MPitS   Point Arena Charter High School

Dorothy's Fire Pit

Redwoods surround on old stone fire ring
the stones moss covered on one side
charred on the other
They lie, unmoving
since Dorothy skipped through Oz in a blue dress
designed by a woman who once looked on these stones as I do now

Fire wood is sacked in the gutted remains
of the mother tree
Her height is gone
her womb is left holding the flames pieces of others

We sat on benches in these redwoods years ago
tears blurring our vision
merging branches into one protective canopy
blending names and memories and washing it all away

We all sat together in the redwood circle
remembering my mother who had been killed
swept away and drowned at Gualala Point Beach
Never again have we sat together there

Branches fall from the redwood circle
covering the fire pit
Bark pours over the benches
swallowing our seats
Years have dried our eyes
forcing us to separate the branches and face the world alone

Some of us learned to skip along with Dorothy
While others remained unmoving
moss creeping up one side, charred on the other

Gina Lappe, 10th grade


Babysitters Revenge

Every afternoon as you scramble to get dinner together your kids watch TV
They watch Willy coyote come up with another far out scheme
They watch bugs crunch a carrot as he dodges Elmer Fudd's gun
Do you trust those cartoons?
Can we trust anything at face value?
Our culture is filled with warehouse-sized egos
Warehouse sized ideals
There are plenty of hiding places for a few half-truths in a warehouse
The cavalry charge of shopping carts on rough pavement vibrates at my feet as I look into the great chasm of Costco,
Neatly stacked piles of 72-pack toilet paper
Boxes of St. Bernard sized dog beds
(They don't even have small dog beds)
The people with the 4' by 5' carts shuffle meekly out the huge warhouse doors
Flashing their 3' long receipts at the workers they try to become invisible
But, They are living the American dream
They know they are greed

Bugs Bunny hates carrot,
Superman is afraid of heights,
Mickey Mouse never asked for a club,
Two Face never asked to start fights.

If 100 people were stranded in Costco they could live out the rest of their life without cutting back one bit
That is what I think anyway
But what do I know
I am just a 14-year-old kid
Living in a tiny town
Going to an even smaller school
All I know is that I am expected to hate Costco, Gap, Wal*Mart, Coca-cola, Safeway,
So the fact that I do
Is only expected
Thus meaning less
By thinking "Outside of the box"
I have been swept under the carpet

The three bears really hate porridge,
Goldilocks doesn't like chairs,
Snow White never liked the prince,
And Elmore Fudd just wants some hairs.

Democracy, Capitalism, Republic, Anarchist, Communist, Socialist, Green
Does it matter what we call ourselves,
Our nation, our world
As long as you are skinny it doesn't matter what you think
Big boobs mean no need for any sort of interesting anything
A combination of the two
You might as well donate you tongue for all you are going to need it
Our culture is corrupt
Eaten away by the fumes of hair spray
By homophobia, racism, sexism
We don't have classes on close-mindedness
Or maybe I'm just not on the mailing list

Jafar never asked for a parrot,
Yosemite Sam is against guns,
Little Red Riding Hood is color blind,
And spinach gives Pop-eye the runs

5 year olds are told that violence isn't the answer after watching
the roadrunner narrowly escape death by anvil
10 year olds are told violence isn't the answer after watching Batman kill Two Face with a lasar,
15 year olds are told violence isn't the answer
just before going to the garage to get the guns ready for school
20 year olds are told violence isn't the answer after watching
a homecoming parade for soldiers on television
25 year olds aren't told violence isn't the answer anymore
It wouldn't matter anyway; they have learned not to listen

Willy coyote just wants a friend,
Daffy doesn't know he has a lisp,
Pumba is insecure about his weight
Marvin hates being burned to a crisp,

When this nation, under god, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all is stripped down to its barest self all we have left
Is the will to make it so
We are left without our beloved cartoons to lean on
Our secret role models made of ink and pen
Every one of us secretly aspires to be
Just as beautiful as Jasmine
Just as adventurous as Simba
Or purely just as laid back as Snoopy
Have you ever wished Willy Coyote had a little more self-confidence?
Maybe a little more like you?
Have you ever had their best interests at heart?
They are raising your children
Shouldn't you at least do a cross check of you babysitter?

Gina Lappé, 10th Grade




A blood vessel had burst in his eye,
And every time he looked at me I saw the dark red stain on the glassy white surface.
As he glanced in my direction,
I could almost hear the knuckles cracking,
Taste the blood in the corner of my mouth.
It was still a shock to me, even after a week, to see the flash of red
as his eye darted around the room.
I could still imagine the fist that was lodged there,
The thoughts going through his mind as his vision blurred with red.
I could feel the gravel as they rolled in the dirt, in the tight embrace of enemies.
I could feel the tender bruises that appeared the next day.
His eye fixed on me and I stared into it,
Feeling the pride of his gang, remembering the words that still burn him.

Danielle Spoor, 10th Grade


Becoming a Man

I walk across the coastal rocks and without shoes. I feel the jagged
rocks and thorns, tear at my flesh. The pain offers a joyful glee pain
somehow makes me feel like a man. Worsening over time, the blood
spills onto the rocks and out to sea. The smell of blood and salt fills my nostrils., my glee disappears and an unspeakable anger replaces it.
Why must I feel this pain to be like a man? I look down to see a puddle
of blood. I can not bear it any more. I fall to the ground and start to cry as my dreams of being a man drift away into the sea.

Ryan Dougherty, 9th Grade

The Most Beautiful Coast in the West

You just moved to a small town on the coast, you're excited on your arrival, except….
What can you do on the coast of a small town?
With the closest beach a mile or so away?
Away from the road which is a mile from the town?
What can you do when you get there?
Surf with your long surf board you carried a whole mile?
Walk along the beach and pick up sticks?
Or even shells washed up by the waves in the kelp?
Then after an hour when you're tired grab your board
your sticks, your shells and go home
At home you put the sticks in the back yard,
the shells on a shelf, your board in your garage
Then finally, get out of your sandy cold and wet suit
The coast sounds like a fun and exciting place
Till you live there

Joshua Simon



O' Neil wet suits
along the beaches
Hippies in the brine
harsh winds
Hippies hemp lawn chairs
The Oceanside of Mexico

Joshua Simon


Santa Cruz

O'Neil wetsuits
Slowly drip,
Hung out by hippies
In Oceanside,
Lounging on hemp hammocks
Sipping at beer form Mexico.

Leo E. "Dart" Barton, 10th Grade




coral snakes of sea
liquid golden light in ink
silent dream ending

thorns of vanity
red petals gentling wilting
await his fairy eyes

Renea Meisner, 10th grade



Roses cross my path
candy hearts fall to the ground
my hands left empty

Acne, dates, boys, prom
she says they were her best years
I don't believe her

Gina Lappe, 10th grade




warm skin smells of love
the cradle of your shoulder
a place of comfort

the unspoken joy
my feet make at 8 o'clock
lime, gold peach sun tones

be ready, instill
comfort, energy, love
you stunned my core strength

fine grains of sand, my
fingers filter over your
bare skin; you sleep still

Lindsey Smith, 10th grade



Intoxication (Drunk Eyes)

I find something so wonderfully intoxicating
about drunk men. To dance and turn the lights
down low, sleep under the table and on the couch
fully clothed, evokes a feeling of closeness.
Arguing of bathrooms, the haunted corner room
and the percentage left.
I like the smell of their breath; the drunk men.
The look in their eyes. The smile on their face.
I drink in their drunkenness until I'm visually drunk,
my eyes stumbling in their sockets, and slurring their words.
I like the way nothing matters to drunk eyes, race, beauty,
personality. Everyone is beautiful enough to dance with.
To turn the lights down low, and sleep under the table
and on the couch in just a bra, with.
I like the lingering feeling that drunk men leave me
with. The feeling of being foolishly, yet appropriately
And in their presnace, I pray
for a rainstorm so I could have the freedom,
under their drunk consent, to run in the yard
in the rain, laughing like a small child.
Run until I fall down, lie there
with the rain washing the liquor out of my eyes,
until my eyes are sober again.

Lindsey Smith, 10th grade



rain falls down on me
waiting for him, silently
underneath the sky

butter and cheese bread
salt on soft potatoes
hearty meals, no fuss

Hannah Parsons, 11th grade



all the ingredients were ordered special
I spent hours making it
carrying it to the oven, it spilled on the floor

while I was resting
you stood over me, silent
I cried myself to sleep that night

Hannah Parsons, 11th grade


This generation's war

I sit on the cold steps. I have been here for twenty minutes, yet, still am
unused to my surroundings.
I have a clear view of the ocean, hurling itself against the old
bluffs. Endless waves.
I am still hung over with the energy of last nights poetry slam.
Imagine, all those people, gathered in a room, filled with competition,
anticipation, terror and joy, bathed in the unearthly glow of black lights,
and the unmistakable sounds of poetry.
I reflect now, on that hour, when, unbeknownst to us, this country
embarked on this generation's war.
Now at this time, I only have the waves, and my memories to
turn to.
Do I seek guidance?
Or do I seek solitude?
I sit on my step, while thousands of miles away, someone I don't
know, is dropping bombs on someone I don't know, in my name.
I know in my heart, in the back of my high school mind, that
I should do something.
Still I sit. Undecided

Leo Barton, 11th Grade



I have lost faith in America
I cannot accept bush, or his administration, for
what they are. they have no right to be
power, corrupting, hurting, blinding

I cannot accept bush, or his administration, for,
all they can think is for themselves;
Power; corrupting, hurting, blinding.
I want the old constitution back.

All they can think is for themselves.
I believe in what the flag stands for.
I want the old constitution back.
By rights, buy true law, bush would not be president.

I believe in what the flag stands for.
What they are, they have no right to be..
By rights, buy true law, bush, would not be president.
I have lost faith in America.

Leo Barton, 11th Grade

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