10.1.12

Losing you was like forgetting how to breathe. It was like losing an essential in my life.All the darkness in the world seeped into my veins like sap running through a maple tree,cold and thick.It's funny the tricks time can play on your mind. I still believe I will hear your voice not in my heart, no but in my ears.Your sweet,melodic voice taking me to a place that no words could ever explain.I never even began to comprehend what it'd be like without you until you were gone. Sometimes I wish a miracle would happen that would bring you back to me. I regret every wasted moment I spent without you. Every now and again I can vaguely hear your voice urging me to move forward. Not that I should forget the past but live in the moment. You say: don't worry about the past it's over, and don't worry about the future it hasn't arrived. Live in the moment and everything will work out just fine.The birds will fly, the sun will shine,the rain will fall. I can see the cold December winds dancing in the snow,and I know your spirit will always remain,through grief,sorrow,joy,excitement,fear. Knowing that come May the birds will sing,the flowers will bloom, and the sun will shine gives me hope. Everything happens for a reason,whether or not the reason it is clear to us,everything in life that unfolds will only strengthen us not weaken us whether it strengthens us over time or instantly.I stare at your picture on my desk and smile spreads accross my face.It's clear to me you are my guardian angel. I shall not be afraid because you will protect me through thick and thin,I love you.

I stood at the window, watching the red tail lights disappear. It was to the ambulance where my mom was. It was a head on car crash with some idiot that wasn’t watching where he was going. My dad died when I was 6 he died from cancer. So what am I going to do, I have 2 brothers one 1 year the other 4 years. I’m 13 I can’t take care of two little boys. My mom isn’t going to make it the nurse says. I’ll have to live with some stranger. But I’m not getting split up from my two brothers, I won’t let that happen.

“Sophie!” A strange voice calls. “SOPHIE! GET DOWN HERE!” I rush to the top of these stairs. I’m confused; I don’t know where I am. “Yes?” I say. “Clean the bathroom!” Um excuse me? I don’t even know this lady. Long black hair, about 5”8, she looks about 40, long green dress with red heels, bright red lip stick, and a kind of mellow green eye shallow. “I don’t think I need to? This isn’t my house. Where am I? Where are my brothers?” I say. “Is that back talk!” She says. “Um yeah that’s how you communicate.” I say with a smart remark with a little bit of a smirk. “If you want to see your brothers you will clean the bathroom.” The old rat says. “Oh? Is that so? I think you will let me see my brothers no matter what.” I say. SMASH! She through a glass at me. Thank gosh she missed. “What the heck? You still haven’t answered my question?” I say “You’re in an orphanage. You’re here until someone will take you to their house.” She said (I don’t know who would want to but) She said under her breath.

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Confectionary Reminiscence

By Zoe Riell

Zoe Riell, a 9^th grade homeschooler from Poultney, wrote this poem while “thinking about the whimsicality of being in love during the hyperactive and crazy teenage years.”  

Who knew that love was so tasty?

Do you remember those strawberry hats we made?

I leaned in and whispered (just for you)

A whipped-cream dream;

You told me not to worry my silly shortcake mind.

Whipped cream doesn’t curdle under heat:

All that sugar is good for something, you know.

Do you remember those chocolate-chip chairs we made?

You sat me down

And knelt, ever-so-serious;

You told me that you loved my cookie-dough (for the first time)

There wasn’t enough chocolate in those chairs to make them stable that night:

They collapsed in the place of my knobbly, confection-crusted knees.

Do you remember those ladyfinger locks we made?

We took turns with each other’s hearts,

Tying them down (I couldn’t stop giggling).

It was just a rainy-day-bakery-fun idea – I never thought that…

You said the locks would dissolve in warm water;

They didn’t.

Do you remember those lollipop lips we made?

We took turns practicing kisses (that were meant for each other)

On those sugar-spun chops. Read more »

I walk through the woods listening to the joyful bird sounds, not thinking about anything really -just letting my thoughts wander to the sky. I come out of the forest into a large, grassy meadow and that's when I see it. The brown and white animal lying on its side in the grass. Slowly and quietly I tiptoe closer. I gasp. A brown deer with a stomach as white as a blanket of snow lies there heaving and snorting. It's not only the deer itself that is amazing, it is what I am witnessing. A clear bag of water is erupting from the doe's back end. The bag breaks, the deer gives one last push and a small. dark, wet, bloody sac slides out onto the soft green grass. The doe stands up, licking off her newborn fawn. I watch, mesmerized by the shock, joy, impossibieness and magnificence of it. The young fawn lets out a cry almost as small as a hummingbird's chirp and tries to stand up, but falls. It tries again. After many tries, the baby walks slowly and shakily toward its mother's back legs, searching for nourishment. Finally, it grabs a teat. The mother stands quitely and patiently nursing her young fawn.  Read more »

Sand, wind

Fingers on the ground

Water, skies Read more »

As the waves come closer to the shore

I can hear the ocean roar

Still I sit on the damp sandy beach

Wondering what lessons life still has to teach

For my love  I draw a heart

Who seems to be a world apart

But here I sit, feeling alone

While you're in another time zone

Looking out to the sea, I hope and pray

This heart I drew doesn't get washed away

So into the heart I place seashells

A place forever our love to dwell

Soon to be home to see you again

But for now, this sandy heart is my friend

You were wearing a green shirt, the first time I saw you.

Your hair was a dirty blonde,

Your eyes were sparkled green, a permanent smirk glued on your face.

You were beautiful.

The air smelled like summer, if there is such a scent.

I felt like I’d just been punched in the gut when I looked at you.

I watched you stand up there, smirking,

Your hands jammed into the pockets of your striped shorts.

I could taste the bittersweet want.

I could hear your voice and wanted to hear it forever.

I watched you walk away.

Your hands in your pockets.

Your flip-flops flipping.

Walking a walk I learned to love.

I watched you walk away.

I wish I had gone after you.

I can no longer see your clover green shirt.

Can no longer hear your flip-flops.

Can no longer taste the want I felt for you then.

Can no longer smell the perfect,

Scent summer nights bring.

But I can still feel the regret.

Why? Why are you drawing a flower on the sand if the rain might come? If the tide might come in?Will you watch the flower wash away? Or will you protect the flower so it will be on the sand forever, for everybody to see?

While you draw, the wind blows. Other pieces of sand goes with the wind. Will you're drawing go with the wind? Will you're drawing slowly disapear, sand grain by sand grain.

All these questions but no answers. Why?

I feel the echoes of performers past,

who have sat and bent their heads

to better hear the music.

I feel the pause each person takes—

that extra silence

of an indrawn breath—

as he, too, waits

for the music to come.

Teardrop notes

shivering on the cusp of realization,

long fingers drawing patterns

on the ivory stepping-stones,

pathways of sound.

Morning light and contemplative music warms the air.

Are you afraid to speak,

afraid to beak the spell?

Can you feel the spirits of a thousand audiences

watching from these seats,

conjured by the music?

Wrote this in my incredible Creative Writing class...more scribbles yet to come. 

I wished for a girl with buttermilk braids,
A squiggle of sunshine and mother’s pearl cream.
She was nesting in my secret window-box,
Nursing a rag doll of sunset silk.
I dreamed I fed her cornspun moonshine;
Her teeth were ice cube straight when she laughed. Read more »

Remember the sound of glittering air 

dancing around our small bodies,

dodging dandelions

and weaving through raspberry thickets.

Remember the pines,

shrouding the cabin like an oversized blanket.

Remember the stars,

resting like little eyes in the black velvet of the night,

shining with curiosity.

        So I sit, waiting for my ride, letting my mind wander on this glorious afternoon; the wind is cool in my face and the sun warm on my back, quick flurries of air hinting at the impending autumn. A man, no a boy? Younger than a man, to lanky and lean, yet taller, stronger, with more of an air of life than a boy; there’s always those we can't truly describe without evoking age old images in our hearts – emotions, prejudices, characters laid out so that one word, simple like man, will set off the character before I can describe him fully. So keep your mind blank when I say this young man, this lanky tall awkward young man, walks past me as I sit. On the cold stone steps I lurk, I prey on the faces of the innocent passerbys; and on this glorious day, he walked past. Everything about him was dark: his dark hair, shadowed with a dark hat, wrapped firmly in his dark coat, and his dark green eyes, like a twilight forest, downcast and mischievous on good days and sullen and forlorn on the common lesser days – yes, he was dark indeed. The forest-green eyes, I couldn’t see them; but if he was my character, in my novel, they would be green. Yes, what a great opening line that would make; perhaps, “His dark green eyes and his dark black heart…”. Read more »

The waves were calm

The sand was warm

From that day on

She’d be forever forlorn

She met him there

She lost her breath

How she would fare

Would feel like death

Read more »

Gown made of silk flapping in the wind
Incredible white sand getting carved into imaginative carvings
Right to left her dark brown hair swings in the wind with all the sand around her
Lying on the hot sand drawing all she can think of

It is a warm day, so I decide to walk to the beach.

When I get there I walk until I find a section of beach that is deserted.

I sit down in the warm sand, and draw a heart.

The heart is empty, but if I were in love, I would put his initials in it.

I'm not in love, and this makes me very sad.

I will leave this heart for somone else to put her and his initals in.

I will leave this heart until the wind blows it away.

January 9

He smiles at me in the hallway. I am surprised and excited, so I rush off.

January 16

He sits next to me at lunch, of his own volition.

January 25

He asks me if I want to go to the football game with him. I say yes.

February 4 

We are almost always together. He walks me to class and to the bus.

February 9

He takes me to the Santa Monica beach. I sit in the sand and draw a heart, with our initials in it. He takes my picture without my knowledge. As I turn to smile at him, a wave washes the heart away.

February 10

I see him with the lead cheerleader, talking.

February 11

I see the duo laughing, as if at a private joke.

February 12

I ask him about it. He says it's a project for school. But they aren't in any of the same classes or clubs.

February 13

I seehim going over to her house. He texts me later, saying that he needs some time.

February 14: Midnight

I break up with him in a text. I am crying. He never replies.

February 14: Afternoon

I go back to the beach where we went together. I say to the waves, "if only I had noticed that little warning...". I say to the sand, "thanks for nothing." I say to myself, "What a fine Valentine's Day this turned out to be."

Tracing Hearts

She spent the day

Tracing hearts in the sand;

Look out at the ocean,

Wondering what her life had planned.

Her hair blew in the wind

As she stared out at the sea;

Her future, what she would do,

Was all a mystery.

Her shadow was someone

She couldn’t recognize.

For too long she had been seeing

Through closed eyes.

Her fingers traced hearts

In the soft, fine grains.

She would chase her dreams,

Having so little to lose and so much to gain.

I stare myself in the face

Its like im looking at any empty vace

I trace 

My face

The dark shadow shows

My flowy hair and deliciat clothes

On this blank piece of cement

My shadow makes a deep dent

Showing every detail

 To my lightly pianted finger nalis

I just sit and watch

Once in a while i'll check my watch

Until the sun set 

And withit my shadow went.

Her shadow spoke to her often. It wrapped her with comfort, almost as if someone else was there to keep her company. There was an immense depth to it, colors within the gray; feelings, thoughts, and actions. It could travel within cracks and touch that which she couldn't. With it, she was more aware of her surroundings. She would stop and stare at it sometimes, reassured ofherself. The more light there was, the darker it became. Now it was extremely black with a sheen of green. With her shadow she had a purpose. Without it she was lonely. She wasn't part of the world. But of the times she did have her shadow, she was never more sure of her solidarity and her place on the surface of the world. Her shadow was a signal, and let her know she still had a purpose in the world, because she was still alive. Without it, she wasn't always so sure. But because the sun still shined, still touched her and left a stamp of her shape on the ground, she knew she wouldn't be gone so soon. When the day came that the sun meandered through her and the shadow was gone, she would have to rethink her purpose, knowing she had done what she was supposed to. but for now she had her shadow, and she still had her purpose. 

 You no when people say don't judge a book by its cover. Well same goes for the people around you. Don't judge them on their outside looks get to know them. Who knows you might make new friend.

I sit and soak up all the sun

Waiting to begin the fun

The waves are only seconds apart

I pray that they won't wash away my heart

Not the heart in my chest but in the sand

I draw with my fingers as fast as I can

The waves crash upon the shore

And my heart is there no more

an undertow,

told to run against it,

under pressure.

granular millions,

a collective ocean

of difference.

a heartbeat 

of a world washed away by 

comformity.

swelled beyond any known capacity.

introverted nature,

contorted into funnels.

letters written in sand,

proclaiming loudly,

"i was here"

as if no one had taken notice.