Faith Taylor
I sit alone by the cemetery
Trying to distract myself from reality
The moon looks white and dark, welcoming and scary
And I wonder why I look at all these ghosts and feel no sentimentality
Well maybe there’s a little bit, for I feel a small pang of heartbreak
And as my I lips begin to quiver and my eyes begin to quake
I begin to blame myself, I could have saved her, I could have tried
Maybe if I had chosen not to drink my baby would still be alive.
Raenna L. Matthews
My little siblings and I stampeded up the white-carpeted stairs to the dining room, books in hand. The morning sun shone brightly, and the warm ocean air blew in through the double doorway of the balcony. My older sister, Alyssa, reached out to tickle my little brother, Micah, as we reached the top of the stairs. He dodged behind me, and I toppled to the floor, laughing uncontrollably as the tickle monster attacked me. Alyssa stopped tickling and we raced through the kitchen door to the pantry. I started to climb the shelves to get to the Strawberry Special K (Papa kept it on the second highest shelf because otherwise it was gone in a matter of hours). Uncle Scott reached up and grabbed the box for me, and I skipped to the table to pour myself a bowl. Once I had my bowl of Strawberry Special K and a glass of orange juice, I delicately skittered to the ladder in the hallway. I balanced the plastic bowl that held my cereal on top of my orange juice and stuffed my paperback copy of “The Fellowship of the Ring” into my sweatshirt pocket. Holding my breakfast in one hand, I used the other to balance as I climbed into the watchtower. I set my breakfast and book on the bench attached to the wall, then took a few minutes to admire the three-hundred-sixty degree view the all-around window in the tower provided. I glanced down at the vacation complex the lighthouse building was in, but I gazed long on the ocean horizon, with the wet sand trailing into dry, scorching, bright sand as it progressed toward the pavement. I stared at the glory of the morning sun reflected off the ocean waters. The blue became progressively darker as the water grew deeper. The waves broke in beautiful bubbles of white and showers of salt-water on the sand and on themselves.
I turned from this alluring view to my breakfast and book. I lay on the floor with my book in front of me, my cereal next to me, and my orange juice still on the bench. Munching on the sugary flakes and tart dried strawberries, I was absorbed into the story.
After hours that felt like seconds, the room had grown markedly darker. I stood to take in the evening view and check if my siblings were outside. As I gazed down I saw long shadows cast by my sisters and brothers throwing a disc around on the beach. They laughed with glee and fun each time someone threw too far or didn’t quite jump high enough. The light hair of my sisters and older brother shimmered in the twilight, and I could imagine the twinkle in my little brother’s eyes and his serious expression as he concentrated to catch the disc again. They ran about on the still-warm, but no longer scorching sand for several minutes, before my sisters pranced down towards the soft wet sand and salty ocean waves. They splashed in the shallows as the tide rose. Then Alyssa pointed out to sea.
Following her finger, I watched as dolphins danced and played in the waves a ways from the beach. The sunset glistened peach, vermilion, and rose on the shining water as the wondrous, curious creatures chattered and flipped in the ocean.
As the evening became twilight, my siblings were called inside for the night; and as the twilight became night, the dolphins retreated to their ocean home. The stars were made visible and the crescent moon grew bright as the sunlight faded behind the earth.
Matisyn S.
Winter
The cold land of white
Trees twist, icicles dangles
Frost kisses the grass
The Water Lily
Sitting on the blue
A pink crown with pollen
Long roots swirl around
Ready for War
Packing a kit bag
Go marching to enemies
Return home with fear
Feather
Birds of a feather
A plume, the quill separate
Opposites break off
Sun
Trust it to return
A yellow glow through the trees
Have faith in mornings
Rafay Waqar
Camp Half-blood is a camp for demi-gods which are the daughters and sons of all the Greek gods.A demi-god is a son or daughter of a Greek god who is half human and half god.This camp is located on Long island sound in America.This camp is directed by the centaur named Dionysus.A centaur is a mythical Greek creature which is half horse and half human. These demi-gods live here and train here.They train here because the outside world is dangerous for them because they can be attacked by many mythical creatures like Cyclopes , Minotaur , Griffins and many others.Mostly these creatures are sent by Hades( god of the underworld).This camp is surrounded by a shield which only lets demi-gods enter.This mythical shield around the camp protects these demi-gods by keeping out all these dangerous mythical creatures.I took all of this information from the book Percy Jackson the lightning thief.
Lucy
Along the way, the candle in your lantern may blow out. Make sure you bring matches to relight it if you have to;
Along the way, you may run into something. If it is a bear, ignore it and hope it ignores you. If it is a spirit, offer up anything you have for good passing through their forest. You can hunt more. If it is a weary traveler, only give food you have to spare;
Along the way, you may lose your map. Follow the stars. They are here to guide you;
Along the way, your hopes may dampen. Never mind that, for you must be stronger than doubt;
Along the way, your extra clothes may become burdensome. Always keep them, though. The nights can get cold;
Along the way, follow the songbirds. Sing back to them; enjoy their kinship while you can;
Along the way, you may run out of kindling. Bark or dead leaves will do;
Along the way, you will miss home. But the adventure is your home, the sky your ceiling, and as long as you keep pushing through, homesickness will be at bay;
Along the way, you will be inclined to give up,
Don’t;
Hey Nike, I did it already
I had sand in my shoes
“This is about the struggles of a man stranded in the desert. The sentences listed above are the sentences that have to be included in this passage.”
Hey Nike, I did it already. As I walked through the sandstorm screaming, I realized how thirsty I was. I started looking for some water in my backpack and was disappointed to find none. I then remembered that I forgot to place it into my backpack, and screamed, not strong like you would if you were angry, but a weaker, more frail scream, like I was drained of my energy and could barely move. I had sand in my shoes. I had no food or water. And worst of all, I had nowhere to shield myself from the storm. My vision blurred as sand got into my eyes, but I kept looking into the distance. There, stood a building, not tall or short, not fat or thin, kind of similar to a hut. Attached to the top of the building was a large sign, tinted silver with a date on it, “October 9, 2083”. Desperate, tired, dehydrated, and on the brink of losing consciousness, I made my valiant effort to crawl to the hut. Energy left me with each crawl, leaving me winded at every movement of my body. It seemed close, and yet so far away. “5 more minutes” I told myself, “5 more minutes”. But as I reached to move forward, I didn’t touch the grainy sand that littered the desert. No, I didn’t even touch the brick that supported the seemingly close building. No, what I touched, was the nothingness and darkness that my exhaustion led me to. Overwhelmed with warmth, I felt every last glimpse of light disappear. The warmth enveloped me, and as my life dissipated before my eyes, I took one last, long breath, and collapsed.
Eric Gorner
black /blak/
noun.
the color of the world on days where it’s too much. the sound of silence when all you want to do is speak, staring too long to try to remember how anything feels. the color of never ending keys on a piano that remind you of his heart. ink splatters on old clothes, the text on forgotten books from times past. the color of his wings when you two flew up to the sun, but he let you fall into the sea. black is color you saw when you looked into his eyes and realized how foolish you were to have ever loved him.
white /(h)wīt/
noun.
the color of new beginnings, of scars beginning to heal over. the foam from the waves that crashed upon you over and over again, until they didn’t as much anymore. the color of the keys that made you forget, trying to remedy the broken parts of its player. the pages of the books that you read that made you dream again, hope again. the color of the shirt you wore when you first saw the boy. the innocence you see in little kids, reminding us all of how the world can still be good sometimes. the color you saw when you looked up at the boy that saved you. his hair so light, that sometimes you could’ve sworn you almost saw a halo. white is color of your wings when you realize that you can finally fly again, but this time without the fear of falling into the sea.
-b.f
Along the way,
you’ll come across a man who needs your help.
There he sits, unkempt, unclean, and unnoticed. He is thin. So thin, that his ribs can be seen through his tattered shirt, and the skin around his bony fingers wilts like a flower in the cold. He will reach those fingers out to you.
Along the way,
you’ll come across a man, slumped against a tree in the dead of winter, no coat around his shoulders and his bare feet buried in the snow for warmth. The tree’s icy bark peels and digs into his back. You may wonder about his family and his friends and his children and where they all could’ve gone. Was this man, now barely clinging to life, once along the way as you are now?
Along the way,
you’ll wonder many things about this man, but even as you wonder, you won’t stop walking. You won’t take the decrepit hand he reaches out to you. You’ll keep going, your boots crunching in the snow. For you’re along the way, and you don’t have time to stop. You’ll trudge right past, barely looking him in the eye.
Along the way,
you might find yourself to tired to walk any further, your boots are long gone, your coat has been lost, and your clothes have been reduced to rags. You’ll slump against a tree in the dead of winter, wondering about your family and your friends and your children and where they all went, and why this person walking by you won’t stop for a second, just a second, to even look you in the eye.
But then, someone else,
Along the way,
may pause for a second, just a second. You’ll reach your hand out to her, the skin around your fingers wilting like a flower in the cold. You reach your hand out to her in need,
and she might take it, because she knows,
you were along the way once, too.
-Joey Schuman
kaja rae lucas
I.
in the last scene of the suicide
someone shines a light through
two fastened prisms
shining out on the other side
like rainbows.
II.
didn’t god send a rainbow after the flood?
wasn’t the road to valhalla paved with it?
didn’t sylvia and marsha start riots for it?
or is it just an effect?
III.
the rose on the tips of the rainbow was
re-purposed for a color of violence– now, our flags
of pride appear with violence, a stripe,
where we are aware of how violence shaped us.
IV.
your girlfriend put on rainbow eyeliner for pride
somewhere in Istanbul. she came home with
a rubber bullet in her leg and the rainbow
eyeliner running down her face;
don’t you know we’re not wanted here?
V.
the prisms seem to break the light apart
showing the way white light holds all of these colors
but white is not brown and we are not mentioned.
blackness is not a part of your rainbow.
Picasso’s Son
Warm brown eyes
The standstill of time
Artists hands
He’s Picasso’s son
Head held high
Shoulders slumped down
Always seeing him around
Walking with swagger,
But quiet as a mouse
I dream of a future
Where love lasts forever
I’ll wait until its time
–Angelus E. Young