Sep 22
poem 0 comments challenge: Greeting
kat_writer's picture

Dreaming of Home

Walking around the city,
a place I had never been.
Feeling lost, in a pity
and nowhere near being found.

Desperate for a trace of home, was I
Wishing to again see myself,
sitting under a tree eating pie.
Happy as could be at home.

Reflecting on how I got here,
wondering how it could be.
Longing for my friends, wishing one was near,
those neighbors I should not have left.

I jumped as I felt a tap on my back,
but from somewhere I knew
this was no attack.
I turned around and said "Hello!"

It was my best friend Jack.
Sep 21

song #1

fabric flys
twirls in humid air
drinks are in hand
sticky table
holding hands, pulling away from the crowd
to be alone
a soloist takes his turn on the keys
the dancing never stops
after it's over, cheers
a slower song
love, in pairs, floats on the floor
Sep 20


     When I was eight years old, my mind began to find loopholes to obsess over in everyday life. Some things would randomly freak me out, and some things would bore me to death. One night, as I was lying in bed, I was obsessing over the image of a pool ball rolling on the green carpet in my mind. I fell asleep eventually, and when I did, the image of the ball rolling was still in my mind, but it was rolling closer and getting larger and larger, but it never seemed to reach me, and sometimes it would get small again and start its journey closer towards me all over again. The green carpet turned into grass that was getting torn up by the ball. 
     When the ball was at its smallest, it was so quiet that the silence was almost deafening, taking over every corner of my mind. As it got larger and larger, quick tapping sounds would grow louder until it was shattering me from the inside... 
Sep 12
Icarus Blackmore's picture

Language (words)

I love language.
the way it sounds,
the way words
roll off the tongue.

Its roots stretch back,
through time
to that first, single,
unknown, utterance.

Yet still it grows,
branches twisting 
and turning.
They sprawl off
into the unknown
with words growing
like leaves,
every one there
because it was needed.

because there was some
thought, or emotion
so complex,
that all the words
that had come before
could not express it.

In this way language grows. 
Some new shoot of life
Or another original utterance
emerges and changes.
Meanings blossom
then fade
until the flower wilts,
forgotten by time.

Yet still,
the tree stretches,
back, back to the beginning
and that very first,
unknown sound. 

Sep 12
poem 0 comments challenge: General
alexmistkowski's picture


When I was young I heard many things about writing
But what I was told the most
Was that writing is the most wonderful thing
That writing saves lives
And I never understood
What power words on paper hold
The power within a few words
Scrawled in messy pen marks
Across a faded off-white paper
Until one day
The day I picked up a pencil 
The day I wrote
And wrote
And wrote
Spilling my heart across the blank sheet before me 
Releasing everything I've held in my head
And suddenly I know 
The power of words
Aug 16

When Will it be Enough

I'm a beginner guitarist having a try at songwriting... I'm not sure how it sounds, hopefully it's decent...

Well you're so great and I can't get over the modest things you've said
You're so very amazed with yourself, you're a star in your own head
Who did you think would be lining up to be your backup crew?
Open your eyes, to your surprise there's no one there but you
When will it be enough?
What would it all be for?
You had everything
But you wanted more
Here you come, the one and only
Not at the top but you're still lonely
Who will you turn to for help
Now that you've lost all to yourself?
When will it be enough?
What would it all be for?
You had everything
But you wanted more
Jul 31

Origami Wolf

I saw your eyes first.
You had a little bit of grey behind them.
Your eyebrows strung together,
And your forehead knit itself into a scarf.
I think it would be orange.

You said
“This is for me?”
As if you were surprised
That someone would take the
Time to make something for you.


I said “yes it’s for you (silly)”
Your scarf unraveled quite quickly.
You kinda bit your lip
Before you smiled.
It was a small smile.
It was only a tiny bit of light let
Through the blinds.
Jul 30
serenamae2020's picture


surround me

drown me

​consume me

Jul 01
pbellomo2021's picture


             Looking back at this past school year, I realized something. It's not the big events that matter so much. Yes, the dances, the basketball games, those do matter. But what makes a great year are those small moments that make you smile. One of those moments for me was during my 2nd period study hall everyday. At 9:15 everday in the fall, I would ask to go to my locker on the third floor. As I climbed up the stairs, it started getting brighter with every step. Then once I reached the top I saw the beautiful sunrise through the window. It overlooked the parking lot and the baby blue sky. This was my cup of coffee. Every morning I said to myself, "Today's going to be a great day." 
Apr 10

The Girl at the Window

There she is, in all her glory
Looking down into the street
Roses in her honey hair
Like honey, she is sweet
Stop and wonder, stand a while
'Til the sun leaves the day
Lift your head, and call her name
But she laughs and turns away
Wearing white, a silken gown
With lips as red as wine
You turn to go, she calls to you
"Come back and stay sometime!"
Apr 09


Smile, wider.
Close my eyes.
Second guess my next words.
Think again.
Say something.
Bite tongue.
Watch reaction.
Laugh along.
Second guess.
Wonder why.
Bite tougue.
Speak anyways.
Watch varied reactions.
Play along.
Feel out of place.
Remain quiet.
Close my eyes.
Snappy one-liner.
Maybe it's fake.
"Does anyone else feel this?"
Mar 22

sorry, so sorry

i wish to reconcile with myself 
stand in the mirror
reach forward and shake away the blight that has settled upon my bones 
so i wish to say

i’m sorry, so sorry 
for the desolation i have inflicted upon myself 
which carried over
sometimes, beyond repair
to other aspects
i’m sorry, so sorry
for the brine that seems to permanently reside on my cheeks 
and the shadows that creep beneath my eyes 
and the skin that is no longer an even ivory hue. 

i wish to reconcile with those around me
i wish to say

i’m sorry, so sorry
that reconciliation is even necessary 
for the pain that rests deep in my marrow
that runs through my veins
cannot be scraped out so easily
as it has made a home within my body
and sometimes 
it will creep past my lips 
or fingertips 
and find a second one
and for that 
i cannot forgive myself
Mar 17
Icarus Blackmore's picture

When the Youth Speak

When the youth speak,
We become deaf.
When the youth speak,
We throw away their words.
When the youth speak,
We become blind.
When the youth speak,
We no longer see change
In a good light.

When the youth speak,
They make music the likes of which
Have never been heard before.
When the youth speak,
They save what matters most.
When the youth speak,
They open our eyes.
When the youth speak,
Change happens.
Mar 09


Be brave.
She whispers in my ear,
late at night,
in the dimmed light of my room.

Be brave.
He says before I line
up to race,
for what could be the last of the season.

Be brave.
They shout up
to me, when I can't
go any further.

But what if I can't be brave?
What then?

Be brave.
I say to myself.

Be brave.
Feb 28

Thank YOU

My first poem.
"Like a Girl."
Scribbled in one of my notebooks.
I checked with my friends at school.
I wasn't sure if it was good,
or if they wanted to make me feel good.
But they said,
"Wow. That's cool!"

I got a Young Writers account soon after.
And I posted this piece,
along with a few others.
"Like a Girl"
was hearted three times.
By my three friends.
In my town.

But there was a growing sense of

I kept growing on my collection of pieces.
Whatever I felt,
I wrote.
And whatever I wrote,
you read it.
you maybe found
something you could relate with.
And you hearted it.
Or you didn't.
But that's okay with me.

Whatever advice.
I welcomed it all.
I only wanted to get better.

And I think I did.

That's why I treasure being able
to be a part of this.
Feb 21
Ms. Naugle's picture

Phone Calls and Footsteps

The phone rang loudly. I got up to answer it, when I heard footsteps on the back porch. It was probably just a cat, I thought. It sounded a little heavy for a cat, but I just shrugged it off.

The phone was still ringing, oddly enough. I picked it up, not saying a word in case it was a robo call. At first, silence, then I heard footsteps on the porch again, and on the phone the same footsteps. Then, in a low voice, "Turn around..."

I was frozen in place. I couldn't move. I heard the sliding glass door open. I didn't dare turn around. Then, I heard multiple voices...


Jacob Roth
Grade 6
Killington Elementary School

Feb 21
Ms. Naugle's picture

Close Your Eyes

Turn around
Close your eyes
Picture yourself standing in the middle of your imagination!
Take a deep breath
What does it smell like?
Now open your eyes
Where are you?
Stay there for a second
What do you see?
Use your imagination!

Paige Fieldhouse
Grade 6
Killington Elementary School

Feb 21
Ms. Naugle's picture

Be Open to the World

What if all social media was shut down? It would be a good thing and a bad thing.

It would be a good thing because then not everyone would be addicted to their screens and notice the world around them. Now, I'm not saying you're a bad person if you have electronics. 

It would affect me because I do like to use social networks, but I don't rely on it, so it wouldn't affect me much. If I was older, I think it would affect me more.

Even if technology didn't shut down, I think we should be more open to the world around us.

Olivia Grasso
Grade 5
Killington Elementary School

Feb 17
Icarus Blackmore's picture


Countryside passes in a blur,
The bus rattles some more.
As I sit no longer sure which,
Shooting I am grieving for.


There have been so many,
That I just don’t know.

Names, faces, dates,
Injuries and, Fatalities,
They all pass in a blur.
New lives cut short,
By the sharp pang,
Of yet another shot.
As we circle round,
In this horrific revolving door.

“This isn’t the time to talk,”
“Thoughts and prayers.” 
Comments fire off,
In rapid succession.

Hindsight and foresight merge,
As we stumble towards a scene,
Identical to the one,
We claim to have left behind.

Cleverly we dodge the talk,
Of one massacre,
To throw ourselves,
Right into the next one.

For we live in a country,
Where the lives of me and my peers,