Making a Change through Education by Mr. Darius Orjuna

Reflections Magazine: 2009 Poetry Contest Third Place Winner, Darius Orjuna
with Professor Marina Rodriguez

Hard road to travel, through the path we live;

Taking a dead end job, not knowing what an education can give;

We settle for something easy, instead of going for something hard

because at the end of a challenge there’s a reward, like a game of cards;

So if you choose a road, education is right.

Which one would you rather have, a P.H.D or a dead end job for life?

Education is Key by Mr. Odel Gonzalez

Reflections Magazine: 2009 Poetry Contest Second Place Winner, Odel Gonzalez
with Professor Sarah Garman

If knowledge is power, then education is key.

If knowledge builds towers, then education builds me.

My future, my life, however I want to be,

Only depends, on my will to achieve.

Don't want to be a statistic, my dreams reveal more.

Don't want a hard living, an easy way to earn more.

As long as I study, as long as I learn,

Then a change in my life will be on the road I turn.

It only takes common sense for one to be wise.

It only takes effort to clear darkened skies.

Education is future. Education is key.

Education is the means on which I build a better me.

My Soul is Tired by Mr. Stevre Losse

Reflections Magazine: 2009 Poetry Contest First Place Winner, Stevre Losse

with Professor Lois Smith (left) and Sabrina Walters (right)

I’ve been there, I’ve been here

my soul is tired like the old man on the hospital bed gasping for that last breath of air.

I’ve seen friends die

brothers lie

mothers beaten and abused all because of a fathers' pride.

My soul is tired too weak.

It has been beaten to its weary feet.

It’s funny how she fought for us to sit in the front seat, but

we still choose to sit in the back seat.

We have been brainwashed but not of choice but because we made life such a disgusting choice.

Babies killing babies, brothers killing brothers, fathers raping daughters.

Is this what god intended life to be?

Stink an ugly like a fungus growing out of an athlete feet.

My soul is tired too weak.

It has been beaten down to its defeat.

It’s the holiday season and the hurricane Katrina victims still don’t have a place to sleep or eat.

Man is it me or government trying to keep us weak the land of the free the home of the brave.

What we should call it is the land of the deprived and the home built by slaves.

The rich get fame and he poor get shame. Shoot!

I’m thinking about sending Obama a copy of this to ask where the change is

because this world still looks the same.

But I tell you what is a shame how we still have not overcome.

Instead we put the blame on each others' name, so I say again my soul is tired too weak.

It has been beaten down to its weary feet it has been beaten down to its defeat. Can’t you see my brothers and sisters my soul bleeds

like maple seeping out of a maple tree?

Dame when will we be free.

Lotto by Prof. Stephanie Packer

I fixed on my numbers too soon.

Twenty-five years ago when the games began

They shone with the fire of algebraic proof

Flaming youth.

How could such six sure figures ever lose?

They never lost.

Just haven’t won.

If not this draw

Then the next next next next next next next.

All things come in their moment.

Once we won fifty-six dollars.

Why persist?

Money can’t help us.

We have enough.

Millions would only bedevil us with empty space of maybe.

Titanium chores, the black diamond.

Enough is enough.

Still we buy two tickets each week

Religiously

Too spooked to quit.

Wednesday, Saturday: “Honey, did you get them?”

Like doubtful Catholics off to Mass each week,

Sunday morning finds us blinking

Grudging faithful

At the communion rail.

Three coats of crimson brace our front door.

Feng shu’i couldn't hurt

But so many things could.

Flame poinciana out front

Pride and joy

Split by a boltage of September voltage.

“Two minutes sooner, it could have been you.”

It came out of nowhere.

It came from the blue.

There was nothing we could do.

Still we buy our chances

Religiously.

He leans them against a brushed gold frame

Like pictures of saints who

Were

But are not.

Saints null and void.

Saint Christopher still rides the dashboards.

How to kick fear from the heart?

Or hope?

It’s not done.

Too late, anyway.

Change, late remedy, now enemy.

Bolt your doors, people of the village!

Lie low!

It’s mad.

We have all we need.

A simple life of our choosing.

What more to ask?

What more?

Just

To live without losing.