Within The Clover I Found
By: Emily Ewing

There was a clover I found,
From the ground it delicately spouted,
Grown there on the campground,
So rare people have doubted.

The magic it brings,
The minor spells it has granted.
​During the spring,
It's brilliant enchantments,
Works for its beholder,
Alternating pasts; and futures,
Its as if the plant is a molder,
Of regrets.           

There was a clover I found,
It granted wishes and prayers,
Seemingly as if with no bounds.
Under the stairs,
I’ve hidden it,
And its most peculiar powers.
As the world does not deserve them,
They’ve got their lovely flowers,
And pretty coloured rocks.
Yet the luck within this clover,
I’ve kept hidden in a box.

The luck, you say?
Yes it is true,
I simply could not downplay,
It is no mere voodoo.
This odd plant does as the rumors tell,
The fourth leaf creates the laternations,
It's a beholder of...botanist spells.

But mark my words,
You must believe to see,
Its unplantlife mystery.
As the luck does not work
Unless you trust in its quirks,
Its abilities will astound
In the clover I found

Luck Has A Mind Of Its Own
By: Sarah Ryan
luck. 
what does luck mean to you? 
is it a four leaf clover, swaying in the wind, 
or is it the winning lottery number? 
does luck make you happy,
or does the fake smile just get wider the luckier you get? 
luck is interesting in the sense that 
no matter how determined 
how angry 
how calm 
you are 
luck doesn’t come when you need it. 
luck has a mind of its own. 

Rotten Good Luck Charm
By: Nate Fahmi

When I was eight years old, I moved to Ottawa from Toronto. My tears had been cried, my nerves had been talked out with family and friends, and I was finally ready to leave.

By the time the five hour car trip was over, I was glad to be in Ottawa. I don’t know what I thought about during that trip, or what I did to keep myself entertained, the only thing that has stayed in my mind was my poor cat screaming her lungs out.

Once we got there, my mom took me to the park across the street to get away from the abyss of boxes that swarmed our house. Once we got to the park, I trudged along, keeping my head down, in my usual fashion, and that’s when I saw it.

“Wait mom! I think I saw a four leaf clover!” I cried. I squatted on the ground and picked up the plant, being careful not to damage any of the leaves. Lo and behold, I was right.

“Well, look at that!” said my mom “it’s a symbol of good luck! We’ll have to press that and frame it.”

That’s when the rain started.

It started in clouds, and we thought nothing of it.

Until we left the grocery store, ready-made meal in hand, to the biggest downpour that I’ve ever seen in my life. We were drenched in seconds.

It seemed like I’d been stuck with a rotten good-luck charm, but now when I look back on it, moving to Ottawa was one of the best choices that my family made.

A Birthday is a Lucky Day
By: Jenna Mihalchan

A birthday is a lucky day. Whether it’s your birthday, your mom’s or your uncle’s; a birthday is a lucky day. Everyone smiles and is friendly because they say ‘don’t ruin their birthday.’ A birthday is a special day. It’s all for you, one day of the year, just this one day is not about someone else. This day is yours. Your family gives you gifts, your friends are nicer than they normally would be. It’s a special day. Your birthday is the day where dreams come true. You get a dinner that was made especially for you. A boy that you liked for a long time finally told you he liked you too. At the end of the day, you’re smiling because your birthday was as perfect as it could be.

Maybe your birthday was as perfect as it could be. But luck isn’t on the side of everyone you know. Your mom had a birthday that started special and nice. Your dad made her breakfast and your sister for once didn’t fight.  Everyone got along and was smiling because they’d say, ‘no one can ruin her day.’ That’s what you tried the hardest to do. If you were kind to your sister she’d be kind too. Nothing is always in your control because there was a call that night. Your grandmother died and the whole family cried. It was your mom’s birthday and you thought it but no one would say. This day would be tainted for the rest of your days. For a birthday is like any other day. Special, unlucky or magical. No one can say.

Untitled
By: Ella MacDonald

​A four leaf clover,
It’s eleven-eleven,
Go make a wish now

Luck
By: Emma Breton

​Try your luck today
Go ahead they await you
Your future is here

Good Luck
​By: Rebecca Kempe

Good luck. Yes, good luck. The two words she heard in her head at the beginning of every race. The two words that described the thing she so painfully needed. The two words... Sigh. She hadn’t hit the major races yet, hadn’t hit the races where she would be required to show her skill and luck or rather, show off her lack of either. She had never qualified, had always been second-best, or rather, as luck would have it, fourth. Top three always qualified, but she was just fourth best. Decent enough to attempt, she was, but not good enough to matter.

​She had painfully worked her way up to even achieve that level of decent-mediocre. She wasn’t athletic by nature, but maybe she would have been if her childhood had been different. She remembered running, soccer with the boys, remembered long hikes on summer mornings. But then something, but she wasn’t sure what, had happened. Something had happened to her legs, something. Something had prevented her from moving at more than walking speed without pain scraping up her shins, without her muscles tangling and grinding away. There had been a haze of physiotherapy and hospital visits and failed accommodations. There had been years of unbearable Phys. Ed class, years of insults thrown every which way by her able classmates. Slowpoke, they had called her, left her behind.

​But it was gone now, as mysteriously as it had come, and she had soon taken up running again. So here she was, entering a cramped portable on a particularly muddy morning, wearing running shoes, unsure what the meeting would entail. The room wasn’t quite full when the teacher walked in, but she was there, and she was one of the first to hear him say the fatal words: there would be no tryouts that year. And then, the joyous news – he would take a list of those who wanted to compete in events. First-come, first-served. And so, when he went around on the sheet, her name went on the list, for once, and when the others, who hadn’t bothered to show up, heard the news, it was too late. They cried, the complained, they cursed. No matter. She was the one going, not them.

A couple weeks later, she arrived at the school where the events would be held, and the whole time she was waiting she held her breath. She circled the gritty tracks, tried to forget about her anxiety. She had been fourth-best, shouldn’t even had qualified. She wanted to be here, but did she belong? She pulled up her socks, tied up her muddy shoes. She lined up at the starting line, crouched with the other contestants. And then, another race began. Regionals, this time, not tryouts. The gun went off.

Good luck, she told herself. She ran, she ran, and it was over. She came in dead last.

Untitled
By: Nada Fawwaz

luck is but a myth
it's depended on too much
luck? it is not real​

Giant Tiger Lucky
​By: Jason Domingo

​

---

Before Going On Stage
​By: Yasmin Nowlan

Good luck they tell me
Determined steps and a smile
I’ll need it, thank you

​
Reflection
By: Damien Jordan

˙spuɐɥ ʎɯ uı sı pןɹoʍ ǝɥʇ ǝzıןɐǝɹ ı puɐ 'ǝɯ buıɥɔɐǝɹ ǝsɹǝʌıun ǝɥʇ ɟo ɹǝuɹoɔ ʎɹǝʌǝ ʇıɥ pןnoɔ ʇɐɥʇ ʇɥbıן ɟo uoıʇɔǝɟǝɹ ǝɥʇ 'uoıʇɔɐɹɟǝɹ ˙ǝsıɹuns ǝɥʇ s,ʇı ʞuıɥʇ ı ˙dǝʇs ɐ buıʞɐʇ uǝʌǝ ʇnoɥʇıʍ ǝsɹǝʌıun ǝɥʇ ɟo sɥʇdǝp ǝɥʇ buıɹǝpuɐʍ 'ʍou ʇıs ı ɥɔıɥʍ uı 'buıuɹoɯ ǝɥʇ ɟo ǝɔɐןos ǝןʇuǝb ǝɥʇ uɐɥʇ pןɹoʍ ǝɥʇ uı ǝɹoɯ ɹǝɟǝɹd ı buıɥʇou s,ǝɹǝɥʇ ˙buıɹǝpuoʍ ǝɹǝʍ noʎ ɟı 'ןןǝʍ ǝʇınb ɯ,ı ¿ʎɐpoʇ noʎ ǝɹɐ ʍoɥ 'ǝɹǝɥʇ oןןǝɥ

Four Leaf Clovers
​By: Ella Pegan

I used to carry around four leaf clovers. Whenever I’d find one, it would go straight into the little case I started to carry, just for the purpose of collecting and protecting them. I would smush them with heavy books, preserve them so that I could keep them forever. I thought they would bring me luck. I carried them all throughout high school, up until my last year. I carried them with me to the party. They were there for every moment, always able to ground me if things got to be a bit much. They were in my pocket when I got in the car, even in my hand when we got on the freeway. I was still holding them when we crashed.
Now I carry stones. They’re as lucky as dirt, and as likely to protect me as my four leaf clovers.

Stream of conscientious: Luck
By: Hannah Blauer

Green four leafed clovers, leprechauns, the longer side of a fish bone, all symbols of luck.
But what is luck?
Luck: You failed the test you studied for two weeks you were having a crappy day at school today but look a four leafed clover You never found a four leafed clover It’s a small plant that grows in the ground when you think it probably blooms in March but actually blooms in April you hold it tight don’t break it It’s luck It’s luck wait you see that that’s lightening it come down your shoes will get wet and since you're a pretty tall person it might come down and electrocute you and you’ll be dead luck the most common noun known to the human race everybody saying it every day over and over and over and over and over and over and when you think they're done they say it more and more and more and more and i want to say something i want to say something as far as i’m considered luck doesn't even exist

Untitled
By: Liam Jones

On a rainy London evening, Mr. Winston Wimbley had absolutely no time for anything or anyone. He was late. Lateness was worse than a tickle in your throat, or an itch on your back… lateness was his greatest peeve. It was not his fault. It was never his fault. It was the office’s elevator; always short circuited. It was his assistant’s indecision; the silk or velvet jacket.
Tonight he had a date with his true love, Brittany Buttleson. They were booked at the most exclusive restaurant in all of Kensington. In his mind, Brittany sat alone. She probably wore that lace dress that he bought her in Italy. With a pout, she probably flipped through the flimsy menu. No time, no time at all.
Two blocks, the Tube was still a long way. People everywhere fled the downpour, packed together like sardines. From the eavestrough, sooty water sloshed down on a sea of umbrellas. Mr. Wimbley lunged his heron-like legs over feet and coats, through umbrellas and bags. It was bloody hell to navigate the streets. The Tube’s sign shone in the dullness. It flickered red, blue and white.
Winston caught a breath of polluted city air. He glanced down. A poor old woman half drenched sat in the gutter. A rodent scurried by.
“Alms to the poor,” she extended her hand, her fingers long and frail. Her clouded eyes were suddenly lit by a bolt of lightning.
“You wretched woman, stop your begging. Get a job!” He stood there full of pride and then waltzed off.
Winston ignored the woman’s distant echoes that carried on the breeze.
“I curse you!”
A chill wrapped around him. The air stilled, silent as a ghost. The trench coats had vanished. Only the outline of the station could be seen through the mist. The dim glow from the streetlamp lit the entrance. He entered.
The subway arrived. The doors shut. Clang! The walls shuttered. It was filthy, which annoyed Winston. The lights flickered off and on. There was a hiss and then a loud whistle. He jumped.
The train started to move. It creaked, then it chugged and then it roared with a loud clickety-clack. The cabin darkened. Dread filled his mind and he panicked. Winston reached for the emergency button, but instead found a handle. He jerked the handle, but it snapped. The train only went faster and the wheels began to howl.  
A sliver of light emerged from the tunnel ahead. The rays revealed a tall spindly figure who stood at the front of the car. To Winston, it looked like a hologram as it appeared and faded. The silhouette shuffled closer until it materialized from the light. An old man’s face with a smile of jagged teeth. On his head a conductor’s cap. He lent out his silver-gloved hand.
           “Good evening Mr. Wimbley.”
“You have reached your destination.”
​

you remind me of melted cheese
By: Sharon Xu

“goodbye,” you said in a quiet voice,
as we walked down that empty street.
neither of us wanted to say it,
but it’d be the last time we’d ever meet.
we weren’t friends for long,
yet we had an unbreakable bond,
as we sat in that park,
just him and me.
and I often wonder,
what I’d say to him,
if we had more time,
or maybe I was just blind.
because all good things must come to an end,
And he was no exception.
And if wishes came true,
And luck wasn’t like fondue
would it all just fail?
or rise and prevail.

​

Untitled
By: Cassia Ferdinand

Luck
By: Brooke Sullivan
​
The boy walked down the street flipping the gold coin in his hand, completely oblivious to the word around him.
A white cat threaded himself between the boys ankles, meowing constantly. The boy paid no mind.
The boy never missed a single step. Everything had been going so good lately. His mother and father were expecting a new child.
His part time job had given him a raise.
His grades came back and he was getting straight A's.
He found his old photo album and was reminded of a friend who he reconnected with.
Oh, and most importantly, he had found his grandpa's lucky coin.
It seemed as though the world was spinning for him, the sun would shine only for him, the cat was meowing only to him.
If the boy had been paying more attention he would have noticed that red light much sooner.
But alas, the cats many attempts to get his attention had failed, and the black car sped towards the boy who was in his own world.
Grandpa had said it was lucky.
He never said it was good luck, though.

With A Little Luck - Paul McCartney & Wings
Submitted by Jessie Dudding

​Dreams Are Just Thoughts We Won't Admit To
By: Sophia Chu

all the livelong night
i sway between realities.
my body,
​a shell vacant and void
my mind
works over the truth,
manipulating and making me guess,
playing its thimblerig.

“what will we be tonight?
one cup is you and the rest is darkness.”

here lies the hex of decency,
a concept centered on lies.
my truth,
a secret even to myself,
my animal,
prowls through it’s cranial cage,
morphs into the blackness inside me,
pouring out its primal essence.

“what will we reveal now?
    you are a mirage and even that is evaporating.”

my very atoms vibrate with mutiny,
the ether between them tainted.
my skull,
a tornado of turbid thoughts,
my body
suffers the katzenjammer,
the consequence of time
spent interminably in flux.

“what will you do today?
tonight I will unravel it all.”

​

A luck haiku
By: Grace Randall

I am unlucky
What could have possibly happened?
I forgot about this.


Freefall
By: Hailey Laliberté

There’s this feeling when you’re in freefall
When you can see the ground, so far beneath you.
You know you’ll hit eventually, and you feel you have enough time to scream
Though the air is torn from your lungs as your speed increases,
The wind stealing your voice

But there’s a sort of peace to it
Knowing that there’s not going to be anything to worry about
Just a few seconds to think of your friends and family
You can see more countryside than you ever imagined existed
And the melody of the wind can be beautiful
More beautiful when it’s the last thing you’ll hear

You don’t have time to decide whether you like it or not
Acceleration, velocity, other science terms clicking through your head,
Measuring the moment.
You don’t know whether you’re terrified or relaxed;
It, like all things, has to stop
The earth expands below until the never ending blackness
Reaches

​
Untitled
By: Alicia Winchester 

​Why do our words matter?
Why does language divide?
I can't tell what I want anymore
It's far too much for my small mind
To comprehend so quickly
Over the course of my existence
So I'll just stay quiet
Titleless
​

Lucky by Jason Mraz
​By: Addy Marshall