cosmic connections to poetry
The Girl who Speaks Wildflowers
I met a girl who speaks wildflowers--
Words like petals spilling from her smiling lips like water.
She spills to me her life, her stories.
Her doubts, her dreams, her fears, her worries.
She spoke so long I felt
I could get lost in the sound of her honesty.
But the dreaded moment came,
when her words trickled to a stop
she looked at me, and she waited
I carefully plucked my words--
a bouquet of roses.
Trimmed, exact.
Neatly wrapped in ribbons,
dethorned.
Not a single leaf out of place.
Couldn’t compare to her gift of wildflowers,
thorns and weeds,
dirt and all.
I met a girl
who reminded me of a language I did not know.
She spoke in wildflowers.
Lovely,
vivacious,
charming.
I spoke in roses.
Pretty,
monotonous,
plastic.
I met a girl
who made me ashamed
to hand her my roses.
Roses she had seen
Countless times, enough times
To mean nothing.
I met a girl
who reminded me of how
sometimes
I want to step up to the mic
and scream like the spirit of Yoko Ono
has inhibited my body
and flooded me with impenetrable courage
just to prove I have a voice
just to prove I have a choice
But when the mic gets placed in front of me,
I treat it like another chance to pretend
to talk about my problems in front of strangers
and tell myself I'll solve them.
How much longer can I lie to myself?
If only her words would snap me awake
If only someone would pull the emergency brake
On this godforsaken train
But I am the conductor
and I need to stop falling asleep.
I met a girl who speaks in wildflowers.
I hope that someday
I’ll finally learn the language
and be able to return the favor.
Words like petals spilling from her smiling lips like water.
She spills to me her life, her stories.
Her doubts, her dreams, her fears, her worries.
She spoke so long I felt
I could get lost in the sound of her honesty.
But the dreaded moment came,
when her words trickled to a stop
she looked at me, and she waited
I carefully plucked my words--
a bouquet of roses.
Trimmed, exact.
Neatly wrapped in ribbons,
dethorned.
Not a single leaf out of place.
Couldn’t compare to her gift of wildflowers,
thorns and weeds,
dirt and all.
I met a girl
who reminded me of a language I did not know.
She spoke in wildflowers.
Lovely,
vivacious,
charming.
I spoke in roses.
Pretty,
monotonous,
plastic.
I met a girl
who made me ashamed
to hand her my roses.
Roses she had seen
Countless times, enough times
To mean nothing.
I met a girl
who reminded me of how
sometimes
I want to step up to the mic
and scream like the spirit of Yoko Ono
has inhibited my body
and flooded me with impenetrable courage
just to prove I have a voice
just to prove I have a choice
But when the mic gets placed in front of me,
I treat it like another chance to pretend
to talk about my problems in front of strangers
and tell myself I'll solve them.
How much longer can I lie to myself?
If only her words would snap me awake
If only someone would pull the emergency brake
On this godforsaken train
But I am the conductor
and I need to stop falling asleep.
I met a girl who speaks in wildflowers.
I hope that someday
I’ll finally learn the language
and be able to return the favor.
Artist: Christine Nguyen
Statement from the Artist:
Sometimes there are little interactions you have that change your whole outlook on things. Conversations that spark a little bit of wonder in you, demonstrating the power of human connection.
Statement from the Artist:
Sometimes there are little interactions you have that change your whole outlook on things. Conversations that spark a little bit of wonder in you, demonstrating the power of human connection.
Attic
I'm gathering dust
Looking through the attic
These pictures with
That person at
That time when
Things were simpler
Beaches and scenes
I don't like anymore
Catch me when I
Fall asleep on the phone
These memories
Are almost out of time
Like swallowed megabytes
But there in the attic
It all comes back
Sometimes I'm waiting
For something else
To pull me inside.
Looking through the attic
These pictures with
That person at
That time when
Things were simpler
Beaches and scenes
I don't like anymore
Catch me when I
Fall asleep on the phone
These memories
Are almost out of time
Like swallowed megabytes
But there in the attic
It all comes back
Sometimes I'm waiting
For something else
To pull me inside.
Artist: E. Goldeen
Statement from the Artist:
A short reminiscence of searching through old memories. I noticed that it had been a long time since I got any photos developed. My pictures on my phone are much easier to delete. There are memories I want to bury and relive at the same time, as if stuck between past and present. Connections seem more fleeting in the modern age.
Statement from the Artist:
A short reminiscence of searching through old memories. I noticed that it had been a long time since I got any photos developed. My pictures on my phone are much easier to delete. There are memories I want to bury and relive at the same time, as if stuck between past and present. Connections seem more fleeting in the modern age.
Cold
I’d rather have you
I hate how cold it is
When fall comes
The utility lines spark
Something else,
And the crows
Have flown away
With yesterday’s
Conversations
My call log is flooded
With your name and
Spam voicemails
Is it strange that
I forget which is which
I hate how cold it is
But I’d rather not have you.
I hate how cold it is
When fall comes
The utility lines spark
Something else,
And the crows
Have flown away
With yesterday’s
Conversations
My call log is flooded
With your name and
Spam voicemails
Is it strange that
I forget which is which
I hate how cold it is
But I’d rather not have you.
Artist: E. Goldeen
Statement from the Artist:
It seems that phones symbolize modern connection. It's most certainly the same person on the other side, but why is it that it's difficult to picture when you only hear a voice? We get tired of calling people. A relationship through phone deteriorates so quickly, as if we are only just disembodied voices. It simply isn't the same level of connection as meeting someone in person.
Statement from the Artist:
It seems that phones symbolize modern connection. It's most certainly the same person on the other side, but why is it that it's difficult to picture when you only hear a voice? We get tired of calling people. A relationship through phone deteriorates so quickly, as if we are only just disembodied voices. It simply isn't the same level of connection as meeting someone in person.
The Seasons of Life
As time flows as fast as a just river runs,
Unaware of what the end holds,
And as we grow just as the beautiful flowers of spring
Now yet summer- with its beam of warmth,
Your body being filled with its cheery glow
Feeling as though you were standing only inches away from the source being the sun
The turning of fall, as the simple breeze flows throughout the air
Yet just how the leaves of fall wither away from the trees
And the feeling of a whole new season is arising
Yet now, winter has come with its crisp breeze
As the scenery now being covered in snow,
The feeling of being oh so pure has came once again
Unaware of what the end holds,
And as we grow just as the beautiful flowers of spring
Now yet summer- with its beam of warmth,
Your body being filled with its cheery glow
Feeling as though you were standing only inches away from the source being the sun
The turning of fall, as the simple breeze flows throughout the air
Yet just how the leaves of fall wither away from the trees
And the feeling of a whole new season is arising
Yet now, winter has come with its crisp breeze
As the scenery now being covered in snow,
The feeling of being oh so pure has came once again
Artist: C.F.
Statement from the Artist:
I feel as though each and every season gives off a different feeling, being much different from the last. I wanted my short poem to express that, and to also give off that feeling of experiencing new things.
Statement from the Artist:
I feel as though each and every season gives off a different feeling, being much different from the last. I wanted my short poem to express that, and to also give off that feeling of experiencing new things.
Break Free
I am as free as a bird,
I am strong and willed.
Or so they say.
Maybe I am.
But this does not free me from the burden laid upon me.
I am as tall as a tree,
As I reach for the warmth of the sun high in the sky.
So,
I chase the sun.
I reach,
And reach for the sun.
The birds and their song urge me on.
And finally,
The warmth of the flaming sun warms me,
I smile,
I am finally within reach of the sun.
Suddenly,
I remember.
I remember that I am not free,
For I am weighed down by this burden that has been laid upon me.
This burden drags me down,
Further,
And further,
From the sun.
With no warmth from the sun,
It is cold down here,
With no birds,
To sing their beautiful song,
Just me and darkness,
The darkness that I’ve hidden far within myself,
This burden you have laid upon me makes me weak and vulnerable,
And I crumble underneath it’s strength
I may be free,
I may be strong and willed,
But this burden laid upon me by you,
Is unbreakable.
I am strong and willed.
Or so they say.
Maybe I am.
But this does not free me from the burden laid upon me.
I am as tall as a tree,
As I reach for the warmth of the sun high in the sky.
So,
I chase the sun.
I reach,
And reach for the sun.
The birds and their song urge me on.
And finally,
The warmth of the flaming sun warms me,
I smile,
I am finally within reach of the sun.
Suddenly,
I remember.
I remember that I am not free,
For I am weighed down by this burden that has been laid upon me.
This burden drags me down,
Further,
And further,
From the sun.
With no warmth from the sun,
It is cold down here,
With no birds,
To sing their beautiful song,
Just me and darkness,
The darkness that I’ve hidden far within myself,
This burden you have laid upon me makes me weak and vulnerable,
And I crumble underneath it’s strength
I may be free,
I may be strong and willed,
But this burden laid upon me by you,
Is unbreakable.
Artist: Penelope Guillen
Statement from the Artist:
When faced with something that holds us back, we can feel disconnected from the world. Sometimes we get stuck in a dark place. Even though we may feel disconnected and alone, we aren't. It's up to you to break free from what ever is holding you back and to know you are not alone and that there are people who do care and want to help.
Statement from the Artist:
When faced with something that holds us back, we can feel disconnected from the world. Sometimes we get stuck in a dark place. Even though we may feel disconnected and alone, we aren't. It's up to you to break free from what ever is holding you back and to know you are not alone and that there are people who do care and want to help.
Veiled Lights
Which is Dipper? Which is Mars?
Which is treasured Northern Star?
Point them out from in the sky,
tell me where does Draco fly.
Oh, vast ceiling of old fire,
why should dawn have you retire?
Constellations, front to back,
never viewing more than black
for from home I cannot see
past the blinking lights that flee.
I beg the moon to truly know,
to intimately bask in glow.
Yet I stay gazing, up above,
for they are stars and stars I love.
Which is treasured Northern Star?
Point them out from in the sky,
tell me where does Draco fly.
Oh, vast ceiling of old fire,
why should dawn have you retire?
Constellations, front to back,
never viewing more than black
for from home I cannot see
past the blinking lights that flee.
I beg the moon to truly know,
to intimately bask in glow.
Yet I stay gazing, up above,
for they are stars and stars I love.
Artist: Kiara Chanille Sikat
Statement from the Artist:
This poem is about a person yearning to learn the stars. It is based off my experiences of moving to America and realizing that I cannot see the stars every night due to light pollution. I can never truly understand the stars but I admire and love them due to my connections.
Statement from the Artist:
This poem is about a person yearning to learn the stars. It is based off my experiences of moving to America and realizing that I cannot see the stars every night due to light pollution. I can never truly understand the stars but I admire and love them due to my connections.
Where I Am From
I am from months of shaking my head
From choosing to walk on my smooth knees instead
I am from poor little knees saying sorry
From the booming burden of walking
I am from falling like Parkinson’s disease on my bum
From walking around to me becomes a quiet fun
I am from gushing pride and belief blooming
From courage beaming through
I am from slippery falls
From falls that are turning small
I am from now never stopping, becoming crisp bold
From running one place to another without rustling to be hold
I am at tons of homework and tests
At gloomy days of boredom and streaked stress
I am at homework like an alien invader taking away time from activities
I am at books pounding on my door
At them telling me to finish my work
I am at tasteless weekends
Tests are cramps cramming me up with twinge
I am at glittering dreams
At spring break giving me a new tinkling birth
I am at twinkling times of feeling alive again
At dropping barriers clearing my view from dazzling dark and stressful nights
I am going to be climbing the mountain
Going to reach for the shimmering stars
I am going to rise, develop, inspire, and bloom from the past
Going to be like the season of sparkling spring
I am going to forget the stressed silent girl back then
I am going to delete her from my past
Going to create a giggling and glowing young lady for the future
From choosing to walk on my smooth knees instead
I am from poor little knees saying sorry
From the booming burden of walking
I am from falling like Parkinson’s disease on my bum
From walking around to me becomes a quiet fun
I am from gushing pride and belief blooming
From courage beaming through
I am from slippery falls
From falls that are turning small
I am from now never stopping, becoming crisp bold
From running one place to another without rustling to be hold
I am at tons of homework and tests
At gloomy days of boredom and streaked stress
I am at homework like an alien invader taking away time from activities
I am at books pounding on my door
At them telling me to finish my work
I am at tasteless weekends
Tests are cramps cramming me up with twinge
I am at glittering dreams
At spring break giving me a new tinkling birth
I am at twinkling times of feeling alive again
At dropping barriers clearing my view from dazzling dark and stressful nights
I am going to be climbing the mountain
Going to reach for the shimmering stars
I am going to rise, develop, inspire, and bloom from the past
Going to be like the season of sparkling spring
I am going to forget the stressed silent girl back then
I am going to delete her from my past
Going to create a giggling and glowing young lady for the future
Artist: Bhumi Chauhan
Statement from the Artist:
This is a poem reflecting on my past, present, and how I will be proceeding in the future. It portrays the small details that make us the individuals that we are today.
Statement from the Artist:
This is a poem reflecting on my past, present, and how I will be proceeding in the future. It portrays the small details that make us the individuals that we are today.
