His Shadow-By Marielle

He was a man
but extending off of his legs on the dark earth,
As the moon cast, 
the black, mirror image of his appearance

Though it wasn't a man, but a wolf

His shadow did not match him at all

Frozen Christmas

This short composition is dedicated to Roy, the Newspaper Man. I remember when I was in the car with my mom. Roy was on the side of the road selling newspapers near the Eco Park. My mom gets to buy some from him on her way to work. She always gives him a little extra. That day I literally saw icicles hanging off of his beard. It just broke my heart. He's a sweet man. He always says "God bless you" when you buy from him.

God bless you, Roy. 

Much love and best wishes this Christmas and New Year,
Marielle
...............................................................................................................

Cold

Icicles hanging off my beard

Frozen sneakers and bare hands

Newspapers at my feet and no penny to spare

Empty pockets and not a Christmas to spend

I highly recommend this book on writing called "Spilling Ink"

I just wanted to put it out there that I got this book called Spilling Ink: a Young Writer’s Handbook for my birthday a few years ago and I highly recommend it. It’s a book about how to improve your writing, create interesting titles, character development, dialogue, how to create a suspenseful moment, etc.

Oh, and it’s on Amazon.

So I just wanted to tell anyone about the book and suggest it to anybody :-)

From, Marielle

Unlabeled by Ella

I wonder if I can show that your religion or race never matters,

even though all the kids talk about it in the school lunchrooms.

The world needs changing,

I can be the one to do it.

I can pretend to be Carl, the handy dandy plumber “fix it” man.

But know that if you get in the way of me trying to help unclog the world’s toilet,

that you will get splashed with toilet water

and it will rain unto the mass of metal and glass that the human race has put on this Earth.

In fact, Carl is a stereotype.

Every word that has a definition is a stereotype.

I will not settle for cat lover,  I am more than a cat-lover.

I like poetry and writing, acting, singing and dancing…

I am more. I have Vulnerability and actions,

I live a life beyond a definition or description/

No fate, I will not relax into your cushions.

I refuse to have a definition.

The only term I will accept to define me is alive.

Because I am not just a human being.  I am not just a catlover.

Shira by Marielle CONTINUED--Rough Draft

Previously from Shira by Marielle: 

          I’m Shira, an Amur Tiger, 1 year old, and named after my Great Grandmother, Shira O’Shiba. I’ve set off on my own to find food. My mom said that it’s only to practice my catching skills yet I’m scared. I don’t really know how to do so. 

          I wander around the woods not knowing where I am, sniffing and listening along the way. Is that what I think it is: deer? Yes! I move toward the deer, slowly and carefully. Closer! Move closer! I pounce! Good you got on top of the deer. Now push out your claws! I push out my claws but the deer got away before the claws reached the skin.

          I have to find another herd. I search more, hoping to find another group of deer. I slowly creep to the grass, but alas there was no deer. I am getting hungry now. I need to get home.  
          Where am I? I have gone too far. I can’t go home. My mom has showed me the way to our den starting at the edge of our territory, but I’ve gone past the edge.

I guess I just have to try to go to sleep, even without food. 

          I open my eyes. Ok, so I’m awake and hungry, now what? Find food! I taste the air DEER! Yes, Shira! You got the deer! Finally the guy falls to the ground, motionless. I drag the deer to a spot with bushes hiding the prize and myself. I chow down on the dead buck. Mmm, yummy. The soft insides, the taste of blood rushing on my taste buds, OH the glory!

         I should probably head toward home.
 
          According to my instinct home is to my left. I’ll use my senses to find my way.

 Now let's let this story continue...

Shira by Marielle

Chapter 1

I’m Shira, an Amur Tiger, 1 year old, and named after my Great Grandmother, Shira O’Shiba. She was a great one, wise and strong. Even though she was strict and had a firm voice, she cared for us and never let anyone mess with us. Sadly, a couple months ago, a human shot her with a stick­-like object that blasted a deadly rock that killed her instantly. Now that our Shiba has gone to tiger heaven I feel lonely. Shiba gave me strength and  could tell her anything. I was really attached to her. We miss her. 

In case you are wondering, Humans are our worst enemy. They stand on 2 legs and the other 2 legs stick out near the top. Attached to the top legs is a large paw that grabs and holds things. They don’t have fur and no tails. They don’t have the best sense of smell nor hearing but their brains are smart, whatever that means.

Humans treat us like gold. They just want and want and want. They never stop! They kill us for money. They kill us for our pelts. I suppose money is a piece of paper or flat rock that is very much valued. The more you have, the better person you are. Gold is also very valued, like money. Gold is worth lots of money. Humans are very greedy with money. I guess you give money to a person and in exchange you get something that is needed or wanted, like a trade. That is exactly what they kill us for but instead of giving money and getting something else, they get money by giving the killed tiger to a person and in exchange for the tiger, they get more money, and like I said, the more money the better. 

I've also heard that Humans also capture us for a place where there is no freedom and no wide­-open space to roam and call home. The animal is lonely and stuffed up in a room. I've heard that you never get to see your family again. I would not want to go there.
It's hard to live in a place with these dangers. You always have a risk of getting killed or kidnapped. You need to stick together with your family and never get lost because you don't want to get taken. Except now, I’ve set off on my own to find food. My mom said that it’s only to practice my catching skills yet I’m scared. I don’t really know how to do so. My brothers and sisters can do it on their own but I’m still learning. I think that’s why she told me to find food on my own; I’m the one who is behind and has never caught my first prey. 

The voice in my head is saying, I’m so scared. I don't want to get snatched. Just stay together with your family. Wait, you're alone! You are not with your family. Ok calm yourself. Just pay attention to your surroundings.

I wander around the woods not knowing where I am, sniffing and listening along the way. Is that what I think it is: deer? Yes! I move toward the deer, slowly and carefully. I concentrate on the voice in my head. Sly as a Fox, sly as a Fox. My heart is beating fast. Ok, what has mom taught me? 'Move slowly towards the prey, keeping low to the ground. Try not to reveal yourself. When you get close enough to pounce, go ahead!'  I move closer. 

Closer! Move closer! I pounce! Good you got on top of the deer. Now push out your claws! I push out my claws but the deer got away before the claws reached the skin. Shira, you almost had 'em! Now the herd knows I’m here. They ran away scared. 

I have to find another herd. I search more, hoping to find another group of deer. Think Shira, think, where do deer graze? Oh! They like grass fields or places with lots of grass! Find grass, find grass. Oh, over there! Now don't get too excited, you don't want to fail again! My heart is pounding even more now. I slowly creep to the grass, but alas there was no deer. I am getting hungry now. I need to get home.  Where am I? I have gone too far. I can’t go home. My mom has showed me the way to our den starting at the edge of our territory, but I’ve gone past the edge. 

I have to find a place to sleep. I'm so hungry that I can't even find a place. I must find food first. Luckily us tigers have good night vision and eyesight . That's another thing that Humans don't have.

I search more. I can’t! I’m too hungry I can’t even hunt! I guess I just have to try to go to sleep, even without food. I think of the lullaby that my mom sings to us every night. Sleep tight, my little cubs; I’ll be here with you in the morning, safe and sound. So don’t worry my cubs...

Chapter 2

I open my eyes. Ok so I’m awake and hungry, now what? Find food! Ok, sniff, sniff, hmm, nothing, taste, taste, I taste the air DEER! Run to it! Wait, hold on there! Calm down, Shira. Think of what is happening. You’re desperately hungry for food, you’re excited and mom has told you 'If you’re too rowdy or stirring too much you could fail getting your food'. You should be excited in the inside and calm on the outside. I listen to my conscience inside me and calm down but let my heart boom! Move closer, move closer! I move. Pounce! I let my legs shoot me into the air and jump onto the deer. Push claws out! I push them out. Yes, Shira! You got the deer! Then the male swings his head in distress using his antlers to poke me off. I hold on. Don’t let go! Finally the guy falls to the ground, motionless. 

I drag the deer to a spot with bushes hiding the prize and myself. I chow down on the dead buck. Mmm, yummy. The soft insides, the taste of blood rushing on my taste buds, OH the glory!

I’ve finished my fill and will go to a water pool. It’s pretty hot out. Especially when we have fur covering ourselves like the clothes of humans. That is why we bathe in water. Us tigers love water. Ahh, the feel of cool water seeping through my pelt, it’s so refreshing! It calms my excitement. I’m also very proud of myself for catching my first successful catch. I should probably head toward home.

According to my instinct home is to my left. I’ll use my senses to find my way.

In response to "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" -- By Aliya Martinson

Do I dare disturb the universe?
With the stars
like fingerprints
spreading out against the
dust filled asphalt
A reflection of all of the messes
we have made together,
you and I

And now,
will you come with me and observe?
The window-lit restaurants and
let me lift and drop my questions into the
coffee splattered pages of your palms

Do I dare?
As there will be time and
time again to revisit the
melting, curved faces
of clocks
that measure all of their seconds in
drawn-out, dirty coffee spoons

And will you come with me?
As witness to the fog
Arching it's back against the window panes
In the dusty part of the night
watching the aftermath of the evening
sleep so peacefully
...walking down the god-lit stairwell
into the subway
into the flickers of eyelashes
That are only trying to communicate

I do not think they will sing for me

And after all, will it be worth it?
After the stars have settled
and the walls have fallen asleep for the first time in years
will it be worth it?
If you follow
and I turn to you and say
"No, that is not what I meant at all."

A Swiftly Tilting Receptacle --by Sierra

John Witherman woke with a start. 6:30 am. He groaned as he got out of bed. He changed out of his pajamas and combed his hair. He slipped on his crimson-lined silver watch, then he neatly folded his pajamas on his bed, pushed the nightstand, alarm clock and all, onto his bed, and took the picture hanging on his wall down to lay it on top of the nightstand. He carted his bed over to what looked like an overlarge laundry chute, and with one little push, the bed rolled down into the darkness at the bottom of the laundry chute.

The Sistine Madonna --by Brayan

We are Raphael's Cherubs 
and you are sketching me 
in a panic
in the style 
of Keith Haring. 
I tell you to stay calm,
"we are only looking wistfully into the window of a baker's shop," I say.

Suddenly --by Sabina

Suddenly
I saw my soul
as all that I am

On a night when the nightingale forgot to visit

and I was forced to perch on my own window.

On a night when I read poems underneath dim light

in hopes I’d find God waiting for me

sprawled out in between the lines of words

like a naked 19 year old boy tangled in white sheets

on the other side of the bed.

On a night when

a boy wanted to tickle my hands.

“I have already rung them out,” I said.

They lay sweating and shaking on the undefined line

in between us.

On a night when a boy next to me

handed me a full cup of alcohol

but he was half-empty and overflowing

somehow spilling

on to the floor

or on to the stars

I could not quite tell which.

“They are

the same,” my soul said.

Suddenly I saw my soul

waiting in the bathroom at a highschool party

crouching in the corner

beckoning me to stand still

in that wide doorway of indecision.

I swept her into me

on a night when there were no clean words.

On a night when there were tongues crawling in my mouth

wearing down the stone pathway to my own door.

“I am not worthy of you,” I said to my soul

but there was no one else

to be worthy of.