Final draft of the poem I read at the strike today in Brattleboro,
I might be able to post a clip of me reading it, because the youth speakers were recorded.

Ever since we were young, we've heard whispers.
Whispers not meant to such tender ears,
but now we understand and we are taking up the torch.
The torch that set fire to our gentle mother,
we are taking that torch and we are putting it out.

How do you expect us to trust you
when all you've done is tell us
“someday you will be able to make choices, someday”.
We whisper, huddling in the dark, flickering
with quiet flames, waiting for “someday”.
Spoiler Alert, “someday” never comes,
and now we are burning, fueled with rage,
when and where do we draw the line?
We draw it here and we draw it now.

Climate change is no longer a far off threat,
it is knocking directly at our front door!

Do not cry because you will die someday;
Laugh because you had the chance to live,
to be happy, to love something.
Do you not understand the beauty of
how no one is alike, and no one will be just like you?
In this life:
What have you cried over?
What shadows have you reasoned with?
What monsters have you battled?


 

Heres another Name Poem.

If you wish to see the Statue of Liberty,
go to page 904.
If you wish to find your long lost son,
go to page 411.
If you wish to fall in love,
go to page 27.
If you wish to be rich,
go to page 600.
If you wish to get a car,
go to page 487.
If you wish to write a letter,
go to page 167.
If you wish to get a pony,
go to page 90.
If you wish to hug a tree,
go to page 72.
If you wish to acquire third eye sight,
go to page 11.
If you wish to visit the country,
go to page 411.
If you live in a world where
children are taken away from their families,
then go to page 2019.


 

Hey writers, I just published a collection of poems titles the Name Poem Collection, they are just poems with people names as their titles. This one is one of them. I might post some more later. (P.S. The poems have absolutely nothing to do with the names!)

What are we made of?

Protests
Openness
Enlightenment
Trust
Resilience
Years

or

Guns
Robots
Economic (problems)
Ends
Dead skin

What do we care about?

Oceans
Usefulness
Rebellion

Yearning
Ourselves
Unity
Nourishment
Grace

or

our

Millions
Of
Nation wide
Economic
Y Earnings.
 

I am not the tree,
but the seed.

I am not the moon,
but the shadows.

I am not the ocean,
but the waves.

I am not the scream,
but the tears.

I am not the flower,
but the pollen.

I am not the word,
but the sound.

I am not the lie,
but the mouth who tells it.

I am not the poet,
but the poem.
 

An array of plumes woven into braid and knot.
My scalp full of spring glory.
Open smile dancing among the silken wonders of earth.
The fresh scent intertwining with
baked bread, warm peaches and sunshine.
The wind twists around the trees,
braiding them into my hair like ribbons.
Bringing happiness on the breeze, trusting
everything joyous into your hearts.
Fly away, bring something worthy of joy,
(everything)
Become something beautiful for another time.

Apple trees are important,
they remind me of something I've lost
and someone I've yet to find.
Be cautious with trees, they are poets.
Poetrees are important,
they remind me of the someone I am
and the someone I'm yet to be.

 

Hey writers, I just wanted to share this poem I'm going to be reading at the climate strike in Brattleboro this Friday, maybe you can give me some advice, hope it looks good!

Whispers of Fire

Ever since we were young, we've heard whispers.
Whispers not meant for such tender ears,
but now we understand and we are taking up the torch.
How do you expect us to trust you when all you've done is tell us
“someday you will be able to make choices, someday”.
We whisper, huddling in the dark, burning with quiet flames,
waiting for “someday”. Spoiler Alert, “someday” never comes,
and now we are burning, fueled with rage,
when and where do we draw the line?
We draw it here and we draw it now.
Climate change is no longer a far-off threat,
it is knocking directly at our front door! We need to take action,
and not soon, NOW. Why should we pay off all your gambling,

Fingers woven through water
Rivers stemming from unpainted nail beds
Oceans swelling around goodbye
Graceless fate has made us magnets to each other
Then placed us upon opposing fridges
I spend everyday dreaming, every night restless
without fingers woven through mine,
I cannot see freedom
 

My most defining feature?
It's simply how I leave my feminist books sitting
out precariously in an anti-women's-rights building
or how I make sure to spank every racist slur that
passes me by, just to be clear that I don't allow hate on my watch.
It's exactly how I bring my voice every where I go, wearing it
upon my chest like a badge, daring others to try and rip it off
or how I write. I am changing everything by simply writing this.
So my most defining feature, you ask?
My rebellion to everything made to put down
a human being for being who they are.