The Bird is the Word: Sophisticated Schoolyard Shenanigans
By Renée Vazquez A.
Even when you’re falling apart,
you comfort me.
When you’re writhing in anger,
you calm me.
When angst gets in my way,
you support me.
You’re with me always.
When I feel alone,
tell me you are with me, always.
You take my breath away.
You make me smile so much I cry.
You make me cry so much I smile.
I will always need you.
Humanity will always need you.
Editor Charles Schnell
By Makena Behnke
i am trapped
today i came to the realization that i am trapped
there are very few days that i feel like this
that statement is false
i feel very small once i think deeply about myself
that statement is true
i know who i am
that statement is both true and false
Editor: Peter Kadel
By Renée Vazquez A.
Most people find it ridiculous
that I dare call myself foreign.
My skin is pale,
I’ve lived here for years;
I have no accent, with a few exceptions,
But yet, I am foreign.
I have not the loyalty or the indebted view
that many immigrants do.
But yet, I am foreign.
I feel foreign.
I was raised foreign.
I manage a very different perspective
on various things.
I read foreign.
I speak foreign.
But not in the crowd,
no, not in front of those near me,
for I have enough sense not to stand out.
I miss my country’s culture,
it’s rich long history,
and the kindness of its people
and the food they eat.
I scowl in resentment,
when my native place is mocked.
Especially when those people are ignorant
or just plain wrong.
Don’t get me wrong; I see its faults.
I know that it is flawed.
But not in those ways that are said by some.
But, in many ways, I’m foreign there too,
in the ways that I’m foreign here as well.
For sometimes I feel I am a foreigner of the world.
Editor: A.J. Patencio
By Peter Kadel
The trees sigh
The mountains howl
The rivers roar
The plains rumble as thousands of hooves stamp and pound across them
The desert deafens you with utter silence
And the sky accepts this noise and waits for it to disappear
Listen
The songbirds twitter and titter
Their wings beat as they whistle and tweet
The hawk lets out a piercing cry with the same lovely twang as an old guitar
The placid lake prefers silence wishing to listen to the lyrical beauty the frogs have to offer
And the fish are the glorious percussion as they leap through the glassy surface and then slap back down like a lazy drummer
Listen
The bow of a ship scrapes and scratches against gravely beaches
Metal tools clatter and clang as foolish explorers build monuments to materialism
Black powder ignites and lethal projectiles fly forward snuffing out our most precious treasure–life
The aggressors’ voices drown out the screams of Mother Nature and her children
Listen
Her anguished cries subside to gentle sobs as coal iron and timber are extracted and used to fuel the machine
Cities like arteries are linked by roads like veins bringing the stolen life to those undeserving of it
Gears and engines turn and grind a roar and devour the freshness of the world
We feed on the flesh and blood of earth and we smile as her blood drips from our faces.
Listen
Look someone cares
They speak out and carry signs wishing for change
They are defenders guardians warriors citizens of the natural world
They care and they aren’t afraid to tell the world
They hold marches
They practice conservation in everyday life
A generation has found their voice
Listen
But no one does
The bastards still drown us out with screeching machinery
Our peaceful resistance grinds to a halt as they grind the forest into dust and strip the world bare
They tell us we are wrong
They have the audacity to call us conspiracy theorists
I can’t bear to listen
So I won’t
It’s my turn to make some noise
It’s their turn to listen
And they don’t have a choice
My voice is my weapon and my wit is sharp
My battle cry will shake what little trees are left
I will roar like a hurricane
I will bellow like the machines you cherish
And I will drown them out and destroy them as they destroy the world
I will do it happily
You’d better listen
Editor: Makena Behnke
By Brennan Nick
Ghosts are a blurred idea, the dwelling of unfinished business.
When moving from your old home you may have had bitter feelings left,
The ones from unfinished business that murmur back to be resolved.
But less than a day later, a new family may come, a fresh coat of paint that faded away your impact.
All that you felt, had, loved, is no longer there, “tasteless,” you’d say, now just in your thoughts.
Maybe that’s why we believe that those icy ghosts exist,
That our lives had such an impact that they can still hush where we have been but no longer.
Editor: Peter Kadel
Every human being is
Equal.
Each human being is an 
Individual.
No one has a right to
Look down on someone
And laugh at them,
Or scold them.
We are all unique,
But we’re all
Human.
No one should look
Down on another just because
They’re “foolish” and different
When compared to the bully’s
“Brilliant” mind.
If only everyone would be respectful and kind,
We’d have a happy, peaceful world,
Full of joy,
Where evil, misfortune, and depression
Are extinct.
Sadly, that’s not the current truth.
But,
Will you change the world?
Editor: Shelby Armor
By Makena Behnke
those whose hair covers their eyes
those who decorate their bodies with ink from a needle or rings pierced into their skin
those whose hair is the color of the rainbow
those who are the rainbow
they don’t judge you as you anticipate, but you judge them as they mind their business
you judge them by their music or their favorite color
not as who they are but by the color of their fingernails
or what gender wears the makeup, or how much they apply and where it is applied
but little do you know the music you call “crap” and “stupid” is the music that helped them
those “idiots” that scream into the microphone are their heroes
and the way you judge is the reason why we need these heroes
Editor: Claire Jenkins
By Charles Schnell
When you write down
Your thoughts and your feelings,
Truthfully,
You materialize it.
Your thoughts and feelings
Are a physical substance,
Made by ink on paper.
Your brain recognizes them
As real, and
Not all in your head.
That’s why
Writing
Is the ultimate form of
Therapy.
No one controls your
Thoughts and feelings
But you in your writings,
Just like how
I am writing this poem
And sharing my thoughts and feelings with you
Now.
Editor: Peter Kadel
By Renee Vazquez
Waking up,
6 o’clock am,
nervous to an extreme,
get ready get dressed try to impress,
or leave yourself floating out in the void.
You’ve done this before,
oh many times, but those experiences,
cannot compare at all.
Don’t you dare get lost in those halls;
do you want to be the fool again?!
Well what a surprise the teachers are actually nice,
this is a welcome change of scene;
WAIT the textbooks are actually from this century!?
End of the day,
I’m completely exhausted,
but it didn’t end in a complete tragedy.
Maybe this school really is for me?
Editor: Makena Behnke