week31-08

Test

By Kate McGovern
Woodstock Union High School, Grade 10

Wake up in a cold sweat
Surrounded by textbooks and papers
Five o’clock in the morning
Studying for a test

Speaking of Needs . . .

By Kennah McMahon
Essex High School, Grade 10

I want to be able to fall asleep at night
Without feeling like dreams are an escape.

I want to climb to the top of the
Mountain and lie on the
Emerald carpet of moss

And hold his hand in mine without
That nervous, boiling-insides feeling
Racking my entire body.

I would love to spend a few days
With my kindergarten teacher
And try to understand what

She tried to teach me 11 years ago.
I want to have the faith and peace
Of a young child again.

I want justice and equal opportunity
For all of us.
I want to be able to look back

On every word and touch and
Be able to justify the inappropriateness
Of them all. All I need is the

Inner peace, that would wash
Over me like a baptism of forgiveness
For my lazy tongue.

I want to drive through California in the passenger seat
Of a pink roadster, and speed its silver wheels along the rough
Roads that line the glass shores. I want to step into Hollywood

Without feeling inferior
But have the freedom and
Audacity to leave it all behind.

I want color and music, milk and cookies,
Fire to warm myself by at night, and water to bathe in.
I want to sit on the couch,

Drink a fine cup of tea, and hear you talk me
To sleep every night. I want to be able to
Surprise you and enlighten your mind.

I want to sing from the heart
Every time.

Your thoughts on my thoughts

By Ellie Laukaitis
Williston Central School, Grade 8

Have you had a time
when you imagine every conversation,
every last word,
and then
they never get said?
When something's planned to go one way,
but then it backfires
and the getaway car turns left
instead of right.
And that's when you realize windows are two-way.
and maybe every feeling
is two-way also...
so you look at it the other way
and imagine speaking about that
Like with the archery target...
and the sharks and minnows
and the fact that
you didn't drown
on your 200 breaststroke.
Did you even watch me?
I'm sorry, but I believe I'm at the point
where you can't remember where conversations end
and thoughts and emails
begin.
Did I ever tell you about that day?
Did you know
being spontaneous
is actually planning,
then forgetting
(or forgetting to forget
and actually remembering,
and then you're not spontaneous at all but you have to still make it look like you haven't been planning this conversation for the past week or so, which of course you haven't, so maybe really
the people who are good at being spontaneous
are actually just really good actors).
Did you read
everything I said? Everything I wrote?
Can you hear all the unsaid words
I hung in the air
with fishing line
last August?
Maybe I underestimated you,
my great rambling friend
Maybe, by some freak chance,
you understand
and you can read this
even though you'll never read this
and you feel the same way
and maybe you could hear the whole time

and now you're left standing there
wondering where
all those unsaid words
go.

Tests

By Abby Chretien
Hartford Memorial Middle School, Grade 8

Sometimes I wish
You were just testing me
That you really do like me
But you want to see if I’ll wait for you.
But it’s not a test.
I sure wish it was, though.
Because, honey,
I’d get an A.

Tests

By Ossia Dwyer
Hartford Memorial Middle School, Grade 7

“OK, class. This test is meant to test your knowledge of the theories. I hope you studied!” says my perky yet highly annoying teacher. Does she really care if we do well or not?
I was hoping for a snow day or a fever or malaria. I would have studied really hard and even maybe paid attention in class but the hottest guy sits right in front of me. I spent all yesterday night talking to him online. How was I supposed to study? Does my teacher not know anything about teenagers? Maybe I will be able to just conjure it up. OK, 2x+72>3x-12, solve for x. Is faking a seizure too dramatic? I know. I will fake a headache, then wander around the building. Oh great, the teacher noticed I wasn’t working. She is walking over here. Concentrate.
“An emergency has been reported in this building!! Please cease operation and leave, utilizing the nearest exit or fire exit!!” came onto the speakers, blasting our eardrums out. I ran out of the room as fast as I could. Anything to get out of that test and try to study or sleep.

Tests

By Ashley Bailey
Hartford Memorial Middle School, Grade 7

I look down. The numbers make no sense. (A = 2.5 so what is the answer to 2.65 x A = ?) What does that mean? I hate tests. Hate them, hate them, hate them. I get nervous and sweaty. My hand is shaking as I write the answer down. Great. I bet it’s wrong. Oh well, I keep going, and going, and going. Everything around me is blurry like a two-year-old came up and smudged the colors. The bell rings. I am almost done. Last question and then I am finished. Now I am relieved. No more to worry about…except the results of my test!

The Deserted Room

By Eli Millman
Fairfield Center School, Grade 8

The wind whistled through the dark deserted room
Calling to the ones that left far too soon
It knocked over the chairs
And blew open cupboards
As if searching for something left there by others
It howled
It screeched
Then the wind cried
As the soft summer breeze
Rested
Then died.

The Test

By Jonathan Slimovitch
Williston Central School, Grade 8

I walked into the half filled classroom, passing under the teacher’s scrutinizing glare that seemed to stare straight into my soul. I blinked, reminding myself of the long ordeal ahead. There would be no time for hesitation or panic.
The classroom in front of me was filled with desks. Each desk was empty save for a yellow number 2 pencil and a thick packet of creamy, white paper. There were two large groups of shiny wooden desks, with a thin open space that ran down the middle. Most of the desks on the right side had already been taken by students. I strode confidently towards the group of desks on the left, determined not to let others see my fear. I finally chose a desk near the front of the room. A girl sat down in the seat next to me. She flashed me a nervous smile as her eyes darted to the clock above the blackboard. We were all nervous.
The door slammed shut, making each of us jump. The teacher walked carefully to the front of the room, her cold piercing stare making those who made eye contact shudder in their seats. She stopped at the front of the room, turning to face us. Her words rang strong and clear in the otherwise silent room.
“You may begin.”
I quickly flipped over my test, ignoring the big black letters S-A-T on the top of the packet. I signed my name quickly with the number 2 pencil in the space provided, my eyes already darting down to the first question.
‘Name 4 of the main themes involved in Mark Twain’s book, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.’ The question gave four possible answers; a, b, c, or d. I circled a, and moved onto the next problem. I moved through the first 10 pages of the test relatively easily, struggling slightly on the essay questions. We worked in silence for over an hour, scribbling away at our test packets under the teacher’s baleful glare.

Winter Serenity

By Nicole LeBlond
Woodstock Union High School, Grade 10

Out alone nothing but me and the cold
Crackling trees bend and snap in the frigid air surrounding me.
The trees stand tall and mighty towering several feet above me.
I glance and see the snowflakes dance.
As the snowflakes cascade toward the ground they form a jigsaw puzzle.
Each snowflake that falls is a new piece to the jigsaw puzzle of winter.
After a fall, a winter wonderland is complete.

The jigsaw reveals a completely new world of glistening wonders.

I zone back into my surroundings
I hum the melody of “What a Wonderful World” in my own world of
melancholia.
The air that embraces me is a frigid blanket of bitterness
My eardrums echo the songs of chickadees
My shoes sound the crunching of snow nestled tightly together,
And I think to myself what a wonderful world.

Long Gone

By Drew-Marie Dudley
Chelsea Public School, Grade 11

She told me to find her the day she left our small town
She didn't know where she was going
On a plane or bus or boat or car
She gave me a hug and told me that I would always know where she was
How was I to know if she didn't tell me what she had in mind?
We spent our entire childhood together
She was going to be gone like a perfect summer wind we become so fond of
What was I to do now that we were older and had to take our own ways separately?
She told me she loved me and climbed into her green Escort
And she was gone.

Testing

By Maddie Gilbert
Woodstock Union High School, Grade 10

SATs
Answer sheets passed out
Clammy hands nervously take them
Then the test books
Containing for many
The future of their education
With shaking hands
Filling in name, school code, age
Worried about doing something wrong
The long and tedious directions
That the teacher reads
Although everybody already knows what to do
From so much testing through the years
And finally it’s time to start.
The first section: the essay
A tense 25 minutes in which
Everybody constantly writes
No time for thinking, planning or stopping
Next section, either math or English
And another 7 sections like this follow
With a 5-minute break
And a one minute break
Just enough time to catch your thoughts and breath
Before diving back into another section
In the last sections
Focus wavers
But try to keep concentration
For these scores will influence colleges
Almost done, only a few more sections
Empty bubbles blur before tired eyes
And when everybody is done
We are finally released
And all wander
Dazed down the halls
Waiting for rides home
To eat, sleep and rest.

This Sweet Pie

By Tommy Bowen
Benson Village School, Grade 7

This sweet pie
It smells so very delicious
It smells as good as
The summer breeze
When I go closer
It feels like I have discovered
A chest full of treasure
I see it now
On the windowsill
It steams
Like a nice warm bath
Ready to get into
I have a piece
It makes me feel warm
Loved
Like a mother with her new child
This sweet pie

NMH

By Elena Eames
Dummerston Middle School, Grade 8

The home made video flashed across my screen. A guy making a slam dunk, a girl making an elaborate painting, a student with the words slanted across his shirt: You’re In!
I sat there watching it, not thinking about what it meant.
I called some friends, and told them, they clapped and cheered for me, and then said “Wait.. you're happy.. right?”
“Yeah.” I said “I'm happy.”
“Good, well I’ll see ya at school!”
School,
I thought about not seeing them everyday, about not being able to walk with them in the halls, laugh at the teachers, and talk about everything at recess. Recess, which, I wouldn’t have anymore. High school is a big step, as much as I look forward to it, I wish I could have the people that I've known for so long, and the people that have become so close to me there to make it a little easier.
And then the scholarship came. It covered almost everything and was too good to turn down. I am going, I am packing up everything and moving to a new life with 130 people in the same place that I’m in, from all over the world. I know I will meet new friends, and great people who will have a huge impact my life. I can’t wait to leave, to get away, to start over.
But then.. my friends here, everything I’ve worked for and achieved.
New opportunities vs. what is known and loved.
I’m going with new opportunities.
I cry as a write an old teacher a thank-you email for everything she's given me, I cry as I talk to a best friend on the phone. I get a surge of excitement as I mail the acceptance letter.
A great feeling of self importance and liberation comes when I tell people, “I’m going to NMH, not BUHS,” and the look that they give me, one of admiration.
I put so much time and effort into the entire process, and now it all paid off.

The True Test

By Blaise Gervais
Burlington High School, Grade 9

TEST TAKING

My pencil, sharpened
Stands at attention,
Ready to destroy any problems
that dare misbehave
by proving difficult, tricky,
or otherwise disagreeable.

My unruly hair has been pulled back-
for the moment;
The boisterous wisps are straight-jacketed,
Unable to cause any unwanted distraction.

My shoes are comfortable,
But my big right toe taps nervously,
Like an eager hummingbird batting its wings
In anticipation of a delicious flower.

My contacts are in their place,
Like the shiny tinfoil that envelops chocolates
I don’t really need them,
But it can never hurt to actually see the test.

The test gets passed out
Like a football player
before a game in the rain.
A crisp white uniform, impeccably clean.
What a pity it will soon be covered
With my countless muddy,
grass-stained answers.

I feel like I am throwing hits
at a heavy leather punching bag.
I clobber it with all my might,
Yet it just swings listlessly back and forth,
Like a corpse that has just been hung.

I come to a problem I don’t know the answer to
I feel like I am stranded in a vast desert
without any landmarks.
My friends all have maps
but that will lead straight to a detention- or worse.

Now my colorful, foil-wrapped eyes
seem to be developing a will of their own.
Pulling my head like a dog on a leash.
Embodied by my hands, my conscience holds my head in place,
Staring blankly at the little black marks;
Ants that are ruining my picnic.

Before I can rationalize, any stupid decisions
I put my name on each page
and PASS it forward.
Now I have PASSed the true test.