- poems of descending grace
Spring 2002
Splintered
she rocks
gently
scanning the barren
forlorn concrete
and the untamed
weed-infested grass
she is hurt
the chair
dark green
wooden, splintered
hair sweeping across her face
expression overturned
in confusion, pain, fear
her eyes, wide, deep bloodshot
she opens a can of pepsi
shaking hands
the abrupt hiss awakens the silent, cool neighborhood
3 am, darkness prevails
glowering at the flag blowing
back and forth
staring at the railing
which holds her long lanky feet up
rocking gently
into the night
Kathleen, Grade 12
Madeira Jr./Sr. High School
"The Bible says to love your brother"
I say as I start my final sermon. I look to Daniel amongst the others. He smiles, the rest of the congregation just nods politely, saying silently your time is up. All those Christmas Eve Candlelight Christmas Services...Enough of that, the only thing to worry about is this sermon.
"Love your brother at his weakest moment. At the moment the vein is about to be split by the nail, the bloody shroud."
I know I'll miss the musty smell of the Bibles and the pulpits when you stand alone in the collar at midnight.
"God sees through your outward appearance. Race, gender and all that other stuff is temporary. He only sees the heart, that's what goes with you."
I see all of the small children I baptized, they think Reverend Tom is moving to another church. They told them in Sunday School that I had done so much good work here that it is time for me to help another congregation.
"Make sure you love each other. I don't know about Heaven, but the love we have here is what it's all about."
I take one look at Daniel and manage not to cry. My attention is drawn to our own stained glass window with Jesus on the Cross. Today is my crucifixion.
"I loved and love you all. You are all my brothers, and I hope one day you will feel the same."
I walk from the alter and Daniel falls beside me. The warmth of his hand tells me I'm not alone.
David, Grade 12
Walnut Hills High School
Trophy Case Phantom
Like a ghost,
her hallow eyes stare into mine.
The gleam of golden trophies
Outlines her auburn hair.
I read through her stomach
"1986 State Champions"
A quick once-over,
And the transparent shadow
Turns away.
I quickly glance at my untucked shirt.
Caitlin, Grade 9
Purcell Marian High School
One O' Nine
6:00 morning sun, clear orange sky, below freezing,
I am haunted by the sad drone of V-twelve and moaning triple blades.
And as the wind gives way to tens of thousands of wild horses,
I quiver on the edge of my seat, waiting, and watching,
Like an eagle, I fly swift, and my comrades are by my side.
Steady like a speedboat on a sub zero placid ocean.
My head is filled with the heavy smell of raw carbohydron; it rejuvenates me.
My eyes calm and precise in movement,
Watching unfriendly skies,
The enemy is stalking,
Cramped and lost in this soaring world of power,
This heaving mass of aluminum and steel,
To escape a wary world,
Only to meet an even more hostile environment and fight for my life,
But as I struggle, streaks of light explode around me as if I was imprisoned in a stellar war zone,
And a simple instinctive reflex lets me accelerate into a red abyss with no barriers but those I have made for
myself,
My craft screams, a blood curdling shriek that only pushes me deeper and deeper into this wonderful mix of heaven and
hell.
I dive to claim my prey, but I can only look and gape at all of this confusion and chaos that engulfs the rawness that is
my soul, my guide, my world, my life.
And for a moment, I can see hope.
A hope that is like a candle burning in the window of a cottage in the middle of a great nothingness.
And in this moment I am truly content.
I am alive,
And on my way home.
Marcus, Grade 10
Princeton High School
To the semaine prochaine
that fell down shot.
The curving in and curving out
of the ribs and shell cases
and the gradual flattening of cold faces.
The sky wailed and screamed
and in its naiveté crumbled more and more.
But he could not shake the falling dust,
no so much dust but shrapnel, gas, and hair-
the flesh of war.
Their eyes were more like bombed out bunkers
and the footsteps of bullets and bayonets,
skin shaken loose by the mighty thunders
adteominis caroveniet.
Dennis, Grade 11
Walnut Hills High School
Harvest Moon
1,2,10;
Help me color cranberry dreams...
Of bare-footed passion,
Of long summer nights
Of chasing lighting bugs and
Fighting mosquito bites with
Nursery rhymes and jujubes.
With a flashlight of foliage
And Kool-Aid flavored nightmares,
I tossed aside ambition
And linger in the absence of my childhood.
I leave self behind
And discover unknown fervor,
Lost long ago
Under the living room sofa
Where traces of dust-covered innocence
Might murmur their existence,
If only someone would kneel to regard them.
Listening to the clamor of silence,
Used to bring wild visions and
Uncontrollable laughter;
Now it brings only despair.
Plunge forth in adoration-
Trust no one but the taste
Of your own paradox.
Insanity will settle
On the banks of a bleeding river-
Where old buckets were once enough
To make us fishers of men
And silent smiles of elderly folks-
That used to flow faster than the vivid
Colors of the horizon across the water-
Were enough to find genius
In our adventures of the golden days.
Amanda, Grade 12
Purcell Marian
Bare
To him, the father of my father,
there is no joy in disorder. He makes
his bed the way the Army taught him
and then sleeps on the couch,
cushions squarely placed with zippers facing in.
Like clockwork, he turns his black socks inside out
on the third day and washes them on the sixth.
(And on the seventh day he rested).
And he looked at all that he had done,
and he saw that it was good.
While he sits rocking
quietly back and forth
in his old chair
with the lights off
to save energy,
and as the dust swirls and tumbles
onto the stacks of flannels and Social Security checks
and the pages of the National Geographic
begin to curl and turn
yellow-his hand resting on his
smooth, close-shaved chin and his rubber
shoes bending back
and forth, back and forth
While he sits rocking
tastefully facing away from
a television (it doesn't work), "nothing but smut
on anyway," next to a detuned piano
that never gets played,
as he drowns in the music of his silence
and is happy because it is silent-
He dreams of an endless, pure
plane of snow where he sinks into the drifts
and the flakes begin to nestle on his
frozen limbs; he is very cold but
very, very clean.
Ben, Grade 12
Loveland High School
move on
that day i escaped into the
morning sunset hoping with a dull
passion that no eyes would come
across my face, cause they might
not enjoy the simple
beauty in my smile and later
that evening i danced for the dandelions
for they know what its like to be outcast, out thrown, unwanted...
or maybe i might be dreaming but i don't know,
sleep is so foreign to my ears. so foreign yet
so strange to look in the mirror and
see someone smiling back because
i could've sworn there were tears running
down my cheeks but i guess my senses lied again
(its a bad habit they have) and now
my future's been decided,
i've left to chase after my dreams,
and with one last glance
i kissed the dawn goodbye
Lyndsey, Grade 9
McNicholas High School
Song of Myself
I celebrate myself, and sing myself
I sing the song of myself
dancing to a rhythm
in my soul
feet following a step
a rhyme
that even my mind doesn't know
the blaring music
infiltrates me
becomes me
deafens me
numbs me
from all my pain
I feel clenching hands trying to catch me
control me
grasping to hold me back
but I'm breaking free
running past them
faster
can't even feel the tingling toes in my shoes
as they slam breathless into the concrete
the song continues
overwhelming me
forgetting
slam
all the pain
learning
slam
all of me
realizing
slam
the beauty
I am up
Jumpin' and Jivin'
Rockin' and Rollin'
high above the clouds
I don't hear the slam of my feet
anymore
only the twisting
and turning of my arms
my legs
my soul
a chaotic intoxication
of body and soul
of alone
my body relaxes
my blood slows
no more pulsing
no more pounding
now only a soft lullaby
singing me home
like a cradle rocking
endlessly rocking
free
it decrescendos
dropping me down
fluttering
floating
a leaf catching any whisper of wind
in the clear blue sky
any whisper of song
it settles me softly on the ground
I stretch
and lean
a bird taking flight
for the first time
hearing the last pitter patter of song
of home
opening my eyes
to a new day
I'm no longer waiting for you
hearing my song
moving along
no longer needing a hand to hold
Elyse, Grade 11
Indian Hill High School
The Path of Success
The path of success lay beyond the inclined staircase
My journey to the top is a complete mystery
The staircase is continuous
My expedition is eternal
Moving through the stages of my youth
I find my excursion to be a fiasco
I wish to find this path of success
But my dream will never be
My inevitable turmoil causes me to lose hope
My faith cascades to the earth
I try to quell my feelings of despair,
but it is no use
Malcom, Grade 8
Roselawn Condon
We Will Overcome
He wades through the parking lot,
Collecting aluminum cans
In the early morning suicide-dawn
So that one day
He can cross the border and receive
His five and a half cents worth.
In the meantime,
I watch him,
More closely now,
As he curses the gaping potholes
And the shopping cart
That never ceases to fail him
Erin, Grade 12
Walnut Hills High School
