Publications
Extended Metaphor Poems Under The Clouds by Julieta My life is a field of flowers, It lies here under the blue sky, its flowers leisurely amplify as the seasons shift. My life is a field of flowers, aggrieved and helped by the insects around, however always flourishing with the shine and bright sun. My life is a field of flowers, petals diminishing as the years go by. colors change as the rain deluges and the moon rises. My life is a field of flowers, butterflies always making an appearance, but always seem to end up flying with the blue sky. ------- My life is like a rose By Ivette My life is like a rose, It grows out from the roots buried in the dirt, here on the ground of where I came from. Its lasting stem, bravely exposed like an adventurer on a long journey with millions of tales to tell. It has thorns, needless to say, And I am bleeding and plucking them continually in a cowardly and courageous way. Every thorn and leaf on my stem must be a lesson with another feat to climb up and keep growing. No one has unveiled all of the paint my petals offer, People Pluck my petals off, wanting a scrap of me, but only few reach the sensitivity of my pistil, while many only inhale the aroma of my petals. I long to feel the watering of my sepal, the petals blossomed like a girl in bloom, and when I flourished, I was harvested out from the ground, ready to be a gift of love, onto another person. ------- My dad’s life is a playground By Emily My dad’s life is a playground. It remains here on the wet-pour. Its activities unevenly displayed, open like an amusement park with hundreds of people. It is diligent, needless to say, And I am working and fixing it simultaneously in a place that is exhausting and difficult. Every person must be a hard-worker with a childish personality. No one has played with the whole thing but me. Most slide into the middle for a few months then move on to different activities, other interests. Some have only time for a few slides down. He loves to see the vivid toys, always showing them off each time, and when something really important happens, he grabs the toy, and, always the child, puts a sticker, a little heart, to remember these memories _______ My life is a wrestling match By David My life is a wrestling match. It is in constant movement till the end. Fighting with your head and hands for good position Everyone wants you to win but no one can help you My life is a wrestling match Losing position and giving up a takedown Using all my will to get up to my feet Only to go on a flight and catch air time My life is a wrestling match After an eternity I escape In need of a takedown to win I take a leap and shoot My life is a wrestling match Me and my opponent scrambling like eggs for the takedown I get stuck on my back and get pinned My life is over. ______ Life is a Freeway By Azaria Life is like a freeway,stretching far and wide, With lanes of choices, where destinies collide. Each exit a decision, each on ramp a chance, To merge with new paths, to join in the dance Speed limits set by fears, dreams the open road, Navigating through traffic, carrying our load Contruction zones of hardship, where patience is key, Detours of lessons,shaping who well be Rest stops of peace, where we gather our stenght Bridges of suport,spanning lifes length Tunnels of darkness, where hope lights the way Highways of joy,where we wish to stay Intersections of fate,where paths intertwine, Road signs of wisdom,guidng us in line The journey is endless, the horizon so vast Life is a freeway,with memories amassed _______ Mirrorbound by Brooke My life is a mirror. Its reflections show me the version of myself I believe I know. I look in and she looks out, the figure of myself reflecting and shifting, it distorts to shapes I do not recognize. The other side of the mirror is impossible to reach, the vision of the world beyond shifts and sways and I do not know what I am looking at. The glass is clear and delicate. Untrusted clarity is gifted when you look into it. Reality and perception begin to mutate the longer you stare. Do not look into the glass for too long. Cracks in the mirror seem to be the first thing to notice. The mirror is imperfect, using another mirror would better suffice as this one does not function as it is meant to. The lines of deformity run down the entire surface, the mirror is broken. Shards of glass spilling from the cracks pool at the sink beneath. Fragments of memories better left broken are sharp and I cannot touch them without hurting myself. Trust is shattered and pooling at the sink beneath. The shards of glass have taken out too large of a dent from the mirror that could never be repaired despite how much tape has been plastered over it, a temporary repair. The mirror is only as large as its edges spread. It does not know beyond its edges, It does not know as much as it thinks it knows. Limitation of what it allows itself to think traps it within the four corners of wood. Smudges coat the entirety of the glass. My image in the glass is smeared and distorted as the fingerprints left on the mirror smudge my face and body, leaving me unsure of what I looked like in my reflection before it was compromised, before it was ruined. I guess it’s impossible to know what I look like in someone else's mirror if I cannot even recognize myself in my own. _____ My life is a garden by Karma My life is a garden, The greenhouse windows open wide With bees buzzing in and out The middle is a tree, now 15 years old It holds my hopes and dreams The leafs my ideas and drifting thoughts Falling one by one from the bark With the essence of flowers, there are new and old Fresh, newly planted aspirations flourishing shamelessly Old, wilting petals of the previously fresh hopes slowing dying off But each one does not go unnoticed, the flowers an experience Ones that continue to build me further In the corner is dedicated to the tools Each one with its own purpose The ones that help me discover more flowers and preserve my flowers toiling the soil to bring way to new flowers And last, the compost bin For that moment a flower is no longer needed Sometimes it hurts to throw them away When i spent hours of growing them But when i see the new soil that can be given new life It feels a bit better, and I look forward to filling the space. ______ My life is like a busy street by Alma My life is like a busy street, With people walking, driving all over, Only looking out for themselves. Worn out traffic lights telling people, cars when to go or stop. Watching out for the crooked curbs To make sure they don't fall or trip. Looking out for the signs, blocking my view, People nodding their heads is the only they can Communicate without saying words. Walking on the sidewalk, i keep to myself, Walking with no one telling me what to do. ______ My life is like a butterfly by Brianna My life is like a butterfly. Growing in its cocoon to See of what it's going to Become, Ready to soar through the wind With wings, finding a place of where it belongs. The patterns in its wings are shown To scare and frighten Predators, but others view it As unique and beautiful. Butterflies are a representation of Transformation, hope, and rebirth. I have seen what it was like Being the caterpillar that was So clueless of what and who it is, Going through the transformation of Being in the cocoon slowly finding itself And the path to take. With the hope that I needed I soon found Myself taking a turn of difference and With that I found myself out of my cocoon Finding the beauty within myself as a butterfly. I too can see my future in place As much as a simple insect. ______ Waves By Cierra Life is like the ocean. It is graceful and calm. But can be manic and cause a storm It can be warm and happy. The ocean carry ships and boats Through its kind waters. Offering a fun experience for people. Giving memories. But the ocean can also drag those same boats and ships down. It can crash its waters down on the people, pulling and holding them down till there's no more life in them. The ocean is a beautiful thing that offers love, kindness and memories. But, can pull people down to their lowest ____ My life is a tapestry By Alan My life is a tapestry. I sit at my loom, threads in hand Weaving stories, memories to stand A tapestry rich, with colors bright My life’s narrative, through all the years Each strand a moment, intertwined Joy and sorrow, side by side Hues of laughter, shades of tears A complex weave, through all the years I weave faces, loved ones dear Smiles and whispers, always near Places visited, lands explored and Lessons learned. As I weave, my heart beats fast Creating beauty, patterns grow A kaleidoscope of experiences shown Unraveling moments, re-woven with care. My tapestry, an intricate, woven clan. ______ My life is a sunflower by Joseph My life is a sunflower. In the garden of my life i sow the seeds of my thoughts Roots intertwined with memories deep in earth Shadows are always protecting the roots. They grow hard and make me grow more The more it is watered, it the stronger it gets My pebbles dance around I stand out the most out of all flowers Bright yellow pebbles around me Makes me shine like the sun My stem is full of supports They make me stand strong Family hold me ups They don't let the plant dry ______ My life is a star in the sky. By Zoe My life is a star in the sky. It glistens luminously amongst other stars, distinct and sole though incessantly surrounded by others, lustrous with its particular beam. It is constant, ever peering down at the present while admiring every sole passing frame, prior reminiscence like prior nights for a star’s hour is limited. Not every individual is able to discern every star For one can be concealed to an eye but colossal to another It can be beauteous in its distinct incandescent to one But ordinary to a contrasting glance. Between the stygian sky, it is piloting Stirring me during the darkness and sensation of lost It unveils itself when night overtakes Prepared to whisper its guiding mastery. When daybreak commences inexorably The luster will pervade, Concealed beneath an interval, the star awaits, Until once more its routine of illuminating carries on. ______ My life is like the sky By Maria My life is like the sky, Sometimes it’s dazzling And with the light it try to do Shine on people My life is like the sky, Sometimes It cries the clouded mind Don't let the light glow My life is like the sky, after a big storm And great clouds covering them A beautiful sunset arrives That shows all those colors Cute ones that mix and end up being Only one My life is like the sky, There are always stars that Although they are not seen during the day At night they will be there to illuminate the sky. _________ My life is a mountain By Daniela My life is a mountain It stand tall here on the horizon, It speaks are boldly exposed spreading like an eagle with wing open wide. It is a journey, needless to say, And I am climbing and navigating it simultaneously in a challenging and solitary path. Every traveler must be a climber with a determined spirit. No one has climbed the whole thing by me. Most dip into the middle for a few glimpses then move on to other trails, other journeys. Some have only time for the views. I love to feel the steady ascent of the slopes, the sentences unwinding like trails, and when something really important happens, I walk out to the peak and, always the student, make an asterisk, a little mark, in the dust. Stories about Music The Rhythms We Inherited By Jose The rhythm pulsed in my ears, a familiar comfort I’d absorbed since childhood. It was the soundtrack of my parents’ lives, this rapid-fire poetry slammed over driving beats, and somehow, it had become mine too. I never questioned it, never wondered if everyone else moved to the same rhythm. Until today. Faces twisted around me as the music spilled from my headphones. Confusion warred with disgust. What is that? someone finally asked, the words laced with distaste. “Is something wrong?” I asked, already defensive. “It’s just...weird, a girl in a pristine white sweater offered, wrinkling her nose.” Her friend chimed in, “Yeah, total trash.” Heat flooded my cheeks. My fists clenched. “What do you listen to?” I shot back. “Country,’ the first girl replied, as if that explained everything. A laugh ripped through me, harsh and unexpected. “You think country is better than this” The girl’s perfectly composed expression faltered. A flicker of uncertainty crossed her face. And in that instant, it clicked. That music probably felt as familiar and comforting to her as my rap did to me. It wasn’t about better or worse. It was about the music that made us feel comfortable, the rhythms we inherited and embraced. Hang around people who enjoy the type of music you all like. ______________________________________________________________________ Musical Preferences Are as Personal as The Way We Talk or Dress By Tucker People’s dislike for certain genres of music often boils down to personal taste, cultural background, and emotional experience. Music isn’t just sound, it's a form of self-expression, so when people encounter a genre that doesn’t resonate with their values or emotions, it can feel off-putting or even alienating. Think about the blaring beats of EDM or the twang of country music. If someone isn’t used to those sounds, they might come off as annoying, repetitive, or just plain boring. It’s like trying to enjoy a dish full of spices you’ve never tasted; instead of savoring it, your first instinct might be to push it away. This reaction is natural. People tend to gravitate toward what feels familiar or Comforting. Sometimes, a person’s hatred for a genre isn’t just about sound but what they think that music represents. For example, some folks dismiss rap as aggressive or materialistic, not seeing the poetry and storytelling that make the genre powerful. Meanwhile, classical music can get written off as boring or elitist by people who never connected with its structure or depth. These opinions often reflect stereotypes, and music becomes an easy target for frustrations that might actually be tied to deeper biases. Then there’s the emotional aspect. Music has a way of tapping into our memories and moods, both good and bad. A person who grew up on punk rock might find pop music frustratingly shallow, while a jazz fan might roll their eyes at heavy metal’s chaotic energy. It’s not that these genres are objectively bad; it’s that they don’t align with how that person processes emotions or wants to feel. At the end of the day, our musical preferences are as personal as the way we talk or dress. When someone hates a genre, it’s rarely about the music itself, it's about what it means to them. And sometimes, it’s easier to dismiss something entirely than to try and understand it. ______________________________________________________________________________ Stuck On Repeat By Brooke Zora sat in her bed, room silent, eyes locked on her blank white wall, swaying her head back and forth to an invisible beat. The room may have been quiet, but her head was not. Her mind slurried in bouts of song lyrics and the strum of a guitar, the pounding of drums accompanied by reminders of her past. She rubbed her eyes with her palms as if she was resisting the urge to claw at them. The same beat danced through her head over and over again, a cycle she’d been dealing with all day that she feared would never end. She put her hands down and zoned out as if she wasn’t just staring at her wall but through it. She scratched at her chest and brought her knees up to her stomach, resting her head comfortably on them. As she recalled the bitter melody, she bobbed her head from side to side. She chewed at the inside of her mouth and found herself humming along to the nonexistent lyrics- the lyrics she had almost forgotten as she hadn’t listened to the bittersweet tune since middle school. She felt her eyes sting and tears threaten to claw their way through her eyes, but she fought it. Images danced around her mind of the last time she had heard the song, threatening their way through her thoughts. She scratched at her hair and halted the humming. She eyed the small wired earbuds sitting on the bookshelf directly in front of her as if they were mocking her. She shook her head and frustratingly forced herself to her feet, dragging her body towards the earbuds and gripping them in her palm. She stared at them in her hands as she walked back to her bed and threw herself into a sitting position. She grabbed the port, plugging them into her phone and popping the cold white earbuds into her ears. She ripped her phone off her bedside table in frustration and opened spotify, hitting shuffle on her playlist. She just had to get something- anything else stuck in her head. She skipped ahead until she found a song she liked a lot, the loud sound of the electric guitar and aggressive drums boomed in her ears. She swayed along to the song in her head for a bit, but found herself dissociating again after just a few minutes. The music began to buzz, sounding like static in her mind as she found herself hyperfocusing on the beat of the song she couldn’t get rid of. She groaned, annoyed and distraught, turning the already loud music to full volume but to no avail. She threw her phone at the floor and rolled onto her back in pure annoyance. Defeated, she slowly turned her head back to her phone on the ground. She closed her eyes and thought, although it was hard with the whiny vocals and screaming guitar blasting through her ears. She begrudgingly locked eyes with the phone and earbuds piled atop each other on the ground in front of her. Maybe just one more time. If she just gave in and listened to the soft melody of the beautiful song she wanted nothing more than to erase from existence, she’d never have to think about any of it again. She furrowed her eyebrows. She’d never have to think about sitting in that car. She reached her hand down and grasped the phone in her hands that felt as heavy as a building. She’d never have to think about the shouting coming from the front seat in front of her that she tried to drown out using that very song. She pulled the earbuds back up onto her bed. She’d never have to think about the terrifying screech of the swerving of the tires as the car swerved off the highway. She popped the earbuds back in her ears. She’d never have to think about the emptiness in her father’s once life-filled eyes as she drowsily stared at his body when she regained consciousness. She shook her head as it pounded against her skull and she typed the title into Spotify, pressing play. She felt her heart sink the moment the intro music began. The tapping of the drums, the beautiful melody of the guitar rang through her head. She squeezed her eyes shut and threw her body backwards, lying face-up on the bed enveloped by the darkness of her room. The guitar sent shivers down her spine as the chorus began and her ears rang and she screamed along to the beautifully spoken lyrics in her mind. It felt like she was practically back on the highway. She opened her eyes and tears immediately flowed down her face. She brought her knees up to her chest and hid her face in them as she shook her head. The final beat of the drums, the final word spoken, the final string of the guitar thumped through her head and into her skull as the song wrapped itself up. The moment silence reached her ears, the moment the song ended, she ripped the earbuds out with such force her knuckles were white. |