Friday, June 3, 2011
2011 Edition
Thanks to all the students and teachers who helped create this edition, especially Caroline W., Olivia A. and Lauren C. The banner design is by Ellie Z. this year. There is a lot of creative talent at Cave Spring High School. Keep it up! Please let me know of any errors or ommissions: apfeiffer@rcs.k12.va.us.
When Choosing a Path Before Me by Anna A.
When choosing a path before me,
I stand still and alone.
I drift not where the winds shall blow.
Solid, I stand like stone.
Before, decisions took so long,
They lingered in the air.
The difference between right and wrong,
Now kept with love and care
One must commit to fully be.
Failure is not disgrace.
When we lose we finally see,
Life’s sudden change of pace
The world is different than before,
Invest your soul in life.
With happiness and nothing more
We forget bitter strife
I stand still and alone.
I drift not where the winds shall blow.
Solid, I stand like stone.
Before, decisions took so long,
They lingered in the air.
The difference between right and wrong,
Now kept with love and care
One must commit to fully be.
Failure is not disgrace.
When we lose we finally see,
Life’s sudden change of pace
The world is different than before,
Invest your soul in life.
With happiness and nothing more
We forget bitter strife
30 Minute Musings by Colleen T.
They are ants, and I am the child with the magnifying glass.
But that isn’t right, I muse. It’s overused. Overrated. A child with a magnifying glass has little power, other than the ability to roast an insect from the inside out and watch it writhe, with the option of total disinterest. I am no child with a magnifying glass, I think, dragging my left foot on the ground, feeling the rough concrete pull against the calluses on my toes. I am no god, either. No ultimate, over lording figure pondering my creations. I chew on the straw that leads to my small box of apple juice, watching someone—a tall, tan girl—pick at her nails as she chats with a boy. Both are four floors beneath me. I can’t hear the entrails of their conversation, nor even really pick out any words. Simply various laughs and shrieks as I rub my tired eyes.
I’ve already tried speaking to someone new, merely because I couldn’t find a friend. The talk was short lived, with my seemingly unwilling partner averting my gaze, as I tried to follow through with the basics I’ve learned from television and my mother. Something light, generic, said with a smile and enough personal space given. Perhaps my smile showed too much teeth, or my voice was uncomfortably, unnaturally happy, for all I was given back were curt answers and a tightening of the arms around the body, as if I were somehow going to do harm.
I think on it now, as I brood on my status and these moving colors beneath me. It seems all of my first impressions end up portraying me as the candy wrapper mistakenly hung in the Louvre. There are better options than my awkward silences and my outbursts of hyperactivity. I remember being asked if I was bipolar. The question seemed foolish and strange.
“No,” I replied, and left it at that, perplexed. The thought now makes me smile, and I drag up more juice, swishing it around my cheeks. I am many things, but not bipolar, nor a god, nor a bored child on a hot summer day. I contemplate this. If I am none of those, then what ultimately am I? A breeze passes through, and I tap my fingers on the peeling railing, peering down and being somewhat bothered that there are so many beating hearts down there, and then there is mine, pulsating to its own discomfited rhythm up here. Of course, I am the girl in a blue cotton dress on the top floor with an apple juice box, unable to find her friend and resorting to comfort through the evening light and imagining conversations I will never have. But I should be more than that.
I should be better than that.
There is no pride in where I am. This time spent reflecting on such subjects is something to be ashamed of. I should be down there with them. I should be them. Laughing and shrieking and striking banter with cute, sensitive boys. I should practice smiling for people and looking them in the eye, instead of wandering barefoot on concrete floors trying not to pass by the same people twice.
I am frowning as I come to the realization that I don’t know exactly who I am. The sun is setting when I learn that all that I am is a girl leaning over the railing, dragging my feet along the floor, and praying someone will bother to say ‘hi’. Someone is blowing bubbles down below as I discover that I am nothing that I have imagined myself to be. I am no universe with stars. I am no tree in fall. I am no god reviewing creation. I am no child with the intention to kill.
I am a girl, freshly out of juice, supporting myself on a paint-chipped railing and pulling my feet along the concrete floor, contemplating who I am.
But that isn’t right, I muse. It’s overused. Overrated. A child with a magnifying glass has little power, other than the ability to roast an insect from the inside out and watch it writhe, with the option of total disinterest. I am no child with a magnifying glass, I think, dragging my left foot on the ground, feeling the rough concrete pull against the calluses on my toes. I am no god, either. No ultimate, over lording figure pondering my creations. I chew on the straw that leads to my small box of apple juice, watching someone—a tall, tan girl—pick at her nails as she chats with a boy. Both are four floors beneath me. I can’t hear the entrails of their conversation, nor even really pick out any words. Simply various laughs and shrieks as I rub my tired eyes.
I’ve already tried speaking to someone new, merely because I couldn’t find a friend. The talk was short lived, with my seemingly unwilling partner averting my gaze, as I tried to follow through with the basics I’ve learned from television and my mother. Something light, generic, said with a smile and enough personal space given. Perhaps my smile showed too much teeth, or my voice was uncomfortably, unnaturally happy, for all I was given back were curt answers and a tightening of the arms around the body, as if I were somehow going to do harm.
I think on it now, as I brood on my status and these moving colors beneath me. It seems all of my first impressions end up portraying me as the candy wrapper mistakenly hung in the Louvre. There are better options than my awkward silences and my outbursts of hyperactivity. I remember being asked if I was bipolar. The question seemed foolish and strange.
“No,” I replied, and left it at that, perplexed. The thought now makes me smile, and I drag up more juice, swishing it around my cheeks. I am many things, but not bipolar, nor a god, nor a bored child on a hot summer day. I contemplate this. If I am none of those, then what ultimately am I? A breeze passes through, and I tap my fingers on the peeling railing, peering down and being somewhat bothered that there are so many beating hearts down there, and then there is mine, pulsating to its own discomfited rhythm up here. Of course, I am the girl in a blue cotton dress on the top floor with an apple juice box, unable to find her friend and resorting to comfort through the evening light and imagining conversations I will never have. But I should be more than that.
I should be better than that.
There is no pride in where I am. This time spent reflecting on such subjects is something to be ashamed of. I should be down there with them. I should be them. Laughing and shrieking and striking banter with cute, sensitive boys. I should practice smiling for people and looking them in the eye, instead of wandering barefoot on concrete floors trying not to pass by the same people twice.
I am frowning as I come to the realization that I don’t know exactly who I am. The sun is setting when I learn that all that I am is a girl leaning over the railing, dragging my feet along the floor, and praying someone will bother to say ‘hi’. Someone is blowing bubbles down below as I discover that I am nothing that I have imagined myself to be. I am no universe with stars. I am no tree in fall. I am no god reviewing creation. I am no child with the intention to kill.
I am a girl, freshly out of juice, supporting myself on a paint-chipped railing and pulling my feet along the concrete floor, contemplating who I am.
Mebby by Colleen T.
We have taken our fears and strung them through with red strings, and looped them around our necks together.
We have pulled flowers from dirt and shaken them and smoothed out ruffled petals together, coloring them in with old crayons and creating something beautiful.
We have, together, been shoved in the corners of people’s minds along with the subconscious like how they need to buy milk this Tuesday, and the regret they still feel when they see a dead squirrel along the side of the road.
I have written down on napkins everything I hate and everything I love, and all of my half-formed, awkward philosophies I have printed on the bottoms of my shoes, and presented it all to you in a cardboard box, tied up with my perpetual confusion, and you have accepted it.
We have come a long way, you and I. I am no longer the weak, underexposed child who sank into that plush red chair, trying to get my hair to cover my face, so no one could see that I was about to cry. The people we know and the people we don’t know are no longer the people who passed by me, uttering a half-hearted “you okay?” and leaving the moment I mustered out a choked “fine”. You, yourself, are no longer the girl who didn’t leave after most figured their duty to their fellow man had been completed. You are no longer the girl who sat by and worked through my bumbling sentences and fat tears to understand.
I had not talked to you before that, but suddenly, you had become my life line. And so I clung to you, and, to my luck, you who are no longer the you you once were did not abandon me, and, for that, I am indebted to you for forever and a half.
We have become something of a pair, a disjointed partnership. The energy I force upon you, with my shrieks and my smiles and my obnoxious laughter, is tenuously balanced out by your never-failing composure and your grace and the sound of you saying my name like a mother would scold a child.
We have taken the wire they cut clay with, and cut ourselves into delicate chunks, and shared one another with one another as we try to get a feel for another human being, another piece of support. I have watched you fall apart and grow again, as you have witnessed my taped-together serenity shatter without notice. I have seen you become who you are, and I hope desperately to see who you become and who you will be and if you will rescue any other girls sinking into a plush red chair that defines themselves. I hope you are happy, and I hope you are smiling when you die. And I hope I die before you, because summing you up in a eulogy would be impossible, and, as you know, I don’t handle that sort of pressure with any semblance of poise.
So here’s to you, Mebby. Here is my heart and my soul and my flesh and the blood that slips about underneath it all. Here is me, not the same me you rescued, but me nonetheless. And I think of all it took to bring us together, and I thank the God we both occasionally believe in for tears.
We have pulled flowers from dirt and shaken them and smoothed out ruffled petals together, coloring them in with old crayons and creating something beautiful.
We have, together, been shoved in the corners of people’s minds along with the subconscious like how they need to buy milk this Tuesday, and the regret they still feel when they see a dead squirrel along the side of the road.
I have written down on napkins everything I hate and everything I love, and all of my half-formed, awkward philosophies I have printed on the bottoms of my shoes, and presented it all to you in a cardboard box, tied up with my perpetual confusion, and you have accepted it.
We have come a long way, you and I. I am no longer the weak, underexposed child who sank into that plush red chair, trying to get my hair to cover my face, so no one could see that I was about to cry. The people we know and the people we don’t know are no longer the people who passed by me, uttering a half-hearted “you okay?” and leaving the moment I mustered out a choked “fine”. You, yourself, are no longer the girl who didn’t leave after most figured their duty to their fellow man had been completed. You are no longer the girl who sat by and worked through my bumbling sentences and fat tears to understand.
I had not talked to you before that, but suddenly, you had become my life line. And so I clung to you, and, to my luck, you who are no longer the you you once were did not abandon me, and, for that, I am indebted to you for forever and a half.
We have become something of a pair, a disjointed partnership. The energy I force upon you, with my shrieks and my smiles and my obnoxious laughter, is tenuously balanced out by your never-failing composure and your grace and the sound of you saying my name like a mother would scold a child.
We have taken the wire they cut clay with, and cut ourselves into delicate chunks, and shared one another with one another as we try to get a feel for another human being, another piece of support. I have watched you fall apart and grow again, as you have witnessed my taped-together serenity shatter without notice. I have seen you become who you are, and I hope desperately to see who you become and who you will be and if you will rescue any other girls sinking into a plush red chair that defines themselves. I hope you are happy, and I hope you are smiling when you die. And I hope I die before you, because summing you up in a eulogy would be impossible, and, as you know, I don’t handle that sort of pressure with any semblance of poise.
So here’s to you, Mebby. Here is my heart and my soul and my flesh and the blood that slips about underneath it all. Here is me, not the same me you rescued, but me nonetheless. And I think of all it took to bring us together, and I thank the God we both occasionally believe in for tears.
Rats by Colleen T.
I am seven years old when I witness my first murder.
It is early spring in Georgia. The ground is mush and the day is overcast. So far I have spent my time drawing mermaids in the storage closet on the second level. My mother is cleaning out the garage.
I am reworking a scaled tail as Patrick throws open the door, leaning over on his knees, his chubby face matching his cropped orange hair. I have to come downstairs, he says. Mommy found something.
I refuse at first, intent on making sure the fins of my mermaid are proportional, but he grows indignant. Mommy found something, he repeats. She found rats. Don’t I want to see the rats?
I abandon my mermaid to follow him.
My brother and I weave through the mess of the garage in sock-clad feet, mindful of fallen screws and nails. We stop as we reach my mother’s thighs. She’s standing above a frayed cardboard box in the middle of the driveway, filled with her old work papers. I don’t see any rats. I’m ready to go back inside. But Patrick shrieks and points. Rats! Rats! A sleek shot of gray dashes from one edge of the box to another. I ask if we can keep them. My mother is adamant. Rats are dirty, disgusting nuisances. We will not be keeping them.
Mr. Tarpley wanders over to stand across from us, peering down into the box after a quick spit on the gravel. Yup. You have rats. He wheezes and laughs, rubbing his right hand against a stained denim jacket. He pushes his glasses up and calls for his son. Matthew appears in the doorway of our neighbor’s home, tall and nearly sixteen now with a brown buzz cut and wide cheeks. Mr. Tarpley leans forward yelling the Truskeys have them some rats, and he needs a gun. He turns back around again.
He bends over, and sticks his hand in the box, flipping over shredded and discolored charts. I gasp. My brother tries to get a closer look, but my mother’s sharp-nailed hand grips his shirt. A bundle of baby rats, all sleek fur, bolt in various directions. I’m desperate now. I want one. But my mother repeats herself. No rats. Rats aren’t pets.
Matthew arrives now, smiling, with two handguns and a packet of bullets especially made for shooting rodents. Mr. Tarpley grabs one of the firearms from him, loads and cocks it. My mother pulls my brother and I back to the garage.
Matthew and Mr. Tarpley are ready now, pointing at the box with glossy pistols, Mr. Tarpley’s foot resting against the edge. He counts. One. Two. Three. The cardboard box is flipped over and suddenly baby rats are scurrying frantically in all directions. A blast, the box jumps, papers flying. I shriek. The first gunshot is followed by another, and pellets are flying off of the driveway, rats are leaping and falling dead all in the same moment. Matthew is nearly shot in the foot in the chaos, trying to escape the rats himself. But Mr. Tarpley stands firm. He notices a shadow to his left, and shoots a final time in its direction. The last rat collapses, limp. Mr. Tarpley lets out a scraggly laugh.
You don’t have no rats anymore, he says, and spits.
It is early spring in Georgia. The ground is mush and the day is overcast. So far I have spent my time drawing mermaids in the storage closet on the second level. My mother is cleaning out the garage.
I am reworking a scaled tail as Patrick throws open the door, leaning over on his knees, his chubby face matching his cropped orange hair. I have to come downstairs, he says. Mommy found something.
I refuse at first, intent on making sure the fins of my mermaid are proportional, but he grows indignant. Mommy found something, he repeats. She found rats. Don’t I want to see the rats?
I abandon my mermaid to follow him.
My brother and I weave through the mess of the garage in sock-clad feet, mindful of fallen screws and nails. We stop as we reach my mother’s thighs. She’s standing above a frayed cardboard box in the middle of the driveway, filled with her old work papers. I don’t see any rats. I’m ready to go back inside. But Patrick shrieks and points. Rats! Rats! A sleek shot of gray dashes from one edge of the box to another. I ask if we can keep them. My mother is adamant. Rats are dirty, disgusting nuisances. We will not be keeping them.
Mr. Tarpley wanders over to stand across from us, peering down into the box after a quick spit on the gravel. Yup. You have rats. He wheezes and laughs, rubbing his right hand against a stained denim jacket. He pushes his glasses up and calls for his son. Matthew appears in the doorway of our neighbor’s home, tall and nearly sixteen now with a brown buzz cut and wide cheeks. Mr. Tarpley leans forward yelling the Truskeys have them some rats, and he needs a gun. He turns back around again.
He bends over, and sticks his hand in the box, flipping over shredded and discolored charts. I gasp. My brother tries to get a closer look, but my mother’s sharp-nailed hand grips his shirt. A bundle of baby rats, all sleek fur, bolt in various directions. I’m desperate now. I want one. But my mother repeats herself. No rats. Rats aren’t pets.
Matthew arrives now, smiling, with two handguns and a packet of bullets especially made for shooting rodents. Mr. Tarpley grabs one of the firearms from him, loads and cocks it. My mother pulls my brother and I back to the garage.
Matthew and Mr. Tarpley are ready now, pointing at the box with glossy pistols, Mr. Tarpley’s foot resting against the edge. He counts. One. Two. Three. The cardboard box is flipped over and suddenly baby rats are scurrying frantically in all directions. A blast, the box jumps, papers flying. I shriek. The first gunshot is followed by another, and pellets are flying off of the driveway, rats are leaping and falling dead all in the same moment. Matthew is nearly shot in the foot in the chaos, trying to escape the rats himself. But Mr. Tarpley stands firm. He notices a shadow to his left, and shoots a final time in its direction. The last rat collapses, limp. Mr. Tarpley lets out a scraggly laugh.
You don’t have no rats anymore, he says, and spits.
It’s Too Bad by Anonymous
It’s too bad,
That you lost the moon,
While looking for the stars.
It’s too bad,
That you never really knew,
What you had.
It’s too bad,
That you heard the squawking seagulls,
Over the soothing sea.
It’s too bad,
That you can’t put your life in drive,
Living,
But not alive.
It’s too bad,
That you think this life,
Is all you really have.
That you lost the moon,
While looking for the stars.
It’s too bad,
That you never really knew,
What you had.
It’s too bad,
That you heard the squawking seagulls,
Over the soothing sea.
It’s too bad,
That you can’t put your life in drive,
Living,
But not alive.
It’s too bad,
That you think this life,
Is all you really have.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
The Anniversary by Zev W
T’was exactly one year ago
On a trip overseas, I would go
Understanding my roots,
In a tie and a suit,
My other worries, I’d forego.
Visit death camps in Poland, we did
And learned stories of those who hid
From the flames of hate,
From the Auschwitz gate,
From those too blind to save a kid
This blindness and hate, I could not believe.
The pleasure they got watching others greave
Behind their curtain of federal power,
Their mask to make the citizens cower,
Many innocents, they would bereave.
When we returned home, my friends and my peers,
We went back our lives, without any cheers
We could never forget
The infamous threat
With which only love can interfere
On a trip overseas, I would go
Understanding my roots,
In a tie and a suit,
My other worries, I’d forego.
Visit death camps in Poland, we did
And learned stories of those who hid
From the flames of hate,
From the Auschwitz gate,
From those too blind to save a kid
This blindness and hate, I could not believe.
The pleasure they got watching others greave
Behind their curtain of federal power,
Their mask to make the citizens cower,
Many innocents, they would bereave.
When we returned home, my friends and my peers,
We went back our lives, without any cheers
We could never forget
The infamous threat
With which only love can interfere
Serenity by Will G.
Take me to the place I want to be
An unknown land or an unchartered sea
Take me to the place that I need
A serene, beautiful, worthy, life I would lead
Take me to the place where I can rest
Away from the imperfect life I detest
Take me to the place where I can consider and comprehend
A place where no one ever meets a bitter and cold end
Take me to the place where we can drink from the fountain of youth
Sit under the sun and let our thoughts become aloof
Take me to the place where there are no worries
And our lives aren’t moving in such a hurry
Take me to the place of promise and good will
Where all our promises will be fulfilled
This truly is the place that I want to be,
Somewhere, somehow this place will come to me
Would a Red, Red Rose? by Anonymous
Man is born free and everywhere he is in chains
Shackled to trite genius.
To persist with eyes that belongs to others
Is to dwell in the forest of shadows, the valley of despair
Would the sun glow any less brilliantly,
o, if thy neighbor worshipped the moon
Man, destined to imbibe the ambrosia of freedom,
drinks from the tainted well of conventional wisdom
The Nectar of life is sweeter
When it is thy Nectar
Be the dam, the iron arbiter of greatness
And allow greatness only to flow from greatness
like a wild river, if thou desire
Think, for the sanest of all is nothing more than the voice in thyself.
Shackled to trite genius.
To persist with eyes that belongs to others
Is to dwell in the forest of shadows, the valley of despair
Would the sun glow any less brilliantly,
o, if thy neighbor worshipped the moon
Man, destined to imbibe the ambrosia of freedom,
drinks from the tainted well of conventional wisdom
The Nectar of life is sweeter
When it is thy Nectar
Be the dam, the iron arbiter of greatness
And allow greatness only to flow from greatness
like a wild river, if thou desire
Think, for the sanest of all is nothing more than the voice in thyself.
My World by Laura P.
They are screaming
So many voices all trying to make me listen
How can I choose when to listen?
They all seem to be valid but
I don’t know which one is real and which one is deceiving me
Except One
One is out there calmly speaking
A voice pure and true
But the other voices try to hide it from me
I want nothing more than to listen to that one voice
My head is hurting too many voices
The voices of the world
I yearn for that voice; the only one that is truth
They are trying to crush me, trick me, conquer me
The voices are confusing
My heart is aching for that voice
Sorting through the lies, the deception, the screaming
That voice of truth is calling me but I’m lost!
How can that voice be found in all of the chaos of the world?
The other voices try to lure me away
I know what I want though
In my heart I know my soul needs that voice
When I find it the other voices can deceive me no longer
How can I find the path to that voice?
So many voices all trying to make me listen
How can I choose when to listen?
They all seem to be valid but
I don’t know which one is real and which one is deceiving me
Except One
One is out there calmly speaking
A voice pure and true
But the other voices try to hide it from me
I want nothing more than to listen to that one voice
My head is hurting too many voices
The voices of the world
I yearn for that voice; the only one that is truth
They are trying to crush me, trick me, conquer me
The voices are confusing
My heart is aching for that voice
Sorting through the lies, the deception, the screaming
That voice of truth is calling me but I’m lost!
How can that voice be found in all of the chaos of the world?
The other voices try to lure me away
I know what I want though
In my heart I know my soul needs that voice
When I find it the other voices can deceive me no longer
How can I find the path to that voice?
Failure by Anonymous
The very thought of you drives me forward
You are my companion, my enemy, my demon
It is my sick dread of you, the familiarity of your taste on my tongue
that makes me expect your companionship for the rest of my life
And yet it is the very same that gives me the imagination, the strength,
the desire to wish for something new, unfamiliar, something genuine
Like Eve’s snake you come to me with all your deceptive promises in all your varied and smoky forms
promises of happiness and self-meaning – of success.
like a fool I cover my eyes and plug my ears so as to follow you in apparent trust
I know better
But the worst you have ever done to me, and the reason I hate you
hasn’t so much to do with all of your injustices in the past, but rather the tragedy of the future
What if the genuine extends its hand to me one day
and instead of taking it like I had done a thousand times before
I haven’t the courage or the faith to do anything but wave it away?
And so, like one captivated by an inescapable and taunting ghost, I can never stop following
and, perhaps, it will never stop being you, feigning light at the end of the tunnel
You are my companion, my enemy, my demon
It is my sick dread of you, the familiarity of your taste on my tongue
that makes me expect your companionship for the rest of my life
And yet it is the very same that gives me the imagination, the strength,
the desire to wish for something new, unfamiliar, something genuine
Like Eve’s snake you come to me with all your deceptive promises in all your varied and smoky forms
promises of happiness and self-meaning – of success.
like a fool I cover my eyes and plug my ears so as to follow you in apparent trust
I know better
But the worst you have ever done to me, and the reason I hate you
hasn’t so much to do with all of your injustices in the past, but rather the tragedy of the future
What if the genuine extends its hand to me one day
and instead of taking it like I had done a thousand times before
I haven’t the courage or the faith to do anything but wave it away?
And so, like one captivated by an inescapable and taunting ghost, I can never stop following
and, perhaps, it will never stop being you, feigning light at the end of the tunnel
The Final Place by Clare C
An island of hope in a sea of tears
A pillar of light in a sky of fear
A single drop of rain in a sea of blue
A stretch of time if it could be spent with you
The world of ice calls your name
The only warmth in this frozen plain
The stars align as the first light fades
Into the horizon, rides the knight shrouded
In shades of grey
A drop of blood
The burn of pain
The loss of life
Made this fight no gain
The rush of wind
The sounds of waves
The sunset cannons
The healing saves.
The kiss of life
Death’s embrace
Eternal love
A resting place.
A pillar of light in a sky of fear
A single drop of rain in a sea of blue
A stretch of time if it could be spent with you
The world of ice calls your name
The only warmth in this frozen plain
The stars align as the first light fades
Into the horizon, rides the knight shrouded
In shades of grey
A drop of blood
The burn of pain
The loss of life
Made this fight no gain
The rush of wind
The sounds of waves
The sunset cannons
The healing saves.
The kiss of life
Death’s embrace
Eternal love
A resting place.
Catherine S
Dear Reader,
You don’t really know me.
Actually, you don’t know me at all.
I’m different than you think.
I believe that we could get along well
We just have to try…
Have you ever considered what might be going on in my life?
While you discuss plans for an upcoming party,
I might just be thinking about the drama I call my life.
Have you ever thought about how well you know a person?
For as long as I’ve known you,
Do I actually know you?
You believe I’m quiet, I know
Well, I think you are stealing my spotlight
Then again, I don’t know what you’re truly feeling
Maybe we are one in the same
So here is my proposition:
Let’s stop our acting
We aren’t children anymore
We must learn to coexist in this world
Once we’ve accomplished this,
Only then will you really know me.
You don’t really know me.
Actually, you don’t know me at all.
I’m different than you think.
I believe that we could get along well
We just have to try…
Have you ever considered what might be going on in my life?
While you discuss plans for an upcoming party,
I might just be thinking about the drama I call my life.
Have you ever thought about how well you know a person?
For as long as I’ve known you,
Do I actually know you?
You believe I’m quiet, I know
Well, I think you are stealing my spotlight
Then again, I don’t know what you’re truly feeling
Maybe we are one in the same
So here is my proposition:
Let’s stop our acting
We aren’t children anymore
We must learn to coexist in this world
Once we’ve accomplished this,
Only then will you really know me.
Goodnight by Anonymous
I look into your eyes tonight
With a daughter’s loving glance
Imagining times we never spent
Since we never had the chance
I walk into your house tonight
It’s never been a home
The foreign chairs and rooms and walls
Are like what you’ve become
I step out of myself tonight:
The strength I thought I had
Collapses with the ounce of faith
That I once had in “dad”
I slip out of your life tonight
You say you don’t know why
But I pretend it’s all ok
Since I’m too big to cry
With a daughter’s loving glance
Imagining times we never spent
Since we never had the chance
I walk into your house tonight
It’s never been a home
The foreign chairs and rooms and walls
Are like what you’ve become
I step out of myself tonight:
The strength I thought I had
Collapses with the ounce of faith
That I once had in “dad”
I slip out of your life tonight
You say you don’t know why
But I pretend it’s all ok
Since I’m too big to cry
Stephanie W
They say that when it rains
It pours, but sometimes I
Don’t exactly understand.
The rain falls and cleanses
Washing me with pure droplets
Of water falling from the sky
That run across my face
And stream through my hair.
The thud thud tap tap
Making a percussion ensemble
Of its own, all from God’s
Giving and healing hand.
And if that’s not enough,
If that won’t do,
Just know that the rain
Will eventually end.
And after the rain, the clouds,
They will disperse
Leaving the sun to shine,
Its rays streaming down,
The sky now raining light.
It pours, but sometimes I
Don’t exactly understand.
The rain falls and cleanses
Washing me with pure droplets
Of water falling from the sky
That run across my face
And stream through my hair.
The thud thud tap tap
Making a percussion ensemble
Of its own, all from God’s
Giving and healing hand.
And if that’s not enough,
If that won’t do,
Just know that the rain
Will eventually end.
And after the rain, the clouds,
They will disperse
Leaving the sun to shine,
Its rays streaming down,
The sky now raining light.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
2543 by Emma C
To whom it may concern,
Hello. My name is Samuel Gyrdellis. There is no easy way to explain this, but I am from the future. Specifically, I am from the year 2543. The mechanics as to how this letter came to reach you are insignificant- you’ll figure it out soon enough. I have sent this message to warn you about the future. The following is a brief summation, with some personal details, about what has occurred between your time and mine:
As you know, the world is constantly changing- geologic forces changing the physical earth and humans advancing their technology in their never-ending quest for knowledge. It just so happens, that in the twenty-first century, these two specific branches of progress met head-on.
The earliest catastrophe occurred in 2028. A series of earthquakes occurred along several of the world’s tectonic fault lines. The consumption of nuclear power had grown by this time, and in order to meet the rising need, a number of nuclear plants were developed near these faults. When the quakes finally hit, a number of cracks developed in the plants. The resulting discharge of nuclear waste was widespread. Some of this fell into cracks in the earth formed by the same quake, allowing it to leach into the water system. Those who drank the contaminated waters developed numerous diseases, the like of which are produced by nuclear radiation. Those who grow up drinking this water often don’t live past their thirties. I was orphaned in this manner.
Over the next few hundred years, the remaining quantity of nuclear debris was blown into the atmosphere where it coalesced into an enormous nuclear cloud. Caught up in the jet stream, this cloud makes regular rounds across the planet, dispersing some of its heavier particles back down to earth. This cloud will remain until all of the radioactive materials have broken down. Along the cloud’s poisonous path, there still remain a few civilizations- both human and animal, but these people suffer from mutation as a result of the air they breathe. I’ve heard stories that some of these mutations ultimately lead to a fate worse than death, and their lives often end before anyone can find a humane way to help them.
In 2085, the use of fossil fuels finally took its toll. The prolonged release of ozone gases into the atmosphere increased the heat that was being trapped against the earth by the ozone’s natural process. Thus, over the next few years, the polar ice caps- along with much of the snow and ice on Greenland and Iceland- melted off into the oceans. In addition to terminating thousands of marine species, this caused immense flooding. Tsunamis became more frequent, and if a hurricane ever occurred, the storm surges were devastating. I lost my great-grandfather this way.
Please. The only people who can help us are you. Everything you do has an effect on how future generations will have to live. Some of these costs may come sooner than you think- as their contributing factors have been at work for many years already. Please, think of what you do and who it may end up hurting. Please help us.
- Sam
Hello. My name is Samuel Gyrdellis. There is no easy way to explain this, but I am from the future. Specifically, I am from the year 2543. The mechanics as to how this letter came to reach you are insignificant- you’ll figure it out soon enough. I have sent this message to warn you about the future. The following is a brief summation, with some personal details, about what has occurred between your time and mine:
As you know, the world is constantly changing- geologic forces changing the physical earth and humans advancing their technology in their never-ending quest for knowledge. It just so happens, that in the twenty-first century, these two specific branches of progress met head-on.
The earliest catastrophe occurred in 2028. A series of earthquakes occurred along several of the world’s tectonic fault lines. The consumption of nuclear power had grown by this time, and in order to meet the rising need, a number of nuclear plants were developed near these faults. When the quakes finally hit, a number of cracks developed in the plants. The resulting discharge of nuclear waste was widespread. Some of this fell into cracks in the earth formed by the same quake, allowing it to leach into the water system. Those who drank the contaminated waters developed numerous diseases, the like of which are produced by nuclear radiation. Those who grow up drinking this water often don’t live past their thirties. I was orphaned in this manner.
Over the next few hundred years, the remaining quantity of nuclear debris was blown into the atmosphere where it coalesced into an enormous nuclear cloud. Caught up in the jet stream, this cloud makes regular rounds across the planet, dispersing some of its heavier particles back down to earth. This cloud will remain until all of the radioactive materials have broken down. Along the cloud’s poisonous path, there still remain a few civilizations- both human and animal, but these people suffer from mutation as a result of the air they breathe. I’ve heard stories that some of these mutations ultimately lead to a fate worse than death, and their lives often end before anyone can find a humane way to help them.
In 2085, the use of fossil fuels finally took its toll. The prolonged release of ozone gases into the atmosphere increased the heat that was being trapped against the earth by the ozone’s natural process. Thus, over the next few years, the polar ice caps- along with much of the snow and ice on Greenland and Iceland- melted off into the oceans. In addition to terminating thousands of marine species, this caused immense flooding. Tsunamis became more frequent, and if a hurricane ever occurred, the storm surges were devastating. I lost my great-grandfather this way.
Please. The only people who can help us are you. Everything you do has an effect on how future generations will have to live. Some of these costs may come sooner than you think- as their contributing factors have been at work for many years already. Please, think of what you do and who it may end up hurting. Please help us.
- Sam
Escape this Labyrinth by Kelsey S
Escape this labyrinth,
Today may come with much dismay
But tomorrow glimmers with promise.
Tread through the tough with strong heart,
Fondle the sun’s simple warmth.
Escape this labyrinth,
There’s more to life than surface can reveal.
Entwine through the emotion,
Thrust yourself into the navel of beauty,
And extinguish your inner flame of hate.
Escape this labyrinth,
Try not to understand the bitter winds,
But bask in the warm breeze.
The meager things often paint the full picture,
What’s important in your vivacity?
Escape this labyrinth,
Unmask the maze,
Experience your life,
Find beauty throughout your days.
Today may come with much dismay
But tomorrow glimmers with promise.
Tread through the tough with strong heart,
Fondle the sun’s simple warmth.
Escape this labyrinth,
There’s more to life than surface can reveal.
Entwine through the emotion,
Thrust yourself into the navel of beauty,
And extinguish your inner flame of hate.
Escape this labyrinth,
Try not to understand the bitter winds,
But bask in the warm breeze.
The meager things often paint the full picture,
What’s important in your vivacity?
Escape this labyrinth,
Unmask the maze,
Experience your life,
Find beauty throughout your days.
Untitled by Sara L
To cure, to solve, and to unite
The world.
The common goal of most.
Our hunger to achieve
Wears down mountains to sand.
Our aspirations driving us,
To rid the world of impurities.
Ideas clashing and contradicting,
still managing to meet halfway.
Different beliefs and hopes
Set us apart.
But we are all connected by,
One dream.
The world.
The common goal of most.
Our hunger to achieve
Wears down mountains to sand.
Our aspirations driving us,
To rid the world of impurities.
Ideas clashing and contradicting,
still managing to meet halfway.
Different beliefs and hopes
Set us apart.
But we are all connected by,
One dream.
Oh Mother by Gabby F
If it wasn’t for you I’d be on the streets
I’d be starving
I’d be cold
If it wasn’t for you I’d have no goals
No ambition
If it wasn’t for you I’d be weak
If it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t have a heart
I’d be careless and reckless
If it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t have grown as a person
I wouldn’t have learned what a classroom can’t teach
If it wasn’t for you I’d have no guidance
No structure
If it wasn’t for you I’d be on a bad path
If it wasn’t for you I’d have no one to lean on
No one to catch me when I fall
If it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t be the person I am today
I’d be starving
I’d be cold
If it wasn’t for you I’d have no goals
No ambition
If it wasn’t for you I’d be weak
If it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t have a heart
I’d be careless and reckless
If it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t have grown as a person
I wouldn’t have learned what a classroom can’t teach
If it wasn’t for you I’d have no guidance
No structure
If it wasn’t for you I’d be on a bad path
If it wasn’t for you I’d have no one to lean on
No one to catch me when I fall
If it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t be the person I am today
Poetry by Kohava B
Eternally Destined
Cloaked within a corridor of my soul lies the mystic resonance of a dream, Etched upon the heart it lingers to ignite a life into an engulfing, surreal destiny of delectation.
Cloaked within a corridor of my soul lies the mystic resonance of a dream, Etched upon the heart it lingers to ignite a life into an engulfing, surreal destiny of delectation.
Sunk
Bound within an ocean ebbing with despair, I sink; lower, deeper, enraptured by the icy, dismal swallows of the morose waters. Breath escaping, hopes shattered; body drifting, a lifeless existence; descending gradually, a desolate reality;
Bound within an ocean ebbing with despair, I sink; lower, deeper, enraptured by the icy, dismal swallows of the morose waters. Breath escaping, hopes shattered; body drifting, a lifeless existence; descending gradually, a desolate reality;
Drowned.
Fastened
Halt the piercing screams stationed within my soul. Spill the profound depth of longing into the opened transom of existence. I am lost among the disconsolate actuality that has taken over. Confined beneath the surface lies the reveries once envisioned, so swiftly swathed by adversity.
Halt the piercing screams stationed within my soul. Spill the profound depth of longing into the opened transom of existence. I am lost among the disconsolate actuality that has taken over. Confined beneath the surface lies the reveries once envisioned, so swiftly swathed by adversity.
Hope by Caroline W.
I am the light that’s surrounded by dark
I am the people without jobs without heart
I am the thing with the brightest of minds
When the words are unfriendly and the looks are unkind
I am the tunnel’s end, I am the light
I am the victor just after my fight
I am the view at the top of the slope
I am the last thing to go, I am hope.
I am the people without jobs without heart
I am the thing with the brightest of minds
When the words are unfriendly and the looks are unkind
I am the tunnel’s end, I am the light
I am the victor just after my fight
I am the view at the top of the slope
I am the last thing to go, I am hope.
Of Course by Holly M
We watch you,
As you take that cigarette
Into your shaking hands
We watch you.
As you suck in that ragged breath
With smoke rolling over your teeth
Waiting for the world to stop,
Because of course it will.
Of course it’s over.
Of course we hate you.
Of course the world hates you.
We watch you,
As your throat and your eyes burn
In the pessimistic fog
We watch you.
As your voice quivers through your lips
Saying the world is only torture
While the poisonous vapor slips out,
Because of course it hurts.
Of course it stings you.
Of course it's their fault.
Of course it's all our fault.
We watch you,
As you point your disapproving finger
Through the choking cloud
We watch you.
As you shake your head with disgust
Looking through that foggy mass
At all the mistakes of the world,
Because of course it's wrong.
Of course it's disgusting.
Of course it wasn't you.
Of course it was everyone else.
We watch you,
As you cough out your testimony
Of all the wrongdoers
We watch you.
As your whispers of stinging judgment
Form a noxious haze over you
With every struggled breath,
Because of course you're right.
Of course their time is coming.
Of course you will prevail.
Of course they deserve to die.
We watch you,
As that poisonous murk surrounds you
Blocking out the world
We watch you.
As your shivering limbs reach out
Through the all-consuming cloudy death
For the switch to turn it all away,
Because of course it's there.
Of course you will reach it.
Of course it will save you.
Of course we won't.
We watch you,
As your arms flail wildly
Through that toxic wall of hate
We watch you.
As your decrepit body is corroded
By the stifling cloud of judgment
That flowed from your dying lungs,
Because of course the world is all wrong.
Of course it's full of filth.
Of course you're pure.
Of course you'll survive.
Of course not.
As you take that cigarette
Into your shaking hands
We watch you.
As you suck in that ragged breath
With smoke rolling over your teeth
Waiting for the world to stop,
Because of course it will.
Of course it’s over.
Of course we hate you.
Of course the world hates you.
We watch you,
As your throat and your eyes burn
In the pessimistic fog
We watch you.
As your voice quivers through your lips
Saying the world is only torture
While the poisonous vapor slips out,
Because of course it hurts.
Of course it stings you.
Of course it's their fault.
Of course it's all our fault.
We watch you,
As you point your disapproving finger
Through the choking cloud
We watch you.
As you shake your head with disgust
Looking through that foggy mass
At all the mistakes of the world,
Because of course it's wrong.
Of course it's disgusting.
Of course it wasn't you.
Of course it was everyone else.
We watch you,
As you cough out your testimony
Of all the wrongdoers
We watch you.
As your whispers of stinging judgment
Form a noxious haze over you
With every struggled breath,
Because of course you're right.
Of course their time is coming.
Of course you will prevail.
Of course they deserve to die.
We watch you,
As that poisonous murk surrounds you
Blocking out the world
We watch you.
As your shivering limbs reach out
Through the all-consuming cloudy death
For the switch to turn it all away,
Because of course it's there.
Of course you will reach it.
Of course it will save you.
Of course we won't.
We watch you,
As your arms flail wildly
Through that toxic wall of hate
We watch you.
As your decrepit body is corroded
By the stifling cloud of judgment
That flowed from your dying lungs,
Because of course the world is all wrong.
Of course it's full of filth.
Of course you're pure.
Of course you'll survive.
Of course not.
Endless Sky by Holly M
I reach my hands to endless sky
And try to pull it near.
The creatures swim above me,
As they whisper in my ear,
"Now’s the time, it's getting late,
You've nothing left to fear."
They dash away to endless sky,
And I run with quickening pace,
To climb the tree before the beast,
And reach the giant's face.
The beast declaws it's vicious feet,
To see I've won the race
The giant, with a humble laugh,
Removes me from his hair
With just a step, we're 'round the world,
The earth is just his lair.
He says, "don't look down at the ground,
You'll see it isn't there."
His glasses hide the twinkling stars
That glisten in his eye.
With outstreached arms, I touch the rim
And feel the endless sky,
Then dive into the liquid glass
And gravity defy.
Floating through the Morpheus air,
I'm startled back to being,
To realize that it's all a dream,
A false euphoric feeling.
But somewhere there is endless sky
The earth must be concealing.
And try to pull it near.
The creatures swim above me,
As they whisper in my ear,
"Now’s the time, it's getting late,
You've nothing left to fear."
They dash away to endless sky,
And I run with quickening pace,
To climb the tree before the beast,
And reach the giant's face.
The beast declaws it's vicious feet,
To see I've won the race
The giant, with a humble laugh,
Removes me from his hair
With just a step, we're 'round the world,
The earth is just his lair.
He says, "don't look down at the ground,
You'll see it isn't there."
His glasses hide the twinkling stars
That glisten in his eye.
With outstreached arms, I touch the rim
And feel the endless sky,
Then dive into the liquid glass
And gravity defy.
Floating through the Morpheus air,
I'm startled back to being,
To realize that it's all a dream,
A false euphoric feeling.
But somewhere there is endless sky
The earth must be concealing.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)