General writing

TELEVISIONMAN

By Rowan Dunfey
Richmond Middle School, Grade 7

And then,
as if a switch had flipped in his mind,
It dawned on him -
crashed down on him
like the world upon Atlas -
That he is just that man,
That television man
That bluesuithaircut television man
Who says what the teleprompter tells him to say
And feels what the teleprompter tells him to feel
That things are bad, but then again
He doesn't know bad like they do –
Only knows
It’s a lot worse
Than his bad –
But who knows?
When the world drops
off of the shoulders that have held it for so long
Will it be him that gets
Shaken off?

Anger

By Cora Sloan
Richmond Middle School, Grade 7

crept into the back of my mind
setting my eyes and my mouth
on fire
its eyes
making me clench my fists
its hands
making my mouth utter sharp words
stinging those
around me.

I am from a woman
from a man that once were in love

I am from a true love
from a broken heart

I am from a thousand memories
from the many to come

I am from a first kiss
from a last good bye

I am from laughter
from my family

I am from the heart
from me

What does the future hold for us?
Smog filled skies and poison cars,
And broken land with useless dust
And nature’s beauty behind bars?

Can I ever show my kids
(if they ever come my way)
The beauty of a sunset
At the end of the day?

Can I walk into a forest,
And surround myself with trees,
Yet know that it will remain,
For me to visit as I please?

I know that I can today
Do all the things I’ve said,
But when today is yesterday,
Will all these things be dead?

Is every little thing
We care about so much,
Not worth it in the end
Since we’re making such a big fuss?

Can I walk outside my house,
At any average day,
And breathe in the cool, fresh air,
safe for me to stay?

Will the earth come crumbling down;
Just from our own race,
And all the creatures suffer,
Because we didn’t solve this case?

What luxury is worth this damage;
Including your own car
When every thing suffers,
And the time away is not that far?

Would your own needs
really matter to tend,
when possibly the whole world
would come to an end?

Can we all just live our lives
Usual and long,
And expect that nothing at all
Will go the least bit wrong?

What if all you thought
wasn’t right,
And your life was destroyed
Just overnight?

This problem is enormous
As we gradually take heed,
So we must fix it quickly,
Using words, thoughts
And deeds.

She stands there,
Words spilling from her mouth,
Creating a pool of lies around her.
Drowning anyone who gets too close,
Making them believe
Every word she speaks,
Every lie she tells.
They fall for her trap,
Fall for her lies.
She stands there,
A pen in hand
As she scribbles out the truth
With words of her own.
The paper’s tacked to the wall,
For everyone to see,
For everyone to believe
That the real truth is fake.
That’s she right,
We’re wrong.
When it’s the other way around.
She stands there,
Taping over our mouths
So we can’t speak,
So we can’t prove her wrong.
Our screams are silenced
To just a whisper behind the door.
She stands there,
Blocking us from getting through.
A barrier keeping out the truth,
Forcing us into the shadows
Into the corner.
She stands there,
Pushing us off the cliff.
And we keep falling,
Farther and farther.
Until we crash far below her.
Defeated.
Never able to contradict
Her again.
Never able to tell the truth.
She stands there,
Ruling over them.
Leading them in
The opposite direction,
And they just follow,
She their queen,
They her subjects.

Dots

By Carter LaCrosse
Richmond Middle School, Grade 7

Dots.
The best thing in the world.
I love
that luscious smell
that chewy goo
and that scrumptious taste.

When I eat a Dot
I savor every moment
that the sweet taste
mixes with the liquids
of my mouth.

Dots
are my favorite candy
and they always will
be.

I am
Staring out the window
And the
Shimmer
Of the sky
Reminds me of
Your pretty eyes.
Each time I
Lay my head down, I
See me beside you.
Nothing and everything
Intertwine
Yet, somehow it
Doesn't seem so
Catastrophic
Anymore; maybe because
You're so captivating

What do people think when they pass one another on the street?
Some nod – a simple gesture of politeness, but do they really mean it?
Once in a rare while, a friendly hello escapes one’s mouth…
More often, sadly, people appear too self-absorbed to acknowledge the existence of others.
Others yet are intimidating; to smile or to nod would be taken as an offensive remark.

Much can be learned about a stranger’s character in this manner.
Do they walk upright, eyes on the horizon, eager to meet their destination?
Or do they watch their feet as the scrape the ground with each monotonous step, as though they have neither ambition nor excitement in their life?

Some read the newspaper as they walk – a subtle signal that they have no interest in the world around them…
Some walk briskly as time is of the essence.
Others amble, taking the time to soak in the sun’s rays.

The people walking come in all sorts of shapes and sizes.
Their one common thread is that they all have somewhere to go.

Our Real Mother

By Melanie Subbiah
Richmond Middle School, Grade 7

At age three,
I won the toddler marathon
and could outrun
a blowing leaf.
But no matter how fast
my chubby, young legs
could carry me
I could not escape
my fate.

The doctor said
my condition was unstable;
I would have to be
hospitalized for life.
My mother,
having six other children
to look after
and not wanting
a sick youngster around
when her friends
came to visit,
readily agreed.

The whitewashed walls
and shiny linoleum
covered by beeping machinery
are my home now,
but mostly my prison.
True, it is where
my heart lies
hooked up to a monitor
but it is not
where my spirit rests.

For only four days
every year
(one in every season)
I return to my family’s home,
which is no longer mine as well.
My mother
avoids me
and my siblings
cling to her
as though
I am a hideous beast.
Only nature
decorates itself for me
celebrating
my day of freedom.

In winter
crystalline confetti
tumbles
from the sky
and the hibernating world
is covered
in a soft downy blanket.
But the wind
is there
to cheer me on
with whoops and howls
as I breathe
the fresh air.

In spring
bright green blades
tickle
my feet
and delicate drops
bathe me
as I slosh
through Earth’s
new coat of skin
while birds
sing to me
of happiness.

In Summer,
nature’s great eye
gazes down at me
brilliant and glinting
from the sky
watching over me.
The only relief
from its piercing stare
is to plunge
into a cool pond
spray dancing
above me
as I splash
through the surface.

In Fall
sparks fall
from the trees
lighting the whole world
on fire
and warming
the frosty air
with vibrant
colors.
As I glide through the shadows
the wind embraces me
and I
feel safe.

Such beauty
as I see outdoors
I believe to be
the accomplishment
of a superhuman being
so powerful
when its wrath ensues
that it can destroy
whole cities.

In your last minutes of life
When death comes upon
What do you see?
What do you smell?
What do you hear, taste, and touch
Is it a blinding light?
A flaming inferno
Angelic faces of one gone bye
In my opinion what you will see
Is love in its entirety
Friends and family loves embrace
Caring on each and every face
So what happens when death is upon?
Who knows till it has dawned?

Speaking of Needs . . .

By Kennah McMahon
Essex High School, Grade 10

I want to be able to fall asleep at night
Without feeling like dreams are an escape.

I want to climb to the top of the
Mountain and lie on the
Emerald carpet of moss

And hold his hand in mine without
That nervous, boiling-insides feeling
Racking my entire body.

I would love to spend a few days
With my kindergarten teacher
And try to understand what

She tried to teach me 11 years ago.
I want to have the faith and peace
Of a young child again.

I want justice and equal opportunity
For all of us.
I want to be able to look back

On every word and touch and
Be able to justify the inappropriateness
Of them all. All I need is the

Inner peace, that would wash
Over me like a baptism of forgiveness
For my lazy tongue.

I want to drive through California in the passenger seat
Of a pink roadster, and speed its silver wheels along the rough
Roads that line the glass shores. I want to step into Hollywood

Without feeling inferior
But have the freedom and
Audacity to leave it all behind.

I want color and music, milk and cookies,
Fire to warm myself by at night, and water to bathe in.
I want to sit on the couch,

Drink a fine cup of tea, and hear you talk me
To sleep every night. I want to be able to
Surprise you and enlighten your mind.

I want to sing from the heart
Every time.

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Your thoughts on my thoughts

By Ellie Laukaitis
Williston Central School, Grade 8

Have you had a time
when you imagine every conversation,
every last word,
and then
they never get said?
When something's planned to go one way,
but then it backfires
and the getaway car turns left
instead of right.
And that's when you realize windows are two-way.
and maybe every feeling
is two-way also...
so you look at it the other way
and imagine speaking about that
Like with the archery target...
and the sharks and minnows
and the fact that
you didn't drown
on your 200 breaststroke.
Did you even watch me?
I'm sorry, but I believe I'm at the point
where you can't remember where conversations end
and thoughts and emails
begin.
Did I ever tell you about that day?
Did you know
being spontaneous
is actually planning,
then forgetting
(or forgetting to forget
and actually remembering,
and then you're not spontaneous at all but you have to still make it look like you haven't been planning this conversation for the past week or so, which of course you haven't, so maybe really
the people who are good at being spontaneous
are actually just really good actors).
Did you read
everything I said? Everything I wrote?
Can you hear all the unsaid words
I hung in the air
with fishing line
last August?
Maybe I underestimated you,
my great rambling friend
Maybe, by some freak chance,
you understand
and you can read this
even though you'll never read this
and you feel the same way
and maybe you could hear the whole time

and now you're left standing there
wondering where
all those unsaid words
go.

The Deserted Room

By Eli Millman
Fairfield Center School, Grade 8

The wind whistled through the dark deserted room
Calling to the ones that left far too soon
It knocked over the chairs
And blew open cupboards
As if searching for something left there by others
It howled
It screeched
Then the wind cried
As the soft summer breeze
Rested
Then died.

This Sweet Pie

By Tommy Bowen
Benson Village School, Grade 7

This sweet pie
It smells so very delicious
It smells as good as
The summer breeze
When I go closer
It feels like I have discovered
A chest full of treasure
I see it now
On the windowsill
It steams
Like a nice warm bath
Ready to get into
I have a piece
It makes me feel warm
Loved
Like a mother with her new child
This sweet pie