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A house isn’t a house without
land to build it on. And land isn’t land
without the seeds that for grass or
the cement mixtures that pave the ground,
and even those begin differently.
Basically all things have a start and a
finish. Grass, humans, houses, and even the
beginnings of that thing can’t be
born without a fresh space to grow
and form. From the chairs we sit upon
to the steps we walk amongst, everywhere
everything has begun small. So don’t
feel worthless when you’re young because
small things turn into great ones.
You can’t be big until you’ve been small.
New beginnings.

Calmly rest my child
Momma says
The guests will be here soon
So get dressed and tame
your wild hair
Stop sitting on the edge of
your seat minding grown folks’
business
You need patience
When someone wants you
listening they’ll ask for you sure
Don’t be a fly on the wall
A friend for you is right
around the corner I promise
As I always say patience is
the key
Keep it calm it’ll be easy

 

 

Bombs fall,
the earth crumbles beneath our feet.
Everything we have turns to ashes,
not even at home… are we ever safe.
Stuck
in the wrath
of their disgrace,
it’s hard to even know who we are sometimes
because all we ever do is hide.

Hidden
in the old brick buildings we call Church,
protected by the Almighty we believe in,
that we think keeps us safe
yet also crumbles on impact.
We are lost,
all in the smoke and ashes of memories…
not forgotten,
the awful truth that leaves a brutal scar.

We think we have each other
but it’s just a film of betrayal,
that keeps sliding through our grasp,
something we can’t control.

It leaves us with nothing but hope.
Hope is something that can only be broken by words,
horrible things said,
we retreat back to the place in our soul,
all hollow and dim,
we go back to the churches
crumbling on us.

It’s just a cycle going round and round.
the war stops…
we still have nothing…
some without lives,
and all it leaves are the mental scars
that we,
will never lose.

Sit at the head of the table,
where the eldest sits,
where all fights start,
where they end,
where you spend your life,
where you recite grace,
where so many bottoms have sat,
where unwritten history is made,
where generations change,
religions change,
where the chair won’t forget you,
or judge you,
but miss you when you’re gone,
when nobody else will.

 

Serenity Baruzzini is a precocious 6th grader enrolled at Mastery Charter. She is drawn to poetry but has written a number of short stories as well and hopes to write a novel about a young spy.

The pungent smell of cigarettes inflames her nose
She wants to turn around and run
Run far away until the blinking lights are no longer visible
But she hears mama’s voice telling her it’s all right to stay

So she walks to the end of the bar
With every step she takes in her six-inch heels comes the threat of falling
But mama said not to worry
She’d get used to them in no time

Taking a seat at the bar, she looks around
She can’t help but stare at all the lowlifes;
She can’t help thinking she is one

The bartender interrupts her train of thought, asks her what she’d like
She whispers the words,
“A beer, please”
The bartender just laughs, slams the glass down in front of her
The first sip makes her wrinkle her nose in disgust
But mama said not to worry
She’d get used to the taste in no time

So she keeps drinking
The bitter taste gets less and less with each sip
The empty glasses begin piling up in front of her
She feels eyes on her
Eventually those eyes become a man walking towards her
She can’t help but feel nervous
But mama said not to worry
Nothing bad would ever happen to her

Soon enough, the man’s pulling her away from the cigarette smell and the blinking lights
Her morals fight him off
But her hands give in

She’s awakened by the sunlight of a new day
Looking around the empty motel room, she sees her clothes lying everywhere
And notices hundred dollar bills lying on the nightstand
She frantically tries to piece together the night

But mama said not to worry
Everyone remembers their first

 

 

Earth, fire, water, and wind. Each element provides humanity with something amazing but holds the power to conjure unwieldy disasters. Earth, with its aesthetic landscapes and array of color and textures, could collapse at any given moment, causing worldwide adversity.

Fire, an element of power and agility, its welcoming warmth and flames that dance upon coals, manifests itself into something beautifully destructive. In an instant, it can turn a cherished family gathering around the fireplace, or a simple electric light, into your greatest fiend, its beauty laced with perjury, causing chaos. It leaves a tempest that has no mercy for those lucky enough to survive its vile rage.

Water, cleansing and refreshing, cool and inviting, has the alluring supremacy of having us repose upon its warm, sandy shores. Its beauty and meditative rhythms are like no other, yet when angered water holds the ability to engulf and envelope everything in its wake.

Wind, fickle and everlasting, provides a cool and calming sense to those in its path. In the same hand, a simple breeze has the capacity to swallow everything in its sight, providing us with a whirlwind of terror.

These elements provide us the necessary good and evil that comes with everything else in the world, allowing us to set a middle ground in which we can live in harmony among one another. There is always half a glass, whether you see it as full or empty.

 

With pale blue eyes and cropped red hair,
She is a fixture in these parts.
72 pounds and no way to gain,
Heavy blankets of despair
Drape over her frail body,
Swallowing her,
She has no hope.

Her name is Mary,
But so few know.
They don’t care.
Her pain.
Never realizing,
They are practically the same,
Lost in their own struggles
Amongst several others
In this big city.

The sun begins to set,
But she has nowhere to go.
So many directions,
But none seem right.
A cool breeze,
The leaves change.
Most would be happy; fall is here.
But to her,
This only means
Winter is ahead.
Cold brisk wind
Sends a chill.
All alone.

A woman in her forties,
With a blanket over her shoulders
And a tear in her eye
Because
There is only so much
Warmth
That she can get from her pockets,
And there is only so much
A plastic bag can hold.

A man in his fifties,
With a cross around his neck
And an extra dollar in his pocket,
His chin held high.
A proud smile
That hides his secrets
And his shame.

Two worlds collide,
Never to be the same again.
He hands her a five-dollar bill
With a card on top.
It’s the size of her palm,
A little crumpled in the corner,
A tear at the top,
With a few unforgettable lines:
A prayer