Beatrice

16

this is the time for running
across sewer grates and
praying the metal beams haven’t
rusted as much as we can see from the cold
front last October

there are flies in the kitchen and
flies in the bedroom and it’s not
until the first week of August we find the
crack between the
window and the AC
unit

we smell of week old charcoal and the fabricated insides
of drugstore shower caps;
.....sweat and flaked skin,
.....decayed honeysuckle, sweet,
.....and
.....sick

now is when the stores put out water
melon ice cream and water
melon cola and you’re pretty
sure if you drank any more you’d start to
bleed Red 40

now is when mama gives up on her diet
and papa drinks a six-pack a week,
so there’s a constant pleasant buzz
to remind you to forget about the rotting pine in
the back yard

this is when we pray to the crickets
outside our window and the
raccoon that’s been on the road for
two weeks,
.....and our feet are wet from the morning dew
.....when we let out last night’s lightning bugs
.....to die in the first freeze

Brittany

16

Remembering Summer

Summertime
Tan lines
Good gals
Great guys
Times shared
Trav'ling there
Memories made
Start to fade
But on my mind
Is summertime

Brittany

16

Summer's Lover

"Summer's a forbidden love of mine," said Lonely Winter.
It makes me feel cold inside because I can't be with her.
You see she's just too hot for me,
She melts me to the core,
But with her, is what I want to be,
Together forevermore.

Alexander

17

I wake up then go to sleep for another half hour. The sun doesn't rise for another two hours. Before work I can have a hot breakfast or a hot shower. Time after time, day after day, I go to work to watch people play without a care in the world parents with little boys and girls and I sit there with a blank stare seeing people play truth or dare until a dare goes too far and I jump.........Time ACTUALLY slows down, when you see someone start to drown. Every thought is for them to not go under. Every thought, is to not need CPR and break their ribs so they live. But when you I grab that coughing kid child and see the panic in their eyes subside, everything is right.

Daniel

16

"___" O the Summer, how it shines! That blazing orb it owns, sitting on its heavenly throne, blasts its decrees toward us in its blinding voice. “Now rain! Now fog!” Pierce cloud and earthly smog with your golden bladed words! It raises trees and flowers like a mother suckling her babe with the gentlest care. It raises man as if we are the naughtier children. Yes, we frolic under our mother’s watchful presence, and yes, we weather her stormier moods. Our carelessness merits such burning reprimand! What a mother Summer is who slaps our hands from the heated flame of a stove with such equally burning measures!
"___" Her day-servant rests and her night-servant rises upon us like the father returning from his labor. From him we learn the double truth of our mother; its warmth and coolness are one in Summer. Like all present fathers, we children hide ourselves from his nightly judging gaze. He provides and we survive, yet anxiously await his labor to begin again.
"___" Summer is so fleet-footed fleeting; having saved its children from Winter’s grasp, it leaves for some far off place unearthly. And we cry at its absence! Our tears fall frozen to the frosty ground alone under our frigid keeper. Still, we huddle with our eyes to the skies overhead, waiting for our Summer-san to return again.

Meera

16

so sometimes I wake up on perfect summer Sundays
the sky spread apart by an honest sun
and I make myself fried eggs with dewy yolks and too much pepper,
drink honeyed coffee, burning my tongue sweetly as
the futile breezes stroll through the window, shadowed curtain
and I hum quietly, all the time enjoying the precious feeling
of forgetting what I was thinking, remembering what
I was doing

Aaron

14

"Old-Fashioned Summer"

Summer’s here, right at the door,
Begging us to play some more.

So drop your phones and take a look,
You know you’ll never read a book.

And close that app and stop that tweet,
There’s people out there you should meet.

There’s rides to ride and views to view,
So throw away your laptop too!

Don’t be cooped up in your room,
Go explore a mummy’s tomb!

Your body might not be in shape,
Yet some things you just can’t escape!

You have three months before it’s done,
So go work out and have a run.

The door’s now open and ajar,
So go outside and dodge a car.

Don’t waste your life on some device,
Instead, do it on something nice!

Isabelle

14

Lose the Gasoline, All You Need is Me

On our twenty-third date,
you took me to a graveyard.

Way down south,
‘round the orange trees,
left the honey bees,
take the second right for the sunlight.

As we sang,
you told me
about your mother.

She’s the lover you left, in the ground.

So we danced,
I told you
about the father of my brother.

He was never one to cover, when it came to heat.

You said, “We need
a place,
where we can bury the hurt.
‘Cause the thing is,
it’s already summer.”

You were someone, true to word, honest maybe.

I said, “We need
a love,
that can rest the war.
‘Cause I don’t want to die,
anymore.”

I am a girl, who wants too much, things that aren’t to be.

'Cause the thing is,
it’s already august 17
and you didn’t love me enough,
to grant me everything.

Madison

14

Summer is a magnificent time where the sky is bright and
Warm
Like the inviting rays of sunlight, over time making the land
Torrid
Like a car on a road trip with a broken air conditioner, so the leather becomes
Hot
Like the scorching grains of sand on the beach that make you run on your tiptoes so your feet don't
Burn
Like sugar-white marshmallows that, after a long dip in the flames, turn
Black
Like the night so everything shining star, every firework can be seen
Sparkling
Like the waves of the sea under the sun getting your toes
Wet
Like your face after a game of volleyball in the heat, with sweat that's gross and
Sticky
Like a popsicle melting on your hand, chilled and
Fruity
Like a glass of lemonade on porch with extra ice cubes to keep it
Cold
Like the first jump into the pool on an especially sweltering day, which is
Magnificent.
Like summer.

Julie

14

The Truth

Every sunrise and sunset
Is different at each level of the tower
People vie to climb to the top
But no one knows but them
The bottom of the tower, no one there,
Has the best scene
Quitness adds its beauty
which shines on them
At day's end
they walk back home,
with a great smile

Julie

14

Envy
I envy the flying butterfly
who receives the kiss of the wind
and the touch of the sun

I envy the child
who has the smile that brings others glee

I envy the bird
who knows how to sing the joys of life

And...I envy myself
who live in the sunshine

Bryce

14

Freedom Lost

We are enslaved again in the folds of war
We fought only months ago and had won our freedom.
Times were great.
We traveled abroad, forged friendships, lived as we pleased and spent our days and nights unburdened.
But about a week or so ago news started to spread of the enemy’s return.
Many tried to deny it.
Some saw that another war was eminent and started to ready for what was coming.
But now, oh now we are already into another full fledged war.
I grieve for the young ones who are dragged from their homes screaming to join our armies as the youngest ranks.
I can’t write anymore right now.
I can hear the enemy’s bells ring and my fellows rush to their stations.
It’s time for school.

Nancy

17

Cold Summer
People who live in the cold do not know how summer feels.
They might have seen pictures.
They might have heard about a beach.
They might have dreamed about summer.
Even though it is summer in August, it is still winter.
People can feel summer from sweat.
People can feel summer in music.
People can feel summer by love
which make people's hearts warm enough to melt.
People can feel summer 365 days in the cold by being with their favorite people. It might be winter everyday, but it can be summer everyday inside the heart.

Brittany

16

Almost Summer

The minutes tick by like a dripping water spout
Slowly, but with rhythm.
The teacher drones on,
And the clock ticks away,
Pulling at you to go to sleep.
But sleeping during class would not be appropriate,
So you day dream instead
Tropical beaches with a big warm sun,
Fields of flowers swaying in the breeze,
Lush green hills from far away places,
The bright smiles of friends...
A loud br-r-ring interrupts your thoughts
You look around and realize, class is over!
Snatching your backpack you jump out of your seat.
As you race into the hall to join in with your classmates,
Singing,
Schoooools out for the Summer!

Shea

17

Shall I Compare thee to a summer's day?
As you keep the freshness of autumn at bay
with your thick, stale air which permeates
like a dreaded companion into every space.
The Heat of the sun haunts your days
with its beating and blinding and burning rays.
Each surface on earth is scorched by your flames
which drain all vivacity away.
The cool wind and breeze dare not show their face
unto your foul brutish presence which makes
the air sink to earth as the world underway
becomes motionless, halting its flow and its pace.
So take caution when you ask me, I pray,
to compare thee to a summer's day.

Maggie

16

Fall’s Perspective of Summer

I must admit that I am a quiet sort of season,
Mostly confused and meek,
Not even deciding on a name,
At times, I am called by the overly refined title of Autumn,
When I prefer the simple name, Fall.

I fade before I can blow a full gust of wind and let ice rain upon the earth,
Though I am not quite yet myself when the sun’s strong rays beat upon the pavement,
I am the rustling of dry leaves just before the day ends,
I am the whimpering breeze dying out,
As the temperature falls short of making up its’ mind whether to truly be hot or cold.

But let me tell you about Summer,
I shake hands with her at the end of every year,
It is a warm embrace as her long sunburned days encase my short, unpredictable ones,
And although I can never feel what she is like outside of this small gesture,
I know she must be wonderful.

I imagine she is an artist who creates the most brilliant landscapes with her touch.
She paints the second coat of color on newly bloomed flowers,
Once soft and faint in the hands of Spring,
Now rich and vibrant under her care.
She lines the streets with lush greens,
Filling in the gaps with vibrant buds blooming atop of them;
The silken emerald pillows lying underneath nature’s most valuable gems.

When she takes a paint brush to the sky,
She is able to create the most intricate shades of blue each day,
Some afternoons it seems to match the clearest waves in the ocean,
And others with its’ spotting of white fluffy clouds,
Can only be compared to the beauty of a speckled robin’s egg in Spring.

Her sunsets are a palette all on their own,
Soaking the sky in streaks of rose, apricot, and crimson,
An electric tie dye that sinks into the night.
The transition itself is so beautiful,
You forget to be afraid of the dark,
With such a warm, lingering, glow,
Fading slowly into the night,
Bringing you comfort as you stay outside.

She never leaves you without light,
Always wanting to make sure there is something there for you to find your way,
Mixing just the right shade of dark blue,
And dispersing twinkling stars across the sky,
Just so it is possible to see,
All the beauty nature often hides at night with its pitch black skies,
Underneath the cover of a silken, sapphire, evening gown, adorned with diamonds.

I imagine that is how she paints everything though,
In rich bejeweled colors,
From the glint of rust on an old school swing set at night,
Where kids play and don't worry about sleeping,
To the winking golden lights of fireflies,
That are scattered on an otherwise shadowy backdrop.

Yet she does not stop there,
Her nimble fingers deftly skim along a white orb each night,
Shading in each nuance from cream to ivory,
Molding the textured craters of the moon in her hands,
Turning each of its’ faces into carefully etched abstract pieces.

I've even heard sometimes,
She fills all these different colored balloons up with glow-in-the-dark paint,
Popping them all one night in July,
Making the loudest bangs,
As colors streaks across the sky in a rainbow of lights.

With that kind of radiant talent,
I should long to be as alive as she,
Wanting for her to paint me anew,
Turning me into one of her glittering masterpieces,
That each possess such immense grace and spirit,
And not to simply be the keeper of smashed pumpkins and burnt turkeys on forgotten holidays.

But even more so, I simply wish to know her better,
To be held under that very same twinkling sky,
To share in her bright colors, I only catch a glimpse of fading,
To listen to the full throttled laughter of carefree people she keeps under her watch,
That I can only strain to hear echoes of.

But like the brittle crunch of leaves underneath my feet,
I know my dreams are fading with me,
Reality blowing them away into nothing more than dust,
So that when I reach out for my one and only embrace with Summer,
Always lingering a little too long,
Holding on a little too tight before reluctantly letting go,
The beginning of my season will be confusingly warm.
And all too soon,
I will just as reluctantly give myself over to the iron grip of Winter,
Crumbling stubbornly, but weakly into his icy hands,
Shivering and whimpering as the last of leaves fall bare,
And I am but a ghost, the cold, invisible stranger,
Only kept warm by a memory of the short lived but long imagined embrace of Summer.

Olivia

14

A chorus of peepers chirp together,
while the full moon shines on the walls making shadows,
and stars shine at night showing a faithful map.
Sunny days bring adventures,
discovering what each cloud materializes,
and flowers bring sweet scents that tell of their secret identities,
Collect trinkets,
sea glass,
or frayed ribbon.
Walk along the rippling waves,
dip toes into foam.
Everyday brings another chance,
as leaves begin their descent,
and smells of pumpkin,
and shades of orange emerge.

Lindsay

15

I go out in the boat
That my family only rents
In the summers.
I want to see the colors
The blue of the sky and sea,
The green of the grass,
The brown of the dock, and also of the trees in the
Distance.
The yellow sun
The white clouds
I drink it up.
I want to see it all.
Of course,
No one knows where I have gone.
I do not have my boating license-
I am not supposed to be here.
But I’m hungry, and
The only thing that will satisfy me
Is the colors.
Now, the clouds are turning
black.
I need to find the shore
But all of a sudden,
I realize- I CAN’T. I don’t know
HOW.
But
The reds and blues and yellows
And greens
And browns
And black
Are starting to whirl before my open eyes
Before my closed eyes
Before my open eyes again.
My breath halts in my throat
Then starts
And stops
And starts
And leaves my body as a shock of wind.
Insignificant to the air,
But life to me.
I want it back-
I gasp and claw and scream
For it
But no breath returns my calls
And then-
It’s wet.
I’m wet.
Where am I?
How did everything get wet?
When did the greens and yellows and blues
And reds
All become black?
The feel of the wheel
Is gone from my hand.
In fact,
The feel of
Anything
Everything
Is gone from my hand.
I strike out-
I want it back.
I want the feeling back.
My fingernails are
claws,
but the water
does not
bend
for them. And
i
_am
__s
__i
__n
__k
__i
__n
__g.
up or down?
Where did the sky go?
Where did I go?
Is that the boat?
The shape
Tumbling
Around and around
And around
And around again.
Stop spinning!
I command my senses
Stop spinning
Around and around
And around
And around again
Like the boat
Its spinning
Im moving towards it
And away
And back again.
I pass the boat-
My senseless fingers stumble along the sides
Grab it!
I scream
THIS
JUST
LETS
IN
MORE
water.
It is in my mouth
Falling
Down my throat
My stomach
My chest
My lungs
I can’t breathe.
Everything is moving
Shifting
And then-
I’m up. Out of the water. Breathing.
I open my eyes-
I have time to sneak
A quick look at the
Now grey sky
The now
Angry
sky.
And then
BOOM!
I’m hit by another roiling mass of
Water.
I’m surrounded by nothingness again.
All I see
Hear
Taste
Smell
Feel
THINK
Is water.
Am I dying?
Is this what it feels like?
All-consuming fear?
All-consuming water?
I need air-
I try to stick my head above the ocean
I need to stick my head above the ocean
I NEED TO GET OUT OF THIS OCEAN
I NEED –
nothing.
no air
no boat
no color
and now,
there
is
no
m
e

Tristen

17

Each drop beads down his throat,
The fountains deluge,
The pitter patter slows,
Each sweet sip caresses his heart,
His thirst unquenched
As the fountain dries.

The trees grow older, stronger, but lose their color,
The flowers bloom for the last time,
As the fountain dries,

He washes his hair and body as the last drops fall,
He stands, he has grown tall,
His sandy hair darkens as it dries,
He peers through a mirror to see his face,

The cracks on his face have healed for the last time,
The imperfections have scarred his resemblance,
For who he says he does not remember,

All he remembers is a fountain,
That bathed him as he played,
Each hour,
Each day,
Each year,
He bathed,

The fountain had always helped admonish the wrong,
Extinguishing it from his soul,

All he remembers now is the day the fountain dried up,
His fountain,
Of youth.

Ariella

17

Pulsing sun of millions of stars, a burning vermilion tyrant who ebbs and flows
on the vast plains of suburbia,
smelting bleak asphalt to boiling rivers of creatures that reach up and cling
to the soles of those who trek beside the patches of wilting, sweating dandelions and weeping willows,
soft blades of tarnished grass which lay flattened under syrup air.
The great conductor, inspiring insects to wail, hum, pray to him, the almighty star.
Birds wither under his glare, sinking to rest on electric lines with feathers drooping.
Trapped for nine months, barred from the world,
he breaks loose from his chains, preying on the living, chasing shadows until
the cool touch of autumn, marveling at the awful waste,
strokes long fingers across the worn pelts of tired trees,
reprieves them of duty,
makes way for the festival of colors