 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
GROUP 2
Man is all symmetry,
And he demands that nature follows.
He shapes, and carves, and alters it
Until it suits his needs.
Once nature fits the image man is looking for,
A cookie-cutter magazine ad
With nothing out of place,
Nature is lost, but man’s symmetry prevails.
Chelsea Karrels
Announced by all the trumpets of the sky
North winds pull and push and spin
Branches bare and trunks dug in
To the hardened frozen ground
Lauren Krieg
Set yourself free,
You are too young.
Let yourself be,
Your song is not yet sung.
Katie Higley
The line of lilac trees
that separated my yard
from the neighbors
was the gateway
into my favorite world.
Nature-
the most nurturing place
in my childhood.
I would stay
in those woods
for hours-
playing.
Jennifer Karvelas
In nature it is said, you see your true reflection
If I gazed upon my reflection, what would it look like?
Extravagant? Wasteful?
Most of the time I worry I’m not doing enough
To change what that image looks like
Am I a symptom of the problem or
Am I the cause?
What will my children’s and grandchildren’s reflection look like?
Danielle Pelsue
“I wandered lonely as a cloud”
All by myself my heart beats loud
It gives a rhythm to my days
But perhaps I need to change my ways
To mix things up and have some fun
And wander happily with someone
Liz Arata
The magic of the mist
The glory of the morning
Out for a run
I feel the cold air on my face
Contrast with the warm breath I exhale
I run because I need to think
To unscramble my brain
I run to feel free
To feel awake and alive
To embrace the world
But on my own terms
I run to escape into
The magic of the mist.
Melissa Gavin
Before my mirror I lift my hands
And face my remembered face.
Is the pallor my own, I wonder,
Or what the moonlight imparts
In passing? Are these rough
Curves hewn before an altar,
And my body pressed
Into a mottled tube,
Hefted to some antechamber
As a conveyor of echoes?
Is my expression the shadows
Punched from my brow, the wrinkles
Of my brain? My hair a blur,
At once growing and falling
Beneath the scissor-blades.
That scar, can it have healed
If it still seeks feather-fingered
Gropings, if the memory
Invades through the mirror,
Doubling every shaving-nick,
Pimple and piercing eyelash?
I dare not to venture
Deeper in the flinted mirror.
I bury my hands in my pockets.
Greg Hoffmann
The air you try to breathe
Is tainted by our actions.
Ignoring these causes,
Leaves no time for reactions.
Mitch Voss
Parrots may thank us, if they are not mute,
If they can survive the atrocities we’ve committed,
Stealing their homes for our selfish agendas.
If they can squawk and sing any longer
They may voice their objections and
Plead us to leave them be.
And if one day we can hear them,
If we listen to their cries and change our ways,
We may try to reverse our past mistakes.
And when those parrots have back their homes,
And if they are not mute,
Then, and only then, will they thank us.
Chelsea Karrels
“Beauties that the earth hath lost”
Are never tallied in the cost
Of modern changes so convenient
Perhaps we’ve been a bit too lenient
In giving up the world around
For technology that confounds
Our sense of what is real and fake
Perhaps it’s time to take a break
Liz Arata
Moving across my back and shoulders
The soft sun arcs from the sky
Angel plain, softly breathe
Watching over Earth and me
Moving up my hips and thighs
A thousand blades of green and gold
Angel plain, softly wave
Watching over Earth and me
Michael Dillenbeck
