National Poetry Month

KUT is partnering with Kealing Middle School, Austin Bat Cave writing center, and Fulmore Middle School to celebrate National Poetry Month. This April, we’re airing poems written by Austin creative writing students.

World Gone Gray

Apr 27, 2017

Read by Carrie Fountain

When the ice starts to shiver,

When the fire starts to fade,

When all the water's in the river,

When you finally get paid.

The world gets cold and gray,

The sea no longer beautiful,

The night is in the day,

Beauty no more, the Earth is dull.

The world is cold or heartless,

It feels like hope is lost,

The smart one from the smartest,

Can’t even help our cause.

The underdog can’t save us all,

‘Cause no one seems to care,

The pretty birds no longer call,

This world I cannot bear.

Fabricated Reality

Apr 27, 2017

My dreams are different patterns hidden in thread throughout a fabric

That hides them from my fading memory.

They are no longer the bright, rich colors of a brocade fabric

They’ve become faded, torn, and threadbare;

No longer soft as silk and gentle like cotton.

Instead they fade like rough and thick denim.

Once a beautiful chiffon,

Now a coarse polyester.

My once beautiful, full dreams

Are now tattered and unwanted cloth.

Shattered Whole

Apr 27, 2017

I feel as though

The whole we once

Thought we were

Has been shattered,

Yet still tethered together with invisible tape.

Over time the shattered shards

Have been slipping

Plink, plink,

One by one into the

Shadowy darkness.

Even though our once wholesome whole

is quietly crumbling,

It resembles its shape,

Shuddering silently every time

Another shard slips.

Not everyone can sense the split second

A shard slips,

But those who can

Weep heartbreakingly beautiful tears,

If Racism Was a Natural Disaster

Apr 27, 2017

It’d be a drought,


the cracked ground we walk on,

the beating sun pushing us down.

“But it rained a couple of times,”

they tell us, while the heat


is scorching our skin


and dust is in our eyes.


“Get over it,” they tell us


from their green, watered lawns.

We sit in the sun, baking for generations,

waiting for the forever rain,


no trees to protect us.


The trees were never there to protect us. 

I Dream of Phelps

Apr 27, 2017

Read by Sara Hickman

We walk into Mother's cafe like we usually do

And hear the waiter from behind the counter that’s blue,

He says, “I’ll be right with you.”

My stomach does flips as my mother tells me,

“Hey look! It’s Michael Phelpsie!

Michael! Michael! The man of my dreams,

My secret crush along with his swim team.

He comes to our table with a bottle of wine,

Then chugs it down, as we dine!

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