Poetry Excursion

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The Symphony of the Forest

A symphony of calls high above

Voices without a form

No body, just sound,

as if it’s the trees themselves.

 

There is no recitative

There is no intermission

This music has no beginning, no end.

It’s the music of the forest

 

It started with the first sprout

It will until the fall of the final stoic pillar

Once all the musician have left

And have found a new concert hall

Greg Silverstein

The Child and The Chipmunk

The scream of a child

The screech of chipmunk

 

One playing

One surviving

 

The chipmunk does not know of play

The child knows naught of survival

 

Hundreds of yards and millions of years separation

Yet originating from the same

 

Is the child blessed or cursed

Is the chipmunk blessed or cursed

 

One free in the forest

One confined to a schoolyard

Greg Silverstein

Crispy Business

Sun beating down,
Water all around.

A quaint breeze,
Flows throughout the trees.

Studying is in the back of the mind,
Leaving all thoughts behind.

Relaxing in the pool,
Not thinking of school.

Starting to get crispy,
I was feeling risky.

A nice day and yummy food,
Puts Lexi in a good mood.

The day is done,
Feeling beat from the sun.

Lexi Welch

A Ball Abandoned

A Ball Abandoned

Atop the grassy knoll I lie
Though not in slumber I fear.
I am stranded here among the grass…
Cast aside be my owner
And left by them to die.

My color fades;
The cruel doing of the sun, rain, and wind.
While once a brilliant verdant
My color now resembles that of my surroundings;
Dying grass blades.

I once brought great pleasure-
“Wilson 1” proudly plastered across my face-
My bouncing was cavorting,
My spirits high-
But time, ah time stole such light from me,
And gave my owner a new tennis ball for he or she to treasure.

So heed my lesson reader, please I beg you to:
No good thing lasts for ever
No love stays pure and true,
But in this life there will be others to place such value on you.
Like the dog which so happily picked me up, in his mouth to chew.

The Mighty Oak

Blistering heat scorches my silhouette as I cower behind the mighty oak.
His limbs frantically churn outward to absorb the blast.
Martyrdom is his destiny,
I am the cause.

The birds howl amongst themselves-
Marveling at his bravery.
Ephemeral Eulogies bound to become,
No possible way the oak could stand against the mighty sun.

Yet, against all the odds- the oak stands true.
Glaring back at the sun- and sky, so blue.
Blades of grass sway in disbelief.
Worms wriggle to the surface- weary of the commotion.

The oak stands mighty- need no words he say.
No eulogies shall be crafted for him this day-

Jacob Leonard