The Famous Shadow

The day he learns to fly,

Straightly falling down.

No one'd lend a hand,

'Cause no one is around.

He leaves behind

What's next to come.

Not giving up, he tries to try

To blend into indigo sky.

Between the time and space,

Just as in myths,

He glides as phoenix,

Jumping off the cliff.

He burns to the ashes

To rise up again

'Cause where he ends

Is where he begins.

The day restarts

And he cannot quit.

Gets back to the work

That must be complete.

..But somewhere far away,

Facing line of the horizon,

He'll keep on moving further,

Becoming little wiser.

In the coldest distance,

Approaching distant skies,

You'll see the Famous Shadow

Send a warm goodbye

Just to find out

Who did, or didn't try.

Memories surround

His deviated mind

Of how things used to be

Until the fade of distant skies.

The Music Lives In Me

The soft symphony begins

The piano, guitar, violin rings

Graceful, inspiring, warming the heart

Could be nothing but a work of art

The bass thumps, the speed increases

With rising goose bumps, the rage releases

Beat after beat, the blood rushes

Till the face of man blushes

Harder and harder I keep pushing

To the rhythm of the music that gives me feeling

Turns my heart to a stereo

My body, my soul becomes a disco.

With this music I dance

Sure to take a chance

My feet move without control

To the sound of the rock and roll

From the pushin’ and the kickin’

To the grindin’ and the slidin’

My name is made on the dance floor

From the beat that made me sore.

The tempo slows to a final descent

With every beat, losing its strength

The bass now dead

Yet the piano and violin tread

Twirling to a waltz

Swirling to a ‘trot

The end is near

But yet my heart feels no fear

For this is my scene, my music, my movement

The music lives in me

Peter Olumese

Tip-Off

As tip off grows near, my heart beats faster
and the blood rushes through my veins.
Twenty minutes left. Still plenty of time.
Warm ups continue: Three man weave,
two line lay ups, two on one.

15 minutes left. Locker room.
Coach gives the same speech.
“Don't be lazy. Concentrate. No turnovers.
Box out. Run the fast break. HUSTLE!”

5 minutes later. Back to warm ups.
Foul shots. Two shooters.
Concentrate as the crowd slowly enters.
Feel the eyes as the watch you.
Feel the pressure as they watch.
Doesn't matter. Make your shots.

Three minutes left. Bench.
Last words from coach.
“Work hard!
If you need a break, tell me.
Relax. Enjoy the game.”

Tip off.
The tension falls away.
I settle into the flow of the game.
I am in control.
No nervousness. No tension.
I practiced all week for this.
I am ready.
My heart beat slows.
The crowd is no longer important.
Every second counts.
Every action is analyzed.
I am in my zone
and all is well.

The Lang Gang

A High School senior class unlike any other. These young writers are willing to get down to the bone; feeding on the ABC's of great literature to implode static convention and create exciting verses; untrodden and leading us where no reader has ever gone.