(Mary Davey Wilson teaches humanities classes at Omaha North High School.)
I’ve come to realize
that trauma changes all. (more…)
Posts Tagged ‘archive’
The Wound
Tuesday, July 7th, 2009To A Beginning Poet
Tuesday, July 7th, 2009(Dr. Don Welch is a retired English professor from the University of Nebraska at Kearney , NE. )
To play a small candle
on a moonless night,
a voice of light
among the politics of black; (more…)
Mommy’s Little Girl
Tuesday, July 7th, 2009(Liz Sharpe wrote this poem in the eighth grade at Beveridge Magnet School , Omaha , NE. )
I’ll always be her little girl,
giggling in her lap,
protesting a nap . . . (more…)
The Face Dancer
Tuesday, July 7th, 2009(Walker Martin)
I’ve wandered roads to every land
I’ve worn a face of doubt
it weighs like sin,
it holds me in,
I search for some way out (more…)
Poetry Is…
Tuesday, July 7th, 2009(Walker Martin teaches eighth grade English at McMillan Middle School in Omaha .)
. . . misunderstood! Well, perhaps that is as it should be. One of the more likely complaints or misconceptions surrounds works of modern poetry. (more…)
Beginnings (Various Poems)
Tuesday, July 7th, 2009Fine Lines devotes this section to young writers in kindergarten through grade six. We hope parents and teachers will encourage their children and students who are just “beginning” to understand the joy that comes from the written word to submit their best work and share it with our readers of all ages.
(more…)
Is It Better, Or Is It Worse?
Tuesday, July 7th, 2009Is It Better, Or Is It Worse?
[This poem was derived from the author's recent visit to her hometown of St. Paul , MN , the scene of much racial unrest in the 60s. Sheila Boerner (sboerner@esu16.k12.ne.us) teaches English at St. Patrick's Catholic High School in North Platte , NE.]
Worse, I answer.
Most days I feel
we’re going downhill
declining in integrity
discipline, respect, a thing of the past. (more…)
Sometimes
Tuesday, July 7th, 2009Sometimes
(Josh Bieber is a student at the University of Nebraska at Omaha .)
Mom and Pop would gently buckle me
Into the back seat of our Datsun
(That’s a Nissan with a smaller engine and more rust),
and Dad would drive us forty days and forty nights,
Eleven hours, all the way to Iowa. (more…)
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