Who stands sentinel over her heart?
A brother with no name?
And where is her mind
when she pretends to be in English class?
Nobody knows.
Without apologies, she
ignores my world and grimly focuses
on important matters
from another world, not mine.
Brother forever holds her heart,
while Austin holds her hand—
for now.
Clr 2011
And so.
Three years have passed
since the boy raced into ninth grade,
late every day
from gym class,
sweating—never apologizing
for his own view of reality.
Now he has grown
into a soldier, a man
who loves a woman.
But still,
he holds disdain
for silence, for teachers,
and agitates them both
with constant motion—
body and soul.
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At an age when ignorance runs wild and is excused,
Tony needs no pardon.
He has worn every human flaw,
then laid them down—
refusing the polished masks of youth
for the steadier glow of earned wisdom.
He will not bring harm or hurt to any living soul,
because our Tony
knows.
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Embodiment of love, a found poem
by Tony W.
It is an old scar, so we breached the walls and laid the city open.
Lying awake at night, no solace for my heart.
Who are you that you should entertain me tonight?
Come a bit closer, fair image…for whom I’d happily die.
My joys come from this earth, nature hides me from her face…
the most painful excess.
Tony W
Priscilla is a warm bowl of oatmeal—
sturdy, nourishing, and exactly right—
with raisins, butter, and just enough sweet
to soften even the coldest morning.
She’s a flourishing bunch of flowers,
thriving steadily among withering weeds
and primitive rocks—
sure of her place, sure of her purpose.
A life size doll—crafted with care,
not fragile, but finely made,
dressed with calm, steady hands and purpose.
She’s a lighthouse—
not just a symbol, but a guide.
Rooted deep in the rock,
shining clearly no matter the waves.
A beautiful, magic princess fairy, yes—
but descended from warriors.
She wears her sparkle with purpose
and walks her path as if it’s already built.
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There is a chair here
with Kyle’s name—
and the Carrillo crest
rides on his shoulders,
quiet and heavy.
An ancestor, bold and shameless,
left him uncertain,
searching
for his place.
But the years pass:
8th. 9th. 10th. 11th—
and strength begins to show itself.
Not loud,
but steady.
His purpose,
once fogged by questions,
starts to gleam
with shape and fire—
and his destiny
moves forward,
wondrous
and bright.
clr 2011
Steven
A clever, silent storyteller, he—
fueled by a torrential rain,
a hurricane,
a fury inside his mind.
The current weather
inside Steven
eludes my predictions.
A burst of lightning,
a clap of thunder,
a tsunami waiting just offshore.
Then—
at just the right moment,
in just the right place—
his weather reveals itself
with a deep, bawdy intonation.
A wondrous act of nature, Steven is,
with more than a slight grasp
of his place in the universe.
Despite his superpowers,
he humbly serves his boss,
rides out the storms of his intellect,
and astonishes us
with his writing.
clr 2012
Derek Moon, Derek Moon,
Here it is, the end of June—
and still, I find the words for you
simply don’t come spilling through.
There you are:
full of thought,
sharp with sense,
a mind like wire—
bright, intense.
But Derek Moon—
yes, you—
at the end of June,
all I can offer is this half-spun rune:
Your mind is a powerful, masterful tool.
Unless for love,
you act a fool.
Then it melts—like jelly,
soft and sad.
(Thus sayeth Shakespeare.
Don’t get mad.)
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A silent sort
A humble man, who takes pride in his family, a
Rock of Gibraltar.
One rock that will not crack, and definitely, is
Not going to share his thoughts.
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Valerie W.
wends her way into hearts each day
with a smile—timid,
and just a little tired.
One can almost see cartoon hearts
rising from the giant,
innocent light
of her eyes.
She minds herself carefully,
but beneath the managed grace,
a girl hides—
a little disheveled,
a little unsure—
maybe even hurting,
though no one quite knew.
Maybe not even her.
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There is an invisible shield—
I hope—
that protects him.
No nonsense can touch him.
He is serene
within the world
he’s created in his iPod.
Gentle,
humble,
intelligent,
Daniel takes quiet pride in his work
and silently accepts
the responsibility
that comes
with the gift
he’s been given.
clr 2011
So:
You always had your earbuds in—
head bowed,
music flowing while you worked.
I never asked what you were listening to.
So now I wonder:
What is the music you listen to?
Give me the name of a band or two.
Where did you learn your respectful way—
of an aged man, though you are very young?
What do you think of Oedipus, Morrie, and parallelism?
Do you play poker—and win a lot?
Or do you go to church with your family?
How many states have you lived in?
Do you have brothers and sisters?
As a child, did you watch Barney or Teletubbies?
What makes you laugh ‘til you cry?
And who are you—
why do you refuse to show yourself,
except for the occasional smile?
clr 2011
And there it is—
the truth at last—
beneath his stooped silence
and serene smile.
There lies a young man,
blessed with the easy charm
of someone who knows
how to kiss the baby
and hold the hand
of the little old lady—
even if one smells like sour milk,
and the other
may forget him by morning.
Blond and blue,
and blue and blond—
is
just
the very edge
of Drew.
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Caitlin
She loved her dog,
and grieves far longer
than Hamlet mourned Ophelia.
With this I wonder—
does she realize
she’s found the secret
to what is imperative
in all love,
of every kind?
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Cassi, oh Cassi, wherefore art thou, Cassi?
Thy Hamlet notes, alas, do not suffice
To earn thee passage o’er this learning’s ice.
Though Hamlet’s tests, with cunning, might thee save—
Pray, come and take them ere the morn doth wave!
If thou wilt grace the dawn with visage fair,
And meet me in the office—ere the air
Is yet adorned with early morning’s breath—
I vow to rouse me from the arms of Death!
This covenant I pledge, both true and just:
Thou tak’st thy tests at seven, as I must
Rise from my bed and meet thee in this fray—
Together shall we conquer break of day.
Clr 2012
Nate Hellum
More ready to graduate
than he seems—
More poetic inside
than he dares to show.
If seeing seems,
yet is not,
then what can we believe in?
Nate knows.
CLR2012
Then Nate wrote this FOUND poem from textbook
In the highest heaven, only he knows
to be our supremacy and glory and power
out we go in joy
yet life is more than death
f you look to others for fulfillment
you will never truly be fulfilled.
but it is great comfort
when I see the moon,
it was He who created the heavens and earth in six days
he is patient, he is not angry.
Oh God! Oh God!
By Nate Hellum
Sharlyn
Syrupy—
thick, sweet,
mellifluous.
She mesmerizes the groundlings now—
the peers, the everyday crowd,
the ones close enough to feel
her voice in their bones.
But someday,
she’ll sing for the throngs—
hungry, affluent lovers of beauty—
who will pay
for the freedom
she longs to share
with those she loves.
Her words come from a place
no human can touch,
a place deeper than sound.
And her voice—
a warm charcoal heat—
wraps itself around
what’s broken in us,
dissolving
what harms.
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Shyanne is anything but
shy.
She’s a freshly plowed field—
rich, dark,
warm soil sifting through
a farmer’s fingers.
Auburn hair flows down
to meet freckles and Carharts.
She wears Juliets.
He wears Romeos.
She loves her papa,
and cars,
and dogs.
She climbs trees
with the easy gait
and innocent beauty
of an unaffected country girl.
Feminine,
masculine,
and most of all—
human.
CLR 2012
Carlenea
comes from P.E., five minutes
after the bell—
in pajamas, slippers,
a pink pen,
and that ever-present smile.
A smile that tells her classmates
they matter,
that doesn’t apologize—
but buys forgiveness
with warmth.
She asks the questions
that prove she’s thinking,
really thinking,
about her world.
She surrounds herself with
neon velvet,
plush animals with button eyes,
softness she can hold—
and people
who don’t worry about time.
Because Carlenea
will build her world
the way she wants it:
bright,
gentle,
unrushed.
Clr 2012
Jacob the beard.
Jacob the smile.
Jacob, a promise of music.
Jacob the kind.
Jacob the bright.
Jacob in his coat of many colors—
not just worn, but lived.
Jacob Peterson will truck through life
with quiet joy,
congenially using his blinker
at just the right time,
and pausing—exactly three seconds—
at every stop sign.
He will help.
He will listen.
He will lighten the room
with song and laughter
for those who need it most.
— clr, 2012
There Is a Star With Heather's Name
There is a star with Heather’s name,
that shines beyond our view.
It connects the ones who’ve known her light—
especially me and you.
It gleams beneath her quiet steps,
it lingers in her air.
Wherever you may find yourself,
you’ll feel her presence there.
It doesn’t fade. It doesn’t hide.
It stirs the heart awake.
It lights the room, it lifts the day—
it leaves a gentle wake.
There is a star with Heather’s name,
it shimmers in her face.
It hums within her laughter
and settles into grace.
You’ll see it in the evening sky—
a glimmer, calm and true.
A quiet sign that love like hers
still walks the world with you.
clr 2011
