clean.
To the father wearing a warn baseball glove over his hands, playing catch
with his son in the yard while still in his suit and tie.
To the little girl picking sunflowers with her gentle hands for her parents
because she loves them.
To the grandmother whose hands, old and plagued with arthritis, still
pushing her grandchildren on the swing in the park.
To the mother staying at home, her hands cleaning messes, washing dishes,
and rocking babies to sleep.
To the hands of anyone who ever reached out to help, thank you.
|I'm Whit...I just like writing and expressing myself, I guess.
So you pushed her around
pushed her into an oblivion
knocked her down, split her lip
bruised her face, broke her heart
So you dumped her
dumped her on the street
to fend for herself
left her in the freezing cold
the unbearable heat
the frigid wind
So you saw her again
saw her in the hospital
with a Ph.d
watched her with her head held high
walking down that white corridor
witnessed her envelop a child
pushed around, knocked down
dumped out onto the street
finally taken in.
Cape Coral, Fl, USA
|I'm an 8th grader, I like to watch cartoons and Roswell. I love to read. Especially science fiction, fantasy, and adventure. I also love to write. The idea for this poem came from some low moments in my life and how I survived.
Cait and I are going out
to the graveyard tonight
for no particular reason
except she lives next door to me
and there's a cemetary across the street
my father's always disapproved of her
strong and Christian
held in a patriarchal house
not a hippy
didn't hide it
she was more normal than I
ad the infamous Bad Influence on me
because we stayed out until all hours of the afternoon
when we were eight
my father never could explain
why he disapproved of her
just shook his head
muttered something about the way she held herself
he's finally accepted that this isn't a phase
this is a friendship
and I can love him just as much
I skip to her house
ring the doorbell
am invited in
she grabs her jacket
as mother father and 3 brothers
stare at me disapprovingly
|About the author of Disapproval. This poem was written for a creative writing class. We were told to write
about someone our parents disapproved of. Most people thought of their parent's disapproval easily.
However, both my parent are hippies and approved, or at least didn't object, of most things I did. It was
interesting that almost everyone else wrote about older people, punks, the druggie crowd, and lots of
other non-conformists, but I wrote about a quite "normal" girl that was my best friend. That was really
boring, I know, but it was all I could think to write. Thanks for reading my humble attempts at being
interesting. Arrivederci, K.
I don't know about you, but my family expects a lot from me. I am the youngest and I am supposed to succeed in everything I do. I play two instruments: the flute and the guitar. I just recently began the guitar so I have an excuse for not being any good. But I have played the flute for five years and have absolutely no excuse for playing a wrong note, heaven forbid.
I am also the "smartest" in the family. I began the accelerated program in the fourth grade and have been in it ever since. Even with the harder work, I am expected to achieve the highest grades possible so I have a wonderful G.P.A. "You need to be ready for college", my father says. "You are the pride of family and I expect you to do well in everything you do in life. You can be anything you want to be". Wonderful, another pep talk, just what I need. At least that's what my father thinks.
Unlike most teenagers, I actually look forward to school, not for the learning part but for the social part and the chance to escape my family. At school, I can be the imperfect, comical person I truly am, not the serious perfect child my dad has always hoped for. School is my only true freedom I have. My friends help me to keep my sanity from day to day and not go totally berserk one day. That is one thing I love my friends for, they don't expect the perfect English whenever I speak or for me to sit perfectly straight every second of the day. They expect me to be ME.
I have learned throughout my few years of living that my parents; brothers and sisters are considered, by definition, your true family. I personally think that your friends and even acquaintances are your TRUE family. You learn most from them and spend more time with them, when you think about it, and are able to talk seriously with them. They are what keep all of us sane in this crazy, over dramatic world we live in today. Cherish and love them until the day you die. They are, if anything, something worth living for.
Bakersfield, CA, USA