Wish you were here,
lying down on the ground
in the middle of all these flowers
where I stopped on the drive through California.
Suddenly you stand up and run
to the mountains.

by Ceasar, 9th Grade

(Photo provided by Flickr)

What happened to the old superman
when no one man could save the earth or land?

I saw a puddle that flooded a city
I saw one with sheets killing ones with not
I saw a bench that didn’t accept darkness
I saw black boots that stomped on the white doves
I saw one play toy kill a little child
I saw a kid hunt a man
I saw a man kill a man for green paper
I saw an offspring cry for his life
I saw a man sniff a rock and die
I saw a woman lose track of her child
I saw a woman struggle to get away from the man
I saw a child kill for his colors

What happened to the mighty superman
who could save one but not the others?

I heard a child cry no one listening
I heard a child run away for 1000 reasons
I heard a man cry for his rights

by Gabriel, 7th Grade

(photo provided by Flickr)

When dreams flee, the heart breaks.
When your poem sends the gentlest
waters into a rage, the petals go adrift.
When love is only black tears, the pain proceeds.
When it’s too late to apologize, that’s when
you’re left standing alone in the spotlight.

Taha, 9th Grade

(Photo provided by Flickr)

Green trees, sandy deserts,
flowery gardens outside the houses
with men and women laughing
and playing with their sons and daughters.
Then blood drenches everything,
turning pink as it stains the tree trunks,
the orange-tinted flower petals,
the crystals of sand,
the dirty hands of the soldiers,
the children’s bare feet.
War changes everything.

by Michelle, 9th Grade

(Photo provided by Flickr)

Two soldiers point their guns at each other.
Do they know why?
Their mothers will never meet,
but both will cry.
Who will shoot first,
one man or the other?
What if, in reality,
they were brothers?
Both men, ready to fire,
neither ready to die.
Both men ready to fire,
neither knowing why.

by Shane, 10th Grade

On a summer day,
I went to play.
When the butterflies went by,
I watched them fly.
On the trees,
there were birds and bees.
Peace is what I feel
up on the hill.

by Hanh, 2nd grade

I am beginning my third and next-to-the-last day in Bitola, and it has been wonderful. The kids have done great writing, and we are working after they leave to create the anthology of their works combined with pictures of the class and the teachers. There is a very efficient Peace Corps Volunteer named Patrice who comes in after working all day to help us type in the documents. I believe that this is going to be as fine an anthology as the one in Skopje. There is a student here named Philip who writes more interesting poetry than I do. There is also a young girl named Sophia who has written an amazing extended metaphor paper comparing the ball in soccer to Macedonia and the players to Macedonia’s leaders.

Today we begin working on their plays. The students are very excited that their plays will actually be produced in the Theatre Bitola in the Cultural Center in the center of town on Thursday. So they will not only have a real stage, but they will have the stag of the old official cultural center of town with the amazing statues from the Soviet era in front of the entrance. In Tetova, as I said in that posting, there was a Soviet-era statue of a great Albanian poet as well as an statue of an anonymous statue of a female worker (Virginia Woolf was right about so many of the anonymous, in this case sculptures, being women). I wish you could share with me the interesting subjects of these pieces of deco Soviet-era art that remain in public spaces in the countries of erstwhile Yugoslavia.

Yesterday evening, I was fortunate enough to see Phillip the Second of Macedonia’s Heraclea with its fabulous Roman mosaics of fish, birds, and mammals. I had the necropolis to my self with the exception of the guide/guard who lives at the site. I walked the buildings which once serviced an ancient city of 35,000, devoted to the goddess Hera. There was certainly evidence, in the tiny museum which was opened for me, of other gods being worshiped. A big and a small basilica and many capitals with crosses, as well as the fish themselves in the mosaics, attest to the importance of this as an early Christian site. Before that, there is certainly the image of the Persian God Mithraism, so important to distant Roman legions, and there is a small statue of the god Mithraism with his cloak flying on the floor of the museums. The museum itself was a cafe until a few weeks ago. There was an amazing bronze lamp, which attested to someone having gone to Rome from here.

In the summer evenings, Heraclea is crowded with people as there is a famous Roman theatre where performances are produced. I feel sure that Heraclea has a bright future as only a tenth of the original city has been uncovered by archeologists. The imposing theatre cannot be seen at first and one wonders why the Byzantines did that. Did they fear plague or revolution if the citizens met for drama or meetings?

In two days, I leave Skopje for Vienna and then back to Houston, my family, the university and Writers in the Schools.

From Bitola, this is goodbye from the Macedonian Express.

Merrilee Cunningham, Writers in the Schools

In 3 minutes I can rob
a bank,
run to Africa from Asia,
travel the seven continents,
feel sorrowful and become extinct.

In 3 minutes I can dance
on the Eiffel Tower,
win an Emmy,
be the first lady,
rule an empire.

Take the world and make a storm.
Float as a lifeless feather.
Paint an empty room.

In 3 minutes I can read
an entire library,
jump off a building,
create a tsunami,
run and be lifeless,
float down a river,
be surrounded and feel empty.

by Leah, 10th Grade

(Photo provided by Flickr)

These were the top posts on A Poem a Day for June 2008:

The Color Pink by Sarah

Skateboarding

Yellow

Farewell, Poetry Month

Cloud

Happy Birthday, Dr. Seuss

The Poetry Monster

Poems for Mom

WITS at Discovery Green

Someone I Love

I am a Seashell

Ode To A Daisy

Our imagination can come alive.
Sometimes, I feel like I’m fading out,
like people can’t see me
or like I’m stuck in another dimension where there’s no light,
captured by evil darkness and trapped in a wooden box,
slowly turning me from who I am into an evil spirit.
But my good spirit overpowers the evil trying to get inside of me.
So the power inside of me bursts out
and lights up the dark
to show me the way back to myself.
I find myself touched by the light, and I become a lovely color.

Amber, 12th Grade
Texas Children’s Hospital