Category Archives: Poetry

The Qualities of Being a Good Parent

By Michelle Miller


When I became a parent to my daughter “Nicole,” it was very hard for me trying to raise her by myself.

However, I did not give up on my number one child.

I worked very hard to take care of her and it paid off very well.

Nicole is doing wonderfully. She is in the United States Army and has been there for sixteen years.

I am very proud of her.

When I was raising Nicole I taught her everything she had to know.

One of the important things, when she was young, was making sure for her to know how to spell her name, tell her address and emergency number 9-1-1.

I think that every parent should teach their children how to share love.

With love you will always have a good heart and meet people who will share their love with you.

Sometimes I meet people in the world who do not show me love like I show love to them, but that doesn’t stop my love from my heart. It stays in my heart forever.

Caring is something very special to me. I like caring for many people; it makes me feel good to see people with a big smile on their face.

Caring is very important in being a good parent.

When you teach your children how to care, they grow up to become very special, caring people.

Wisdom and Knowledge

By Derrick “D9” Branch


Knowledge is to wisdom

like water is to cup.

The more of one you have,

the quicker the other one is filled up.

Wisdom is like knowledge,

but knowledge must come first.

The better quality of knowledge,

the more your wisdom is worth.

Some think they have wisdom much before their time,

but wisdom only comes with the maturity of the mind.

Some say that I am wise, and that I know a lot,

but I know only of my experiences and most of what I was taught.

In order to get wisdom of a solid, useful kind,

you must live long enough and do good with that time.

Wisdom is to knowledge like father is to son.

You must first have the latter, before the other one can come.


By Agnes Abdelwahabe

I am crying all the tears I didn’t cry.

Letting out the tears I try to hide.

I don’t like this feelin’ that’s hangin’ over me.

So I pray to God to set my soul free.

I’m trying to move forward but yet I am trapped.

Trying to hide my feelings but yet I collapsed.

Returnin’ to my shell from the world outside.

And even though you see me you see my pride.

Cuz I won’t let another see me down.

I won’t let another person smile at my frowns.

In order to achieve I must believe.

But first I know it starts with me.

But before me it starts with God.

He the shepherd will guide me with his rod.

And he alone will guide me to the light.

And bring me to my future that is oh so bright.

But in the meantime I’m suffering,

Waiting for His words to let my soul sing.

And even though patience is key,

It feels like I have been waitin’ for an eternity.


This poem originally appeared in the Fall 2013 Issue of The Wall Newspaper

Hunger Awareness

By Ethel D. Mack

Hunger is like a disease eating

away at you and your interior organs,

leaving you with little self-control.

While you’re slowly deteriorating

you start to drift into a stage of

weakness, as the pains of hunger

start to take its toll.

Hunger is not something you

practice or preach.

Hunger is not something we try

to teach.

It falls amongst us one at a time.

It sneaks up on us as though

we’d committed a crime.

But there is always someone trying

to point you to a way of hope, love,

and some tender care.

(Because) knowing, as well as I do,

that hunger is not a joke, because

having this pain is too much for one

to bare.

Not aware of the fact that there

are people, places, and things to help you survive.

Being hungry puts you in a lost

place; the only difference is now you’re

trying to stay alive.

This poem originally appeared in the Fall 2013 Issue of The Wall Newspaper


By Paul Norris         

The highway undulates like a diamondback, making its way across a sandy wash.

Back and forth, up and down, twisting and turning lazily until its belly slithers over the horizon.

The clouds gather and vie for position as a crowd, pushing and shoving each other out of the way for the view.

But as quickly as they come, they see and lose interest and wander on to the next show.

Some darkening and crying at their disappointment.

The winds blow briskly, prodding the dust to flee before it.

Into every nook and cranny it crawls, hiding, like a jackrabbit from the soaring hawk.

Yet stands the lonely Mesa, unmoved…


This poem originally appeared in the Fall 2013 Issue of The Wall Newspaper