Author: fpoussin

Leah-Joy Smith

Leah-Joy Smith

Fabrice Poussin

Yecica Rivas

Leah-Joy Smith

Wild Things
Alden Powell

Wild things are not born;
They are grown.
They are hard to find,
But impossible to own.

They grow in places
That are not places,
But gaps in time,
And empty spaces.

The wild things grow
Where the fire starts
And where the lovers go
To bury their broken hearts

Wild things grow,
Where the rivers run dry,
Where the rain drops fail to fall,
And where the tide rises too high.

They grow in the place
Where things go that are lost,
They grow in the spaces of your heart
Where life has had a cost

They are wild,
But they are not free,
Their roots hold them there
Like those of a tree

Wild things are stuck;
Forever in the places
That are only gaps in time,
And empty spaces.

What is wild,
Cannot be free
For wild,
They will always be.

Who is my friend?
Paige Sinard

Mirror, mirror,
On the wall.
Who is there,
After all?
Not he.
Not she.
Not they,
Not that.
Who is there,
To have my back?
The one,
The only,
The great I am.
For worthy am I,
Because of the King.
I have a friend,
Through thick and thin.
My comrade.
My companion.
My buddy.
My pal.
He is with me
Until the end.
I walk in his footsteps,
For he knows the way.
I always cling to him,
With him I won’t sway.
My friend is royalty.
He is the king of all kings.
The holiest of holies
The man of all men.
He is always with me,
For in him I seek refuge.
He is always with me,
Because He is my friend.

Where There Is No Magic
Kristin Towe

There is no sparkle in the air
No glitter dusting branch or ground
The magic that once clung to us
Will never again be found.

And this is not the golden age
Where people dream and love and trust
This is the age of take-not-give
And shattered hopes and greed and lust.

For all we see is all we want
Deluded by this fast-paced world
In which no woman can recall
The light which warmed her as a girl.

This is modern society
And dare we hope for anything more?
Escape from pain, from feeling at all
And settle for safety by the shore.

Wet Mittens and Robert Frost
Leah-Joy Smith

For the second year in a row, the South has been covered with a quilt of snow. Before, the occasional flurry created a mad dash to the local Food Lion. Apparently you must be able to make boiled eggs and milk sandwiches in order to survive some sleet.

I came home from my Tuesday evening class with more energy than a three year-old at a birthday party. Earlier that day while doing homework in the library (the place where you’re supposed to be quiet), three basketball players in the study room next-door starting throwing a New Years Eve Party. Class was cancelled for Wednesday.

The snow started slipping through the clouds around 3:00 on Wednesday afternoon. It piled up on top of my three-shades-of-red car turning it white while I churned out a paper under my Captain America blanket. No playing in the snow for this girl on Wednesday. Robert Frost would have advised I stop and watch the woods fill up with snow, but I didn’t. So Thursday morning I was determined to play, get cold, slide down a hill, build an Olaf, or go for a walk. I wanted to need a cup of hot chocolate.

Clad in layers and armed with my elf beanie, sister and I headed into the woods behind our house to find our favorite spot and see what snow had turned it into. The snow grunted underneath my Merrill’s and sister lead the way between the pines, ferns, and puppy tracks. We hopped the creek and made it to our favorite spot, the straight stretch in the creek with a bath-tub dip at the top. The moss was still climbing the bank and the melted snow fed the stream to create a trickle.

We decided to hike a little up the ridge to see the roots of a fallen tree covered in snow. Putting one foot in front of the other up hill was slow going. Our hands got sweaty and we wanted to take off our coats. The tree roots weren’t as cool as we thought they would be. More like just another pile of snow. Sister and I both turned our heads up at the same time and said,

“You wanna keep goin’?”

So we kept sliding our feet up hill, up the ridge.

Sister went up it like an Eskimo. Me, on the other snow shoe…

Feet looking at the sky, wet mittens, and dogs panicking. On repeat seven times. Then we headed back to the house…going down hill. And I came back to the house with a wet bum and a funny story.

Each time my knees got a little wetter, my beanie covered my eyes, and snow hugged my mittens, I had to get back up. Staying in that wet snow wasn’t going to get me to the top of that ridge.

When I felt my feet slipping and my jeans got a little damper, I had to get back up. And keep laughing, keep smiling about it because having a sour attitude wasn’t going to help me keep moving.

Climbing that ridge in the snow is something I would have said I couldn’t have done not too long ago. But I have decided to do things that intimidate me. Go on adventures, even if it’s just in my back yard with sister. I am capable of doing more than I think, and so are you. Go climb and don’t be afraid if you fall. The snow will dust off. Climb with someone who will help you up and take a victory-selfie with you at the top.