Main Street Middle School

Paris is the snap of a warm baguette cracking open.
Paris is the swish of budding pink cherry trees.
Paris is the blaring of horns around the Arc De Triomphe.
Paris is the accordion music overflowing like chocolate from street cafes.
Paris is the low rumble of a metro.
Paris is the boisterous music flooding from the street musician's saxophone.
Paris is the distinctive legato dialect of the French.
Paris is the ramblings of a street artist.
Paris is the whish of the whispering wind at the top of the Eiffel Tower.
Paris is the "mmms" encircling me in a restaurant.

When it's absolutely silent
somehow i can't bring myself to make a noise.
I feel like if I move too fast
or utter a single syllable,
the magnificent silence will shatter.

So you go about your doings in an adagio way.

It's a certain type of silence
it's not the type in an awkward moment in a conversation
or when everyone quiets down for an announcement.

It's that type of pure silence
when you go to shut off you bedside lamp at night
or when you know you are about to cry.

It's the most wonderful type of silence,
yet someone always has to shatter it.

As night began to recede into the horizon, a faint light washed over the cities. One particular building, composed mostly of brick, was dyed a soft pink, a nice change from its usual, simple red. Of course, many of the other buildings displayed the same hue, but none as matter-of-factly as the brick building. It stood there as it had for thousands of mornings, not caring an ounce for what it looked like. Eventually, the soft light was replaced by the faint shine of the sun through a thick layer of bloated rainclouds.

I often stop and ask the sky
To tell me what comes when we die,
The clouds don’t seem to understand
The problem that I have at hand,
They drift across the cerulean,
That stretches past the lofty green
Of mountains rising up to meet,
The puffs of wind so soft and sweet,
But behind all the endless blue,
I know that there’s a darker hue,
Engulfing black with little white,
Forget any celestial light,
It’s just a gaping emptiness,
Devoid of air and life and yes,
It seems that we aren’t anywhere,
Or if we were, no one would care,
They’ve better things to ponder on,

There's something really magical about the way
that it rains in the city
at night.

The way that rain rushes through the road
And when the cars drive by
they make that distinctive slosh.

And the way that the stoplights reflect
in the rain on the street,
lighting up the road
like a swarm of neon lightning bugs.

There's something magical about
the grey clouds above that are so cold
but look so warm.

When you get in the car
and the windshield wipers come on
you feel like the luckiest person in the world.
There's definitely something magical about that.

YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE.

I'm not a tattletale,

but I wasn't born yesterday.

YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE.

I'm not going to say your names
slyly in a cough
because I'm above that

but mostly because
I can't cough in a writing piece.

Just know that if I was reading this out loud,
I'd be foxily coughing your name.

But, expectorating or not,

YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE.

You know about your attitude
and how hard it is to take.

You're not the only one,
So don't take this too personally

Maybe you're perfectly nice
If I got to know you.

FYI: I don't know you very well.

It was a dark and stormy afternoon; the clouds were gray and ominous looking. The wind was howling and banging on the windows. The power went out out and it was all dark and quiet. My usually calm breathing became heavy gasps. The phone wouldn't work and I was alone, in the dark. A bolt of lightning struck down a tree and rain began to pour. I walked quietly down a flight of stairs with trembling legs, fearing something would pop out of nowhere. I went to the kitchen and tried looking for a flashlight but failed. The wind became strong and the trees bent awkwardly.

Best Ball

There was a kid
who threw a ball
out the door
and it hit
someone poor
but he did not know
that it was a ball
that was signed
BY BABE RUTH!

By
Ben Crane

There once was a man from South Dali
who ate only waffles and farfalle
He tried them together,
it scarred him forever,
and now he eats only tamales.

What's that in the sunshine?
an ingredient in glee.
That's mixed in the concoction of
hope and Ecstasy.

It's the flicker of a smile,
from a face that stays stone cold.
It's not something you can measure,
though it's more valuable than gold.

It doesn't migrate south,
when the weather starts to turn.
It is in a part of everyone,
although it's something we must learn.

It never turns it's back on you,
though your back may turn to it.
You may as well just throw away
the best present you could get.

Some who don't have time to love,
just throw it all away.

Wind

Brisk, icy wind
Paints the city gray
With uneven bristles of satin.

The world is
The wind’s canvas,
The white, swirling clouds,
It’s palette,
The artist leaves his work unsigned.

Wind cannot be captured
Like the boldest, fiercest lion,
The timid, sheepish lamb.

Some cower inside when the wind roars.
But walls between them
Cannot change that it is there.

I stand outside.
I let the wind paint me.
I let the wind knit me a watery sweater.

Wind is not in the art set of any random man,
Highly exclusive to the artist in the sky.

I love the wind,

Listen:
To the quiet of the night
The silent silver moon
The bright night stars
Listen:
To the hush of the breeze
The whisper of the grass
The tinkle of the dew
Listen:
To the water from the tap
The soft popping of bubbles
The lapping of miniature waves
Listen:
To my voice
Hushed
Careful
Not to break
The beautiful, loud silence of the night

(To the committee: The author formatted this poem so as to center all lines. -Patti Magoon)

I watch the dancers dance,
so graceful,
so fluid.
So soft and gentle.
I hear the pianists play,
fingers tinkling along the keys,
not missing a note.
The notes,
light and airy,
or heavy and emotional.
I hear the guitarists strum,
keeping rhythm,
accompaning the guitar with their voices.
I feel the rhythm in me.
My fingers itch to press the keys,
To strum the chords.
I feel the voice
building inside me.
I want to belt out,
sing along with them.
But I have no grace.
My fingers are too clumsy.
My voice is too flat.

The sun beats down warm on my face
The remnants of winter gone, without a trace
The springtime air filled with life
The sights, the sounds, ahh, so nice
Arms and legs stretched across the bright green grass
If only these warm, sunny days would last.
The hot, steamy, sunburned daylight
Followed by a cool, buggy, starry night
These are the kind of days that I adore
'Cuz as soon as the cold wind blows
Life's a bore.

The touch of a hand,
The tense look of an eye
Stare at me long enough
The day will go by
Curl up that smile
Twisted inside and out
You can't hold this inside too long
You just need to shout
We have but one life,
To figure or find
Say what's been planted on your mind
Drama is fake, don't waste it on me
Open your eyes, and tell me what you see.
Sometimes the picture is greater than you said
Live in thy world, to live in thy head.

Natural Habitat

My natural habitat
consists of
a pastry shop
that greets you with mouth-watering smells,
a book store
filled to the brim with imaginative books,
a candy store
with a hundred different kinds of candy,
a 5-star restaurant
customized just for me,
a spa
that's always ready to make me relax,
and a chef
that makes the world's best brownies and guacamole.
That is my natural habitat.

Pockets

I always have something in my pockets
a stick of gum for after school
a cell phone for calling home
or a treat for man's best friend.
I always have something in my pockets
which is why I don't wear gym shorts.
The first time I didn't wear pockets
I dropped $20.00 down a crack
With pockets your hands will
never be
full.

Red is evil red is bad, red is cool and super rad.
Red is cherry red is cinnamon, red is also quite the winner, man.
Red is Superman’s cape, with red you can’t escape.
White is alive and red is dead.
White is white and red is red.
Red is the color of me, red is the color of the Devil
Red is like a cheat code sending you to the next level.

In My Pocket

In my pocket I have Found
Things that are square
And thing that are round
I've found jelly beans and chewing gum
And one time my grandpa's fake thumb
In my pocket I have seen
Two grasshoppers attached at the spleen
One was yellow and one was green
One was fat and one was lean
In my Pocket I have heard
A horrible song sung by a bird
And in my Pocket I have felt
A bird cage a trash can and 1 fancy belt
I have a pretty big pocket

Autumn
Colorful leaves dance
Fluttering in the moonlight
Midnight ballerinas

Stars
Stars shining brightly
Illuminating the sky
Embers in the night

Dragonfly
Gleaming eyes reflect
The dazzling golden pond
Shining wings beating

In my pocket there is a purple flower blooming in the spring
In my pocket there a little green bug crawling around over an apple
In my pocket there is a yellow banana becoming rotten from being left alone
In my pocket there is a person just like YOU!

What's that in my pocket?
Oh, look its a locket
Really shiny
Don't forget gold
It even looks pretty old
I wonder how much it's worth
Probably all the money ever seen on earth
It is the prettiest locket ever
I hope you forget this description never!!

Open up to find
A hidden treasure
Full of words
Making magic
Made by an Author's
Golden pen
Fantasy, Fiction, Myths
Pulls you in
A whole new world
Captivates you,
Interests you,
Wonders galore

I have always loved to read.

My Best Friend

When I'm with my best friend, I can wear Winnie The Pooh pajama pants and not feel silly.
'Cause I know that she wishes she had a pair.
We curl our hair while watching Get Smart reruns
And instead of gossiping, we take her goats for a walk.
We give ourselves manicures then wash them off because they always come out terrible.
We can't paint our nails to save our lives.
It's so funny how she yells at her chickens
and tells them to "get along."
She likes mayonnaise and I don't
She likes ham
I don't
She likes high tops
and I don't

MY DOG ATE MY HOMEWORK

MY dog ate my homework, I'm quite sorry to say.
It happened when I was working so very hard on it yesterday.
All of my subjects, he gobbled them all.
It was quite a big meal for a dog that's so small.
It's a mistake that I really and truly regret.
What's that you say?
What do you mean, I don't have a pet?

The leaves rustled as the swift breeze whipped around the trees. Her hair, as black as the night sky, rippled down her back. She turned around, tightly gripping her bow. The deer was beautiful. White spots covered her chestnut brown coat. The deer looked up. It's big, round dark eyes blinked.
She knew that the graceful creature had seen her, but she was not willing to lower her bow. She just stood there, gazing at the innocent deer.
Then she let go of the arrow.

Three Nature Haikus

The black crow has flown
swaying in the evening sun
the tree now empty

I can fell myself
relaxing as the water
rushes past my feet

Birds voice their beauty
as they are gliding over
touching the tree tops

Frog sitting on ground
He jumps into bright clear pool
And makes a big splash

Sparrow in the air
Rocketing in the soft breeze
And soaring through sky

Man walking on floor
He sees a bird fly outside
He says yaaaaaay

A car driving fast
so fast it goes back in time
cave men destroy it

2/18/10 Eric Keck By Thunder Keck

Some people might say their hero is a cool singer, or a famous movie star. Others might say their favorite football player. But me? No, for my hero I choose my dad.