Poetry + Photography

Poetry + Photography

Where the Evil Resides 

- Troy Henly 


There is a stranger in the mirror 


I don’t know that guy 


He is staring at me 

With darkness in his eyes  

Not me! 

I walk with my head held high  


At least that is what I thought  

But every time I look  

I start to become more and  



Like that guy 


There is no running  

Nor can you hide  

The darkness you deny  

Trembling from that guy 


He’s already inside.   

img491 - Justin Weber.jpg
Untitled - Justin Weber
DSC_0634 - Zac Rineer.jpg
Untitled - Zac Rineer

You Don’t Have to Die and Go to Heaven 

- Will Weaver


The smell of toast in the morning, 

Buttery, crunchy, and sweet. 


The sky glows bright, birds soar chirping. 

Lustrous, peaceful, pure mystique. 


As noon arrives, a storm comes crashing, 

Threatening, drenching, nature’s treat. 


The tempest fades; pavement glistening. 

Reflecting, gleaming, and sleek.     


As night falls, stars start swirling. 

Pulsating in a wild beat.


Ancient prayers bring a blessing, 

Love stirs from somewhere deep. 


Earth subsist with Heaven fleeting, 

Until you die, you will seek. 


Are you inspired to believe?

Radio - Mateen Kane

Canine Senses

- Will Stocksdale


At the end of a long, white muzzle – a compass.

A wet, black nose guiding every step.

It points toward a dead bird, hidden in brush.


Scraggly whiskers like antennae

Dot a pink speckled cheek.

They brush over with each nudge.


Tall brown ears stand on end

With knowledge that someone has arrived back home,

Long before the door cracks its seal.


When on the facade, it appears everything is fine.

He knows, and arrives to comfort and console.

He may have poor eyesight but sees better than I ever will.

The Easter Bunny’s Dead

- Tucker Lippenholz


Tire tracks lead away from the scene.

Supine, hit by a car now onto the next town,

An animal lies with blood spewed beside cracks and in between.

Many onlookers stand around.

Crowds cry out, craving that the crash is not what they dread but

the Easter Bunny’s dead.


The treasured rabbit gave out.

As has the dreams of

the next generation.

Tears ensue and will never end,

no doubt. 

Ruined imaginations and deceased mutations make for

a poor combination. 

Not a soul has aspiration for what is ahead since

the Easter Bunny’s dead. 

Three Houses - Kyle Engle.jpg
Three Houses - Kyle Engle

Silence of Life

- Michael Risser


“Baby shoes for sale. Never worn.”

   –Ernest Hemingway


Silver wheels from stretchers roll across 

the linoleum hospital floors.

Doctors in blue scrubs scramble

as machines beep continuously.


The emergency room is ear-splitting.


Though, the mother in the bed

hears nothing.

Her long, wavy, blonde hair is frazzled.

Her tan, young, skin has lost its charm

and is replaced with a screeching red.

Her blue eyes, as deep as the ocean, 

are like glass that is

about to shatter at any moment,

unleashing the power of the seas.  


A current of tears roll like a river

down her face,

falling like rain onto

the lifeless child in her arms. 

She cradles the child,

wanting to wake it.




She softly calls its name.




The only thing she hears

is the thumping,

of her own beating heart. 


She screams out for her child.

The agony,

the pain,

the emptiness

in her voice,

floods the hospital.


Her scream drowns out the bustle of the hospital.

Everything stops.

She sits there, panting, staring 

at her nine months of hard work.


In the eye of the storm;

Complete and utter


unnamed - Hunter Cook.jpg
Unnamed - Hunter Cook
Image 4 - Zachary Hopp.png
50969546471_ef127a65bc_o - Nate Canapp.j
Untitled - Nate Canapp
img20201212_16373672 (1) - jlayug.jpg
Untitled - Justin Layug
Night Crane - Cole Hospelhorn
4B10E655-F84E-4E30-885D-7CD7D10DE1E7 - W
Untitled - Win Adkins

I Have Had Writer’s Block All of High School

- Ian Williams


My pen lines lay scribbled all over 

paper, like a maze of imagination


Personally, I do not have writer’s block    

Someone else’s burden has been

Placed upon me


An unfamiliar burden


To me, it is a void


Empty space, where

I can’t even put words on paper

No words, no notion


My hands lay stock-still

With no ingenuity powering their movement


Everything is blurred

I have writer’s block

The American Dream - Joe Here.jpg

Little Bird

- Sammi Somarriba 


Hello little bird.

Where are all your friends?

Should I expect more of them

before the morning ends?


I love when you visit me

In the warm humid weather.

When when you fly away, 

you always leave a feather.

Plant Genocide

- Jack Janson


From a pot shaped cell it stands,

stretching its malnourished green limbs

to consume stray scraps of bland sunlight.


On enemy soil, in soil of the enemy, 

its rotting roots remain chained to thick prison walls. 

It sullenly stares through

the barbed wire screen

at a cramped garden of colorful comrades 

that proceed to lose yet another battle.


With amber leaves it weeps for

its peaceful culture, hopelessly fighting

against a power-hungry cult of nationalist. 

A prisoner of war that acts as a slave

for the Nazi that drowns it in chemicals.


It will perish like the rest.

The American Dream - Joe O'Neill
DSC_1161 - Brock Pivec.JPG
Untitled - Brock Pivec

Makeshift Trophy

 - Sean Tisdale


The Stubby base 

thins out to a narrow top.

The light that cast upon it

 illuminates the light green ceramic body

with color resembling a penny that has been oxidized.

When I admire it, I see a story the world will never hear.

I see the tears of the losers and the joy of the winners.

I see the brotherhood that comes with this sea-green accolade and its vast

          interior which contains the memories of a young man’s adolescence.

I see a gathering of friends bonding over an experience,

 and the trophy that they all have won.

ColorSeats - Jack Janson.jpg
Arcade Memory - Jack Janson

The Star is a Lantern

- Mateen Kane


On the third level of a wooden shelf lies a ball of spikes.

Jagged, it can prick the skin to spite the gentlest touch; 

you could feel its sharpness with gloves on.

And to those with fragile skin, I wish them luck.


If you were to look to the sky at night 

and wonder what it would be to hold a star in your hand, 

that is exactly what I have in front

of me, it is still the spike ball,  

but also a star, complex and grand,

But with a latent light.


This star is different from the rest, 

for its latent light stays as so unless under agitated control.

Once the spark is lit, you expect it burn eternally

However, time must take its toll. 


Let us say you were to pick up this star, 

you would find a latch that can be unfastened.

It appears old, rusted and dusty, but you chose to release it.

A candle is revealed, and the staggering mystery is now flattened.

The star’s illusion is undone. 


In my first encounter, I too struggled with this star’s meaning.

The star that gleamed with such uniqueness, that I was eager

for an answer.  

And once I found it,

there was no shock.

Because, like you, I understand that the Star is a lantern.


- Jacob Hauk


I could write a poem

on something deep

But then my words

would seem incomplete.

Your thoughts and desires don’t need to be an eternal feat.

It’s alright if they appear a bit weak

Because without simple thoughts,

no one is complete.


We yearn for the answers to the questions of the world

Yet we die, and never see these wishes fulfilled.

No answers unveiled, and no more time to look

Because now it is our life that has been took.


Only then do we realize what truly matters;

I’m talking about the small moments, the little things.

The ones that seem so insignificant

Yet they are the greatest pieces of our life, 

that we wish were never interrupted.


A man is not pleased by the questions he can never answer.

He is pleased by the small answers which he has.

To that I tell you to live with all your might

Don’t make yourself stay awake at night.

Get a good night’s rest so you can seize the day

Because you might never wake up.

Stuck within the eternal slumber

Where no man can wonder.

night crane copy.jpg
Night Crane - Cole Hosbelhorn

I Fell Through a Twenty-Foot Deck

- Izaac Hester


It was the fourth of July 

So I went to a party

Where the room was jumpin', 

To the music that was bumping.


I grabbed two drinks

And walked outside.


With the wind howling, and everybody shouting

No way could I hear it snapping

When I began crashing,

Through the twenty-foot deck.

Sand - Zac Rineer.jpg
Sand - Zach Rineer 

A Snake 

- Kevin Wallner

Adam, I hear you hum at night. 

Your soliloquy heard by none but me, on this perfect cool night. 

I’ve grown fond of you. Afterall it’s just you and I 

I follow from a distance while you scout new homes. 


Across the four rivers, through the garden you roam 

You label everything you see, but you never notice me, so I lay here silently in the fruited tree. 

We toil, you and I both. To feed the garden, it’s my repentance but it’s your oath. 

Lavender and vanilla swallow the air like a serpent swallows a mouse. We receive no reward 


One fateful night you would. 


He, our God 


Touches your brown skin. Light so bright it could burn a mortal man’s eyes. 

Falling to the ground, you turn to the sky 

Right there before me, a miracle I can’t deny. 

He made that woman from the white bone of your side. 


If he loved us both, and equally 

Am I damned to isolation? 

Your lust has scorched the air 

Your joy, noisome and unfair. 


If we were created in his image. 

Why are you much cleaner? 

Scales seal my salted skin. 

But beautiful brown bodies are yours 


Two eyes, Two legs 

Two people, One me 

I gaze at you and fall on one knee. 

Why has he forsaken me? 


Now I am craftier than any other wild animals he has made 

So, when approaching the mate, I could not refrain 

From tempting the girl to take “God” in vain. 

“He knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like him” 


If you were made perfect, you wouldn’t take my offer 

Now it’s your sins you put up on the altar. 

You are guarded from the garden, which was your dreary fate 

Where love means as much as hate. 


I was that serpent 

I am a snake 

“And it repented him, he’d made man on the earth, it grieved him at his heart” 

You are a mistake.