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Seeing you like this is horrible. You're depressed but you don't even know it. Hello? Are you even listening to me? You need help. Quick. Stop ignoring me, i'm trying to help you, but all you're doing is pushing me away. If you keep doing this, you're going to get more and more sick! Don't you realize what your doing? Depression is when you are always sad a down and when you feel worthless, but trust me, you're not any of those things. You used to come out every day with me for a walk. Now what? I haven't seen you in 2 months! Your doors are always locked, your phone is always shut off, and I bet you haven't seen daylight in forever! What ever happened to the out-going girl that always to love being active? I miss her. You're sick and you need help. You're strong and I know you can recover from this, but you just have to let me help you instead of pushing me away. If you don't start turning your life around, now, it's going to turn into a horrible life. You know, well I hope you know, that you can overcome this disease. It's possible! Trust me, please. I begging you. I'm going to keep trying. Listen please, goodbye.

Harry the Bunny

By Delaney Brunvand

Harry the bunny lived in a shack,

Harry the bunny slept on a mat.

When he looked up he saw nothing but sky,

For he couldn’t afford his expenses to be so high.

One day he heard someone knock on his door,

So he stood up, and walked across the floor.

He opened the door and said “What do you need?”

“You’ve won one million dollars!”

“Are you serious?”

“Indeed!”

Seven months later,

he thought in his head,

With this new T.V,

I’m totally livin’ the dream in this old shed!

Marvelous
Amazing
Never disappoints
Glistening
Oval

Robert the Bunny
By Delaney Brunvand

There once lived Robert the Bunny,
who loved to have fun in the sunny,
But one day he lost all his money,
Because his dad got stuck in honey.

Fall

by Delaney Brunvand

The leaves are curling,
And changing colors.

The apples are ready,
and sweet to the last bite.

The days are shortening,
and getting dark.

The children are playing,
in the park.
 

Fall

by Delaney Brunvand

The leaves are curling,
And changing colors.

The apples are ready,
and sweet to the last bite.

The days are shortening,
and getting dark.

The children are playing,
in the park.
 

The Beach

By Delaney Brunvand

The sun is glowing,
The water is flowing,
sand on your feet,
while the seagulls eat.

the ice cream bell is ringing,
the jellyfish are stinging,
the sand's in your toes,
as a light breeze blows.

Homework

I’ve done my math,

I’ve done my spelling,

I’ve done geography.

I’ve done all my homework,

OOPS!

I’ve forgotten to write my poem!

I worked so hard

And now it’s night

I swing my legs out of bed.

My parents are scolding me,

For I forgot to

Write my poem!

All Hail the Storm

The porch rattles with violence,

Hail comes down in large chunks,

All hail the storm.

Rain crushes itself against the roof,

Bruises appear in the ground,

All hail the storm.

The time has flown away so fast
Thrown to warp-speed, it wouldn't last
My time is gone, the end is near
There's nothing left to take from here

My journey has come to a close
My song has reached the final notes
With so many songs I've left unsung
With so much more I could have done

But I'm waiting now to take my leave
And start to truly learn to breathe
How to live, and how to fly
And also learning how to die

My life begins to come undone
It's time ends with the setting sun
It kills me to leave it all behind
It makes me want to die inside

It's sad to see the curtain close
But our time is up, so we must go
Out among the world's living things
With all the pain and suffering

Fear is the fire in our hearts
When we begin a brand new start
It tears us down, and builds us up
Tests our defense, and tempers us

Forges skin and bones of steel
Or tears us up, and makes us feel
The fires of a burning world
Steeped in chaos and turmoil

We'll dive, headfirst, into the sea
And strive to get air desperately
But now we wait to see the end
The day we die, and live again

In ten years I won't understand
The way my life was way back when
Right now I stand on the frontlines
Waiting for the battle cry

My journey has come to a close
My song has reached its final notes
But this is not the bitter end
And one day, I shall sing again

Once there was a beautiful princess that was named Alece. Alece was sad because she was forced to marry a gross and ugly man.
“Alece,” said Marea, Alece's sister. “Let's get ready for the wedding.”  
The next thing she noticed, she was in a white dress and walking with her dad to Bob, the disgusting man that she had to marry.
“Now you may kiss the bride,” said the priest.
Alece was so scared.  Then Alece saw a white rabbit that had a clock. The rabbit tapped the clock and said, “Time is running out.”
Alece ran and followed the rabbit through a long path, then the rabbit jumped in a hole. Alece came to the hole and looked in. Alece could not see anything. Alece looked a little closer.  “AAAAAA!”
Alece fell into the hole. Alece stopped screaming.  She was on the floor.
“Hello?” said Alece. No one answered her.  She tried again, “Hello?”
The same thing happened; no one answered. She looked around.  There were no doors except one little door. Alece kneeled down and looked at the door, and then she looked around. Alece saw a piece of cake that said, “Eat this.” Alece was hungry, so she ate it. Then Alece started to shrink.  Then she ran to the door and tried to open it. It was locked. She looked around to see if there was a key.  She saw a glass of milk. Alece saw the milk and drank it. Then she started to grow. When Alece got back to the same height, she got the key and ate the cake. When Alece shrank to mouse size, Alece ran to the door and got the key and opened the door.
“Wow,” said Alece. “This is amazing.”
Then Alece heard rustling noises coming toward her. Alece ran and ran until she stopped.  There was a tall man in front of her.
“Hello, Alece,” Wonder said. Read more »

 The heat from within 

 that flares into a flame

 is the heart that keeps our blood beating

 that does not feel 

 but wallows in sorrows 

 the hot flame only ceaces to burn

 if the heart does not forgive

 Just flesh and bone some think

 but theres more

 any shape it can take 

 writhing and expanding 

 controlling your personality

 for some this is fiction

 for others it is reality

 those who don't believe

 must reach inside themself

 and dig out what they missed before 

 With glory comes your downfall

 with poverty comes glory

 I rise and fall with this rythm

 like the rolling landscape and the flat sea

 but when I perish it does not stop 

 but is merely a rest in the journey 

Hearing bum, bum squeak as the train comes to a stop.
“What stop is this?”
“How many weeks pregnant are you?”
“Do you know where 42nd street is?”
“Come meet me at 8.”
“What did I tell you about being patient, you have to wait until it comes to our stop.”
“Wait!”
A million eyes glancing at me left and right. 
Was I crazy? Why were they looking at me?
My legs were shaking, about to give out.
Finally, found a seat in the back next to what looked like an old couple.
“Oh, stop fussing around.”
“My dentures are about to fall out.”
“Quit complaining.”
“I’m the one complaining, try listening to yourself.”
“Shut up.”
Finally came to my stop.
40th street.
What felt like forever had only been a few streets down.
Walking to the sliding doors.
“Help me get up!”
Walking to the sliding doors, still hearing the old couple arguing.
They were getting off at the same stop I was.
They were crazy.

Freedom is laghing around a campfire,
Singing without a care in the world,
The sweet plucking of the wood guitar.
Freedom is running wild through tall grases,
Running your fingers over the top of the
Wheat.
Freedom is swinging,
Closing your eyes imagining that you are
Flying towards the stars,
To your dreams.
Freedom is sailing,
The wind tossing your hair,
The sweet smell of the ocean greeting you,
The cool water splashing over your hand that you hold off the side of
The boat.
Freedom is smiling when someone
Asks you to dance,
When your heart can't help but flutter.
Freedom is writing,
Thoughts on paper,
Sometimes saying more than spoken words
Ever will.

I am writing a poem about a

Poem and here is how it goes:

The poem I am writing about, is

taken place of which where it snows.

I am writing about a poem of where

No one else knows.

This poem I am writing about stands

Ten feet tall, the poem is not at all small.

This poem, I bet you’re dieing to know

What is it’s name, but it’s like another

Poem, just the same.

I’ll let you in on secret, the poem’s name is…

DECRET!

No, I am just making the poem and the name up.

You can write this poem, and there will be no stop!

Flowers

Fuzzy Fairyfluffs

   Lovely Lilacs

   
      Only Orchid

              
                   Wonderful Water Lily

                 Enchanting Echinacea

                       Red Roses

                               Shining Sunflowers
 

Snowflakes dance,
in chilled air.

Children,
bound through,
fields of daisies.

Kind
Innocent looking
Terrific
The cutest things
Eventually turn into full-grown cats
Not that much in their brain
Soft fur

Let’s not pretend.
It is for children anyway.
Time to grow up.
No more make-believe.
These are not the lighthearted tales we played as children.
There is a dragon, but he does not wear scales,
and there is a castle, which I have yet to find.
There is a prince, though he does not wear armor of silver or gold.
But let's not pretend.
We are not in a storybook.
We cannot turn the page and skip to the happy part.
We cannot read our favorite lines again and again.
When the pages become worn from overuse, they don’t rip away.
They cling on, painful tears that drag on heart and soul.
So why pretend?
The spine of our story, love, is peeling away.
I can only still see the letters because my fingers have memorized them
from tracing them time and time again,
until the lettering has flaked off.
But we are not playing games.
There is no magic spell,
no potion,
no bag of tricks.
Knife wounds to the heart can’t be healed by anything other than doctor’s care,
and let's face it— neither of us has insurance.
I can’t sail away on a broom and forget my worries.
You can’t drink from a vial and forget your woes.
We are humans.
And we need to work things out the hard way.
So stop pretending that we are fine.
Fine is a four letter word.
Let's not pretend that everything is the same, when we know it never will be.

One day, in the year of 1999, I was walking down Old Creak Road when I walked by The Creaking House.  The Creaking House was an old torn-apart mansion that a rich family used to live in.  This is the story of The Creaking House.

In the year of 1921, at the creaking house (at the point it was not known as The Creaking House), there lived a rich family: one daughter Lindsey Creak, one son Michel Creak, one dog Sam, one mother Millie Creak, and one father John Creak.  That day the children were playing with each other when they heard a knock at the door.  John answered it.

An old lady with red eyes stood at the door.  The two kids hid behind their mother and father.  The old lady had almost white skin with flat white hair and a pair of glasses.  The old lady's name was Maple.

Maple explained that she lived in Rodney Lane.  She told John that her husband had died and she couldn't afford her house anymore.  The family didn't understand because Rodney Lane had been torn down by them nearly ten years ago.

The family invited Maple in.  Millie offered Maple some tea while the kids cautiously stayed away from Maple.  Maple's glowing red eyes were fixed tightly on the basement door.

Later that night, Maple asked if she could kindly live with them until she passed in a few months.  Sure enough, John and Millie said, "Yes."  The kids weren't so sure but they let her stay anyway.

That night, when it was time to go to bed, Maple slept downstairs.  During the night, Michel and Lindsey heard moaning.  They went to check on Maple, and she was in bed.  The moaning had stopped.  They went upstairs and went to bed.  They heard creaking from the basement. Read more »

I was outside in my neighbor's driveway, waiting for the sight of the familiar bright yellow bus grunting and groaning down the hill towards my neighbor's house, our bus stop. My ears were turning red from the cool fall air, as I joined my little brother in an exciting game of tag. After circling around the blue dirt-splattered SUV parked in the driveway, my brother ran the other way. "Emily, come and get me!" he teased. I was about to turn and chase him all the way to Mars, when I saw something sincerely strange. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a huge tornado had appeared, and it was swirling straight towards us. The menacing, swirling, dust cloud was getting rapidly closer. The tornado scared me a little, I mean, giant tornadoes simply don't show up in the middle of Vermont on cold fall days. It gobbled up the stop sign and the maple tree beside the road, coming straight for us. I only had one thought. No, not "help!", but "rugs!" I turned, and sprinted for the house behind me. Bursting through my neighbor's front door, I didn't stop to think. My shoes ground dirt into their clean hardwood floor, and the sudden blast of noise greatly disturbed their peacfully slumbering cats lying near the windowsill. Quickly, I grabbed the nearest rug I could find, which was not very good judgment. I pulled anxiously but it wouldn't budge. This was reasonable, I later realized, considering that the red-and-blue flowered rug was huge and resting below a heavy wooden dining room table. I quickly spotted another rug though. This time it was something more within my reach. I snatched up the green and blue oval-shaped rug out from under my neighbors' sink, and examined it. "Hmmm... This one seems  perfect for flying."

Some memories
Can be hard to grasp
For they are so very slim,
Hard to hold onto in your mind,

Like Squirming, slippery fish

Everyone in the world-
Must wish that their memories
Were fatter,
Plumper,
A bit more meaty.

If only they had fed
Their memory more lunch that day-
It might have remembered more

If only they had given up their
Whole leg of chicken
During dinner that day
Their memories might have stayed

Those precious thoughts might not have slipped
Through the prison bars
Of their brain-
For if those memories had been larger,
They would have gotten their porky selves
Stuck-
Where that person wanted them-
In their memory forever

Pencils are annoying because

They break a lot

And I have to sharpen them.

And in the morning,

I forget to grab a pencil

And all the good pencils

Are taken when I remember

So I usually get a no-eraser pencil

And have to make no mistakes.

That is why I think

That pencils are annoying.

Life is a passage that sometimes

Collapses

A passage with many twists and turns

As you go farther,

There is no turning back,

Sometimes with support,

Sometimes not.

There is no end,

Only as you grow old,

May you rest.

Only to awake in another life,

Another passage,

And a new beginning.

Unseen and unfelt

Thoughts never thought

Ideas planned but never hatched

Piling up, waiting to be

Sorted out

Flowing on unseen currents

Forever unknown 

Only when the mind grasps

This knowledge does it

Appear to all other things

These ideas, thoughts, and knowledge

Come in many forms only to 

Disappear again to nothingness

Red reminds me of red roses, and I like roses.  Red makes me feel like I am in a warm fireplace.

Orange reminds me of orange flowers, and orange makes me feel like a squishy orange.

Yellow reminds me of lying on the warm beach, enjoying my time in the sun, and yellow makes me feel warm like lying in the warm sun.

Green reminds me of lying on the comfortable green grass, and green reminds me of eating a ripe green apple.  It tastes sour, and I love it.

Blue reminds me of the blue sky, and blue reminds me of looking up in the blue sky and seeing all of the cool blue sky.

Purple reminds me of purple flowers.  Purple reminds me of purple, yummy grapes, and it tasted sour, and I love it.