The Last Wolf

Mary TallMountain

The last wolf hurried toward me
through the ruined city
and I heard his baying echoes
down the steep smashed warrens
of Montgomery Street and past
the ruby-crowned highrises
left standing
their lighted elevators useless
Passing the flicking red and green
of traffic signals
baying his way eastward
in the mystery of his wild loping gait
closer the sounds in the deadly night
through clutter and rubble of quiet blocks
I hear his voice ascending the hill
and at last his low whine as he came
floor by empty floor to the room
where I sat
in my narrow bed looking west, waiting
I heard him snuffle at the door and
I watched
He trotted across the floor
he laid his long gray muzzle
on the spare white spread
and his eyes burned yellow
his small dotted eyebrows quivered
Yes, I said.
I know what they have done.

i really like this poem its like this last wolf is all alone in the world no one can understand what happened to him just thinking what it would be like to be the last of a species. what would you do with the rest of your life having no friends no family nothing at all, it would be terrible! and the way she describes the wolf with his long gray muzzle and his burned yellow eyes he just sounds majestic just beautiful. and it makes you feel bad and want to help animals around the world.

Tuesday 9:00 AM

Denver Butson

A man standing at the bus stop
reading the newspaper is on fire
Flames are peeking out
from beneath his collar and cuffs
His shoes have begun to melt
The woman next to him
wants to mention it to him
that he is burning
but she is drowning
Water is everywhere
in her mouth and ears
in her eyes
A stream of water runs
steadily from her blouse
Another woman stands at the bus stop
freezing to death
She tries to stand near the man
who is on fire
to try to melt the icicles
that have formed on her eyelashes
and on her nostrils
to stop her teeth long enough
from chattering to say something
to the woman who is drowning
but the woman who is freezing to death
has trouble moving
with blocks of ice on her feet
It takes the three some time
to board the bus
what with the flames
and water and ice
But when they finally climb the stairs
and take their seats
the driver doesn't even notice
that none of them has paid
because he is tortured
by visions and is wondering
if the man who got off at the last stop
was really being mauled to death
by wild dogs.

well i'm not going to lie this peom is a bit hard to understand. there is a man who is on fire and this woman is going to tell him that he is on fire but she is drowning, and there is another woman who is freezing that wants to tell the woman she is drowning but is using this man who is on fire to warm her up enough to tell the woman she is drowning, and the bus driver doesn't realize that they all didn't pay when they got on the bus because he was wondering if the guy who got off the bus was mauled by dogs...? what an odd bus stop i think that if you expierience anything like any of these people in the story you shouldn't get on the bus because you probally need medical attention.

The Summer I Was Sixteen

Geraldine Connolly

The turquoise pool rose up to meet us,
its slide a silver afterthought down which
we plunged, screaming, into a mirage of bubbles.
We did not exist beyond the gaze of a boy.
Shaking water off our limbs, we lifted
up from ladder rungs across the fern-cool
lip of rim. Afternoon. Oiled and sated,
we sunbathed, rose and paraded the concrete,
danced to the low beat of "Duke of Earl".
Past cherry colas, hot-dogs, Dreamsicles,
we came to the counter where bees staggered
into root beer cups and drowned. We gobbled
cotton candy torches, sweet as furtive kisses,
shared on benches beneath summer shadows.
Cherry. Elm. Sycamore. We spread our chenille
blankets across grass, pressed radios to our ears,
mouthing the old words, then loosened
thin bikini straps and rubbed baby oil with iodine
across sunburned shoulders, tossing a glance
through the chain link at an improbable world

what a summer it reminds me of summers playing with friends have that summer crush on a certian girl, living for those glances from her those moments when your eyes meet. ah to be 16 and have summer those days were the best. eating nothing but junk food kinda running out of things to do and just chill with your friends.


Laurel Blossom

No radio
in car
No radio on board
No radio
Already stolen
Absolutely no radio!
Radio broken
Alarm is set
To go off
No radio
No money
No radio
no valuables
No radio or
in car or trunk
No radio
Stolen 3X
No radio
Empty trunk
Empty glove compartment
In car
Nothing of value
No radio
No nuthin
(no kidding)
Radio Broken
Nothing Left!
Radio Gone
Note Hole in Dashboard
Radio Will Not Play
When Removed
Security Code Required
Would you keep
Anything valuable
In this wreck?
No valuables
In this van
Please do not
Thank you
For your kind
Nothing of value
in car
No radio
No tapes
No telephone
this poem is about a person who has had their radio stolen three times, and now has no valueables in their car. i think it was a bit funny expecially the part where it says "please do not break-in unnecessarily thank you for your kind consideration" haha how great it seems that even though they have nothing at all they still seem to be cheerful like one of those people that never let anything get them down in life, they probally just look on the bright side of things and think that at least now that have a sure way of staying away from owl city... i hate owl city.

The Meadow

Kate Knapp Johnson

Half the day lost, staring
at this window. I wanted to know
just one true thing
about the soul, but I left thinking
for thought, and now -
two inches of snow have fallen
over the meadow. Where did I go,
how long was I out looking
for you?, who would never leave me,
my withness, my here.

this seems like a sad poem what i get out of it is there is a person who has had a good friend / lover who they thought would never leave, go and they dont seem to know why or what they did for them to go. how sad for them being alone gazing out the window waiting for the return of this lost companion.