Noellen Neisner

Watching teachers come and go is a part of life. When they come into my life because of their passion for helping students of all ages, it is even more special. When these people help in ways that effect even how we go about conducting our daily lives, their purpose is complete. There has been too many times where a teacher has been cut short of their job because of a school’s inability to pay to keep them there. Sometimes, even at my old elementary school, it is just the inability to pay for the class that they teach. It is the time to see positive changes in Vermont’s small schools.

The wet, soggy grass tasted so good. After what happened yesterday, I was led to believe that I would never taste this banal, but wonderful meal ever again. Yet, this was an ordinary routine for me no matter what happened in the past.
They came after us again yesterday. I looked over at my younger brother. It was fortuitous that we both escaped. It was hard to believe that my older brother didn't make it. My older sister still looked mournful. Our eyes met. Not wanting to see the sorrow behind them, I quickly went back to grazing. They never shoot at her.

Black and white
Truth and lies
How simple it seems
When you're caught in between

They must coexist
Without one,
The other doesn't stand a chance

Yet, there has to be more

More to life
Than black and white
Truth and lies

Is there anything in between?

White, fluffy clouds
Or dark, menacing ones
Either way when you're caught in between
Always look for the silver-lining.

The stain on the side
Can only be left by her lips
Lightly painted with rouge

The handle that’s broken
Can only be from the little boy
Running and jumping in the yard

The hot coffee inside
Can only be made by the father
Up early enough to brew it

The burn on her hand
Can only be from her father
And it’s always his fault

The quietly sitting mug
Can only be from the girl
It’s her fault for leaving it.

Graduation '10

By Noellen Neisner
Woodstock Union High School, Grade 10

Let’s think for a moment: the first day of second grade. The most exciting part of that day was how your hair looked or what shirt you were wearing. It didn’t matter how you got to school that day. There’s a saying I have heard that says, “It isn’t where you are going, but how you get there.”

Let’s think for a moment. How did you get here today? You might have driven, walked, ridden a bike, or hitched a ride. But, how did you really get here today? Was it a nice, calm ride with a few jokes from the front seat of the car? Was it through fear of the 15-year-old behind the wheel, their first time taking other people’s lives into their hands? Was it unbearable because of the music that your parents were playing? Or, was it serene, just biking along the side of the road, looking at the road beneath you?

I felt your eyes burn my back as my hands striked the keys of the piano. I turned around and smiled at you as I kept playing without looking. You laughed and I was happy. I would do anything to see you happy at my work, or my work of art (as you called it).
I can still faintly see you now, my hands striking this keyboard as I write this story about you. I miss you. My hands nimbly reach for each letter just as they had reached for the specific notes those few years ago.
That night, that last night, you had slept for days. No one had seen your awake eyes brighten up from anything; all hope was lost. That night, that last night, I played my final song for you. I belted my heart out and played the piano as I never had before: perfectly.
As the final note rang through the house, I heard your cries. I ran to your room, and saw a faint smile and a tear drop down below your chin. I grabbed your hand and silently whispered, "I love you, Grandpa."
The next day, I learned that was the last time you would ever hear me on this earth. My heart cried a deep tone of sorrow for my loss.
You left the world doing something you loved: smiling and listening to music. Here I can truly tell myself that you were happy. Music saved you from the pain.
You inspired me, inspired me to think of music as my escape. You, my grandfather, taught me that life isn't about suffering, but in making good with what you have. You, my grandfather, are one of the best things to ever happen to me. I miss you.

Time is melting
Day is breaking
Time to wake up

Your hair never looks
The same as before
Always slightly untidy

We take so much time
To tie our shoes
And button our shirts
Go about our routine

Caught in the wheel
Of every day life
In no way realizing
That we have never lived

Who can truly say
That tying their shoes
Was the happiest and proudest moment

The Ocean of False Reality

By Noellen Neisner
Woodstock Union High School, Grade 10

Here he goes again
That excited look in his eye
The way he stands up straighter
His body moves with his words
As they come pouring out of his mouth
His voice gets louder
All who are around listen -
The climax of the story!

He wrestles the fish to the ground
(His breathing becomes heavier)
The fish thrashes around
(His arms swing high and low)
And finally it stops moving.
The fish was so big
He could barely lift its limp body.

He believes his false reality,
He has tricked himself to believe his own lies
Each time he tells this story
The fish grows and
This time is not the last time
That he will wrestle the monster.

There it is
I remember this
From a long time ago
Lost in my memory

Waves of thoughts pull me in –
Into the ocean of dread
Something bad is going to happen
I know it my head

Here it comes!
This will end badly
The end of the scene:
They all leave sadly.

I try to open my eyes wide, but all I can do is squint. The sun shines so bright and I take it all in. The smell of snow disappears; its white color does, too. The air is warmer; my skin soaks up the rays of the warm sun. I walk along the road, my feet occasionally getting stuck in the mud. The mud sticks to my back as I run down away from the mud and into the green.

The Mannerisms I Have Grown to Love

By Noellen Neisner
Woodstock Union High School, Grade 10

I hate the way you laugh when you’re nervous,
The way you shake hands when we meet,
The way you look off into nothingness.
Your nails are always shorter and shorter and
You run your fingers through your hair.
I hate the way you tap your pen,
The way you cut your food,
The way you stand out in a crowd
With your silly little smile…
It frustrates me so
But it makes me love you even more!

There she stands
Hands in her pockets
There are her eyes
Bulging from their sockets

They well up in fear
As the boy draws near
Looking at the ground
Hearing every pound

The weight on her shoulders
Stronger than boulders
Weighing her down
And creating the frown
On the face of the boy
And her own.

The hallway was silent
They had all long gone
And they would not be back

That was the last time
The last straw
No more
I couldn’t take it!

It hurt those around me
Both near
And far.

It just kept coming back
Taking over my thoughts
Taking over my body
I couldn’t control it.

That’s why I’m here
That’s why I’m telling you
You can do it too.

Just one thing you need
Just one thing to do
Is just tell yourself,

My toes reached into the front of my slippers. My curly red hair was tied back into a loose bun; a few stray strands fell around my eyes. I constantly pushed them back behind my ears as I waited for the class before me to be over. My best friend and I always took classes together since we were very little. We grew up between these four walls.

She stood up from her hard seat at the table and walked up to the bench. She swore to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, but something in her kept saying, “Lie! You’ll get him in trouble!

By Noellen Neisner
Woodstock Union High School, Grade 10

Her heart races
She never studied this part
A
B
C
Or D?
A pencil was sharpened in the back of the room
“Now’s my chance.”
She pushed hard on the pencil
The tip broke instantly.

Slowly she looked around,
Cautiously stood up,
And walked to the back of the classroom.
Her eyes darted to the paper of the boy

By Noellen Neisner
Woodstock Union High School, Grade 10

Tied up to strings he sits
His wooden body mangled in the corner
Dust collecting on his arms
His paint slowly fading away.

But he waits to tell his stories
He tells the stories of his master
And who his master wishes he were.

As he sat in the corner
He remembered a time
A time when everything was real

Weeks go by -
practice,
practice,
practice!

The day draws closer
Practice is more vigorous
I can't wait until the concert!

I can't wait to show him
All of my hard work
It all comes down to tonight.

As the darkness rolls in
He does not come
He does not show up
My heart breaks.

Onto the icy roads we drive.

I understand now
That the roses I hold,

In the backyard,
The trees see all
Every cut
Every scrape
All equanimity
And all disasters.

They stand tall
above all
giving shade
and dropping leaves.

The backyard’s history is very long
And the tree knows all.

If only we could ask
We would know
What the old,
Wise tree knows.

Who lived here?
What happened here?

The tree cannot tell
Of the adventures

The cold air burned my hot lungs as we took our lap around the field. Two by two we ran, supporting each other: showing the opposing side what really made a team. Even though our cleats dug deep into the grass and dirt below us, we felt as if we were flying.

The cold door knob turns
The light flips on overhead
A jungle in here!

Just like that, he was gone. My whole world fell apart around me. I didn't know him anymore. Who was this man? How could I not know the real him?

This does not mean he’s bad. This does not mean he is different. Sure, he’s changed, but he’s changed for the better.

No! He is different! I don’t know him anymore! Maybe I never have!

What’s in a number?
What’s so special about the number three?
One…
Two…
Two and half…
Three!
Times up
Go stand in the corner!

That’s not very fun.

Oh, three peas in a pod!
No wait,
That’s two.

Well, there’s Goldilocks
And the three bears:
She got three shares of porridge
Instead of the fair share of one
That’s lucky!

My feet are frozen in place; I cannot move, my head is pounding. My eyes are glued open, watching this grotesque sight. The mill was said to be a safe place to make money for my family, but I was wrong. Long hours and small wages were not what I had in mind. Not to mention the danger.

I am waiting
Where are you?
I am waiting
When will you get here?
I am waiting
The leaves are gone
I am waiting
The costumes are put away
I am waiting
The turkey has been eaten
I am waiting
There are icy puddles
I am waiting
The day is drawing near
I am waiting
The lights have been strung
I am waiting
The ornaments have been hung
I am waiting
When will you come?

I am waiting

If only there was something, something that could make all the bad feelings go away-an elixir that can bring simplicity back into my life. If only there was an escape. This feeling of sadness, this feeling of being consumed is taking over me. I cannot run away, it is all around me.

Stepping Out of the Shadows

By Noellen Neisner
Woodstock Union High School, Grade 10

He stood in the shadow for most of his life
Scared of the light
Afraid of the embarrassment
Fearful that he would make a fool of himself.

Today he stands in the light
In front of his class
He felt his ears heating up
His face in return
Sweat droplets forming across his brow
But today he was ready,
Ready to face the world head-on.

He looked to the ground
Then to the sky
Shook his shoulders
Placed his feet
Picked up his paper
And read.

The class sat in silence
The poor boy’s life flashed before his eyes
“This is it,” he thought
“They hated it!”
Again his face turned three shades of red
But then the class cheered
The teacher was stunned at his writing
Amazed at his proficiency.

Today the boy woke in the shadows
And learned to sleep in the light.

I sit on the long
Backless couch as I wait
For the slipper fitter
To arrive

“Have you ever
Done pointe before?”
She asks smiling
Pulling box after box
Off the shelf
Behind her

“No
Never.”
I answer justly

Out of a box
Comes a pink ballet slipper
No ribbons
No ties
Only slipper
Brand new

Her long fingers
That match her dancing legs
Reach behind her

Mist lifts up from the pavement in the late evening on this cold autumn day. I look at the cracks in the cement. They all lead to the house. I heard the house was lovely once. I heard it was beautiful a long time ago. I still believe it is. Through all of its heartache, through all of its sorrow, a spirit keeps the house beautiful.

Things unseen to most
Only visible to me:
Imagination?