The hill Kiera Sandrock
my favourite times were the thick and round summer nights illuminated yellow by the pregnant moon do you miss the moon? that we chased togethon the empty, lonely summer nights, made of grass and honey, woodsmoke and spiteful stars, spitting meteors to the hill where we lay with our nets and our buckets waiting to catch one you asked me, once, where the stars were made i said, curled in blankets of gas and dust, far, far, far, away and you asked what a star sounds like i said little bells singing birds glass teardrops breaking on black stone floors |
Noun
A desire or hope for something to happen. Verb Feel or express a strong desire or hope for something that is not easily attainable; want something that cannot or probably will not happen. |
Wishes Alex McGowan
Light amidst darkness seems to make wishes come true. We look up at a pitch black night sky, and all we see are the stars. Tiny specks of light like freckles across the sky. “Star light, star bright…let me have this wish tonight.” Fingers crossed one over the other like the arms we hug around ourselves against the winters’ best efforts to take away our hope. For some reason, the stars always seem clearest in the winter’s cold. Then there’s the opposite. In a dark room, you can hear people breathing, and then the glow arrives. “Happy Birthday to You…” and the candles draw closer, held by a loving relative and settled in a cake. Placed in front of you, blow them out in one go and make a wish. And then the room lights are flicked on and you can see smiling faces, all asking what you wished for. But it’s a secret. Hope is seen as the bright light at the end of a dark tunnel. Wishes are made of the pinpricks of light in a dark space. And why? Maybe because for a wish coming true to be special, others have to be denied. Because if every wish came true, what would there be to wish for? Wandering Insomniac Claire Gray
I wish I could sleep. Instead of glaring at the clock's empty face, Counting seconds left in the minutes, Then minutes in the hour. Hours, I spend fingering the colliding waves on the ceiling. Try and imagine the boat lost in them. To this date, he's still lost. I'm lost in a sea of blue fleece, myself. Maybe I'll soon find him again. An army of pillows amass 'round my head. I fling them neatly away. Arrange them by brand, then by comfort rank. Maybe fatigue will finally reach me. I look at the golden frames that surround me, Each picture, another man I've never met. Then I start to wonder, what do they do when I look away? Move, banter, or rest, I presume. I carefully name each individual frame. Francois, a famed Austrian prince, Ishmael, a lonely fisherman's son. Severed from his ship in high tide. Tells me of a daring return. He'll sail out to sea when the sun comes back. The ridges gone, an ocean calm. I lay my head down at rest Four More Hours Billie Jane Kearns
The New Year’s streamers streaked the walls; the chips and cheap champagne were at the ready. We had two minutes left before the crowd of guests started streaming in. I looked at Jordan, clipboard in hand, who looked back at me, and we both looked back to Moorley. Jordan and I went to the window to search for arriving people, while Moorley made his own way, proceeding to unlock and walk through the balcony door. “Close the door, idiot,” Jordan said, “You’ll let the cold in. We keep it closed this time of year for a reason.” Moorley walked onto the balcony and closed the door behind him. I decided that the view would be better and followed. Jordan raised an eyebrow, but then shrugged and followed. We closed the door behind us. It was cold enough to make us look like three smokestacks leaning over a railing. Cars drove past in the light of dented street lamps that stretched the shadows of the people walking home for the night, or to a pub, or to a party. They walked past the hobos nuzzled into brick walls who knew that the baseball cap coins wouldn’t get them anywhere anyways but didn’t care because it was worth a try when people were feeling festive. Moorley looked up at the sky and the ringlets slunk out of his eyes. Jordan scoffed, “The party’s not going to be flying in on private helicopters, Moorley.” He looked up to see what was so gawk-worthy. “Well I’ll be damned.” My gaze followed Jordan’s, and sure enough the sky was a sea of swimming stars. It was as if they were oblivious to the smog that suffocated the city. The three of us became star-gazing kids – the kind who won't come back inside, no matter how many times mum calls them. A six-year-old me thought that maybe the smog wasn’t gone, but that maybe the stars had recharged themselves, starting brighter for the New Year so that their light would never run short. Bucket List1. Bungee Jump with the Queen. Any queen, really. Doesn't have to be the Queen.
2. Marry Adam Gregory. Or, just, you know, keep him tied up in my closet. 3. Ride an elephant around New Zealand. 4. Create a sculpture out of eggshells and starfish. 5. Become a bartender in Australia for one year and twenty-eight point five days. 6. Braid hair on a beach in Timbuktu for three months and fifty-eight days. I’m not sure if Timbuktu has any beaches, so one will have to be made for me in order for this to be possible. 7. Drink tea with a lion. 8. Climb the shortest mountain in existence. 9. Tap dance with a cereal killer. Not serial. Cereal. 10. And, last but not least, I would like to go down to the bay (the one where the watermelons grow) to find that zebra that mugs Libras. Someone ought to teach him a lesson. 13 Laine Theocharides
He’s a Big Kid now. 13 means you’re all grown up, a teenager. So he tries smoking a cigarette in the parking lot because he likes the way he looks like a dragon. His parents assume that all the candy bars in his room are paid for, and boys will be boys, and that’s why those that complain about their son. He spits with gusto and laughs at the kids playing Pokémon because that game is for babies. But some nights he sees an airplane zip across the sky, and he closes his eyes and crosses his fingers and squishes his toes together, telling himself they’re actually crossed, and pretends the airplane is a shooting star. He wishes he was 12. |
Leave a Penny Lia Codrington
I saw a penny balanced on the crack between two sidewalk squares. I left it there for you, knowing you'd pick it up on your way to work. Throw it in the fountain outside your office. Make a wish. From this cafe window, I've watched you flick pennies into the second tier every day but Sunday. I am too far away to see the splash, but I know your aim is true. You've been practicing for two years. 7:58am every day but Sunday, I wash the table in the window booth. I watch you walk across the cobblestones, black suit jacket buttoned up all the way. It rained yesterday. You wore the same suit jacket and you had no umbrella, each rain drop making your jacket darker. 11:11am yesterday I wondered if you were making a wish. I wondered if you would make the same wish when you blew out your birthday candles, or saw a shooting star. You wished, and I washed. 8:02am today I saw you walk by. Your head drooped, and the bottom button of your jacket was undone. 8:03am you kept on walking, your eyes glued to the ground as you shuffled to work. I rushed to the counter and took a fistful of coins from the tips jar at the cash register. I ran out of the cafe to call after you, but I didn't know your name. You were already gone. I turned to the fountain and threw the coins in, wishing for your wish to come true. Watching, Waiting, Wishing Michal Leckie
I stand by my clock every day, twice a day. Sometimes I get tired and decide to sit, but I always watch the clock. Each time the hand moves, my stomach tightens, and I wait. Sometimes I bring my notebook and draw the clock, to make sure I remember what it looks like. I have a special pencil for drawing the clock. My feet are shaking ever so slightly, but I feel the floor with my toes going tap, tap, tap. I get my notebook and my clock-drawing pencil, and my chair in case my feet start to feel sore, which they sometimes do. The chair is made out of wood. I use the same chair every day, and put it in the same spot. The wood feels rough when my hands touch it, so I try my hardest not to touch the chair. I always have to wear long pants when I sit in the chair, in the spot in front of the clock, or else the chair might feel rough on my legs, and I think that would even be worse than rough on my hands. I was late once, when I went to watch my clock. Three minutes late. It was in the morning, and I was outside. I collect leaves there every day. In the winter, this can be tricky, but I can always find some. I have a place where I put my leaves; they go right under a plank of wood under the tree. There are lots; sometimes I run out of room, because there are only so many leaves you can fit under a plank of wood, so I have to get rid of some of them. I try to find twin leaves, but I never have. Maybe one day I will find twins. The time I was three minutes late was when I lost one of my leaves. It was in my hand, and then it blew away with the wind. I yelled at the wind that time. It’s the only time I’ve ever yelled at the wind. I chased my leaf, quite far I think, but it was going too fast, and for a second, I thought it had transformed into a bird. It went up, very, very high, and I couldn’t reach it. I had to go find another leaf, that’s why I was late. My chair felt especially rough that day; even though I tried not to touch it, I could feel its roughness sneaking into me. Today, I have my notebook with me, and I’m drawing my clock. I have to draw the hands very fast, or they’ll change and I will miss it, and my clock will look all wonky and the hands will be curvy. I don’t like that. I draw my clock hands very quickly -- before they move. I’m watching my clock, waiting for 11:11. It’s the best part. I wish for the same thing every day. I finish drawing my clock, and then I’m just watching it. I think maybe I should come earlier, just so I have more time to watch the clock. That’s a good idea. I watch the clock for a little longer, and 11:11 comes. I close my eyes, like I do every day, twice a day, and wish. My eyelids squish together and I feel my face scrunch up. My hands are on my lap, moving a little bit on my legs, but making sure not to touch the chair. My toes feel stiff too, locked up in my boots. My eyes stay closed for a bit, just so I have enough time to hope. Only when I open my eyes, will I know if my wish comes true. Sometimes I don’t ever want to open my eyes. Lifestyle and Teen culture Robbie Crane
Smoke filled lungs, sober daily, time during school never wasted, to an extent. Education was cornerstone and I only ever excelled when I tried to. Laughing through dark times, still laughing through good ones. Bruises as a trophy won from sports. A snowy Mac's corner-store, huddled drinking coffee, talking, laughing, as snow feathered to the ground. Puffs of our breath in the center join together to rise up then disappear literally into thin air. Loved the Loved again. A perfect little boat anchored among a sea of fifty others, fire in the sky, a celebration. Laying on our backs on the bow of the boat, hand in hand, her head on my stomach, my head resting on a life jacket, looking up in the air. Exploding lights in the sky, something different high above, a shooting star that flies by. Make a wish. You are already in my life. Then another wish. But I didn't, I should have, because how often is a moment so perfect to an extent that a shooting star soars by, asking for your wish to be this moment for life. Hopscotch Leah Campbell
I guess you were the hopscotch stone I always jumped over. The one I couldn’t remember to put one or two feet on, so I just skipped it. Until big fish suddenly seemed smaller, when cubbies became lockers. Something happened and you weren’t a skipped stone but a windshield cracked by a pebble. Well, you said it was a pebble, I wish I had known you were being chased by a boulder. I wish you would stop, Dr. Pepper and Bacardi won’t chase your problems away, their credentials are minimal. I wish, but wishes are for wells. Instead of wishing you well, I'll tell you to watch the stars at night. Stay until you see a shooting star, that way I’m not the only one falling for you. |
We are Such Stuff as Dreams are Made on Dorothy Apedaile
forgotten fears of forgotten faces, careful clippings of light blond curls, the penny lost from a leather wallet, an empty bottle of sparkly gold nail polish, the broken strand of your grandmother’s pearls, a library book lost between the couch cushions, and ramblings down roads you used to know. I Wish Katie Wilkins
I wish dreams weren’t so hard to come by I wish fairy tales were real I wish I had more to look forward to than just surviving I wish tears chased nightmares away And hot chocolate soothed a broken heart I wish success was measured in the number of times you laughed that day Instead of the money you have or the thoughts in your brain I wish it was socially acceptable to hug complete strangers And I wish everyone could just dance in the rain without worrying about getting wet I wish crazy wasn’t a bad thing as long as you were smiling Because maybe it’s easier to be insane I wish earthquakes could shake the angry out of the world And tidal waves could wash away the intensity I wish mirrors reflected your inner beauty instead of all of your flaws I wish I didn’t lose sleep over wondering who to be tomorrow I wish me was good enough I wish My Wishes Emma Wright
I've always wanted to swing over the bar of the swingset, I've always wondered why people watch the sun set, Why get up early when you could be asleep and numb? I wish that you could have an endless supply of your favourite pair of jeans, I wish the fuzzy sweaters made life a little softer, And I wish that every cup of tea was a cup of happiness that would never fade away. I wish that every picture was an invitation to the past, or that when you turned a light on, a light in your heart turned on too. Why should it be dark in there? I don't understand how people think being sick will make them happy, how every pound of healthy can make them feel so useless, I want everyone to see that they are wrong. I wish that every bowl of ice cream had sprinkles of laughter mixed in with the sugar, I wish people could only smile when they were truly happy, because it would make life a little more genuine. Everyone blames society when they are lost or confused, Maybe society feels the same way as you, I wish that we could stop pointing fingers, and just listen to the words we've been purposely mishearing. I Don't Think I Want to Lose You Alexis Clarkson
The clock on the dashboard struck 11:11 “Make a wish,” you whispered into my neck. “Make a wish.” You pressed soft kisses along my jaw line and weaved your fingers through my hair. I scrunched my eyes closed and battled against the feelings, but I knew it was no use. With a sigh, I leaned into your touch. I could feel your tap dancing pulse take flight. I opened my eyes and looked over at you. Your hazel eyes were closed; a smile decorated your lips. I caught a hauntingly beautiful glimpse of us in the side mirror. Two girls intertwined on the front seat of an old pickup truck, tear tracks still racing down their cheeks and their trembling arms clenched around one another. I felt my stomach turn icy and drop. I glanced at the 11:11 blinking on the dashboard. I closed my eyes. I could feel you motionless in the dark beside me, and then your lips crashed against mine in the most wonderful way. It made me feel sick to realize that you were wishing for me to wake up and quit lying to myself, while I was wishing I had never fallen in love with you. $50 Julia Pama
If I only had $50 more dollars, I’m pretty sure I could solve world hunger overnight. I think I know the cure to cancer, but I can’t afford this lense for my microscope to fully inspect the bacteria. Just $50 more dollars in my hands would make the world a better place. No one would ever be alone, and there would always be somewhere to go for people who need it. I’m telling you, if you just gave me that $50 dollars, it would unlock every single possibility of fixing the world’s problems. Wars would no longer exist because of me and there would be endless career possibilities for anyone who needs one. Every sick and needy child's wish will come true. Seriously mom, I need this $50 dollars. The world is counting on you. |
Dreamer
Bethany McKinley-Young
His heart is filled with poetry,
His veins intricate collections of beautiful words.
If you listen closely, you can hear the truth in the air he breathes.
He collects his wishes and traps them in a jar on his window sill, so that they won’t get lost in the stars.
He is more than you could ever hope for.
And if you get the chance to flip him inside out,
Read his poetry back to him.
His heart is filled with poetry,
His veins intricate collections of beautiful words.
If you listen closely, you can hear the truth in the air he breathes.
He collects his wishes and traps them in a jar on his window sill, so that they won’t get lost in the stars.
He is more than you could ever hope for.
And if you get the chance to flip him inside out,
Read his poetry back to him.