Leah Thomas

They say, teachers, adults, parents, that high school is preparing you for the ‘real’ world, that school is easier then the things you will face in the real world. They say that school is meaningful and that you will use everything you learn, they say that books such as The Scarlet Letter, readings like Shakespeare will help you further your career, and that by reading these books they will change your life. That’s what they say… and they’re wrong.

High school is the real world.

High school is full of those real life people you will meet, those long hours, working on weekends, vacations. Teachers like bosses, some are nice, some expect work to be done, sick or ill, they still want it in, which leads to the long weeks. Almost seven hours of school each and every day, then to come home with more work. Perhaps two or three hours more, a day of nine or ten hours of work. They say that a day job can be stressful and that you’ll work long hours. But you’re already doing that.

High school is the real world.

There are those who don’t believe this logic, they say that when they were in school times were just the same. They are not the ones with the homework, the ones with the exams to pass, the tests to fail. Times have changed. They may have walked uphill both ways, but the students of this modern world are climbing a vertical mountain.

They say that life beyond the safety of school will be a struggle for some, it will be challenging and tough, isn’t that what high school is? Students who have spent sleepless nights, up till twelve, then rising before the sun, countless hours spent on projects that are simply discarded after a small letter grade. A reward? Working long hours in an office to bring new ideas, to bring together a letter, a document, a film, a story, is much more so, these are not simple discarded, but regarded.

High school is the real world.

Grandma

By Leah Thomas
Woodstock Union High School, Grade 10

G reat friend
R eally good cook
A nd above all
N othing bad
D oes love to play with
M e, house and tea parties
A grandma is oh, so special

Calloused hands lifted the shovel up once more as the farmer sighed; his hands were round and large, crooked from years of working hard, sunup to sundown. Setting his hands upon the cracked wooden shovel he turned towards me, I cast my eyes down, embarrassed, and studied the old shovel. It was cracked and missing the top of its handle, the metal bottom part was rust covered for years of use.

In Its Place

By Leah Thomas
Woodstock Union High School, Grade 10

Pulse quickens, breathing stops
Sweaty palms, clammy hands
The pressure builds, stomach flops
The audience stands
Curtains open, the applause is heard
Stepping from the dark
At first silent like a little bird
But confidence grows, turns to a bark
Loud and proud
The fear is gone
In its place
Is confidence

Premonition

By Leah Thomas
Woodstock Union High School, Grade 10

Premonition,
That eerie feeling
By its definition
Puts you flat against the ceiling
A false belief,
Or perhaps a true prediction,
A thought taker, a thief
It could become a horrible addiction,
Might be possible and come true
A forewarning of the next year
Something that’s stickier then glue
It’s coming close, it’s almost here
That eerie feeling
Premonition

The Excitement of Waiting

By Leah thomas
Woodstock Union High School, Grade 10

Waiting,
Forever an internal struggle
The feeling of excitement,
Confusion,
Nervous energy,
Awaiting your turn in a line
The joy of finally reaching the end

Waiting
For that special day,
For the Christmas bells to ring,
For the candles to finally be blown out,
We are all just waiting for the right moment

Waiting
Just one moment is all we want
A split second of fame
The perfect minute
The thing we have all been waiting for

As we are all just waiting for
Excitement

Green is the feeling of spring
It is the smell and taste of summer
It is like the green light for the on coming warm weather
Green is a sign for spring

Unlike the red colors of fall,
Whose colors are the stop light of life.
As the colors of red fade away it turns to white
Leaving cold bitter months, no life, bare trees

White is the colors of cold
Long months deprived of warmth

Green is the feeling of spring
It is the smell and taste of summer
It is like the green light for the on coming warm weather
Green is a sign for spring

Unlike the red colors of fall,
Whose colors are the stop light of life.
As the colors of red fade away it turns to white
Leaving cold bitter months, no life, bare trees

White is the colors of cold
Long months deprived of warmth

Green is the feeling of spring
It is the smell and taste of summer
It is like the green light for the on coming warm weather
Green is a sign for spring

Unlike the red colors of fall,
Whose colors are the stop light of life.
As the colors of red fade away it turns to white
Leaving cold bitter months, no life, bare trees

White is the colors of cold
Long months deprived of warmth

Green is the feeling of spring
It is the smell and taste of summer
It is like the green light for the on coming warm weather
Green is a sign for spring

Unlike the red colors of fall,
Whose colors are the stop light of life.
As the colors of red fade away it turns to white
Leaving cold bitter months, no life, bare trees

White is the colors of cold
Long months deprived of warmth

Green is the feeling of spring
It is the smell and taste of summer
It is like the green light for the on coming warm weather
Green is a sign for spring

Unlike the red colors of fall,
Whose colors are the stop light of life.
As the colors of red fade away it turns to white
Leaving cold bitter months, no life, bare trees

White is the colors of cold
Long months deprived of warmth

Mud Season
The Paved roads are fine
They’ve got no good reason
It’s the back country roads that are covered with brine
Stuck in the mud, tires no longer seen
Yelling and shouting as it spins out of control
The once washed can, now no longer clean
Afraid to say this it might just roll
The roads of the sticks
Come with so much more taste
Each comes with it’s own little tricks

Iraq: This is War

By Leah Thomas
Woodstock Union High School, Grade 10

The dust and the heat
Dry deserts, darkened skies
Walking on tired feet
Out here there is no use for ties
Oil and disaster has made us come
What will make us leave?
Will we fight until numb
Until our homeland has to grieve
We’ve been here too long
But we don’t give in, don’t give up

P.roud of what you do
R.eally, I didn’t know
I.t’s amazing
D.on’t Rub it In
E.xcessive pride = Arrogant

Faking it has never been hard
People do it all the time
Tis as easy as flipping a card
Or squeezing a lime

A lie
A sweet little story
A cunning move, ever so sly
There might be more, hidden deep in a quarry
But how can one little lie, on move of deceit
An escape to get away from a pressured situation
Ahhh but it is so sweet
With the tall tale, the lie and it’s creation
Maybe meant to protect one you love
Save them from the terrible truth
Bringing them up, up and above

C.heating
H.ow do you feel?
E.verything lost; last resort
A.lso a feeling of guilt
T.alented way of getting by
I.sn’t everything that way?
N.othing is done truthfully
G.oing down hill

By Leah Thomas
Woodstock Union High School, Grade 10

Mr Bush,

Life is full of so many things
I know this for a fact
Fun things, crazy things, wonderful thing
Everything if full of life, but what is it really

It is the feel of wet dew across your feet
Summer Nights spent by a fire, catching fireflies

Walking at night viewing the millions of stars under
One moon, it’s light making everything visible,

A
Place
to escape
Free from noise,
School,
Stress,
Even the everyday
Hardships like cliques
It is a place to be free
Just sit back and relax
No cares, no nothing
Peace and quiet
Is all that’s there
Nothing more,
Nothing less
Just
A
Place
To escape

Sweaty Palms
Tense Muscles
The heat of the game
Field torn
Cleat marks everywhere
All tied up 2 and 2
Crowds cheer
Teammates yell encouragingly
But they won’t help you now
Seconds tick down
Feet dance in place awaiting the ball
Awaiting to boot it up field
Get it to the midfield or beyond
The ball comes, one quick move
One second to think it all through
One deep breath

Open the door
An explosion of junk
Heaps of clothes
Fragments of things
Puzzle pieces
Leftover crumbs
Empty water bottles
Paper plates
Old shoes
Small trinkets
Everything
A memory
Stuff it all in
Close the door
Relive the memories
The fun
The laughter
Open the door

The thoroughbred, a grey beast
Green saddle blanket
The number three
White,
Bold
Born on the third month,
The third day
At three in the morning
Only fitting the stud
Was marked with the number
He had lost
Two times already
Dead last,
No effort
No heart
No win here he’d move on
Be someone else
Something different
Sent away a ranch horse
A police horse

Early morning dew
Silent buildings; dark
Feet crammed in to his shoe
Stars above, a small spark
Bright lantern

The boy of nine
Working from dawn ‘till dusk
Without so much of a whine
The old mill, it’s certain musk
Of dust

Spinning Cotton day after day
Cramped and cold
Missing the sweet scent of hay
His old life holed
Away

From the South he had come

By Leah Thomas
Woodstock Union High School, Grade 10

My frozen hands carefully slipped the iron bit into Dusty’s mouth, looping the brow band around her ears. Mounting up I sat down in the deep leather seat of the western saddle, gently pressing my booted feet into the mare’s furry sides we moved off, a swirling gust of snow covering any and all tracks. The red barn slowly grew distant as they trudged through the snow, almost knee high, it was light so the horse could easily move through it. I was outfitted in long johns, jeans, snow pants, three shirts a sweatshirt and a windproof, water proof jacket, must have looked like the abominable snowman. My hands were gloved with soft leather gloves, and a thick woolen hat was atop my head, sighing softly I lifted the reins up a tad, letting Dusty know to move on. Swiftly collecting her lope I thought about the warm fire I had left behind to go and search for some lost cattle, I knew our ranch depended on them, but why did they have to go missing now, during a snowstorm. Spying what I assumed to be the last of our fence line, we slowed to a trot as I searched for the wooden part to jump. Finding it I asked Dusty to pick up the lope and steered her towards the wooden railing. She flew over it, clearing the small jump with a foot to spare, moving back into a trot I moved onwards for a while more before topping the crest of a hill.

Stress is most awful
Yet Teachers Pile homework
Never-ending stream

Glowing from above, the moon
Shines down on the horse
A class will be going in soon
The grey tail is course
Mane carefully braided
Waiting months for this moment
The rider’s jacket is faded
The last component
To show who they really are
The gates spread wide
They might win and become a star
The girl and horse enter with pride
At a trot they dance
Long limbs extended, grace

The year 2100, a world of complete and utter disaster, the result of global warming and naive people.

Fantasy Land

By Leah Thomas
Woodstock Union High School, Grade 10

By Leah Thomas
Woodstock Union High School, Grade 10

Soaring through the Endless Sky
Wings Unfolded Stretched Wide
Seeing more with the naked eye
A Fresh view to the Ocean’s Tide
A New Experience, a New Life
The Powers Given To Me
As Delicate as Knife
I scream with glee
The Fun of It
To Be Free