Madeline Jarrett
The place I stand
In which I land
Is full of dirt, rock, and sand
Though it bears the carpet brand
Because without it the floor would be bland
But does it still adhere to the Earth's command?
Though what I do not understand
Is how it has withstand
The chaos of our world firsthand
With what we take in high demand
We begin to misunderstand
How we can reprimand
And expand
Our houses with great plan
More and more seemed to be crammed
It seems our world is just being slammed
With our unrelentless constructive hand
The world has become so rammed
Almost like a humans wasteland
She was better off being unmanned.
So this is our call to stop and land
And think of that dirt, rock, and sand
Under the carpet brand
Give Earth chance in the stand
Instead of her trees being banned
Why don't we let the flowers become spanned
Let her hold her hand
So she can love man
Always like she had planned.
Ella Green
My life’s work is loving God and loving others.
And I cherish the glimpses of heaven on earth.
Have you felt it?
The smiles on people’s faces
The laughter, the singing are heaven’s joy shining through our hearts.
Have you seen it?
There is heavenly beauty on earth.
In the world the bachelor buttons and butterflies of the garden
Seek sweetness all their days,
And they find it under the gold of the sun.
There is the intricately woven lattice of the apple pie and the ripe strawberries in a bowl—beautiful!
There is the dragonfly who flicks her paper wings above the pond and dips down to sip and sing.
There is the lavender hanging in the window, forever holding its magical, soothing scent.
My boots are old and worn. The leather is no longer the same color. The pockets in my coat are torn from holding so many of nature’s treasures.
Let me refocus my mind on what is truly important: my work of loving,
Which is the process of becoming, that I may give everything of myself and my life to Him and to others.
God is beautiful.
People are beautiful.
This world is beautiful.
Daily I am astounded at all that I see,
The black-eyed susan’s dancing under a pink sky,
The open fields with scattered hay bales,
The scarlet tanager who flies down to the garden and rests in the birdbath.
My work is giving of myself, my work is gratitude, my work is to love.
My work is to speak words that bring encouragement.
My work is to do things that are kind.
My work is to think little of myself and more of God and others.
I have died.
And now I am alive,
Living for the work of loving.
Lillian Mcardle
i tried to clean my room today.
but my head felt too heavy
and my jaws were clenched.
the room is too big.
and i’m too tired.
candy wrappers gather in the bed
and on the floor where i toss them
those are easy to pick up.
but the clothes
they provide an extra layer of carpet
it’s too heavy.
my fairy lights are barely functional.
every few weeks the scotch tape gives up
and lets go of the wall.
very slowly, the collage of photos and paintings
collected over the years begins to break apart, one by one.
the room is deteriorating with me in it
i turn on my salt lamp for the first time since summer.
i have a panic attack.
the light looks too familiar.
i hide under my bedsheets
as if trying to escape it
only to wake up in the morning
and scroll through tiktok until one pm
when i finally walk out of my room.
i cannot survive without this mess
even though it kills me.
i give in to the piles of clothes and food
as if holding on to it for dear life.
i walk into my prison at ten pm
ready to embrace my bed
even though it longs to suffocate me
the room is too big.
and i’m too tired.
Tessa Knutson
There’s a difference between warm and warm in the winter
Warm in the winter is huddling around a fire
Red noses all blowing over cups of hot cocoa
Every day slaving away
Knees frozen
Fingers 3 degrees from broken
Snapping off like icicles
The moon shows its face
And christmas vinyl records start to play
Scratching the inside of your brain
as you hide underneath a heated blanket
Smell of spice cookies and pine needles fill the house
A movie in black and white plays in the living room,
Fire cracks and lights twinkle bright from the edges of a roof
When it’s time to go to bed you sneak 3 more cookies to eat and run up the stairs to cover yourself in 5 extra blankets as the wind blows its eerie lullaby whispering in your ear as you drift into sleep
Comforted yet terrified of the presence of darkness lurking outside of your eyes shut tight
Hidden beneath heavy covers
Tessa Knutson
A purple soft, wrinkled plum
Balanced cautiously at the edge of the kitchen sink
Filled with dirty dishes
That have laid there for too long
On the very top,
Regally
A wasp
Observes the world from it’s high and mighty pedestal
It lives on the edge
Dangerously
A daredevil, you may say
As I wash the dishes
The wasp stares, unmoving
Braving the possibility of a water droplet
I admire the beauty of the folds of each wing
But fear the possibility of it lifting off
Ready to launch itself with all its power
Directly at my face
Merciless.
—
A wasp drags its feeble body
Trying to will its wings to fly through the solid window
Always failing
Never giving up
Always crawling up and down the window pane
Yearning for freedom
It should not have come here in the first place
Curiosity killed the wasp
I think that’s how the saying goes
It is a pathetic creature
But there is determination and child-like playfulness
That will soon be another corpse plastered on my wooden floor
In the deep trenches under my bed
It flies too close to my face
I am afraid
I smack it
It dies.
The last buzz of a pitiful wasp
What have I done?
Ella Green
Ella Green
