Arts Features – Clarion Poetry Submissions

Well Done

By Makayla Smith, Clarion Staff


You pushed through over the hurdles of doubt

You may have have fell once but

You got back up and kept runnin’

You had people tell you different

Holding you back from your purpose

Wanting you to stay and wait

But you left and kept runnin’

No matter how hard it was

You didn’t look back


Now it wasn’t always easy

With constant weight being put on your shoulders

You wanted to give up

People constantly in your way

Tellin’ you different

Holding you back from your journey

Pleading you to stay and wait

The only difference is now

You decided to look back


You wanted a break

So you slowed down

Stickin’ with the people that holding you back

Watching everyone else pass you up

A part of you wants to keep going ‘

Another part is that you still held on

To the ones you were still running with

Up until a certain point

Up until you realize

Time racing by quickly


So you rise

The people tugging at your feet

Still begging you to stay and wait

You run as fast as you can

Away from them

You getting back on track

You mustn’t stop now


You almost at the finish line

Just keep on going

You see people cheering you on

Even the ones that love you the most

Challenges and obstacles you faced

Jumped over the hurdles of doubt

You may have fallen

But you got back up

You finished the race

So I say congratulations my love

Well done



The Enchanted

By Anna Gudzeva, Clarion Contributor


I watch the forest

Through my window

The forest seems enchanted

By Winter Magician

Under the thick snow

is mute, motionless, and shining with life


Standing enchanted

Not dead, nor is it alive

enchanted by the magical dreams

completely covered, with the wings of fallen angels


If winter sun cast a sudden flare

Looking over its summits,

Not a thing will shake it.

It will sparkle and flame

And be blindingly fair.



Between the Silence and Sound

By Maya Vargas, Clarion Contributor


Her throat ached

From singing too loud and too often.

But she didn’t stop.

She couldn’t.

When she sang, she had to lift up her head.

She had to push back her shoulders

And summon the melody that had forged itself

as a second language that dared

to whisper its native tongue to her volatile soul.

It dared to break the façade of silence that disguised

Her utter malaise as pathetic complacency.

It threatened to make her use the voice she had tried

So hard to choke down.

The voice that swelled in her throat and fought to crawl its way out in sobs and screams.

It clawed and scratched until, finally, she succumbed to

The vulnerable appeal of the foreign tune.

And she sang.

She sang until her façade was obscured to reveal pain,

Who had built a home in her mind and a metropolis across her body.

She sang until anguish seeped out from her pores and trickled down into the ocean at her feet.

She sang until the familiar faces of guilt and anger surrendered themselves to the fierce hurt, ringing from the dialect that was only felt but never spoken.

Never spoken until she decided to give in. Until she sang.

In her melodic disarray, she tried in desperation to reach the reality that reeked of fiction, to grasp at the resolution of even just dim rapture.

But her throat ached.

Her eyes stung.

Her skin tingled from the rare, heated blood.

And she realized that broken bodies can only reach so far.


We, the Hmong

By Chai Lia Vue, Clarion Contributor

We, who fought and lost

We, who will never find our own land

Though, we expressed

Our existence on art

We, who first came

From China.

Throughout our life, we faced a difficult hardship.

As guns shot loudly, our instinctual told us

To run as far as we can

Running for our lives

From danger to find freedom

Like a lost bird finding its’ home.

Those beautiful blue eyes

And long blonde hair had disappeared

We, who lost our land

Those million tears that were shed

Can never be replace

As guns shots got closer,

Their hands slipped.

As it’s raining cats and dogs,

No one seem to notice

Their struggles

Their little sweet boy was

Forever lost

The beautiful clear rushing river now became


The wind waves back and

Was forever lost.

But, we are proud of

Who we are

Throughout any hardship,

We will face together.

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