A Stellar Flare of Young Adult Writing and Visual Art

Damps Days + Three More

snow-699009_1920Damp Days


Rain in the corner of my eye, drips down the glass.

The rain catches my eye, dripping down the glass,

making a mudding mess of the green grass.


Confined to the spaces of the house, I read.

Restricted to the indoors, I read.

Imagination fills my head.


Pitter-patter creates a soft rhythm.

Slow drumming of the rain creates a soft rhythm —

a symphony to my vision.


The booming thunder is heard from a distance.

The thunder echoes in the distance,

making us all aware of its existence.


The storm subsides. All that’s left are grey clouds.

A dwindling storm leaves behind grey clouds,

calming the anxious crowds.


The Telephone’s Progression


The gears turn loudly like the rusted gears of an old clock,

buttons light up on a huge machine coated in dull colors.

This mechanism is the first of its kind,

a revolution has unknowingly begun.


Their white curled chords tie you to the wall,

the conversations linger on in the kitchen.

Its stark white color contrasts the bright wall paper,

a small hunk of plastic glued to the wall.


There are no more gears or twisting chords,

only small cool piece of metal that fits perfectly in your palm.

It travels far and wide with you, the best travel partner

who’s ready to welcome you to the digital age.




My brown eyes soak up their surroundings.

Fascinated, my gaze has seen amazing nations

and miserable situations. My ears have listened


to mesmerizing hums, the religious devotions

of a distant land, the harmonies leaving

a child’s thin lips, a hopeful tone caressing each word.


I have heard hate being spoken about misjudged societies.

The ideas created in one’s mind originate

from a fear of unfamiliar traditions.


Caped Crusader


“Criminals are a superstitious cowardly lot.

I must be a creature. I must be a creature of the night.

Mommy’s dead.

Daddy’s dead.

Brucie’s dead.

I shall become a bat

-“Batman Arkham Asylum”, Grant Morrison and Dave McKean.


This is a city where the color black gives hope,

where the laughter of a child in yellow and red

gives off the faith for a better tomorrow.

Where the bat shining in the sky gives a cry of fear,

screeching a warning to the ones below

to hide in the murkiest crevices.


A city where the horrors bubbling in your mind

become a reality, creations from fear toxins.

Where you hear the cynical laughter

of a maniacal man.

Where the sun never rises over it,

leaving its residents between the gloomy alleyways.


Where the bat flies high above,

the dark defender of a miserable city.


About the Author

Alexa Gonzales lives in Miami, FL and attends Miami Arts Charter. She is in tenth grade and is sixteen years old. Her work is a way for her to express herself and to write about the places she has traveled as she reflects on them. She also writes to release stress. She likes to explore themes that may not seem very poetic, and add an element of elegance to them.

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This entry was posted on August 14, 2016 by in Poetry.
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