Morgan Talbert

List Poem

Boardwalk

by Morgan Talbert

During the day you see
Runners, sneakers tapping on the boards
Each step closer and closer to the end

Bikers, peddling faster and faster
Hearing the bumps on the wooded walkway below

Walkers, taking in the sights of the early morning
Strolling silently

Hearing the sounds of the waves crashing,
Seagulls singing,
Music playing low
The boardwalk tram, creeping up from behind

Seeing the sun, rising over the ocean,
Closed shops, to early to be opened
Artists drawing,
Early morning surfers

Smelling the breakfast being cooked,
The salty air,
And the fish

Feeling the morning closing in around you
The air is thin
Mist from the water
Cold winds that hit your skin and make you shiver

But the day always ends with darkened skies
You start to see brightened lights, against the night’s dark curtain
Cops patrolling,
Boardwalk performers playing music,
Signing,
Doing magic tricks
Small money this brings them

Hearing the shouts from roller coasters,
Music increasingly louder, the bass fills the air
The hustle and bustle of people passing you by

Smelling the boardwalk fries,
Hamburgers,
And pizza

You can feel the air getting heavier
People all around you in a giant crowd
The thickened sand slipping its way into your shoes

But even those of us who stay up to see it all
Eventually wander back to bed
Sleeping,
Dreaming,
Remembering,
The boardwalk sticks in their minds
Like sand on the bottom of your feet

Ars Poetica

A Poem About Poetry, Lacrosse Style

Morgan Talbert

It’s a pre-game warm-up

Lacrosse stick in hand

Like sharpening your pencil

Ready to write

Music blaring as we pass

It’s cheering before we play

An audience listening to your poems

All hands in

As you dive into scribbling your thoughts

On paper

Moving to the grass

Our uniforms spread,

Like butter across the field

Line by line emotions come

It’s half time as a team

Asking for help doesn’t always hurt

Aw we go back in

Our minds are set

The sounds of the sidelines

Confidence overwhelms

Communication arises

What you feel is what you write

Spending time with your teammates

It’s all the hard work and practice

As all your hard work on paper comes together

Making the team what it is

Lines clashing to become something greater

It’s the was our feet move

Writing a story

Making a play

And taking on the goalie

Having no fear of grammar mistakes

Or judgment

Because it’s only a draft

It’s a goal

Like finishing a poem

Overcoming with courage

And bravery

It’s something I love

A part of me,

Only writing with your feet

Pressure
Morgan Talbert

“I’m sorry”, Savanna Whispered. Her mother stood over her holding a graded paper. 86%.
“More,” her mother began, “is expected of you. Don’t you want to succeed?” Inside, Savanna trembled, and her stomach turned. She wanted to scream. Savanna knew she had studied hours for that test, but it wasn’t enough. “Next time,” Marcy paused, “do better.”
As soon as Marcy left the room she knew her daughter would be in tears. This had happened before. It wasn’t that she was disappointed; it was that she wanted Savanna to do the very best, to be the very best. Something, Marcy thought, I never had.
School was different. It was where Savanna felt most at home. Everyone knew her name and her various talents. She was appreciated here. But the other kids didn’t know what went on at home. And she didn’t want them to.

Later in the kitchen, Marcy looked at the paper in front of her.
“95%. Better, but still room for improvement.” Marcy locked eyes with he daughter. There was so much distance between them but in reality they were only standing two feet away.

That night Marcy sat alone in the living room, thinking. Then without a chance to change her mind she crept up the stairs. Leaning against Savanna’s bedroom door, the words I’m sorry on the tip of her tongue. She listened…nothing. Moving the handle, it was locked. She pushed through the door; the window was left wide open.