Vespula maculifrons
By Elizabeth Driscoll
I have to run I have to dash
I dare not think to bash.
It matters not where I go
He will be there, you know.
He is neatly dressed
In a black and yellow vest.
If it is August
He wants sweets.
If it is October
He wants meats.
My uninvited guest
In his black and yellow vest.
I cannot satisfy
As he continues to fly.
He will sting me, you shall see
On the neck or on the knee.
If I get to close to his nest
He is a black and yellow pest.
“g o d i s n o w h e r e”
-Wasteland-
by Rachael Rawls
Where is thou that is so divine
When man is most in need.
Is the purpose to postpone pain, or to let fate take it’s course.
The almighty may have much to attend to,
Suffering when the world suffers, laughing while the world smiles.
Do you look after migrant Men
Cultivating plants, crops of food
Rough hands, Spirit tough
Born to live, live to die
Watch them run a farm on knowledge, instinct, reason, and luck
Breaking backs just to reach a level of decency.
Do you help wilting Women
Dedicating themselves to family survival
Try to feed their children when they can barely feed themselves
Approving of their life style that is less than human
Baring the burden of poverty
Pockets dry like a shallow pond in the hot Sahara.
How can you ignore curious Children
Anticipating a future life
Dreaming of full time schools, full cupboards, and a permanent home
Want to become doctors, teachers, veterinarians
Yet you allow them to be pulled into the degrading cycle their parents live through
Industry Greed Failed brotherhood
Initiate the destruction of innocent families
Symbolize all that which you go against
Cattle branding an entire race of people,
dehumanizing, degrading, denying, and finally death.
Fruit Factories Cattle Crops
Turn people into slaves on a soil sweat shop
Ripen like a child going through puberty
Sweet delicate pulp rotting into rancid waste
Dry out like salted meat lying in the sun.
Yet you watch as your creations
Humiliate the definition of self worth
Ferment like sweet grapes that shrivel to hopeless sour sacks
Live in rat infested chambers too small for a family of roaches.
You , Almighty, must imagine
The hours of work, the baskets of fruit , the machines molding metal
Eyes hurting at the sight
The products are treated better than the people
But we can’t keep it.
Our babies can’t eat it.
Our hands did the labor.
And now our heart pays the price
of life.
Lessons are learned, and ultimately each individual learns the answer to the question.
Where is God?
God is now here, God is no where
Whether working in a wasteland,
dying for injustice,
living luxuriously,
or enduring an unintentional suicide,
Experiences often form our beliefs and aide others to do the same.
The Ocean
By Natalie Abinante
Waves break upon the rocks
Mussels cling to water
That falls in strands from the rocks
Flowing back to join the ocean
Repeat
Dreams fall apart
Try to cling on
Finally let them go
Joining dreams past, present, and future
Repeat
Waves rise and fall as time passes
Coming and going as they please
When they fall back, more waves come
Friends fall in and out of life
Coming and going as they please
When they leave, more friends come
No longer simply a metaphor
The ocean sees life
Feels life
Is life
The Boulder
by Natalie Abinante
The moon rises above the trees
The large boulders revealed by the light
They sit there waiting for the children to return
If only it weren’t dark
Children don’t come by at night
And never on weekends
The largest boulder sits in the middle calling out to those who know
The small crevice in the top and the scratches along the surface
It sits proudly, the king of the boulders
The sun will rise soon
The children will come soon after the sun
The small boy who jumps from the large rock to one of the smaller ones
The young girl who climbs the large rock and slides back down
The sky brightens and colors are thrown onto the boulder
The pastel blues, pinks, yellows, and greens
The boulder is bathed in colors and light
It seems to smile as it knows that once the sun rises a little more
The children will arrive and throw their bags down at its base
Then the boulder becomes a jungle gym, a slide, a ladder
Whatever young imaginations can create
Letter
By Stephanie Toman
A young child stares from his front window
He watches trespassers climb cement stairs
Unsure how to react, he waves
Wondering, why would these people come to my house?
I wave back returning his generosity
Knowing this child will suffer from discrimination
His parks have no grass, his water no nutrients
Innocence guards him from destruction
Fishing by the plant
He seems immune even though the fish turn radioactive
A glowing green full of toxic waste
A sign reads,
A young child stares from his front window
He watches trespassers climb cement stairs
Unsure how to react, he waves
Wondering, why would these people come to my house?
I wave back returning his generosity
Knowing this child will suffer from discrimination
His parks have no grass, his water no nutrients
Innocence guards him from destruction
Fishing by the plant
He seems immune even though the fish turn radioactive
A glowing green full of toxic waste
A sign reads, “Only one fish per month allowed!”
Parcel F- failure, fearful, fenced, funeral
Contamination unknown- one can only imagine
An imaginary line runs through,
separating the economically sound from those less fortunate
He plays outside in the park
A cement ground with a basketball court, one missing a rim
Chasing a ball he runs into a fence,
guarding him from the cliff behind where the cops keep us safe
Navy Seal- protection to all Americans
However filled the land with toxic waste
Navy Seal- contaminators to those in Hunters Point
Children suffer on their own breath
A neighborhood neglected
Caged behind glass
Tears of blood run down his sweet cheeks
Locked into a world of waste
Nature VS. Nurture
By Gianna Galletta
Tired and groggy, I opened my eyes,
I peer at the smoggy city, and slowly I rise.
Today will be busy, four hours of sleep,
Can’t believe I’m five days into the week.
Eat, smile, greet all the kids,
One more day left, then summer begins.
Little ones cling to me; hang on for dear life,
Around my waist, one on each leg, hold on real tight.
Into the classroom, we sit and we pray,
Get all ready for the very last day.
I admire the kids, listen to them giggle,
Can’t sit still, they fidget, and wiggle.
Play kickball under the hot L.A. sun,
Casual fun, no one cares which team won.
The day goes by fast, saying good-byes after lunch,
Who knew I’d miss these little ones so much?
Night falls, can’t sleep a wink,
Toss and turn, wonder and think.
Five going on six, their innocence won’t last,
Their lives will force them to grow up real fast.
Surrounded by gangs, violence, and hate,
Hard to fight this cycle no one can break.
Happy faces, smiles so bright,
Turn into frowns of an unhappy life.
So I pray for these kids, day after day,
For their strength in the future, come what may.
For health and happiness in each passing year,
That their child inside will never disappear.
Hunter’s Point
By Mario Alioto
Segregated from San Francisco
Among toxic waste,
Lies a community
Named Hunter’s Point.
Trash leaving San Francisco,
Is sent 100 yards from places of residence,
Peoples homes.
Neglected in many ways,
Detached from a city,
Named Hunter’s Point.
A Day on the Snake
By Lauren Fernandez
I grab the rope on the blue, rubber raft and drag.
I can hear the familiar crush of the pebbles and sand below.
The flow of the yellow-green water catches my eye,
and I desire nothing more than to run in,
and release my surging childish energy.
I hear my merry friends laughing,
and I know they are just as excited as me.
Another day of dancing with mother nature’s wild rapids awaits us.
The boats are finally in the water, and our guide urges us to jump in.
“Paddle forward”
“Right side only”
“One stroke left”
My favorite words fill my ears, as I see the first white water appear ahead.
Our boat slides smoothly over this one,
But there are still many more to conquer.
Hours pass and the air temperature rises,
Beads of sweat begin to nestle themselves just below my hairline.
I am free, momentarily living without care,
The snakes, mice, sand, and trees paint a simple smile on my face.
Before I know it, we’re wading in the water, hauling our rafts to shore,
The comforting smell of rice and salmon fill the air,
But I am not hungry quite yet.
The other kids and I flip over a raft and pour water down it,
We have created a slip-n-slide.
Enthralled by the scratchy feeling of sand on our stomachs,
We glide gracefully down the bumpy plastic.
Dinner is served and our lighthearted fun is over.
I look up at the sky, only to find the most vibrant constellations,
The big dipper, Orion, and Pisces.
Conversations about the day are only background noise,
As I soak up the beauty of my perfect situation.
I enter my sleeping bag warm and content,
And look forward to the next day on the Snake River.
The Quakes
By Sean-Paul Jacobson
The quakes change the land forever,
From Mussel Rock and the Americas to the coasts of Asia, Europe, Africa and Australia,
From the bottom of the Sea to the top of the Himalayas,
The quakes change the land forever,
The quakes inflict fear throughout time,
From the creation of the world to the day of reckoning,
From the age of the dinosaur to the era of man,
The quakes inflict fear throughout time,
The quakes destroy the earth,
From normal faults to strike-slip faults,
From San Francisco to Indonesia,
The quakes destroy the earth,
The quakes cannot be stopped,
From the wealthiest to the most impoverished,
From the most powerful to the most pathetic of the weak,
The quakes cannot be stopped.
Beach
By Rachel Rogers
Waves crashing on the sandy shore,
Covering the footprints of where I was before,
Pocket beach covered in carnelian stone,
Brown pelicans swoop towards the colorful sand,
Turquoise, maroon, amber, indigo,
Various colors of radiolarian layer the hills,
Foamy waves engulf the beach,
The looming fog swallows the sun,
No light reaches the green cliffs,
The large jagged rocks reach out over the glimmering water towards the horizon.
Regenerative Collisions
By Brett Lando
Explosive blasts of foamy brine
unleash their fury upon the ominous serrated cliffs
a liberation of trapped energy gliding across the ocean surface
transforming lands end into oceanic beginnings
cliffs to rocks, pebbles to sand
a spectacular progression of impacting erosion
From the eye of the vigilant brown pelican
a line of liquid and solid drawn
between both sea and earthen land
a strip of tidal war
ruled by the moon above
Beneath the pacific swells of the sea
continental collisions of plates commence
fiery magma’s arrival from the its core beginnings
concludes in a hissing, smoldering feat
replenishing the obsidian and carnelian
smashed to bits by the sea
Where all of life did once exist
a connection amid land and sea remains
roots traced back eras before
to a single world of marine inhabitance
An endless relationship so enduring
since the beginnings of our world
both sea and land sustain the other
in a seemingly perpetual cycle of regeneration.
“1052”
by Brett Lando
East of Point Reyes Station,
a dirt road appears.
Separated from sophistication,
by a steel cattle guard.
Ranch dogs are the gatekeepers,
greeting guests with welcoming barks and yips.
This dirt road weaves between mountains,
and spans above creeks.
Black Angus gather upon the dirt road,
bellowing their grass-fed delight.
A ranch house sits off to the side of the road,
Its back comfortably nestled against the fescue blanketed hills.
An array of automobiles parked beside a fallen buckeye,
a gathering of Christmas spirit.
Inside an iron hearth glows orange,
fueled by crackling oak and Christmas present wrapping.
Across the room a long table is set,
complete with elk antler candleholders.
The prayer begins and thoughts turn to God,
a moment of thanksgiving and remembrance of those before us.
Then the feast begins as platters of ham, and steaming wild turkey,
precede manicotti and piping cruets of gravy.
The ranch dogs sit restless,
begging for more then the hard kibble waiting in their bowls.
A harmonious consumption solar energy,
in a tradition amid fertile unspoiled land.
Two and a Half Months
By Erin Hughes
I remember the first day like it was yesterday
When I sat in the classroom cold as snow
Hugging myself to keep my body warm
The air was never clean around me
But I didn’t expect much,
Considering my surroundings
It wasn’t easy living next to a landfill
Or safe next to a power plant
But this day was different
I could tell from the first cough
Uncomfortable and awkward
I was short of breath for more than expected
What was the source of my headache?
And my watering eyes?
I glanced around the room
Wondering if I was the only one
The smoke seeping through the window
Clouded my contacts and blurred my vision
Confused to say the least,
Was my feeling about this moment
Until I saw the mixture of red and orange,
Blazing atop the patch of land below the building
After a while I got used to the feeling
Concentrating in class was difficult with the distraction
But it went on for two and a half months without end
I thought about it constantly
And asked why no one cared to stop it
I didn’t think it was safe to inhale
The toxic chemicals dumped down there
But I did it anyways because I had no choice
It was my routine for school
To make it through those sixty something days
Breathing in the smoke and fumes
Trying not to make it a big deal
Overlooking Mussel Rock
By Julienne Syme
The salty breeze breathes in
And out
Like the waves
And the swells
That glitter in the sun
And crash against the kelp-clad rocks.
A Western gull perches on Mussel Rock
And gazes into the blue horizon.
Below the majestic cliffs,
There lives a cave
Dank, dark, and echoing.
The sand
Is a myriad of colors--
Yet another California pocket beach.
Among the wild pampas on the rock face,
A predator devours its prey.
The Lessons of Growth
By Lauren Quach
Growing up,
trees were not my thing.
Climbing up
branches and stumps were not my forte.
I stuck to plastic play pens and fake fauna around the playground.
But
Growing up,
I learn to make trees my thing.
Climbing up
the arms of a lonely tree become my forte.
I’m not the best at this skill, yet there is plenty of nature for me to climb.
Or is there?
Is there enough nature to go around?
Glen Canyon Park is hiding something from us - a secret that can only be revealed through meditation time in this quiet space. “The aesthetic value of nature cannot be overlooked” yet we do so everyday. The beauty of each and every leaf lying on the canyon floor shows us God’s face. Every caterpillar, pill bug, centipede, ladybug, and even aphid represents God on a different level.
Finding God in all things. Not an easy task.
How can Ignatius ask
to stare God in the face after getting stung
after getting sprayed
after a run-in with a snake?
Creation comes with complexities
that may stump the greatest minds
and frustrate students and teachers of all kinds.
Mrs. Salin told us that “Glen Canyon Park is the caterpillars’ and pill bugs’ homes. We are just here to visit. How would you like it if a giant came and squished your house”? As elementary as this question may seem, it brings all of us to a realization of our actions. We must appreciate every aspect of nature and hence take care of God’s creation. It is our responsibility to be Protectors of the Earth. It is quite simple: Would you be happy with individuals that knowingly destroy your very creation, built with your own two hands? Actions speak louder than words, my friends. So let’s act.
Rodeo Beach
By JC Sheppard
I have an imaginary house up on the cliff where Maxie and Tessa got poison oak
I wish I had a million dollars so I could build it
Then I would jump off the cliff into the water
I would stare off into the distance and watch the fishing boats go out every morning
I would watch for Vito’s boat, “Jaws”
The Potato Patch would heat up and froth and swell and churn like my washing machine with lots of mud in it
I would watch the surfers paddle out and sit staring at the sea
The brown pelicans would catch drafts and dive down
My friend the harbor seal and I would hang out everyday
I would wake up and put on my wetsuit and walk across the sand
The sand is soft close to the road, but down by the water it gets harder and easier to walk on
That’s where I’d walk
If Creepy Steve showed up, I’d hide behind the big rock at the end of the beach where the anemones grow
I would have to wait until he was gone until I came out, so I would probably search the sand for a pretty rock or maybe a piece of obsidian to keep me busy
If the sun were out I would lie on the beach and read my book
If it were not I would sit inside my imaginary house and watch the fog billow across the beach
It comes in intervals, like huge sheets blowing in the wind
You can feel it on your face
Sometimes you feel like you’ve stepped out of a freezing cold shower because the air is so wet
But the air at Rodeo isn’t the same as anywhere else
It has a taste, like salt and seaweed and wetsuits all mixed together
It’s what my car smells like when I’m driving home (speeding through the big long tunnel)
That’s when salt crusts all over my face because I’m starting to dry
I have to stretch my face and crack the salt by making funny faces in the mirror
The bikers on the road probably think I’m crazy
But that’s ok
I might be crazy, but at least I’m happy
I have an imaginary house sitting on a cliff at Rodeo Beach
San Bruno Mountain.
By Camille Gallo
Truck engines whirr in the distance,
The rattle snake grass surrounds me
With an appearance of spun gold,
Gnarled silver branches spread there fingers to reach for me
I sit here and enjoy the natural presence
Of San Bruno Mtn.
Moths dance past in the slight warm autumn breeze,
Mice scurry by on the dehydrated soil
To escape the red tail hawk that circles overhead.
A silent creek,
Barely alive,
Trickles down through poison oak vines
And a thicket of holly trees.
“Me and Rosey”
By Brendan O’Callaghan
It’s romantic
Driving for hours
Alone on the road.
The sun’s still down,
And it is just me and you.
Sitting side by side,
Staring into the shooting stars.
Simon and Garfunkel on the radio,
Passing through “My Little Town.”
We’re on our way, just me and my girl,
Building our trust and relationship we go.
You mean the world to me,
And make my life complete.
The snow capped Buttes lay in front.
The heat blasting and windows turning icy.
We pull over, and I get out.
Getting your door.
My feet hit the ice encrusted gravel, and I start to get jittery.
The sun peaks over the horizon,
And offers its reflection on the water ahead.
You look pretty in your jacket,
Those hazel eyes staring contently.
You lean in for a kiss, and I feel your cold wet nose.
I give you a hug and feel your warmth.
I never knew a dog could mean this much.
More than Just Something We Eat
By Laura Maxwell
Real Italians
Would never touch “Prego”
They know not what “Spaghetti O’s” are.
They live in a world without canned food
And store-bought produce.
We grow our own basil
….waiting for the perfect moment,
When we can have fresh pesto pasta.
We grow our own tomatoes
…biting into the raw, warm skin
Or pouring it on our homemade raviolis.
We make our own sausages
…my little cousins disgusted
While my grandma says it’s just something,
We have to do.
Once a month,
We gather.
For appetizers
And salads
And main courses.
Our meals last for hours
As we venture across
Conversations of
Politics, Religion, and Sex.
Before leaving
We pick up new recipes
And old ideas
And the momentum
To carry traditions,
Into a new era.
"My Giving Tree"
by Lizzy Fox
To: My dearest loveliest childhood tree
The leaves have grown and fallen countless times since I've thought of you
I used to be able to climb up your arms like a trapeze artist- "with the slightest of ease"
I never dreamed of carving my name or words into your skin
You weren't the biggest tree in the world and I wasn't the smallest girl
Yet this made us equals; one no more dominating than the other
We spent lazy Sunday afternoons together
I used you as a reference when parents dropped me off from sports
"I live here...the one with the tree in front.."
Then the adults declared you sick
Poked at a growing gnarly spot
I pressed my hands gently onto the wound
Wishing naively some shared energy could save you
But the adults whispered of axes and saws and how nice it would be
To finally be able to see the front porch
I sang lullabies, camp songs, Enya, and commericals
Stayed outside longer
But the adults shook their heads and frowned at your condition
I buried pink baby aspirin near your roots and my Goldfishes graves
One day I came home and screamed silently to the sight of
Your bones on the ground in a neat firewood pile.
I gathered them and set you down in the fireplace
The sulfur still lingers from the lit match
I have lost my point of reference.
Hippodamia
By Laura Maxwell
The Aphid lands on the leaf
Stranding itself from its family and friends.
Scarcely visible to the human eye
A flash of red!
And the plant louse is dead.
Chewed carefully into small bites
Side to side, side to side.
The executioner congratulates himself
His protectors still need him.
He eats the Aphids
Simply because Aphids taste good
But also because they need him to.
He calls attention to their gardens
Because his presence is like a special effect
His brilliant hue makes all the children stop.
The children love to hold him
And observe him
And squeeze him just a little bit too tight.
He bites, and yet they do not feel a thing.
Eventually he learned that children’s hands
Are not as fragile as Aphid wings.
He is easily known as the vainest beetle
--no the vainest insect
In the entire garden
Always in his shiny red coat
With black brass buttons.
Although through time,
The glitter has faded. And his buttons are dull.
And yet this stereotypically female beetle is happy.
He is popular and needed.
He is the lady bug.
Untitled
By Jessica Mah
Man threw away his trash,
not knowing that his rash
behavior would affect the future
or even the present because
Man lived his life harming,
hurting while he was farming
spraying pesticides to grow
more food than he needed
not caring about nature
or the biotic pyramid.
Sure, Man composted.
Sure, Man recycled.
But what good is Man when he
doesn’t bother to think
of his surroundings,
of what his actions do
to the creatures who live
around him, within him.
Man cares only about what
can bring him the best
monetary gain,
not about the beauty he
destroys without flinching,
without having nightmares,
no tossing and turning,
no regrets as long as
Man gets his money because
why should man care
about the environment,
the source of Man’s wealth,
the source of Man’s beauty?
Man doesn’t know.
Untitled
By Maxie Groh
listen
as the wind comes and goes
and you may hear
the voices of the past and present
whispering
to each other
open your eyes
with the sun
and look for
a color
you have never
seen before
breathe deeply
and empty yourself
of everything
Rodeo Beach – A Whole New World
By Alex Labagh
We arrive on a beach
15 minutes from school
In a whole other world.
Birds sing their welcomes
And trees sway “hello.”
The ocean greets us with an in and out motion,
Similar to that of our chests breathing in the fresh air.
We begin with a trust walk,
Bandanas on and ready for anything.
We shuffle along the beach
Blindly tripping over branches and kelp.
What color is the sand? We are asked.
Brown…of course not!
Faces 2 millimeters from the floor of the pocket beach,
We see there are millions of colors that make up the sand.
We sit and take in our beautiful surroundings
Pillow Basalt, quartz, serpentine and obsidian are passed around.
We watch the pelicans fly overhead
And sadly it is time to leave.
With long faces we half run/ half walk
To the bus that will take us back to reality.
Once on the bus we talk about all that we have done
In the short time we had in a beautiful, new world
Only 15 minutes from school.
A Sonnet For Him
By Sami Geikas
Your fine gold is admired by many
And it caught my eye from the beginning,
Your seductive spell overpowered me.
O God, will there ever be an ending?
Your skin is soft and gentle to the touch,
Thy lips are sweet and yet replenishing.
This can’t be true, for your lust has spoken much.
So can this treasure be some fake gilding?
Taken by your sweet nature and kind charm,
My forgetful heart was snatched greedily.
Then you must dismiss our time in arm?
Now, my befuddlement devours me.
No type of love should be played like a toy,
Just tell me! and there shall not be no coy.
1 Fish Too Many
By Siubhan Lynagh-Shannon
My fish’s name is Anais
I met her over at the pond of silver
Where staring at the water at night
Gave you headaches from the bright light of the moon.
Parched and shriveling
I dropped her in a Safeway bag
Full of Refreshe water.
She began to move under the crecent moon
And her eyes stared back at me
Longing to breathe a thank you.
I hurried back into my car
Panicking with her loss of oxygen
Each second was precious
I leaped from the front seat up the stairs
Filling a deep pot of water
Submersing the creature into life
I could breathe again.
Blood seeped through her eyes
Distorting her path ahead
Swimming fast in a murky pool of silver and crimson
I knew she wouldn’t last long.
Two hours passed and the paddling diminished
There Anais shed scales of tears
Free of man-made poisons
Onto a life of clean fresh water bliss.
Out of Sight, In my Mind
By Alex Safronov
Drops of sand leaking
Through my fingers
Single drop of chert
Shimmering lightly
Modulating within
Grains of water shifting
Through my ears
Single wave of liquid
Crashing ocean dunes
Churning about
Groups of air calling
Through my skin
Single squadron of cold
Flying past unhindered
Flapping fast
Swirl of birds flowing
Up Above
Single Gust of Pelican
Blowing freely
Gliding easy
My person lifting
From the darkness
Single human being
Becoming nature
Enlightened at last
Pomegranate: The Seductive Fruit
By Danny Morthole
Such a seductive fruit?
Not to please hunger or thirst,
while an appetite can be satisfied,
and a desire filled.
Such an Ancient fruit,
Seeds represent entrapments of the past.
The catacombs of the fruit offer sweet rewards,
While there is a price for pleasure.
One seed will not satisfy
Another is necessary,
7 is just getting started.
Uncertain Waves
by Danny Morthole
Uncertain waves crash
according to scattered rocks.
Repeat or move on.
A wave speeds up
as it approaches the shore
accelerating to its crash,
It recedes to its escape
never to repeat exactly.
It moves to its destruction.
Endless cycle till one looks away.
Kairos
By Patrick Gimeno
Swift Shimmering Leaves
Glistened as the sun awakened
Cooking the sapid nectar
Of this vale rich and hearty
A natal soup, an acorn soup
In bowls made with vital bark
Loose squirrels salivate often hungry
To feed the inquiring mind
The savory taste not found
Much in intrusive lives
A craving unfulfilled
Boundless booming Silence
Continues to pound drums
Deranged and boisterous
Growing hopelessly unstable
Every crafted measure
Speaks divine confabulation
To ones who seek consolation
From a perceptual maze
Full of mischievous jolt
Many times torturous ends
Seeking unfathomable prizes
A lifetime to perceive
An eternity to master