the bird on fire

The Bird is the Word: Sophisticated Schoolyard Shenanigans

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Ignify

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By Renée

 

lately the world seems to be on its head.

in fact, that is how it has always seemed. we always have our

visors pulled over our

eyes. there we try to hide

 

from all our progress, which we deny, but we must realize that we

occupy a great time to be alive.

right now is all that we will ever

 

have.

apparently it is becoming harder and harder to see that.

perspective is what we need to solve the

problems that our beautiful world has. we need to be

involved. we, all of us,

need to care. it is

essential to stop being

squeamish about the problems that we have all allowed. we need to

stop, care and act.

Editor: Leo Milmet

Excisus

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By Tahra Dactyl

 

Some interruptions are okay.

Like when you’re talking at a restaurant

and your waitress brings your food,

or when you’re bored and alone,

and you get a call from your favorite person,

or when you are at a doctor’s office,

and your name gets called.

But it is certainly not okay

When you interrupt my life

with your sweet words,

and the way that your smile reaches your eyes,

and how you know exactly what to do to make me feel better,

and the way you talk with your hands,

and when you sometimes mix up your words,

and all of the lies,

and deceit,

and the way that you pretended to care,

and your “I have to work late tonight”s,

and the yelling,

and the way that you ended everything we had.

The “it’s not you it’s me.”

That

Is not okay.

Editor: Shelby Armor

Conflict and Competition

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by Anonymous

 

The world is strange–

full of constant conflict, be it subtle or forthright.

Why?

I would have it more “boring” and more peaceful, more joyous.

Conflict should be a principle of drama, not of life,

but I’ve come to the conclusion that will

never happen.

We’re not collaborative; we’re competitive.

I just wish I knew why.

We’re hairless apes, but even apes deserve better.

Nonetheless, conflict and competition,

be they cancers or creators,

are ever-present.

They’re part of human nature.

 

But I wish they weren’t.

O God, I wish they weren’t.

 

Editor: Makena Behnke

01010011 01101110 01100001 01101011 01100101, A Poem In Binary

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By Antonio Patencio

01010011 01101110 01100001 01101011 01100101 00100000 01101111 01101000 00100000
01110011 01101110 01100001 01101011 01100101 00100000 01101111 01101000 00100000
01101101 01100001 01110010 01110110 01100101 01101100 01101111 01110101 01110011 00100000
01110111 01101111 01101110 01100100 01110010 01101111 01110101 01110011 00100000
01100010 01100101 01100001 01110101 01110100 01101001 01100110 01110101 01101100 00100000
01110011 01101110 01100001 01101011 01100101 00100000
01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01100101 01100001 01110100 00100000
01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000
01101101 01101001 01100011 01100101 00100000
01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000
01110011 01110111 01100001 01101100 01101100 01101111 01110111 00100000
01110100 01101000 01100101 01101101 00100000
01110111 01101000 01101111 01101100 01100101 00100000
01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01100101 01100001 01110100 00100000
01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000
01110010 01100001 01100010 01100010 01101001 01110100 01110011 00100000
01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000
01110011 01110111 01100001 01101100 01101100 01101111 01110111 00100000
01110100 01101000 01100101 01101101 00100000
01110111 01101000 01101111 01101100 01100101 00100000
01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000
01110011 01101100 01101001 01110100 01101000 01100101 01110010 00100000
01101001 01101110 00100000 01100111 01110010 01100001 01110011 01110011 00100000
01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000
01110011 01101100 01101001 01110100 01101000 01100101 01110010 00100000
01101001 01101110 00100000 01101000 01101111 01101100 01100101 01110011 00100000
01100010 01110101 01110100 00100000 01101100 01100101 01110100 00100000
01110101 01110011 00100000 01101000 01101111 01110000 01100101 00100000
01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01100001 01110010 01100101 00100000
01101110 01101111 01110100 00100000 01101001 01101110 00100000
01100001 01101110 00100000
01100101 01100001 01100111 01101100 01100101 00100111 01110011 00100000
01101000 01101111 01101100 01100100 00101110

*and its translation . . .

 

Snake oh

snake oh

marvelous

wondrous

beautiful

snake

you eat

the

mice

you

swallow

them

whole

you eat

the

rabbits

you

swallow

them

whole

you

slither

in grass

you

slither

in holes

but let

us hope

you are

not in

an

eagle’s

hold.

Editor: Shelby Armor

Sam Smith as “Raw Material”

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By Claire Jenkins

Poetic Form: Found Poetry

The literary equivalent of a collage, found poetry is often made from newspaper articles, street signs, graffiti, speeches, letters, or even other poems. A pure found poem consists exclusively of outside texts.–Poets.org

The following poem is completely made up of lyrics from various Sam Smith songs creating a uniquely original “Claire” poem about love.

 

Don’t have direction, I’m just rolling down this road

Waiting for you to bring me in from out the cold

Cause I was built for you

Yes I was built to carry all your feelings

No need to step back

Don’t be scared, I got you, you know that

Now I’ve got you in my space

I won’t let go of you

Please don’t get me wrong

I wanna keep it moving

I know what that requires

I’m not foolish

We both have demons, that we can’t stand

I love your demons, like devils can

And deep down I know this never works

But you can lay with me so it doesn’t hurt

There’s a method to my madness

It’s clear that you don’t have a clue

And I hate to say I need you

I’m so reliant

I’m so dependent

I’m such a fool

I wish this would be over now

But I know that I still need you here

Don’t say it was the best thing for the both of us

When I’m the one playing the fool

I don’t think this will last

But you’re here in my arms

Told me not to cry when you were gone

But the feeling’s overwhelming, it’s much too strong

Cause I put everything out there and I got

Nothing at all

There’s nothing I can do

I’m helpless without you

Editor: Makena Behnke

Femina

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By Tahra Dactyl

 

Our value as women is disregarded,

compromised.

When we are anything other than the body

constructed for us,

we are outcast,

we are treated as an anomaly.

 

We are expected to wear makeup and

look pretty.

Our bodies are used to promote products,

treated as no more than an outlet for revenue.

But when we accept our bodies

(thus showing some skin),

we become shameful.

We lose our credibility.

We become

the dirt

that we walk on.

 

But we are so much more than that.

Editor: Claire Jenkins

The True Heroes

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By Charles Schnell

 

Charles received Honorable Mention for this poem submitted to the Youth Town Hall “Giving Back” Poetry Competition–a valley-wide competition held in honor of Caroline Kennedy, former ambassador to Japan and daughter of John F. Kennedy. Kennedy is a longtime advocate and editor of poetry. Her family is known for its dedication to service. The compilation of poems was a gift to Kennedy when she spoke at the Desert Town Hall Forum last month.

 

The celebrities,

The athletes,

The CEOs,

The lawyers.

These aren’t the

True heroes

(Especially the lawyers).

Rather,

Blessed be

The organ donors,

The charity givers,

The teachers,

The soldiers,

Those who give their time, money, and life

To giving back,

For they are

The true heroes.

Editor: Renée Vazquez

Stage Fright

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By Tahra Dactyl

Humans are incredible at acting,

except not on a conventional stage.

We act on a stage of discrimination:

sexism,

religious intolerance,

homomisia,

racism.

A stage of social constructs.

We have doomed ourselves to lives

of acting.

Pretending we’re someone we’re not.

Forced into personas by our fear of being left out,

our fear of being seen as

different.

We’re all good at acting,

because

of our stage fright.

 

Editor: Renée Vazquez

Ciana

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By  Renée

 

I looked at her

felt my heart fall to the floor

and begged the earth to

swallow me.

 

I fought with her.

 

She made me cry.

She wanted me to leave.

She said I wasn’t worthy for my dreams.

 

She cried too.

 

I could see right through her–

she was disintegrating–

and a pain in my chest burst through.

 

Then I splashed some water on my face

and walked away from the mirror.

Editor: Claire Jenkins

gurl power

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Poet Blogger Makena Behnke reminds us March is National Women’s History Month.

 

don’t tell me how to wear my hair

don’t tell me how much makeup to wear

don’t tell me you don’t like my style

and definitely don’t tell me to smile

maybe in your small dumb brain you think it’s flattering

but in our big broad minds it makes us want to scream

screaming, though, is no big fun

our voices hurt and then get numb

though they turn to deep, hoarse voices

maybe then you’ll think we should have some choices

–women’s day is everyday

 

Editor: Shelby Armor