A few months ago we were told about new updates for Odyssey and how we could make poems to post to the site. I was ecstatic about the idea of putting myself out there, but I had no idea what to write about. So I went on with what I normally wrote about, writing articles on whatever I could think of for that week, until one day I was hit with an idea out of nowhere. It came to me like a spark, and I finally wrote my first batch of poems.

America

12:03 on a Saturday night

alone in a Sunco Gas Station.

enveloping pitch black surrounds,

the single beam of white light

shone down on me at Gas Pump number 4.

$15 of Gas

in my Marble Honda Civic.

fresh opened Coke on my trunk

Next to a pack of Camels,

as I fill up my tank.

singing crickets compete

with the whizzing of Cars on the Freeway.

shift into Drive

Entrance Ramp on the Highway

Entrance Ramp on the Interstate

Red Hot Chilli Peppers on the Radio,

“Where you come from?”

“Where you going?”

Streetlights illuminate the roads

that I share with Late Night Traffic

and Semi-Trucks

that lead me back back

to rows of houses

in the average American Suburb

Clown Epidemic

This year we have had a clown epidemic.

I’ve seen a lot of stories

Of sightings on the news,

But the scariest one so far

Is the report on one

Who is running for President.

Family Parties

An empty bottle of Bud Light

Filled to the neck with cigaret buts

Left out on the back patio

To be discovered next morning

Wax Paper Ghosts

Every Halloween

My mom pulls out these Wax Paper Ghosts

That she made when I was a kid

And posts them on my bedroom windows,

So everyone passing by can see them.

When I go to bed

Lights from the neighbors yard

Illuminate them.

Every night they loom over me,

Casting their shadows on my bed.

Once a year

Every October,

They haunt my dreams.

I close my eyes.

Half asleep,

I watch them come alive

Awakening at my windows.

I look out my window to the trees

As they dance in the wind,

Bellowing up

Into black smoke

That covers the sky,

Suffocating the light

Burning my eyes.

The wooden frames of diamonds

That bar my windows

Draw shadows from the light

That weigh down on me,

Constricting me in my bed

Until I can’t move a muscle.

Then the ghosts come in

They seep in through the cracks,

They cast themselves upon me,

Wrapping me up

In Wax Paper,

Covering my nose,

My mouth,

Filling my mouth

With the taste of Wax Paper,

Until I can’t breath.

Then I wake up.

And I see my Wax Paper Ghosts

Folded on the floor.

Then I go back to sleep,

And dream of singing Show Tunes

Featuring Casper, the Friendliest Ghost you know.

She Doesn't Want a Love Poem

She does not want a love poem.

She’s told me this herself.

So instead,

I’m going to write about Bees.

Bees are buzzing little bugs

That are commonly found near uncovered coke cans in the summer.

(Not to be confused with the Wasp)

Whenever I see a bee,

I think of her,

And how she tells me everything there is to know

About Bees.

She tells me about how their calm when in swarms,

How they pollinate thirty percent of our crops,

Their social hierarchy,

The diseases that affect them,

How our sole existence depends

On Bees.

But what I remember most

Is watching your face light up

When asked about them.

You sit up straight,

A sparkle shines in your eyes,

You dawn your signature beaming smile.

And you talk for almost an hour straight

On Bees.

I remember watching you talk,

And seeing the passion you have in you.

Realizing how much you inspire me.

With all you know,

The work you have done,

How driven you’ve become.