Monthly Archives: December 2013

Untitled-poem written at age 11


Last night I was reading Pablo Neruda’s translated work “Extravagaria” translated by Alaister Reid (which you should really make a note to buy, if you are at all interested in poetry), and then I suddenly got in the mood to read some of my older, more random poetry. I have spent a good part of the night and early morning sifting through old binders crammed with small poem fragments, half of which really make me realize how far my poetry has come in almost three years! Then I found this one, which is frankly one of my long lost favorites. I never get tired of this poem, and I thought you might enjoy reading it. So without further adue, here is me, writing poetry, age 11.


Trees with stemless
grow in summertime.

finding the rainbows in the sky
the love, the war
and the blood of mankind

I am the orphan
lost in time
taking in the sights

of eternity

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry


I’ts been another long year for Golden Star Poetry, and this tired author has decided to try out her poetic skills in another attempt to grab a national gold medal in the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards. WE ARE SENDING THE ENVELOPE QUITE QUITE SOON!

wish me good luck! (And while you’re at it, you might want to check out their website. It is wicked awesome)

all the best,



Scholastic Art and Writing Awards 2014–SECOND ATTEMPT!

Why I Wish You Were Here


why I wish you were here;

no one laughs like that. I miss laughing over jokes like that.

sometimes, i feel like no one has made my insides contract like that.

I need space, i need you. what to do….

An intelligent conversation? Maybe. They sound intelligent on the outside.

Someone says you got worse over the summer.

Why does it seem like you’ve gotten better?

(The words i say mean something,

but no one knows that.)

I have a question,

but you thought i was killing you.

its just a question

that means i love you.

(no one-

and i mean no one-

can smile like you do.

then again,

thats why i hate it all. )

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry



Goddamn you

I feel sick to my stomach when I see you

I feel sick to my stomach when you leave

you stare at the my dialating pupils

wondering which one is telling the truth

and which one lies as it speaks:

knowing your sides

is memorized rote

and the act of getting by

marres my bones.

oh, the chill

it’s chilly

on the sea of my hands

and it’s warm

on the island;

unbalanced unsurity

and a twinge of doubt–

come again,
and go back out

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry



To a Boy; not passive, not present


You always smelled like Laundry detergent

and whenever I pass by the washing machine i feel


your smell was so sturdy

and chemical

like the packaging on a newly waxed flower.


how I wanted to know

what was under the petals

and the soil

that was burning.


I could imagine a strange embrace

with my end, a soft wimper

and your end

mute silence

and the sweet smell of soap

that never scratched the surface.


give up on me,

I’m giving up on you

I wish the smell was pine

that love affair of mine

the load coming out sweet like sap

the days on a riverside

bending trees

and a whisper.


but of course

how can i expect that of you

when all i can smell is the laboratory,

the one that’s antiseptically



Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry