Poetry
Name: Owen Ayers
Grade: 12th
In a musty room
clasped by spring
and with a distant train whistle
humming through the plaster
like a run in a girl’s tights,
Sharon Olds gave me a math lesson.
She told me that, to edit a poem?
You write it;
you take out half of the adjectives,
a third of the self-pity.
adjectives are easy: I
bear down on my poem with
intent, crossing out words --
“bland,” “former,” “bloody,”
and “resplendent,” -- “worthwhile” too.
I recopy the poem on a fresh
notebook page, its lemony head and chest
buoyed up further from my
quicksand of description.
I start scanning again, for where
does self-pity live?
somewhere
in the quantum jump from one half
of an enjambed line to the next,
tucked in the sloppy, mechanical
kerning of interjections and phrases
in parentheses, lurking between unlikely
couples of pronouns and bivouacking
on the plateau tops of too many capital Is,
curled up in the fetal position
in the rounded, well-worn hollows of y-o-u.
I have been told that there is more room
in poems for self-pity than adjectives,
probably because it is selfish
and unreasonable to spatchcock
a living thing and then expect it
to stand
on its own
two cold and veiny feet.
clasped by spring
and with a distant train whistle
humming through the plaster
like a run in a girl’s tights,
Sharon Olds gave me a math lesson.
She told me that, to edit a poem?
You write it;
you take out half of the adjectives,
a third of the self-pity.
adjectives are easy: I
bear down on my poem with
intent, crossing out words --
“bland,” “former,” “bloody,”
and “resplendent,” -- “worthwhile” too.
I recopy the poem on a fresh
notebook page, its lemony head and chest
buoyed up further from my
quicksand of description.
I start scanning again, for where
does self-pity live?
somewhere
in the quantum jump from one half
of an enjambed line to the next,
tucked in the sloppy, mechanical
kerning of interjections and phrases
in parentheses, lurking between unlikely
couples of pronouns and bivouacking
on the plateau tops of too many capital Is,
curled up in the fetal position
in the rounded, well-worn hollows of y-o-u.
I have been told that there is more room
in poems for self-pity than adjectives,
probably because it is selfish
and unreasonable to spatchcock
a living thing and then expect it
to stand
on its own
two cold and veiny feet.
For The Man I Don't Know
Name: Isabella Anderegg
Grade: 10th
When I walk into the familiar church
I know how this will end but I don’t admit it
I sit down with my brother and mother
I wait silently for what seems to be an eternity of waiting
Then I see them, people standing around it
I see three little girls standing there too
All with long brown hair, dressed in black
Their young faces numb
It takes me a second, then I realize
Those are his children
The children he left when he killed himself
That’s when I start to cry
I don’t know the man I cry for
But I look around the room
I see that it’s almost empty
No one came except for those who didn’t really know him
I sob harder when I find his father didn’t come
I can’t speak the words
Or sing the songs
Or pray the prayers
Here I am, crying for someone I don’t know
I can barely stand to be there
I’m cracking and shattering
I see his family and they are already in pieces
I stay for him
Or maybe I stayed for his memory
I do not know why I stayed
I know how this will end but I don’t admit it
I sit down with my brother and mother
I wait silently for what seems to be an eternity of waiting
Then I see them, people standing around it
I see three little girls standing there too
All with long brown hair, dressed in black
Their young faces numb
It takes me a second, then I realize
Those are his children
The children he left when he killed himself
That’s when I start to cry
I don’t know the man I cry for
But I look around the room
I see that it’s almost empty
No one came except for those who didn’t really know him
I sob harder when I find his father didn’t come
I can’t speak the words
Or sing the songs
Or pray the prayers
Here I am, crying for someone I don’t know
I can barely stand to be there
I’m cracking and shattering
I see his family and they are already in pieces
I stay for him
Or maybe I stayed for his memory
I do not know why I stayed
Good Friday
Name: Yanna Nicolaides
Grade: 10th
Good Friday, 7:30 PM, St. Constantine and Helen Greek Orthodox Church
1.
We enter church late.
Dad’s face is red,
Even though no one is looking at us.
We wait in the wings of the church,
as the priest sings a 20 minute opening prayer.
2.
They’ve lit our candles;
mine is taller than my head.
The wax melts off and burns my hand.
My hands are a camping ground
And people keep throwing burning cigarettes around.
3.
I move my mouth
as if I’m singing along,
But no words are coming out.
The mournful song never ends.
4.
My hair is on fire;
the candle was too close to it.
I flip my hair around like a maniac trying to put it out.
I should have put it in a ponytail before I came.
Mom is laughing at me.
Now I smell like burning hair for the rest of the service.
5.
We’re walking around the church.
It’s cold,
and my hands are covered in candle wax.
I am a figure at Madame Tussaud’s.
We’re halfway around the church.
When we get back to the entrance, I can finally escape.
1.
We enter church late.
Dad’s face is red,
Even though no one is looking at us.
We wait in the wings of the church,
as the priest sings a 20 minute opening prayer.
2.
They’ve lit our candles;
mine is taller than my head.
The wax melts off and burns my hand.
My hands are a camping ground
And people keep throwing burning cigarettes around.
3.
I move my mouth
as if I’m singing along,
But no words are coming out.
The mournful song never ends.
4.
My hair is on fire;
the candle was too close to it.
I flip my hair around like a maniac trying to put it out.
I should have put it in a ponytail before I came.
Mom is laughing at me.
Now I smell like burning hair for the rest of the service.
5.
We’re walking around the church.
It’s cold,
and my hands are covered in candle wax.
I am a figure at Madame Tussaud’s.
We’re halfway around the church.
When we get back to the entrance, I can finally escape.
Gone
Name: Aaron Briggs
Grade: 9th
Blood damp on his scared stiff face,
he fell
in his son’s arms,
gasping for another breath of oxygen to sprint along his tongue.
His son tried,
tried to transfer life back into his father's inanimate lungs,
tried to rewire his brain,
and tried to jump start the engine in his heart.
The phone rings, sounding like a marching band,
“He’s gone”,
says my father in a melancholy voice.
“Gone, gone, gone” sing the cult of vultures and the midnight crows.
We fly south to the sunshine state,
but it lost its only ray of sun light.
I was close to him.
I was close to him.
As I look at him, laying in his bed he will be for eternity
and his biting face,
he is snow.
And his heart doesn’t sing that up beat song anymore,
and his smile isn’t a 6:59 sunrise anymore.
A glass of spilt water pours off my eyelids,
fire from hell reaches my head.
There is an avalanche in my body
breaking me down piece by piece.
He has run-away.
He is withdrawn.
He is missing.
He is gone.
he fell
in his son’s arms,
gasping for another breath of oxygen to sprint along his tongue.
His son tried,
tried to transfer life back into his father's inanimate lungs,
tried to rewire his brain,
and tried to jump start the engine in his heart.
The phone rings, sounding like a marching band,
“He’s gone”,
says my father in a melancholy voice.
“Gone, gone, gone” sing the cult of vultures and the midnight crows.
We fly south to the sunshine state,
but it lost its only ray of sun light.
I was close to him.
I was close to him.
As I look at him, laying in his bed he will be for eternity
and his biting face,
he is snow.
And his heart doesn’t sing that up beat song anymore,
and his smile isn’t a 6:59 sunrise anymore.
A glass of spilt water pours off my eyelids,
fire from hell reaches my head.
There is an avalanche in my body
breaking me down piece by piece.
He has run-away.
He is withdrawn.
He is missing.
He is gone.
Purple Clemantis
Name: Mary Kern
Grade: 10th
Purple Clematis
I search the yard for several minutes,
and finally see her.
Her favorite spot in the entire world,
the flower bush full of purple clematis
surrounding our lamp post,
huge, beautiful lilac colored flowers,
the petals flat and open,
as if I were diving
into the yellow center.
She is lying there,
russled amongst the leaves and branches,
curled up in a ball.
I walk towards her,
and she lifts her head up
to glance at me.
She looks calm and content,
yet on the inside
she is screaming
with pain.
Her golden eyes sparkle,
telling me to leave her alone,
telling me she loves me,
telling me
to trust her.
She rests her head
back down into
the dirt
and closes
her eyes.
I search the yard for several minutes,
and finally see her.
Her favorite spot in the entire world,
the flower bush full of purple clematis
surrounding our lamp post,
huge, beautiful lilac colored flowers,
the petals flat and open,
as if I were diving
into the yellow center.
She is lying there,
russled amongst the leaves and branches,
curled up in a ball.
I walk towards her,
and she lifts her head up
to glance at me.
She looks calm and content,
yet on the inside
she is screaming
with pain.
Her golden eyes sparkle,
telling me to leave her alone,
telling me she loves me,
telling me
to trust her.
She rests her head
back down into
the dirt
and closes
her eyes.
Lifetime Definiton
Name: Kate Nezelek
Grade: 11th
Tell me about how your second toe is bigger than your first.
Tell me about how you dance
when no one is watching to keep the madness
from crawling up your feet. Tell me
about the night your grandma died. The first time
you bent your knees to God without kneeling
behind a cross. What about the dimples in your spine?
Or the time you imprinted orchards in your lifelines
from working too hard on your grandpa’s farm.
When did you plant seeds inside your chinks,
'Cuz I've seen flowers bloom inside your chest.
Or the time you nursed a woodpecker back to life?
And she poked holes in your heart and that’s why
it’s always spilling.
Remember when you told me you believe the ringing
in your ears is the remains from the big bang?
What about your father’s crow’s feet, I
want to be there to see them on your face
fifty years from now. Tell me about every girl
who’s ever gotten lost in the tide of your eyes.
And how much time did it take to keep ‘em dry
when they got scared and sailed back to shore?
Tell about your body
in one life or less.
But leave room for me.
‘cuz I wanna navigate those waters.
I wanna wrap my fingers around the waves
in your hair like a hurricane, 'cuz babe,
this is a tropical storm you ain't ever seen before.
I wanna trace constellations on the roof of your mouth
‘cuz every time I look at you I see stars. I wanna
steal glances the way we did across the barroom
the night we met. On the nights when
you think you've hit rock bottom, and then
rock bottom falls through, I wanna be there to catch you.
I wanna print the bible on your skin
so I can be saved every time I hold you in my arms.
I wanna pick out a shitty excuse
for a house on the south side of town
and build a home in it. I wanna be able
to point it out and let everyone know
that, “that is OUR place! that right there!
and yes of course you can
come in 'cuz we just got rid of the rats but
careful 'cuz the door still sticks and
we haven't had the time to fix it yet."
I wanna sew a tape recorder to your lips
so I don’t miss a single thing you say. I wanna paint
my name with the path of your veins. And I've heard people say
“Love is a dead end”.
Well, I've never seen a dead end
where you can’t go up. So when we get there,
fashion stairs from my spine so you may climb
just a little bit higher. And when you cross that line,
don’t slow down, don’t get tired yet, babe,
that’s the home stretch.
So tell me about your body in one life or less,
but leave room for me.
So I can watch you dance to the tune of your feet, and
I can plant my own seeds in your chest. And I know this is a lot to digest, but
hey,
we've got all the time in the world.
Tell me about how you dance
when no one is watching to keep the madness
from crawling up your feet. Tell me
about the night your grandma died. The first time
you bent your knees to God without kneeling
behind a cross. What about the dimples in your spine?
Or the time you imprinted orchards in your lifelines
from working too hard on your grandpa’s farm.
When did you plant seeds inside your chinks,
'Cuz I've seen flowers bloom inside your chest.
Or the time you nursed a woodpecker back to life?
And she poked holes in your heart and that’s why
it’s always spilling.
Remember when you told me you believe the ringing
in your ears is the remains from the big bang?
What about your father’s crow’s feet, I
want to be there to see them on your face
fifty years from now. Tell me about every girl
who’s ever gotten lost in the tide of your eyes.
And how much time did it take to keep ‘em dry
when they got scared and sailed back to shore?
Tell about your body
in one life or less.
But leave room for me.
‘cuz I wanna navigate those waters.
I wanna wrap my fingers around the waves
in your hair like a hurricane, 'cuz babe,
this is a tropical storm you ain't ever seen before.
I wanna trace constellations on the roof of your mouth
‘cuz every time I look at you I see stars. I wanna
steal glances the way we did across the barroom
the night we met. On the nights when
you think you've hit rock bottom, and then
rock bottom falls through, I wanna be there to catch you.
I wanna print the bible on your skin
so I can be saved every time I hold you in my arms.
I wanna pick out a shitty excuse
for a house on the south side of town
and build a home in it. I wanna be able
to point it out and let everyone know
that, “that is OUR place! that right there!
and yes of course you can
come in 'cuz we just got rid of the rats but
careful 'cuz the door still sticks and
we haven't had the time to fix it yet."
I wanna sew a tape recorder to your lips
so I don’t miss a single thing you say. I wanna paint
my name with the path of your veins. And I've heard people say
“Love is a dead end”.
Well, I've never seen a dead end
where you can’t go up. So when we get there,
fashion stairs from my spine so you may climb
just a little bit higher. And when you cross that line,
don’t slow down, don’t get tired yet, babe,
that’s the home stretch.
So tell me about your body in one life or less,
but leave room for me.
So I can watch you dance to the tune of your feet, and
I can plant my own seeds in your chest. And I know this is a lot to digest, but
hey,
we've got all the time in the world.
Dreams of Blossoming
Name: Anna Osborne
Grade: 10th
I am sixteen
and my feelings are swirling
like a hand churning water
and I wonder if I am doing the right thing
even though I know I am
why do I shake when I express myself
even though it is what I want to do
and I still can’t memorize the Pelvic structure
I always feel as if I’m waiting for something
to blossom in a flourish of talent and charisma
but reality falls through my system
like a marble hitting wood floor
when words turn into blushing mumbles
I sense disappointment in the atmosphere
which converts into shame
as it seeps through my head
like venom in my veins
and I still can’t memorize the Pelvic structure
Sometimes there are glorious days
I see my place in the world
as a shining, glistening goddess
bringing confidence and radiance
in every breath and gesture
But I distance myself
like a child fleeing danger
and I ask myself later where I saw the danger
The Beast strikes again
as I sit alone
in the darkness and safety of my room
and I still can’t memorize the Pelvic structure
and my feelings are swirling
like a hand churning water
and I wonder if I am doing the right thing
even though I know I am
why do I shake when I express myself
even though it is what I want to do
and I still can’t memorize the Pelvic structure
I always feel as if I’m waiting for something
to blossom in a flourish of talent and charisma
but reality falls through my system
like a marble hitting wood floor
when words turn into blushing mumbles
I sense disappointment in the atmosphere
which converts into shame
as it seeps through my head
like venom in my veins
and I still can’t memorize the Pelvic structure
Sometimes there are glorious days
I see my place in the world
as a shining, glistening goddess
bringing confidence and radiance
in every breath and gesture
But I distance myself
like a child fleeing danger
and I ask myself later where I saw the danger
The Beast strikes again
as I sit alone
in the darkness and safety of my room
and I still can’t memorize the Pelvic structure
The Things I'll Never Forget
Name: Hanna Rose
Grade: 8th
I remember the calls of my mom telling me dinner was ready,
the smells of mac and cheese when I walked into the kitchen.
I loved when my mom looked at the stars and pointed out constellations.
I remember the fights of my sister and brother yelling about the TV,
the cool falls and the light breezes and getting up early to eat breakfast.
I loved the way we always ate together as a family and how we would just talk
nothing more nothing less-- just talk.
I remember the warm spring days when I got off the bus and my mom would be there with a popsicle and ready to walk me home,
the way my brother and I walked to the river and played
with each other and pushed each other in the water like it was nothing to get wet.
I loved the joyful yelps of my brother, sister and I when we heard
school was canceled.
I remember nature walks
down by the river and the train track when we played hide n seek in the dark house with my brother and sister
and how we would always find each other.
I loved how my mother would put me in my brothers room if I got scared
and how he would complain that I talked too much.
I remember when we used to have our family movie nights, the good popcorn
and the way all of us had a blanket
the way my sister and I would play dress up
and how she always got to be the queen.
I loved going down to the bus in the fall, chilly mornings and my brother and sister complaining it was to cold to go to school.
I remember the surprised look on my sister’s face when she saw me in her room.
I loved the memories I have, the laughs and joyful screams
I have shared with my family. It was the best time of my life when things were never complicated, when things were never hard and when things were the happiest for me.
the smells of mac and cheese when I walked into the kitchen.
I loved when my mom looked at the stars and pointed out constellations.
I remember the fights of my sister and brother yelling about the TV,
the cool falls and the light breezes and getting up early to eat breakfast.
I loved the way we always ate together as a family and how we would just talk
nothing more nothing less-- just talk.
I remember the warm spring days when I got off the bus and my mom would be there with a popsicle and ready to walk me home,
the way my brother and I walked to the river and played
with each other and pushed each other in the water like it was nothing to get wet.
I loved the joyful yelps of my brother, sister and I when we heard
school was canceled.
I remember nature walks
down by the river and the train track when we played hide n seek in the dark house with my brother and sister
and how we would always find each other.
I loved how my mother would put me in my brothers room if I got scared
and how he would complain that I talked too much.
I remember when we used to have our family movie nights, the good popcorn
and the way all of us had a blanket
the way my sister and I would play dress up
and how she always got to be the queen.
I loved going down to the bus in the fall, chilly mornings and my brother and sister complaining it was to cold to go to school.
I remember the surprised look on my sister’s face when she saw me in her room.
I loved the memories I have, the laughs and joyful screams
I have shared with my family. It was the best time of my life when things were never complicated, when things were never hard and when things were the happiest for me.
The Hammock
Name: Mary Kern
Grade: 10th
I am 7 years old,
Nellie
is all I could
think about.
I left her
laying on
my pink day bed,
with all the other
stuffed animals
I forgot.
I am 11 years old,
I am feeling
jealous
of my cousins
for being so
lean and beautiful,
jealous of their long,
wavy hair beside
the rumbling waves,
I want to be
like them,
mature and developed.
I am 14 years old,
I walk to
my oasis of
relaxation to clear
my head,
but the hammock
is gone.
It is rolled up,
broken,
in the old shed
by our beach house,
I guess
time changes
things.
Nellie
is all I could
think about.
I left her
laying on
my pink day bed,
with all the other
stuffed animals
I forgot.
I am 11 years old,
I am feeling
jealous
of my cousins
for being so
lean and beautiful,
jealous of their long,
wavy hair beside
the rumbling waves,
I want to be
like them,
mature and developed.
I am 14 years old,
I walk to
my oasis of
relaxation to clear
my head,
but the hammock
is gone.
It is rolled up,
broken,
in the old shed
by our beach house,
I guess
time changes
things.
Strength
Name: Grey Haneberg
Grade: 10th
I’ve been told
that soldiers
have more strength
than anybody out there.
However,
this is not true strength.
I have true strength.
You have true strength.
True strength
is being able to solve problems.
Without a bullet.
that soldiers
have more strength
than anybody out there.
However,
this is not true strength.
I have true strength.
You have true strength.
True strength
is being able to solve problems.
Without a bullet.
Bully
Name: Jessica Nelson
Grade: 9th
I lay
on the cool,
black ground,
paralyzed in fear.
The world is mute.
Everything’s frozen in time.
I look up
at his smiling fist.
It’s ready to come down,
and pummel me.
I can feel it.
The anticipation is killing me.
It’s like waiting at the top
of a huge drop of a rollercoaster.
I think
about his words
and what he calls me.
Fool.
Freak.
Failure.
A sharp jolt,
of pain rushes through me.
Then the world goes black.
on the cool,
black ground,
paralyzed in fear.
The world is mute.
Everything’s frozen in time.
I look up
at his smiling fist.
It’s ready to come down,
and pummel me.
I can feel it.
The anticipation is killing me.
It’s like waiting at the top
of a huge drop of a rollercoaster.
I think
about his words
and what he calls me.
Fool.
Freak.
Failure.
A sharp jolt,
of pain rushes through me.
Then the world goes black.
The Last Soul in the World
Name: Colette Creamer
Grade: 10th
The whisper of the wind
on glass panes
rattles like a dolorous ghost
drifted by my walls and moaned
its sad groan
as if it was the last soul in the world
on glass panes
rattles like a dolorous ghost
drifted by my walls and moaned
its sad groan
as if it was the last soul in the world