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The snow falls softly on the last day of our lives,
painting the world white,
painting it quiet.
Coldness creeps across the floor
freezes our marrow as we whisper our last words.
As the tears fall we catch glimpses
of the photographs impressed upon them,
black and white portraits of the unforgotten.
Shadows no longer haunt the walls and hallway
footsteps cease.
Time freezes and we see ourselves in heaps
strewn across the floor.
The blood falling this day makes paintings in the earth.
We tremble as we walk in the wasteland,
inviting us into wooden unknown.
Shots fire, or was it ringing in tired ears?
We stumble upon a clearing
find remnants of a lost existence.
We smile as tears roll down our cheeks
the sun slowly finds us there.
I will never leave this place,
even as my steps carry me into the desert,
the place of outcasts and outlaws.
But the prison has been swept away
by the icy dawn angry at the intrusion.
I sit now in this barren valley
play chords no one knows.
I pound the keys until the mountains call for me to stop,
but I wont stop.
My heart is broken.
The trees weep for me
as I pour emptiness from my fingertips.
The cruel wind begs
but I am absent in sound.
Death alone can cure this love.
So my fingers dance across the notes.
They sing and move the clouds to tears.
Snow flakes fall, grace my melody with their delicate filigree but they cannot quell the poetry in my joints,
poetry beyond words,
wrapped in a silver lace of sorrow.
This tune is forever.
It will linger long after I wither away,
echoing its music in the hills
and among the trees.

Hayley Dougherty
12th Grade, South Coast High School
Point Arena, CA
Blake More, Poet-Teacher





My Place to Get Away

In my little world, where all is calm and nice
I have a secret place
with flowers of all colors, like lemon yellow,
and raspberry red
In my little world, there is no war
A violet veil covers my world
protecting it from truth
It holds the peace of a cherry tree in spring
with flowers pale and soft
My little world is innocent
In my little world, the sky is an indigo sea
with specks of sand for stars
The clouds are bits of foam,
floating in the sky...but never does it fog.
My little world is my imagination
yet it seems so very real
It is my little place..
My little place to get away.

Julia Harencar
5 th Grade, Mendocino Grammar School
Mendocino, CA
Karen Lewis, Poet-Teacher

I Never Write About Anything

                        I never write
about anything like the color
of the darkness of midnight
Or how the veins in my body are like mazes                        I never write
about anything because I don't like to write
Or maybe I'm afraid to write
about my true feelings
about life itself
I never write about anything.

Kyle Callen
7 th Grade, Mendocino Middle School
Mendocino, CA
Karen Lewis, Poet-Teacher

Half Good, Half Bad

Half good, half bad.
One side happiness
One side anger
One side birds chirping
One side birds attacking
One side a waterfall of candy
One side a waterfall of dark spirits.

Hector Toscano
3 rd Grade, Dana Gray Elementary
Mendocino, CA
Karen Lewis, Poet-Teacher



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