(In this poem, writer Heidi Nisbett shows us how, even after we move away from a special place, we can carry that place inside us forever.)

I am from snowy planes
interrupted by snowy forts
and white woods with lanes
ending in other worlds

I belong to mosquito bites
and pop, not coke
and hide-n-seek at night
and bonfire smoke

I recall scabby knees
and aloe on sunburned shoulders
and falling from climbing trees
and landing on brown, spiky burrs

I was raised in the middle of nowhere
but nowhere belonged to me
singing songs of goons and hares
and weekend tea-parties

I remember my best friend
and the dares she made me do
and crying at the end
when it was time for me to move

Now I live where summers are too hot
but I'm fine with fall and spring
I suppose my home is not
what it used to be

But forever will I be
from 8776 Hillside court
where I lost who came to me
In the ever cold upstate New York
all the sights I never thought to see

(It was a few words, chosen at random from a Magnetic Poetry Kit, that provided the springboard for Caroline Byrd’s poem, “a void rose.” )

A Void Rose

His empty words echo through my head
A void rose
Beauty sans meaning
My eyelids
Soft as petals
As I rub them in exhaustion
Tired of being lied to
Ready for something real
A tangible love
In a world full of ghosts
My blood runs frantically through my veins
In a maddening race to repeat the cycle that has been going on since before my birth
I look him squarely in the eye
Hoping for one glimpse of a human soul behind those baby blues
His eyes are not cold
Nor are they warm
They have the feel of the awful and uncomfortable lukewarmth of a seat that was only recently occupied.
I don't want this.
But I can't get out.
I've lost the string that I tied to the cave opening
There is no way out.

(Here’s a good one from Brittany Worrock. Enjoy.)

Dreams

Walking down memory lane,
I see things I've seen before,
Revisiting the good, bad, and forgotten,
I add newer thoughts to them-
The ones that are special to me,
And the ones that have no meaning.

While gliding through total darkness,
I see flickers of light,
Possibly the memories I cannot yet recall,
But as I stare into nothingness
(Blackness that is never-ending)
I grasp it and pull it closer.

As it reaches me, I begin to lose,
The feelings that came with the memory,
And when it finally gives way,
I see my dark bedroom,
And my outstretched hand.

My recollections were only dreams,
Yet I still remember the joy, sadness, and others,
That were part of them,
And as I head for the shower,
I am thoroughly raised,
For the rest of the day.

Myrtle Grove Middle School
Wilmington, NC

(Poet Ron Hone, aka Rah, has written what he calls a “Sparkle Poem” titled, “Battle Field.” Notice how he lets the details and images speak for themselves. This poem, like its subject matter, cannot be summed up in a tidy thesis statement.)