REMINDERS: This space is a judgement-free zone. If something doesn’t make sense to you, enjoy its nonsensical-ness. If grammar is wrong, let it be wrong. If something sounds weird to you, enjoy its weird-sounding-ness. If something boggles your brain, let your brain be boggled.

If you haven’t sent your poem in yet, you still can! If you sent yours in and you don’t see it, please e-mail me. It may have gotten lost in the mix. Also, let me know if something looks wrong with your poem. I’ve decided to start including last names since there are a lot of people participating.

PLEASE NOTE: The Green Page puts everything in the same format, sometimes eliminating stanzas/breaks, or changing things that are centered. So it may look a bit different.


Every day I eat off the floor

And every day there’s more and more

All I ever eat is dirt!

And now I’m feeling very hurt

One day I’ll eat off a table

I don’t care if I’m not able

You can tell me it’s my job,

Well, guess what?

I’m retired.

-Chelsea Li


I spend all day

Just watching the world

Seeing younger kids play

You would think it would be peaceful, but really, my temper has curled

I watch people do

through my little view

They walk their yappy dogs

Hurry off to their jobs

But I’m stuck here

Wishing I could disappear

From this endless trap

Of watching others nap and clap

All I wish to do

was be free of my perch on the house walls

Maybe walk around

Wouldn’t that be nice,

a walking window.

-Iza Wilson


Oh, what’s my problem, you ask?

Explaining, I’m, sure, will be no easy task

You see, I’m a sharpener

For pencils, you know,

But what I should do

is put on a show

I’m a singer!

For opera!

My talents are wasted!

And for years and years

I’ve waited and waited

My chance has never come!

Nobody’ll hear

of the great Dundaner

and his opera career

And so here I sit

Sharpening pencils by day

My singing dreams no more

And yet again

no ballet

-Chelsea Fortna


I let the sunlight shine right through my panes, and let it shine on you.

Starlight, moonlight, lightning, even darkness.

I keep the rain out, though it pours. The wind that bends the sycamores

Leans endlessly upon me. Still I muster.

Through me. Through me! THROUGH ME!

The life of paintings on the wall — to capture beauty and enthrall

The people passing by. I dream of that.

Looked upon, not through.

And maybe it’s a little vain to wish for focus on such plain

Fragments of glass and wood,

But isn’t there a kind of beauty in something that filters through

To find only the best pieces of the world

And gives them unconditionally?

All I ask from those who can is brushes, paint, a bit of heart,

Pour out your thoughts with strokes and swirls and make of me a work of art.

And if you don’t have any paint or brushes, perhaps a hug to show you care.

Open palms pressed against glass, chilled from its efforts to protect you from the frosty air outside.

-Livia Cohen


Why do you jump one me, skip on me, bump on me

Stretch me out and pound me to the ground

Then leave me outside in the rain, alone, and forget about me

The only love you give me is tough love, rough love

You mash your dirty feet into me over and over,

“cause mom said no socks on the trampoline”

I’ll sit out here till my legs are all squeaky and I’m full of holes

Then you’ll throw me away and forget about me

And I’ll forget about you

It’ll be my turn to fly

-Kelly Kernan


What’s my problem? What do you think?

You’d get tired too, if you did what I did

Consuming scratchy, sharp wood

Disgustingly tasting graphite

Chemical-covered plastic

On a daily basis

They stick their pencils in the hole in my front

And expect me to gnaw on them until

The pencil tip is sharp

And when the pencil breaks

They blame me

As if it’s my fault they bought a stupid pencil

You know what? I should at least get a reward

Since I do so much sharpening for them

Since I endure the torture of eating sweaty pencils

I should at least be granted hands

So then I could put the pencils to use

And make art much better than the stupid humans can

-Meaghan MacGregor


one morning

singing in a home

was a gnome

the gnome remembered the urling

no not the urling

the curling

and the curling iron was not happy

she was sappy

and when it was time for her nappy nappy

she couldn’t Cora couldn’t

and that was her name

Cora the curling iron was UPSET

she was






all she did was curl




and when the gnome asked

“Hey, what’s your problem?”

she replied

“don’t even ask.”

-Eden Botton


Hello! I’m a sock.

My name is Jock.

I have a twin brother and his name is Dock.

I absolutely hate being a sock.

It’s smelly, it’s stinky and sometimes I’ll find a lock

Of hair from somebody’s stinky hairy feet.

If I could, I would change my job in a heartbeat,

For something like a clock

Which only says, ‘tic toc’

or maybe a electric fence, it’s purpose is to shock

The innocent animals who get too close

At lease I would be away from those stinky old toes.

This is the end of the tale

Of the sock who feels like it is in jail

So I hope you feel a bit of empathy

To poor sock-ish me.

Good-bye and I hope you have a better life than I.



I like to burn your fingers when they make me mad

I love to scorch your dollies

My face is never seeing

I am ever feeling

I am not in control of my sleep

When you pull the plug, I fall asleep

I am hot like fire

I can do what I want with your hair

Mwah ha ha

I love when you think I’m helpful

I then eat you



You want to know what the problem is!

Well i’ll tell you what the problem is!

Every week while your flickering away with your lites and your sounds I’m being talked into!

People have super bad breath!

And I can always see what they’ve eaten that day!

It is soooooooooooo gross!

I’m the one doing all the work and no one even looks at me!

Do you know how sweaty peoples hands are?!

I always get held up by sweaty,stinky,smelly hands!!!!!!

And then when there done with me they just throw me into a box and lock me up!

Do you know, I think it would be nice to be something like you.

People would look at me instead of at a person holding me.

I could make sounds and lights.

It would be wonderful!

-Alice Park


Being a garbage can

I hate being a garbage can.

I have to sit and get thrown SPAM.

People also throw rotten fruit at me.

It is really disgusting!

I just long for the day that I am clean.

Free from the wrath of grunge.

But I can’t even polar bear plunge!

I hate being a garbage can.

-Nicolas Powell


“Why are you so mad?”

“WELL I’m mad because I’m REALLY bored of being a curling iron so I went to hang with the straightener but they are just SOOO rude they told me to go away or they will burn me. And since I didn’t want to get burned I run away. Then I went over to the rest of the curling irons but THEY were also being super rude because I wanted to hang with the straighteners! Sooo I was just alone in the corner being sad. But I decided to get revenge! So I went over to the curling irons and burned them! Then I went over to the straighteners and knock them off the shelf! But… one of the CURLING IRONS went and told BRITTNY and she’s the BIGGEST curling iron and she burn me A LOT so now I’m in trouble with my mom. All I wanted was to hang with the straighteners.”

-Clover Buchanan


I’m sick of your talking

Whenever I’m walking

And sing a sourless blue

And when I’m talking

You’re always walking

While I shout at you

And I’m a sock who likes to walk

And you’re a chalk who likes to talk

And I’m a sock who wants a hawk

So go away whenever I pray

With a hawk in my heart

But no hawk in my eyes

Whenever I cries

I’m always there and always here

Making tears

At night

-Owen Hill