Peacock Pride After 55
Dream to finish is a lesson well
learned.
Keep working the night until this night's done.
In time, forever mine, my peacock earned.
My dreams to finish is still now yearning,
Study can’t wait; I want this to be done.
Dream to finish is a lesson well learned.
Garden must wait; the compost won’t be turned,
There is studying that needs to be done.
In time, forever mine, my peacock earned.
Can’t put in place what I’ve already learned;
I don’t have the time to get most things done.
Dream to finish is a lesson well learned.
No time for lunch with my friends a concern,
But they must wait until schooling is done.
In time, forever mine, my peacock earned.
Graduation tassels soon to be turned,
And life I thought done has really begun.
Dream to finish is a lesson well learned.
In time, forever mine, my peacock earned.
By Sharie Marshall
Sunburn
Sun so bright,
Her eyelashes glow from the glare of the sun.
Cheeks burnt a cherry red.
Girl so small,
Dances freely in the warm sultry air.
Her dress creasing,
rippling, as it twirls round.
Arms open wide,
Face upward, a smile gleaming
joy.
From the warm affection of summer.
The backyard a haven for playful
innocence.
Sun rays harsh,
Awakened by its reality, a reminder
Of carelessness
covered her skin.
Her dress stops twirling round, it settles against her
small hurting legs.
Girl once small,
Skin tanned from the days of
exposure.
Naiveté taken
by the hurtful truth,
The backyard no longer a place of retreat.
Arms closed
inward,
Aware of her subjection, withdrawn from the joy once displayed.
A
carefree spirit now contained by consciousness.
Girl once small,
Sun too
bright.
She's burnt from harsh day's light.
By Aleisha Hellinger
|
||||
Ants
Clap, clap, clap.
Plastic soles slap the concrete.
Another day, another month, another year.
The monotonies of life tick one by one,
like the hands of a clock
never stopping.
I am jerked
from my musings to see a
small black speck at my feet.
Upon a closer look,
it is an ant carrying a twig to its
colony. Marching as
a queen’s soldier.
He is strong,
this little black ant I watch.
The twig is ten times its own size.
He should be crushed.
But he plods on, with the drive of a runner
in a race. He’s tired,
but perseveres.
Other animals
that seem to be strong
would never endure the load this ant is made to
carry. They would crumble. Like the walls of an
ancient ruin they would
fall to rubble.
Not so with
the ant. He is a muscle-man,
lifting the barbell of iron above his
red head, and upon reaching his goal throws
it down in triumph. Yes! He
has succeeded.
I straighten
from my epiphany. Clap,
clap, clap go my shoes. Yet this time, I am changed.
By Sarah Milholland