Scroll through to read poems by writers of Heritage High School’s Writers Guild!
Growing Pains
Jenna Cajayon
Back when the greatest adventure found
was in the emerald abyss, I called my backyard.
Savoring and seeking out saccharine sentiments,
Satisfied was I with the sweetness of a clean, faultless slate.
Back when I found sublime, in movies such as Coraline
Even in moments such as the time I first walked home.
Navigating through the concrete forest, maze-like streets, and
Fending off the roaring, perpetual gaze and curiosity of strangers
Back when I stood hesitantly with
the cup bearing the responsibilities and hardships of this life.
As the politely, pink, picturesque watch on my wrist began to tick,
What once was a green, lively leaf soon faded into a deep orange.
I was driven.
I was fierce.
I was tired.
I must be, after realizing there was much to fear.
Back when the biggest dilemma was how to properly tie shoes,
And when the heaviest burden was a weighted hula hoop,
In the blink of an eye, every taste of sweetness hinted a unique bitterness
I caught a glimpse of a future set in stone, one where sand would no longer be there as I swing
I am the Fall
Nancye Wedajo
I thought I was the pitter patter of Winter rain
But maybe I’m the rustic breeze in Fall
I thought I could be the calm after the storm
But the storms… I ignite them all
I wanted to be the beams of sunlight
But I guess the peppering of leaves will do
I wanted to be the gulls and sand
But I’m stuck with the setting suns curfew
Maybe I could be the daisies and picnics
Instead of this ineffable 70 degree daze
April showers bring May flowers
But escapism still remains a haze
Autumn time
It’s a dread
An uneasiness
A death
I would be all the other seasons in a heartbeat
But I’m stuck with this one
..with mine
Instead
I know I’m the foliage of Autumn
It’s an inescapable fate
I am the haze, the leaves, the death, the breeze, the Fall
I know… they’re such feisty, audacious traits
But I wanted to be cool and frosty and nonchalant
I wanted to be bubbly and approachable and burning hot
I wanted to be refreshing and gentle… everything I’m not
But it is Autumn that keeps me from falling apart
Autumn that keeps me going strong
Autumn is a cycle, a rebirth
The marker of death, and the reincarnation of it all
So while the year might start with Winter
My heart
begrudgingly
belongs to
Spring
Summer
Fall
– ps.thestoveson
A Tea Lover’s Wonderland
Maegan Marie Serrano
Aroma of lemon and cinnamon.
The downcast of the rain, pouring so sudden.
Evergreen trees rustle against the window.
A Little Princess, the book resting on a pillow.
Lights on string glimmering as bright as a fairy.
Overheating mug, your hands becoming pink like a cherry.
Varying journals and books litter the floor of the room.
Evening sky, brightened by lightning with a boom.
Reaching down seeing the scatter of titles,
Some of them are works of your own errors and trials.
Wind creeks the old mahogany wood.
Over the fireplace mantle, the picture frames dangle on hooks.
Nat King Cole’s “L-O-V-E” plays on the Victrola
Dancing the night away like you’re under the garden pergola.
“E- is even more than anyone that you adore can…love.”
Raindrops fall softly on the roof above.
Little pitter patters overlap with the tunes,
Another lyric plays as you take one more step with a “one
N’ a two.”
Dancing the night away in a tea lover’s wonderland.
A Conversation With You
Ellyn Dizon Formes
When she was merely a child,
A little girl still trying to balance on her own two feet
She didn’t have much to say, nor any worries hidden deep
Just a simple phrase, a word to describe,
And a smile that never faded
No matter how much she was obliged
She’s older now, no longer afraid to stand
Yet every time she speaks, nothing seems to go as planned.
She looks back at the girl in front of her,
A bitterness, a resentful stare, one that could rival daggers if she dared.
Her words are more full now, all supposedly “grown-up”
As she seems to ask her younger self,
“Have I done enough?”
And with a turn, the years have gone by,
A huff and a puff reach with a reply.
“You silly girl, define enough,
haven’t you fought with yourself long enough?”
A woman now, that’s who she is,
Now with words that have been sewn deep within.
All wounds are closed now, yet not fully healed.
Yet without fail, she will never yield.
“She’s right you know! Do not be fooled or misruled,”
A new voice boomed, a new echo to the room.
“Hear my guidance, my wishes to you,”
And there it is again, her smile now everlasting.
“Do not fail what has not fallen. So much is yet to be done!
And there is so much left to be said. If you continue to fight us,
What are you fighting against? We understand every word,
Every worry, and every struggle you face. And through it all,
I could find my way out and never look for you.
Yet I could never trade it all away, as long as it means,”
“I can have a conversation with you.”
Sun
Poet
The Sun and Me:
The sun doesn’t bleed
The sun doesn’t need
The sun doesn’t feel
The sun doesn’t kneel
The sun doesn’t see
The sun doesn’t cry
The sun doesn’t die
But I do
I do
I feel
I kneel
I see
I bleed
I live
So perhaps, the sun wishes it could bleed
Spices
Nancye Wedajo
Florid scents waft up to my room
Aromas encircle me
Envelope me
The clinking of cutlery
As everything’s tidied up
And now everything’s set
The table’s ready
I walk down the flight of steps
My nose is what leads the way
I pick up cardamom
Bay leaf
Berbere
All the spices
All the peppers
The mash potatoes have no butter
Because no one likes butter in our household
Everything’s been coated in spices
Because everyone likes spices in our household
The turkey doesn’t exist at our table
We have chicken instead
Marinated and served
With gravy all the same
We don’t eat Thanksgiving dinner
Instead we eat Thanksgiving lunch
We believe
All that food right before bed
Is a bit too much
We all sit around the table
We pray in thanks for the food before us
Or maybe we do something else
We sit as the spices waft
As they coalesce with the cosmos of our skin
As they adorn our hair with starlight
The scent is ingrained in us
The table is our sun
As we orbit around with plates
The spices are our stars
Because they make up our universe
And as the stars hold history
So do the spices
Even on Thanksgiving
There’s history in the holiday
History in our meals
Maybe it isn’t your history
Or even your heritage
But a holiday isn’t yours
Or even ours
A holiday is everyone’s
And the flavor of ours
Is no concern
To you
– our different kind of Thanksgiving
Untitled
Poet
Today, Tomorrow, Forever:
Today will be a day to remember
Full of productivity and much
Hopes and dreams and many more
Ride the shoulders of tomorrow
But tomorrow will come and go
Alongside it, so will I
But forever will exist
In a place for neither you nor me
Forever will exist
In the hearts of today
The Brentwood Youth Press 