I. Swingset
Quiet, hush
Don’t say a word
Breathe, push
Bring me a little closer
Swing, rush
Upward toes to the sky
Euphoria in my veins
Staccato creak of the swingset chains
Just enough childhood
To bring a smile to my face.
II. One Step at a Time
I’m releasing the little bits of myself
still attached to you
I’ve been like a willow tree
quiet and unassuming
leaning deep over the grass
but now
I will emerge.
it wasn't long--
maybe five or ten
minutes--
before the words
tumbling in my head
started trickling out
little pieces of
the weather,
the pulsing
in my aching feet
a trickle of something
--perhaps--
inspiration
that fragmented against
my teeth
1. Feet
Feet that move
down the path
do not think
daily about the
purpose of their
movement
until the day ends
and the tapping
of busy steps
subsides
2. Winter Walk
I. Shrew
how much depends
on an apologetic
shrew
how much can you
say
how much can you
do
II. It's Complicated
airily, you said that
I had told you a lie
I have done no such thing
I said
you just rolled your eyes
I woke up on December 31st feeling relieved. 2013 was not an awful year until I realized that I was giving my all to someone who didn't feel the same way, and that my friends didn't feel like my friends anymore, and that I had sorely neglected my overall education for my first two years of high school.
New Year's Eve was wonderful. I went to an old friend's house and we shot off a firework display that would put Macy's New Year's Eve to shame. I felt optimistic, I felt happy. It was 2014, and I would get a fresh start.
DISCLAIMER: Contains mature thematic content (i.e. mentions drunk driving, one strong word edited with asterisks)
Oh, what sweet music you bring,
When the bow crosses o’er your string.
I wish I could play you;
Just like others do.
I wish, I wish.
Your sound brings such joy,
Your music, so sweet!
I wish I could play you,
If I could, I'd play you.
I wish, I wish.
Your lovely sound,
Makes me not want quit
Learning to play you.
How can they do it?
I wish, I wish.
A FEW weeks later Hanna, Nicky and Kari were sitting at Red’s Inn, which was owned by Fredrick Quinn, a man about in his late forties. Everyone called him either Red or Mr. Red.
They were all sipping milkshakes; Kari’s was a vanilla, Nicky’s coffee and Hanna’s was a chocolate. As they sipped their shakes, Red came up to them and asked, “So guys; how do you like your shakes?”
They all gave thumbs up and suddenly, they all fell off their chairs and landed on the floor.
“Ouch!”
“Owe!”
“Gaah!”
“Brain Freeze?” Red asked, grinning. The girls nodded.
FOR THE next few weeks, Hanna practiced harder and harder. While the team was on a break from practice, Hanna started making friends with the other girls—all except Kari. The girl acted like she didn’t have any friends and it made Hanna feel sorry for her.
This is based on a true story. I wrote this story for a friend of mine last year who plays soccer in college. She wanted to be 11 years old in this story because that's her number. She was also 11 when bother her parents were still alive. My friend's Dad passed away from cancer when she was 12 and her Mom from the same disease when she was 18. This story is dedicated to her Mom, a well known and loved woman. She was also a Mother figure in my life, I have to admit myself. I hope you enjoy Hanna and her story of soccer as my friend did herself. -J. Glen Pollard
.
DISCLAIMER: Mild language, edited out with asterisks :).
Monday.
At 1:15am the moon will rise over a greenish Uranus, I don’t know what to say to him, I say I’m in love but yet I hate these awkward pauses, football football farmer’s almanac, maybe I’m not as desperate as I thought, yes he is attractive and wonderful, but this is sort of liberating, we’re just friends I am declaring it as true.