week30-08

A Lost Friend

By Julie Curran
Main Street Middle School, Grade 7

The wind pushed the empty swing next to her. She was haunted by
memories of the girl who was once always right beside her. She
remembered all the times when they had sat there and talked for
hours, laughing and joking. Or other times when they would just be
there for each other and talk everything through. But she was gone
now. She had found someone else to hang out with, to talk to, to
comfort. She felt like she had just been punched in the stomach,
but the feeling lasted for longer. A tear rolled down her
cheek as the sky starting spitting. Too absorbed in her thoughts to
start the lonely walk home, she sat there, drenched all the way
through. She waited. Wishing. Wondering. What happened?

Sound of Dad's Guitar

By Kayla Richardsoon
Main Street Middle School, Grade 7

I walk in the apartment.
I hear something
Something I haven't heard in a year.
It's the sound of Dad's guitar.
I forgot how much I miss that sound
That loud metal heavy rock sound.
It fills my ears and gives me joy.
I've always found it soothing
But I don't know why.
It's just something I love.
I smile to myself, and listen
To the sound of Dad's guitar.

Number Twelve!

By Damian Coburn
Chelsea Public School, Grade 10

Deep inside I sort of see a cute little bunny or some other creature that is soft and fluffy and cute and . . .
Snap back to reality. This beast, as I have learned to call it, just head bunted me into the wall for the seventh time in the past half hour and all I can see is not a little fluffy bunny, but fresh hamburger packed and labeled and on the label says, "What was once Number Twelve. Enjoy!" Well, that would be my favorite dream come true at the farm.

Number Twelve did not always act as if she was possessed by some dark force that I could not conquer without the use of kitchen utensils and a meat grinder. She was just an over-excited heifer that always wanted attention. Her need for attention turned into a hunger for me. Number Twelve is now a milking cow with eight hundred and seventy pounds of brute muscle and ferociousness. Not only does Number Twelve have muscle, weight, and the intent to kill on her side, she has an ugly disease as I call it. It is not really a disease but ringworm. Well, whatever you call it or her, she still scares me!

Fears from then to now

By Courtney Ferris
Chelsea Public School, Grade 11

Everyone has a fear from when they were younger, whether it is the monster coming out from the closet or from under the bed. Or maybe you were afraid of the dark. Well for me it was all the above. I was terrified that something was going to come out of my closet, so I left the door open, thinking that whatever was in there couldn't hide if the door was open. So the fear passed but my door has never closed. I got so used to it being open that it stays open. Because I was also afraid something was going to come out from under my bed I put so much stuff under it that nothing could come out if it tried. And to this day I'm still trying to clean the stuff out from under my bed. As for the dark, well it passed but my nerves still get me sometimes.

Am I Good Enough?

By Andrew Richardson
Chelsea Public School, Grade 11

My fear is not being good enough. When people look at me I feel like a spectacle that everybody can point their fingers at whenever something goes wrong. I mean, I'm sixteen years old. I should be having the time of my life but no, I have to worry about who's saying what about me. Why do I have to be perfect? Can't it be someone else's job to take the heat for once? Am I so inadequate that I have to carry all of the negative energy on my shoulders? I try hard to be adequate. I take everything I do to the extreme just so that when I got to bed at night I know that nobody, at this very moment, is going to be upset at me. But yet, I know I'm not the only one who has this problem. Why are we all easy targets?

Fishing

By Alicia Cerasoli
Hartford Memorial Middle School, Grade 8

We trample our way
Through the tall grass, weed, and poison ivy.
A little clearing waits,
Calm and still
By the water’s cool edge.
Slowly,
Water
T
R
I
C
K
L
E
S,
Running down the stream
Bumping past rocks.
I trace my finger through the water
Letting it ripple softly.
My uncle hands me a container
With bold letters,
CRAWLERS
Is what it says.
A monstrous cartoon drawing of a worm
Lay still on the side of the plastic dish.
I lace a squirming worm onto my hook,
Place the black plastic button
On the fishing rod down,
And cast off.
My hook gracefully swings
Through the air
And lands with a plump “bop.”
The calm wind sways around me
Just as I feel a soft tug.

Fear

By Rebecca White
Hartford Memorial Middle School, Grade 8

I’m afraid to grow up,
afraid to move on without
fully experiencing.

I remember when I took
being young for
granted.

I watch my days carefully,
like a cat ready to pounce.

Keeping,
or at least trying
to stay positive.

I try to ignore, forget, vanquish,
the voice that tells me
I’m wrong.

But I’m afraid.

Afraid that one day I’ll wake up,
family-less and broke.

A pointless life beyond
checking for
textual misdemeanors.

Afraid to be
alone.
To grow old.

Not for looks
or posture’s sake,

But for time.

We all have such
a limited
time.

The hand that holds me
slowly slipping loose
the warmth in my fingers
draining out.

I’m afraid that I’ll never get to say
Goodbye.

Fishing

By Warren Palmer
Hartford Memorial Middle School, Grade 8

Nothing…not a bite…not a strike…
not even a minnow swims in these waters.
“Dead lake,” they should
call it, not Deer Lake.
Of course there’s a small toad
here and there, on land.
After a few moments
the sun is enveloped
by the dusk and high tides come in.
Still fishing, no hits yet
and I’m getting
a weird vibe of frustration and drowsiness.
Silt clumps in the water like the food bits
in a drain. I wish there was a trash
disposal in this lake. My face red hot, I
take one last cast, “Why do I even
bother? I always get nothing
when I fish."
I hate fishing.

Fishing

By Ashley Bailey
Hartford Memorial Middle School, Grade 7

I never was good
At fishing I mean.
I couldn’t hook the worms
And I’d get tangled in the fishing wire.
I broke the pole. Twice.
I hate the smell of fish.
I guess I’m not cut out to catch fish.
Now I’m off to catch fireflies instead.

Fear's Disgrace

By Moya Cavanagh
Browns River Middle School, Grade 8

Today Fear came to me,
a pretty young woman offering
lies swathed in honey, which
I never cease to believe.

Today Fear reached out to me,
with a soothing hand to ease away
my apprehension.
And when, as always, I had slipped
Into her trap,
She flicked her wrist,
brought her hand back in a slap,
So that the pain and noise echoed from
My cheek bone.

Today Fear came to me,
Swaddling me
with lightning speed,
in bindings woven
from my worst imaginings.

Today Fear spun that cord around my joints,
Her icy fingers leaving my body rigid
As a board,
And my jaw free to babble
about what she had done to me
To the outside world;
Those who cannot see her tie
the last of my bindings to herself,
So as to eternally link us.
So I will never be free of her
Face.

Today Fear took me,
and the reasoning of her persuasive voice
has festered in my flaws.
Branding itself into my skin,
so she may forever remain the very
definition
of my disgrace.

Tiny Terrors

By Courtney Perry
Bellows Falls Union High School, Grade 9

Eight spindly hairy legs
Crawling on the ceiling
While numerous tiny glinting eyes
All focus on the railing;
A slim pale hand is resting there,
The perfect landing pad
The legs swing freely toward the spot
A loud clear scream is heard

“Get it off! Ew! Get it off!”
She shakes her fingers in disgust
Eight furry legs come to rest on the ground
Many glaring eyes glance up in distrust
Such a skittish little girl is she,
Her face could not be whiter
Her friends are laughing long and loud
As she faces off with a tiny spider

No Guiding Lights

By Hayley Maynes
Mount Mansfield Union High School, Grade 9

Alone,
Utterly and truly alone,
Facing the unknown
Would be the scariest episode of my life.
You can charge the unascertained like a ship
Exploring new oceans,
But that’s when you know
There is someone behind you,
A crew to help keep the boat in ship shape.
Being alone
Is like emptiness
A hole in your soul;
A hole in you.
It’s like being in the dark
No matter which way you turn
There is no one to help you along,
No guiding lights to brighten the way,
No helpful faces of comfort,
No lights to show the points on a compass,
And no northern star in the sky to sail by.
Alone;
Like the dark,
With no guiding lights.

Home Alone

By Shannon McCullen
Essex High School Grade 9

Door shuts
Car leaves
Silence
I begin to climb the stairs in search of something to do
The stairs creak and I jump at the sound
The hallway looms as I reach the top
The gray carpet begins to grow darker
I hurry into my room
Suddenly, I hear footsteps
Lightly behind me, like someone sneaking around, they grow closer
Words race through my mind, like burglar and murderer
When they seem to be right behind me, I whip around
A pair of yellow eyes glow and my cat walks innocently into my room
He struts into another room as I turn back to my mess
I grab the nearest book and turn to leave
A crash follows soon after
I freeze,
My cat walks innocently out with an I-didn't-do-it look
I peer into the next room and see laundry flooding the floor
I say to myself, "It’s just the cat, you're alone"
I hurry down the creaking stairs
The sun seems to disappear with every step I take toward the couch
I plop down and turn the TV on to create some noise to dive the silence away
A yellow sponge seems to swallow the black screen
I hear a door open
My cat runs in hoping that the person entering has food for him
"Shannon? We're back! Enjoy your five minutes of quiet?"

Light Switch

By Danielle Novotny
Rochester High School, Grade 10

Suddenly awake
Alone
Darkness
Not knowing what surrounds me
Every little noise sending shivers through my spine
Sweating bullets of fear
Body shudders and cringes at the tingly feeling of little creatures crawling
Up my arms
Down my legs
Over my back
And across my face
Building up the courage to get out from under the covers
And walk toward the light switch