Christmas Is

Gingerbread Cookies

Christmas is a cornucopia of peppermint drops,

And little toy gumdrops.

It is a museum of frosted windows

And red and green rainbows.

It is for lovers,

And significant others.

It is a collection of gingerbread cookies,

Patterned presents and white skies.

It is a cup of hot chocolate,

A snowy day that makes you late.

Christmas is so many things,

But only because of Who it brings.



At the essence of my soul,

Ink and ash mark a hole.

I twirl vicious thoughts around in my mind,

And forget every promise that binds.

Remembering only sparks of light

As I go through the night

I know I am not who I was yesterday,

I feel deeper, stronger in every way.

I know this fire of emotions

Will be the death of me.

Battle of the Seasons.

Winter’s heart is made of ice,

And it melts poor Summer into a puddle.

You see – Autumn was nice,

But Winter makes everything a struggle.

Poor Spring has lost its step,

And everything is turned to white and grey.

Winter eats up warmth,

Like a predator tackles prey.

Bones inside us ache

While the seasons battle on.

Just a Mess

Life has got you stressed.

Your hair is just a mess,

You woke up too late,

And have no cereal to eat.

The wrong side of the bed is an understatement,

And you can’t control your fashion statement.

Every thing is wrong,

And you’ve been confused all along.

It seems like the rain is only falling on you,

And the sky is just a dark shade of blue.

You’re just a mess,

But aren’t we all?


downcast by volkan olmex

Picture Taken by: Volkan Olmex

Your knees are black and blue

From working so hard.  You

Come up with enough air to breathe,

And wonder how it’d feel to be free.

The story of your life is

Defined by hardship.  All this

Is a rat-race, it’s so hard

And you fight against foreclosure in the yard.

Time ticks by like a monster,

While you pray you’ll get stronger.

So many hours of toil,

Day with knees against soil.

Oh yes, you want to pull that trigger.

Everything would end, you figure.

What’s the point to all this?

Why can’t you find bliss?

For the same reason

You don’t learn to fly in a season,

Or learn to fly without falling:

So that you can keep trying.



Motel by Steven Lewis

Picture Taken By: Steven Lewis

More of the old, less of the new,

Multiply the rust and deplete the class.

Merge the ancient and the antique few,

Masticate the mildew, break the glass.

Open the windows.

Organize the chaos.

Obstinately clean all the pillows,

Orate all the way to Barbados.

Tell the truth in love.

Telepathically fulfill every need.

Think over and above.

Take life at top speed.

Even out the disagreement,

Eventually it’ll come to and end.

Evacuate all the vehemence.

Emphatically take care of every friend.

Lay off the hate,

Layer on the compassion.

Live without fate,

Love with passion.

It’s the art of the motel.


Don’t Just


Photo By Jeff Sheldon

Picture Taken By: Jeff Sheldon

Don’t just stand there,

Do what you love.

Don’t just fool around here,

Your life is a gift from above.

With every breath,

With every move:

Believe there is a path,

Know you have nothing to lose.



Misty Mountains by Forrest Cavale

Picture Taken By: Forrest Cavale

Mountains cannot climb themselves,

Anymore than a piano can tune itself.

Mountains cannot move themselves,

Anymore than a statue can take a step.

Mountains cannot break apart,

Anymore than the earth can stop spinning.

Mountains cannot do anything,

But teach us how to climb.


Hot Air Balloon

Hot Air Balloon by Austin Ban

Picture Taken By: Austin Ban

I stood taller than the mountains,

I have a life without doubting.

My wings are spread and

I don’t need a hot air balloon to reach the clouds.

Tell me what your ambitions are,

Tell me what you want to see,

I’ll take you there:

We don’t need a hot air balloon.

It isn’t about how high you can climb,

It’s about how hard you strive.

Life is about flying, and living to the fullest.

It’s like riding a hot air balloon.



Oranges by Brian Jimenez

Picture Taken By: Brian Jimenez

The shade below is grey,

Marked with citrus scent and emerald moss.

The breeze howls like a dove,

And the sunshine prowls from above.

I pick an orange every day

And find new pleasure in the display.

Peeling the skin back, I bite into the flesh

And smile at it’s refresh.


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