Announcing Our 5S Poet Laureate 2013

 Not for the Look

        A bird
        Doesn’t sing
        Because it has an audience.

        A tree
        Won’t change colors
        For people to marvel at it.

        The sun
        Doesn’t set
        For people to ogle at the colors.
       
        So why should a person
        Change themselves
        For the onlookers?

        A bird
        Sings because
        It wants to.

        A tree
        Changes colors
        Because
        It needs to.

        The sun sets
        Because
        It has to.

        But a person
        Changes because
        Of others’ will.


B r o k e n

        It left a cut,
        It left a burn,
        It left a break and bruise.
        Your axes, and your chippers, and your flames.

        Stomp my leaves,
        Burn my wood,
        Turn me into chairs.

        And leave
        An empty lot.

        What did I
        Ever do
        To you?


Not Much of a Hello

        “Hello,” I say to the squirrel.
        But then I realize
        He’s flat on the road.
        “Hi,” I say to the flower.
        But then I see her wilting.
        “How are you?” I say to the tree.
        But then I realize he’s but a stump.
        “Not much of a hello,” I say.
        More of a goodbye,
        Too late.

        I look at the sidewalk,
        And say, “Hello,” to the grass who once grew there.
        “Hi,” I say to the sky,
        Who cowers behind the power lines.
        But I ignore the skyscraper,
        And he ignores me,
        Besides glowering down.
        “Not much of a hello,” I say.
        More of a goodbye,
        Too late.

        “Hello,” I say to the blue river,
        Who once flowed,
        Where the polluted, muddy one now gurgles.
        “Hi,” I say to the golden field,
        Who is buried under the new condo,
        Without so much
        As a headstone.
        But I turn around from the landfill,
        Who smirks as he tramples
        Upon the green pasture,
        And the wild flowers.
        “Not much of a hello,” I say.
        More of a goodbye,
        Too Late.