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    Misty Pegue graduated suma cum laude in Journalism. She is a McNair Scholar and is now seeking graduate school.

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"Getting Lost"
By Misty Pegue

I could get lost
in those beautiful eyes.
Sometimes, I wonder
where they could lead;
it's frightening to think
they could lead back to me.
But then I think,
getting lost
would not be so bad-
it's getting lost on the brink
of losing myself,
losing everything I previously had.
That's what I'm truly afraid of-
knowing you
in knowing me
and what were both made of.
I don't ever want to get lost
and never resurface.
Revealing my true self
would be hard for me,
an overwhelming purpose.
And yet, still, it comes to me
every now and then:
if I never allow myself to get lost,
I'll never know the joy
of being found again.
And so, I feel
I must decide
to let go and lose everything
or hold on and find nothing.
But until I choose
and really know why,
I'll find comfort in the thought
that I could get lost
in those beautiful eyes.

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"The Souls of Black Folk"
By Misty Pegue

The souls of Black folk
dancing in the wind,
singing songs of hardship-
songs that never end:

"I can't reach the stars.
I can't climb mountains.
I can't be somebody.
I can't try again."

The souls of Black folk
walking, head up high,
singing songs of courage-
"O' Black and proud am I.

I am the brightest star.
I make mountains move.
I am somebody.
I have the right to choose."

From out the depths
with mercy we spoke,
from present and from past,
the souls of all Black folk.

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"Times Have Changed"
By Misty Pegue

Times have changed, people say.
All Black folks are free today.
They can work and make a living
and be thankful on Thanksgiving.
They can smile and they can laugh
and still remember slavery's past.
They can choose an education
to better their lives and situations.
Times have changed, that is true,
but freedom is still an unsolved issue.
Although we’re free, we’re still in chains.
Let’s thank God for the progress we've made.
Living in the present, we let the past rest.
Overcoming slavery was a spiritual test.
Ignoring the past doesn't make it disappear,
but reliving it only makes it harder to bear.
Times have changed and people, too-
let's change as well and broaden our views.
We're no longer slaves, but not completely free,
yet let’s not give in to the slave mentality.

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    UTA graduate Melissa Patton received a Bachelor’s degree in English with a minor in writing.
    Her poetry, flash fiction and essays have been accepted for publication in Crush, The Rose and Thorn, Woman’s Corner Magazine and Expressions.  She teaches developmental writing at Cedar Valley College.

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Naptime
By Melissa Patton

Ten tiny fingertips grip the sheets
he pulls himself up
with a labored “hmmmph.”
Red cheeks prove
face and tummy did all the work

A triumphant smile
pink tongue poking through freshly-cut teeth
he surveys his Everest.
Proud and amazed…as only a toddler can be.
Innocently pompous

He jumps for a while
Ouch… I’m not a pillow, Wild Child!
He laughs like only I can make him laugh.
I’m glad we’re alone,
so I can swallow it whole.

Sweaty feet slap my legs and he giggles.
I grab at his ankles in mid-air
Breathless squeals close my left eye when
I finally catch one.

A gaunt elbow to the hip bone
reminds me of our purpose
here in Mom and Dad’s big bed

Alright, munchkin. Naptime!

No, Sissa, he says
chocolate milk and French fries
heavy on his breath

He settles in protest.
Fleshy lips suck at nothing,
mourning the pacifier he fed to the dog last week
BAD DOG he screams at Daisy
anytime she’s in view.

Sharing a pillow
black curls on white linen
the sweetness makes me hum

Lazy fingers skim my mouth
I bite one salty digit with lip-covered teeth
He’s been wearing his olives again, I think!
Funny kid.

One more giggle
that shatters into drops of sunshine
coloring my world as we fall asleep.

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    Kristen Durham has a wonderfully lyric style and rounds out our winners.  She will graduate in the spring with a Bachelors of Arts in English.  Kristen has written poetry since she was young.  Several of her poems have received awards and been published.

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swing low
By Kristen Durham

striving never ceases
always climbing, reaching
for the next sharp rock
to grip, to pull me up
another inch further,
another inch closer
to that snow-capped summit
              if you get there before I do
              comin’ for to carry me home
endless bursts of grass
and burrs to snag me,
slow me down until
the tired pulses of my shoulders
crack like ice-split boulders
and tumble
              swing low, sweet chariot
              comin’ for to carry me home
trees no longer grow
in this forgotten place
and wild winds dig deeper
while still I reach,
while still I climb
              a band of angels comin’ after me
              comin’ for to carry me home
the end is cold and bare
grey stone piercing the breast
of an even greyer sky
              I’m sometimes up and sometimes down
              comin’ for to carry me home
              but still my soul feels heavenly bound
              comin’ for to carry me home
and from here, the valley’s low
sky high yet still so low
              swing low, sweet chariot
              swing low
              swing low

"Swing Low, Sweet Chariot" lyrics
composed by Harry Thacker Burleigh

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