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Teen Ink Magazine,
January 2006 :
Poetry Articles
A Light on in the Kitchen
by Krista D., Pembroke, NH
I slipped from the bed
With my hair in my eyes
But in the dark
It really doesn’t matter
Anyway
Tiptoed to the stairs
And a light on in the kitchen
Says you’re downstairs making coffee
Though the red light’s glow says
It’s 4 a.m.
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Brooklyn
by Rebecca P., New City, NY
Driving through
the old neighborhood
Crisp autumn leaves
litter the cracked sidewalks
that seem to
hold their breath
weeds stick out
like hands grasping for life
young people
stand on sidewalks
looking for jobs
waiting
wondering
I sit in ...
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Cold
by Kai C., Juneau, AK
The cold is sliding over me
Raising my skin in uneven bumps
Sliding its hand down my back
And making me shiver.
Sliding its tongue against mine,
Making my gums ache.
Its legs are rubbing against mine.
Its chest is pressed to me.
Continue...
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Eye Candy
by Stephanie X., Seekonk, MA
This selection can be found in Chicken Soup for the Teen Soul, the 7th in the Teen Ink
book series, all available in bookstores nationwide and online.
Continue...
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Greed
by Jane W., Makanda, IL
Greed is a precarious pier
Over stormy loch and
Painful drop,
And every wasted tear
Is a slipping foot
Closer to the edge.
Continue...
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Her Papa’s Hands
by Christy A., Portland, ME
A hand reaches up,
Grasping palm to palm.
The child’s soft skin
Brushing into dry and caked flesh.
Scars from hooks and rope
Have cut deep, healed crooked.
Hardened knuckles delicately hold
To the gentle curve of her own small hand.
Continue...
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Legos
by Adam K., Kailua, HI
Red blue yellow
colors of the rainbow
in geometric shapes
merging into perfect structures
colossal constructions
little men encased in cold plastic
tiny heads with blank features
stiff and blocky with robotic movements
square and small
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Morning Time
by Justin S., Newton, NJ
My feet pointed westward
As I rose
From the rolling comforts
Of your bed
Like the needle of a compass
Guiding me home
Through thick forests
Of your shaggy carpeting
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My Sacred
by Zoe L., Wayland, MA
I swept a butterfly net through the jungles
of my soul, and pinned up what I found there,
the colors from the canopies and brush, a collage of all things holy.
Continue...
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My White Bishop
by Michael D., Nampa, ID
on a wooden field, with wooden men
a wooden war raged on
a little wooden test of wits
between forces of right and wrong
I played against a demon now
we fought the war of wood
if pieces of a game could bleed
I’m sure these pieces would
without thought of ...
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Prodigy Child
by Kathryn M., Haymarket, VA
green shoes
underneath the desk remain still,
yet the hands type crazily -
the golden child of the family
shines brightly
Continue...
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Smile for the Camera, Sweetie
by Ashlee M., Towson, MD
and all I ever do is smile fake for you.
so you’ll have this picture,
glued down.
memory book,
hurts so uch to see my face,
so out of whack,
out of place with my feelings,
glued in your memory book.
Continue...
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Spoons
by Christopher M., Abbotsford, Canada, BC
Mine slumber between meals
in cozy, caricatured outlines;
no decency, not like wooden ones
in Kenya, breaded with mud:
the kind that soak in rusted tubs,
and stir rags and robes
through fly-begotten water.
Spoons used to be spoons,
not silverware.
Continue...
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Take a Vacation
by Krysia L., W. Cornwall, CT
Take a vacation on your computer screen
everything is neon green
the sights the sounds
the stories the signs
all within a blink of an eye
places ...
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There is a light on in my room
by Elizabeth W., Northfield, IL
there is a light on in my room.
it is how I can see through
the den
(midnight obscurity),
and the elegant white
walls sigh
(they reflect it, you see).
there is a light on in my room.
Continue...
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To Be a Square
by Chelsea R., Cohasset, MA
equal sides, right angles, four-sided
squaresquaresquaresquare squaresquaresquaresquare
marked by justice, honesty,
and freedom from bias. not flexible
square diamond cut, fair numerical.
square dancer, squaredancer.
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Tomorrow’s Muse
by Ariel K., Doylestown, PA
Inferior fingers grip the pen.
She attempts to squeeze out words from clotted ink.
Still, there is nothing.
Agitated by her words,
(or lack thereof)
only shadows remain on her rosy stationary.
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Welcome to Me
by Julie R., Peoria, AZ
Welcome to my dream
Walk inside of me
Take a picture of
All the light left after love
Welcome to my fear
Of being left with no one here
All alone and insincere
My feelings and senses disappear
Welcome to my mind
All the memories I have kept
Without the ...
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Young Vanity
by Caitlin H., Concord, NH
I remember those days
Of young vanity,
Waiting in front of the mirror
And your cool hands,
The scent of Irish soap,
Smoothing my long, blond hair,
Trying to braid it,
Trying to be like other mothers
So I would be like other girls.
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Poetry articles from the Teen Ink Archives
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