Poems featured on this page also appear in the 2018 volume of Cascadia, OPA’s student poetry journal.
To Me
Give your burdens to me
So I can burn them,
Give your worries to me
So I may quell them,
Give your impossible ambitions to me
For you won’t need them,
Give your fears to me
So I can tame them,
Give your pride to me
It will only hamper you,
Give your hatred to me
For it will consume you,
Give your lies to me
Regret won’t save you,
Give your dreams to me
Sleep only slows you,
Give your success to me
you’ve seen it before,
Give failure to me
This you can’t afford,
Give effort to me
And go find more,
Give love to me
It closes doors,
But truth you’ll need
To stop life’s lies,
And care you’ll need
So you can cry,
And friends you’ll need
To help you fly,
And peace you’ll need
To find your sky.
Amy Amato
Roots Academy, Salem: Eighth Grade
Jessica Cavanaugh, Teacher
War
As the ground begins to shake
Overhead the sky blackens
Many fall dead
We charge
Pushing against the enemy
Stabbing, throwing,
Yells and screams fill the air
Flesh tears
Horses rear up and run
Huffs and puffs as both sides tire
Defeat inevitable
But many stay as the rest retreat
Knowing that this is their last day
falling,
Being overwhelmed by the enemies’ numbers
Getting surrounded
Flailing the sword left and right
Trying to keep them away
An arrow hits my neck
And I fall this day
Kolbe Bollier
Judson Middle School, Salem: Eighth Grade
Karen Kinnett, Teacher
Just Me
I cannot change
I cannot change my long legs that dominate my body
I cannot change my shifty voice
That repeats itself like an echo
I cannot help the large bumps on my face
That my hormones decided to explore
I cannot help my plump nose that raids my face
I cannot help my large unformed hair
That resembles a lion’s mane.
I am who I am
No matter what you say
And these “ugly” things make me
Me
And those “scary” things that make me appear “hideous”
Make me look different from the others
Which I like
If my tall legs were to melt away like a candle
And my voice didn’t repeat itself like a copier
And my red bumps decided to delay their adventure
And my chubby nose magically got slimmed out
And my lion’s mane became as smooth as a feather
I wouldn’t improve one bit
No matter what I’d change about my “hideous” features
Now that I finally realized
I like every bit of my “Ugliness”
No matter what you say
It’s just me
Carlie Cieri
Judson Middle School, Salem: Eighth Grade
Karen Kinnett, Teacher
Death
No
Not here
Not now
I’m not ready,
Although,
Who ever is?
A small squeeze encompasses your hand,
this is it,
this is the end.
You’ve been given months to prepare,
prepare for this moment right here.
But you,
you stupid,
stuttering,
shameful,
excuse for a human,
you spent it all dreaming
hoping,
praying,
that this day would not come,
and when for weeks it was as postponed you celebrated,
rejoiced even!
Why punish yourself with such trickery?
You deserve shame for such.
Alas,
here it is,
braced or not he still comes;
He seems to enjoy showing his face in my presence,
at least I assume it’s a him,
maybe it’s a her
and she drifts down
to collect her bounty.
Never late,
Simply forgetful.
Olivia Davis
Roots Academy, Salem: Eighth Grade
Jessica Cavanaugh, Teacher
Crows
They fly in a low cloud
A murder.
They cast a veil of sheer loathing
Above the people below.
Grim creatures,
As black as death itself,
Associated with the plague
That killed thousands long ago.
They are the symbol of ill luck
And are discriminated
For their past
Carriers of diseases
Eaten alive by parasites
But what people don’t see,
Is their intelligence at most
For they see the dark things
That we humans don’t.
They see the liars and the cheaters,
The good and the bad
The fakes and the reals
The saved and the damned
They see us not only for what we truly are,
But for what we do.
The stalkers in the daylight,
The crows of our nation
Alexis Gerspacher
Judson Middle School, Salem: Eighth Grade
Karen Kinnett, Teacher
My Prison Cell
My prison cell
is the most secure place
to keep my insecurities.
I can do whatever I want,
inside my cell,
but if my mouth carries my words beyond
the bars, echoing through the ears
of the jailors of society
and the guards of parenthood,
I am criticized and told to
grow up.
In my prison cell I am expected
to stay on the conveyor belt
of ordinary life
yet only because it was proven
to be successful and worthy.
In my prison cell the metal chains
they put on our hands
are the back-stabbing, root-tearing
words that chain us to the ground.
Reminding us of our
faults and imperfections.
In my prison cell it is often forgotten
that there is a
great empire inside us all,
and its foundation is
love.
Each brick holds
the very essence of
our souls.
When people notice
the empire we built
inside ourselves,
it gives us the freedom
to break away
from our prison cells
and be teenagers.
Sienna Liljenwall
Floyd Light Middle School, Portland: Eighth Grade
Jeanne Drake, Teacher
You Are Not Defined
You are not your looks
You are not the size of the clothes you wear
You are not the amount of makeup you put on
Or the color of your hair
You are not a toy
Or defined by anything you own
You are not the amount of friends you have
Or the things you’ve shown
You are what you believe in
And how you express it too
You are the books you read
And the gifted words you speak
If they’re true
You are the sweetness in your laughter
The way your face turns red you always try to hide
You are all the tears of happiness you have ever cried
You are the place you call home
That smells comforting and fruity
You are the places you are going
And a lover of spring’s beauty
You are the songs that you “sing” loudly
When no one else is there
You are a person who almost always cares
You are the people that you love
And the future you dream of
You are your dedication
And your fantastic fascination
You are so beautiful
Although you have forgot
When you decided you were defined
By everything you’re not
Madison Monahan
Judson Middle School, Salem: Eighth Grade
Karen Kinnett, Teacher
The Life of a Short Kid
Stepping on my tippy toes
trying to see above everyone
“Hey look at that” I hear someone say
I jump up and down
Trying to see all the commotion
Over the people who seem like skyscrapers
No luck
The life of a short kid
Pacing up and down the basketball court
The taste of sweat in my mouth
The leathery ball leaves my fingertips
Up
Up it goes
But swatted by a giant
The life of a short kid
Shoulders brushing against my head
As I walk through the crowded halls at school
The slightest accidental push
Sends me flying through the walls
The life of a short kid
Coming home and smelling
The aroma of fresh baked cookies
Left from hours ago
after my mother finished up a batch of
the sweet tasting treats
Clatter
Clatter
My mother sets the cookie jar
On top of a high shelf
The jar humiliates me as it stares down in
my direction
I extend my arm up for the container
No luck
The life of a short kid
I look left and right as I hear snickers about me
coming from the human giraffes
And I wonder how they would act
If they knew
The life of a short kid
Christopher Rogers
Judson Middle School, Salem: Eighth Grade
Karen Kinnett, Teacher