Student Poetry and Short Stories

"Caribbean" by Abi Campbell

Beleaguered with their history
once white invaded the islands
yet the rhythm of their indigenous
lives still beats; now harder then ever
Appreciation of breadfruit; lingering
above the dark skin
inherited by those souls
have been painted into the soil.
Voices of wave, calling out to life
breaking through the tension
of humid air
an air wishing to tell
the story of humanity

"Arriving" by Dan Dickinson

As I walk out of the airplane
I am thinking goodbye Maine
When I look at this lovely place
You should of seen my shocking face

All of the sailing I have learned
In the process I am completely burned
As the Caribbean stands alone
I am completely blown.



"This Island" by Macy Lamson

She takes care of us
She despises us
We sing praises, loud rhymes of love
Ever hopeful that she’ll let us go home

She is nature
She is the laughter of the sailor’s desires
We have a perfect love,
But a broken friendship

So, over the seas, we shall sail
The journey will be an exciting tale
Over the seas our quest is done
Only because she let us have fun


"These Islands" by Lee Brown

On the clouds we will meet
with the moon at our feet
and the sun’s glow is gone,
its only us in this dream

Mingled wine is our claim,
in this murderous fate,
and our black grief is here,
but its eve is of late,

When the full moon shines tonight,
we will fly from our keep,
and the blood of our fathers is alive,
and love will lie in restful sleep,

till the sun shines upon us,
we will dance in the night,
with the light of the moon,
and the love of the fight

with their screams in the air,
we will wear this tragic mask,
and bring terror to the world,
and to all of them that last.



"A History" by Kaitlin Orne

would we have remembered if it were us?
remembered the simple sound of ourselves laughing at the moon,
singing to the stars,
playing with the other broken souls that were once treated as foul animals;
perfect people forced to live in an imperfect world.
their voyage had been chosen for them-
we got to invent ours


"My Poem" by Jesse Prothers

You lay above the geotropical equator
You are the place I was born
Your constant beauty and warmness astounds me
There is a certain bondage between you and me
The way we have changed before each other
We are similar but we are different,
You have seen pain, brutatality and bloodshed
part of you has been destroyed, a scar
that you shall bare for all eternity

You have been my life companion
like peanut butter and jelly, I am only
half a sandwich without you
We share a bond like no other
You have never been cruel to me, you are
beautiful, gentle, giant

When I return to you I am hit
with an embracing sunlight hug
You are the flower that never closes
The brightest star in the sky during the
clearest night
My desire to be with you has no limit
to fall alongside you and float in your
vast oceans would be a dream come true.




"Trinidad Garden" Short Story By. Crawford Cunningham

Every Saturday morning I get to watch the sun rise. Watching it poke through the trees on the hill across the path. I see the sun’s rays light up the pink and purple flowers around me as it warms me up. On some days, just from first light, you know if its gonna be a hot day. There are a few early morning joggers as well as people strolling the gardens at first light. Later in the mornings people begin to file in. Some groups are larger, others are just couples going for a walk. On the best mornings I get to hear the beautiful voices of the church and prayer groups that meet in the parks. Some mornings tourists will come to the park to find lush, beautiful gardens filled with colors they could never have expected. Throughout the day the people come, some to play, others to talk, and others to silently sit, contemplating things. I see all of this happening around me. Often, people use my branches as cover from the intense rays of the sun. In the evenings people come to watch as the sun sets over the horizon, “Oohhing “ and “Aahhing” as the sun dips under the earth.


“In the Garden" by Abi Campbell

A late Saturday morning in the gardens of Trinidad. Although the grass is brittle due to drought the flowers are their usual color: bright magenta, cool pink, and pastel shades of purple. Tourists and natives alike, walk past on the paved pathway weaving like a maze throughout the gardens. Little school boys in their white and black uniforms run ahead of their mothers laughing and stumbling over their young feet as their mothers gaze ahead smiling. Just across the field under the shade of a gazebo stand people singing in unision, swaying back and forth to the beat enjoying the enlightenment of their weekend church sermon. Couples holding hands stroll by admiring the tall trees but making sure to avoid the small purple flowers laden through the grass with their feet. The sound of birds chirping to one another from branch to branch in their own specific tone cancels out the sound of cars whipping past only a few hundred feet away. But as I hear the sound it brings me out of this fantasy world back to reality.