We’re looking for great poetry from high school students, and at the end of the summer, poet Dorothea Lasky will name a winner on our show.
Your assignment: Write a poem on the theme of summer. Your poem can be rhymed, free verse, blank verse, spoken-word, whatever you choose.
The deadline for submissions is Monday, August 18, 2014, 11:59 p.m. ET.
UPDATE: Timi Okedina is our winner. Thanks to everyone who shared their work with us!
Anisa
14
Summer Nostalgia
Hello Summer!
Finally school is over and summer is here.
Hot beaches, lemonade sales, getting up late.
It's all ahead of me.
Hey July!
So many activities to do before summer ends.
Running in sprinklers, hanging out with friends.
August..
Oh! How much I miss June and July.
'Tis August.
Summer homework, school shopping.
The rush, rush of enjoying the last bit of summer.
Summer where did you go?
You ran away from me.
Oh summer, come back.
You left me with the cold.
Goodbye summer.
Kana
14
Summer Evening Escapades
On summer evenings, when the orange sun was suspended in the horizon,
Brother and I would duel on the green.
Brandished blades and shields of bronze,
The lust for blood, and laurels to be landed,
And one man's honor splintered, only to be sheepishly gathered and mended
For the next meeting.
On summer evenings, when the rain came down and pounded the soil,
Brother and I would sail treacherous waters.
The stinging taste of salty spray,
The reckless waves, ripped by roaring thunder
And, one ill-fated day, Brother's courageous, giggle-ridden death
By one-eyed pirates.
On summer evenings, when a magical mist darkened the sky,
Brother and I would venture into the Evil Forest.
Twisted bark and tenuous twigs,
Fear so fat that our feet faltered,
And the slightest rustle sending us running, abandoning our quest in the presence
Of a startled deer.
On summer evenings, when the first stars sprinkled the heavens,
Brother and I would return in triumph to our dwelling.
A wash in warm water, a well-made meal
A murmured prayer, a mother's moonlight kiss.
And a content night's sleep to prepare for the next orange sun,
The next summer evening:
And whatever adventure it would bring.
Savannah
15
The Shadow of the Tree
I pushed the screen door out of my way
My cat greets me as he does everyday
A unique meow
He found
I felt his greasy fur move across my palm
As I felt the winds calm
I swiftly stepped down the stairs
As he follows in his pace
I went farther into the yard
Where a tree wasn’t that far
The pattern of leaves marked the ground
It their scattered shadows went all around
I leveled my back onto the grass
As I stared into the sunlight like a window’s glass
The cat joined me
As I enjoyed the shadows of the tree
Angel
17
"I waited"
I waited...
Waited at deaths door
Waited to be called home
Waited for the pain to end
I waited...
Waited as people laughed and played
Waited as time went on
Waited
I waited...
And still I wait
Carlton
15
The taste of unsweet
tea on a hot summer day.
The warmth of summer.
The peeling of skin
burned by the sun. Sensitive
to a touch of hand.
The calm breeze of the
beach. The powerful wind of
a rollercoaster.
William
15
The sweet scent of plants floats gently through the warm air, which occasionally plays host to rain, patters against roofs. And when the bright sun shines once more, the foul smelling smoke that produces greasy meat rises around those roofs. And the people who live under them, they enjoy such warm food with unbridled delight, joined by the soothing flavor of tea. Meanwhile the streets resound with the pounding of tested feet and screech against the tires of cars bearing ecstatic sojourners to the white powdered coasts on great sapphire oceans afar. All this collects to teach a lesson that is simple and best enjoyed in simplicity: the best season is that which brings all these persons together, and to merriment.
Stephen
16
The Sense of Summer
Sunrises and sunsets,
Oh, how the Earth glows.
And here we are all set,
To hear the wind blow.
In the morning of the sun,
You can feel it in your bones.
To go to the beach and run,
Through the suns different tones.
Feel the warmth of the fire,
Golden rays and golden sand.
Swim and play until you tire,
Oh, isn't this so grand?
Sunrises and sunsets,
Oh, how the Earth glows.
And here we are all set,
To hear the wind blow.
Football by day,
Fireworks by night.
Hold your hand out and say,
“Come sit by the firelight.”
Play all day and party all night,
Drink some cold iced tea.
Until the morning sun alights,
We’ll stay right here by the sea.
Sunrises and sunsets,
Oh, how the Earth glows.
And here we are all set,
To hear the wind blow.
The birds in the morning,
The cicadas in the evening.
When school starts we’ll be mourning,
All our summer fun leaving.
The sound of waves,
Of surf on the sand.
Is replaced by the graves,
Of summer so grand.
Sunrises and sunsets,
Oh, how the Earth glows.
And here we are all set,
To hear the wind blow.
Jade
16
Sometimes the only sound you can hear is the crackle from the fire and the songs of the cicadas while the grass is soft beneath your feet
Sometimes the sand embraces your feet and the water rushes to greet them and the fireworks try to capture your attention in the distance
Sometimes the rain taps lightly against your window and the pages of your book take you to another world
And for a moment you are free
Molly
15
"Stress Relief"
Waterfalls trickle
Koi darting aimlessly, without worry
Iced coffee hitting my lips
Caressing my tongue
Warm shades of coral and violet
Tango in the sky
Wood creaking as I sit
And singing as I lay
My hair is of the wind
And my fingers of the ground
I am happy
For once in my life
Randi
16
Towards the end, fall soccer starts
Running the field with racing hearts.
Inspired to play by Germany's World Cup win
to get in shape and form a team again.
We play for hours to renew our skill,
and fill up the time we used to kill.
It's a pain not being in shape and passing while it's hot
But that all comes with being a team player, doing what you'd rather not.
And it all pays off when you play that first game, no matter the score
Because you played the best that you could and who could ask for more?
Kaylee
16
Gold to crimson, crimson to black
the sun takes his leave to never come back-
until dawn.
To the moon's coming do the crickets sing
but the mosquitoes' bites only sting.
Silver is the light that shines through the trees.
I only live for moments like these.
The warm air embraces my skin,
as I take a deep breath to take it all in.
I go inside to turn out the lights,
for I have been longing for these summer nights.
Austin
17
Many would say the founders
never had summer.
George could never sunbath
due to war.
Franklin wouldn't be surprised,
he would be shocked
Alexander could never talk
because he never stopped
Summer could never happen for any founder.
Austin
17
The fresh air, the pile of grass
The flapping fish, the metal hook
Many activities describe summer.
Laughing kids, children playing
Much noise, little noise
Many sounds describe summer
Serenity of summer to
is a sweet glass of tea
Many tastes describe summer
Many summer things can be done
Can you do them all?
Kaylee
Shindlebower
Gold to crimson, crimson to black
the sun takes his leave to never come back-
until dawn.
To the moon's coming do the crickets sing
but the mosquitoes' bites only sting.
Silver is the light that shines through the trees.
I only live for moments like these.
The warm air embraces my skin,
as I take a deep breath to take it all in.
I go inside to turn out the lights,
for I have been longing for these summer nights.
Jessie
17
Waves crashing
Birds singing
Wind-chimes ringing
lying
sun burned
grass dying
lying
lying
Candles burning
fresh laundry
Food cooking
lying
Towels scratch
Sheets caress
Paint brush bristles tickle
Summer
Summer
Heat
Liar
Molly
15
"Nerd Girl Goes Swimming"
Mosquitoes devour my legs
Bikini wet in the sweltering sun
I prefer to stay inside
My hair flops about my face as I surface
An oh-so-glamorous sight
Hot asphalt meets trembling fingers
Back to the computer I go
Screen door slamming shut
The house is frigid, frosty
Are you happy now, mom?
Angie
16
Summer Voice(s)
It’s eight a.m.
Bright
When the sun shines in
And rouses you
From your peaceful slumber.
You’d dreamt of platypi
And their evil schemes,
But
You came out
The hero.
As you break your fast,
The birds,
They chirp,
Just outside your windowsill,
And you swear you can hear
Their tiny feet go pitter-patter,
And you know
The operation has begun.
They remind you
To bath yourself in sunscreen
And wear your brother’s ugly cap
And sunglasses
So the Sun won’t hurt you.
But you know that’s silly
because the Sun is your friend
And the ultimate light of life,
as you learned
before Summer’s bell rang.
They send the mole after you
But you don’t complain,
because you know he won’t care
when you escape his sad,
sad line of vision
And run off to your secret base
so long as you come back before dark.
But today is special,
And you know they won’t yell
even when the stars begin shining
in the dark night sky.
The time before night falls:
You’re a bubble of excitement.
You listen to your freedom fighters
As they report their newest findings
In the field.
Your town doesn’t have fireflies,
So you don’t understand
When Sarah comes back from Aunt’s
And chatters
Nonstop
about catching these magical lights in a jar.
Secretly, you’re green (that’s what they say, right?),
But you know you’re the greater hero
When you understand
That even magical lights
Want to be free
And, wouldn’t you be the villain
If you were trapping them in a jar?
But today is special,
So you save that thought
For a day without Sun.
The mole comes for your team
as the Sun goes to bed
And trades watch with his partner
The Moon.
You know she’s happy today, too,
Because today she looks just like
The glowing, round Sun.
You reach that old small hill
Of yours when the night sky
Begins showering down color.
You’ll always love them – the exploding lights – you swear,
No matter how the mole drones on about
Pole-lution; you won’t use more water than you need
And you’ll switch off lights as soon as you leave,
But you like the pretty fires too much
To choose the poles instead.
Your mouth is crammed with sweets
Just moments after
The fireworks end.
The mole calls you a ‘rice bucket’
But you don’t care
Because you’re halfway to heaven:
Mincing the confections between
Your teeth and tongue.
As you finish your confections
You contently sigh,
‘Summer is nice.’
The mole responds with a long word.
‘Sometimes, summer becomes monotonous.’
You can’t understand why;
Even if you imagine yourself tightly shutting
The door to your room
Your thoughts should be unbound,
And it is they who open doors
To unexplored corners
And creations waiting for life.
So you choose
In favor of answering
To be entranced
By the wriggling goldfish
Trying to escape their fates
In the scooping stall you just walked by.
The stars are twinkling their brightest
When you gaze up
At the round, round Moon
One last time
Before going to bed.
The mole’s words on your way home
Ring in your ears.
‘The Moon is fickle,
Unlike the Sun.’
You suppose they were secret words,
Because he spoke hardly above a whisper.
But before you can begin to puzzle
Over his cloudy words,
Haze settles on your eyelids,
Pushing them close.
You fall into a peaceful slumber,
The cicadas singing just outside your bedroom window.
It’s eight a.m.
Bright
And the sun is glaring in,
Hurting your over-sensitive
sunken eyes.
So you roll over,
And succumb to restless sleep.
You wake three hours later
Thanks to the unbearable humid heat
And your electric fan that broke down
In the small hours of the morning.
It’s too late for breakfast, so you skip it,
And promise yourself that you won’t do so again so soon.
That promise had gone unanswered for a while.
It’s three in the afternoon
When a call from an unknown number
Finally reminds you: you’ve missed lunch,
Finishing up the papers
That were supposed to be done yesterday.
You don a light jacket before heading out
to protect yourself
From the sun.
As you’re heading to the check-out line
With a few quick meals in your basket,
You see a neat array of confectionary goods.
They carry the familiar appellation Moon Cakes.
You linger for a bit,
Before choosing the smallest box
Because you remember that you have
No one to share with.
You walk to the nearby pond,
Scattering the crumbs
Of your late brunch
For the ducklings that trail
Behind their (assumed)mother.
You wonder if the heat
Would be easier to bear
If you were a duck,
one with light feathers
That allow the coolness of the water
To penetrate to your very core.
You realize that you’re beginning
to sound dangerously
close to Holden Caulfield,
And you hope to God
you’re not so dazed.
When you return to your organized chaos,
You’re greeted by the last
Rays of the afternoon sun
Lighting dust motes afire;
A conductor orchestrating
His symphony of dust
Just to mock
their only audience.
You smile sardonically.
You turn the shower knob
Till it reaches dead center –
Between the blue cold and the red hot –
But the water that streams through
Is not the warm temperature
You’re accustomed to;
It’s burning cold instead.
You’re drowning –
Hyperventilating
Almost –
Under the searing rain,
And you wonder when
You became so hollow
That you’re unable to stand
The fall of tiny droplets.
There’s a rush of heat
To your head
When you pull yourself out
Of the rain
And lie down on the cool
Hard ground.
It’s reassuring honestly,
To feel the earth
Right beneath your body.
Not ten feet above
Or ten feet under.
You wake up when night
Has replaced day
And fix yourself a refection.
You’ve been starving for a while.
You take half of the moon
Cakes out of their box
(There were only four);
Today is the Moon-Viewing Festival
Back home.
The paste tastes wrong
And the flour stiff;
Your mind instinctively churns
With a dichotomous analogy.
It’s not long before
You think back to the mysteries
You didn’t solve.
You understand the tedium
Of a stifling summer now,
But the fickleness of the moon…
When you gaze outside your window
To the round, round moon,
You know the mole was wrong.
You leave a message
Just to tell him so.
You realize right after
That you’ve morphed into the mole as well,
And you’ll have to morph again
if he’s to keep his name.
I’ve been such a fickle friend,
You think wistfully, while staring up
At the Moon.
As you settle yourself apace with
the Moon,
You understand you’ll be making amends
Till next Summer.
You dream of the Sun who won’t
Glare and welcomes you back a friend,
And the Moon
Who transforms from a listless presence
To a spirited creature.
You won’t forget that you
Were once a hero,
And heroes save
Those in need,
Even from themselves.
A smile graces your lips as you fade away,
The last shrill cry of a cicada dying in the night.
Joseph
17
WARMTH
When winter is dead,
and the snow caps are long gone.
Warmth takes over life.
