Student Poetry Project

April is National Poetry Month, a time when we celebrate poetry and recognize how it has shaped American culture. This year, KUT is participating in National Poetry Month by sharing poems written by students in the Blank Page creative writing programs at Kealing and Fulmore Middle Schools and the Writers' Workshop at Rawson Saunders School. You can read the and listen to the poems here, and you can also listen to the poems read on KUT 90.5 FM throughout the month of April.

The Magician

Apr 30, 2015

The magician sits quietly on a stool

but his presence booms and echoes throughout the theatre.

His toes perched on a rung,

like a pitch black vulture in a bowtie and top hat.

Coming Up

Apr 30, 2015

A tangy blare of horns

Cut the air around it,

Staccato notes pounce on the ear.

Each note of the guitar solo ripe and fresh.

The Umber Knife

Apr 30, 2015

Our ancestors tried

to make us perfect,

yet defiance

feels ultimate.

Punishments are worthwhile.

Black and White

Apr 30, 2015

The night is coming

creeping, crawling, towering over

as the day is unbecoming.

The First Time I Walked

Apr 30, 2015

The first time I walked

Was my time without legs

I didn't touch the ground as you might

But the flowers grew

And the sky was full of wonders

I danced with the stars that night

The last time I walked

Was not long ago

I hobbled along on new legs

The stars did not shine as

They did that one night

The next time I walk

Will the time ever come?

I'm quite sure I just feel numb

My wings have rebounded

But my legs are left broken

As I fly to a life that was stolen


Apr 30, 2015

When confusion arises, there is no silver lining

Darkness softly soothes raging discontent

Blaring is the subtle sound of comprehension declining

We are all in a maze of crazed winding

A maze without exits, but every turn tempts

When confusion arises, there is no silver lining

This nefarious virus takes no lives

When indecision attacks unity, it never survives

Blaring is the subtle sound of comprehension declining

Concord in plagued minds is promptly destroyed

The threads of guilt and regret intertwining

September 1, 1939

Apr 30, 2015

Can you hear the Blitzkrieg’s cry?

As Jericho’s trumpet splits the Sky

As the Stukas roar overhead,

It’s a miracle you’re not dead.

Being Nice?

Apr 30, 2015

Not listening,

but looking straight into the eyes,

barely blinking

but dreaming

Our Wings of Freedom

Apr 30, 2015

I yell to the kings

On behalf of the people who lost their light

Please, don't clip our wings!


Apr 30, 2015

I feel the cool mist against my face

The ocean speaks to me

The beach, my peaceful place

The Inviso-Spell

Apr 30, 2015


Dash of nutmeg,

Clip of unicorn hair,

An inch of slimy toad skin (the best you can find)

Squirt of pickle juice,

Rover’s Sister

Apr 30, 2015

Her eyes are chocolaty hazelnut brown

Her fur a mixed brown with black

But it’s not her looks;

What’s got us is how she acts!

Of the Hour, Again

Apr 30, 2015

It is twelve o’ clock -

Cinderella’s time.

She has to go.

It’s of the hour, again.

Little Red Riding Hood

meets the wolf

at four o’ clock.

It’s of the hour, again.

Rapunzel, Rapunzel,

lets down her hair

at one o’ clock.

It’s of the hour, again.

When mother stops telling me stories

And I stop listening,

It’s nine o’ clock

and it’s of the hour, again.


Apr 30, 2015

Writing isn’t my “thing” -

Never has been, never will be.

My writing has never been chosen,

Never been read.

My writing is okay,

Just not good

And certainly not great.

Yet every time I write,

I always leave

A little of my heart out on the page.

It’s not just about putting words on a page

for English class

or a history essay.

It’s about reaching for the best in people,

It cheers me up when I’m down.

My words tell stories.

My writing isn’t always chosen,

Or read,


Apr 30, 2015

I laugh at the face,

that makes me feel sad,

saying, “It’s nothing,

I don’t feel bad.”

But really,

I let my feelings sink down inside,

Is there anything

I don’t have to hide?

I need some understanding,

Some help overcoming

these confusing feelings.


Apr 30, 2015

Snuggled up in bed

She's sitting right next to me,

Her smile contagious.

She kisses me on the forehead,

The tide of give and take

Apr 30, 2015

Through shallow abundance you waste happily

Patchy spritzers flowing leaving lawns soaked

America, douses in apathy


Apr 30, 2015

My most heroic supporter

Is my bra

A large woman

Black and dressed in lace

And bows

She is gentle

But will hurt me with her wiry sass

If disrespected

She is by my side when I walk down the street

But she has no patience for jumping and jogging

And we quickly part when my home is reached

She is uptight when I break the bonds of social norms

Balancing my adventurous nature

With her stern embrace

But even through our tiffs

I know I can depend on her

My Sonnet to Dreams

Apr 30, 2015

Dreams, you hollow, heartless, callous creature

Dark, twisted land of human mind you dwell

Friendship Withered

Apr 30, 2015

Friendship withers like a flag in a violent storm on the beach

It begins to tear into small pieces of worthless cloth floating through the air alone