week32-08

TELEVISIONMAN

By Rowan Dunfey
Richmond Middle School, Grade 7

And then,
as if a switch had flipped in his mind,
It dawned on him -
crashed down on him
like the world upon Atlas -
That he is just that man,
That television man
That bluesuithaircut television man
Who says what the teleprompter tells him to say
And feels what the teleprompter tells him to feel
That things are bad, but then again
He doesn't know bad like they do –
Only knows
It’s a lot worse
Than his bad –
But who knows?
When the world drops
off of the shoulders that have held it for so long
Will it be him that gets
Shaken off?

Anger

By Cora Sloan
Richmond Middle School, Grade 7

crept into the back of my mind
setting my eyes and my mouth
on fire
its eyes
making me clench my fists
its hands
making my mouth utter sharp words
stinging those
around me.

Farmer's Morning

By Britney Hallock
Mount Mansfield Union High School, Grade 11

Early riser
catches the chicken
alarm sounds
rooster crows
stepping into
boots
that go to my
knees
open the front door
only to find
another night has gone bye
frost on the cucumbers
the pumpkins, too
slide the door
open the barn
a rush of
hay
pig
horse
hits my face
like a hot
summer wind
step by step
to each stall
drag the hose
to fill empty
buckets
chickens cluck
horses neigh
pigs snort
throw the grain to
what soon will be
dinner
the man of the coop
stands tall
chest out
feet scratching the ground
showing me to
get away
or
else
step by step
up to the
hay
I lug bales
down
one by one
to the horses
who smell the scent of hay
from a ways away
one trots with her
tail in the air
head held high
showing she's the boss
now must
milk the cow
milk leaks from her
teats
one at a time
squeeze to empty
place bucket aside
to have cereal later
click of the key
tractor roars
shovel manure
from the day
before
into the
tractor's spreader
bring to the fields
I'm going to put the
biggest pumpkin
into the fair
manure helps me
grow it
chores done
close door
knowing I'll
be back
soon

By Britney Hallock
Mount Mansfield Union High School, Grade 11
Early riser,
catches the chicken
alarm sounds
rooster crows
stepping into
boots
that go to my
knees
open the front door
only to find
another night has gone bye
frost on the cucumbers
the pumpkins, too
slide the door
open the barn
a rush of
hay
pig
horse
hits my face
like a hot
summer wind
step by step
to each stall
drag the hose
to fill empty
buckets
chickens cluck
horses neigh
pigs snort
throw the grain to
what soon will be
dinner
the man of the coop
stands tall
chest out
feet scratching the ground
showing me to
get away
or
else
step by step
up to the
hay
I lug bails
down
one by one
to the horses
who smell the scent of hay
from a ways away
one trots with her
tail in the air
head held high
showing she's the boss
now must
milk the cow
milk leaks from her
teat
one at a time
squeeze to empty
place bucket aside
to have cereal later
click of the key
tractor roars
shovel manure
from the day
before
into the
tractor's spreader
bring to the fields
I'm going to put the
biggest pumpkin
into the fair
manure helps me
grow it
chores done
close door
knowing I'll
be back
soon

Dots

By Carter LaCrosse
Richmond Middle School, Grade 7

Dots.
The best thing in the world.
I love
that luscious smell
that chewy goo
and that scrumptious taste.

When I eat a Dot
I savor every moment
that the sweet taste
mixes with the liquids
of my mouth.

Dots
are my favorite candy
and they always will
be.

Our Real Mother

By Melanie Subbiah
Richmond Middle School, Grade 7

At age three,
I won the toddler marathon
and could outrun
a blowing leaf.
But no matter how fast
my chubby, young legs
could carry me
I could not escape
my fate.

The doctor said
my condition was unstable;
I would have to be
hospitalized for life.
My mother,
having six other children
to look after
and not wanting
a sick youngster around
when her friends
came to visit,
readily agreed.

The whitewashed walls
and shiny linoleum
covered by beeping machinery
are my home now,
but mostly my prison.
True, it is where
my heart lies
hooked up to a monitor
but it is not
where my spirit rests.

For only four days
every year
(one in every season)
I return to my family’s home,
which is no longer mine as well.
My mother
avoids me
and my siblings
cling to her
as though
I am a hideous beast.
Only nature
decorates itself for me
celebrating
my day of freedom.

In winter
crystalline confetti
tumbles
from the sky
and the hibernating world
is covered
in a soft downy blanket.
But the wind
is there
to cheer me on
with whoops and howls
as I breathe
the fresh air.

In spring
bright green blades
tickle
my feet
and delicate drops
bathe me
as I slosh
through Earth’s
new coat of skin
while birds
sing to me
of happiness.

In Summer,
nature’s great eye
gazes down at me
brilliant and glinting
from the sky
watching over me.
The only relief
from its piercing stare
is to plunge
into a cool pond
spray dancing
above me
as I splash
through the surface.

In Fall
sparks fall
from the trees
lighting the whole world
on fire
and warming
the frosty air
with vibrant
colors.
As I glide through the shadows
the wind embraces me
and I
feel safe.

Such beauty
as I see outdoors
I believe to be
the accomplishment
of a superhuman being
so powerful
when its wrath ensues
that it can destroy
whole cities.

Double Lives

By Emily Fariel
Hartford Memorial Middle School, Grade 8

The family

They wake up as farmers
And do the morning chores
While others
Are still asleep
Then they all go off
To lead their double lives

She

Goes to school
A student
Comes home
A farmer
As she feeds the sheep

Her mother

Goes to work
A nurse
Comes home
A farmer
While she delivers a lamb

Her father

Goes to work
A teacher
Comes home
A farmer
When he milks the cows

The family

Earning enough
To get by
With their jobs
And the small profit
From the farm

But they could not make it
If not for
Their double lives

The reality
Of many small-farm owners
Today

By Samantha Day
Browns River Middle School, Grade 5

A farmer's work is never done,
When he finishes a chore,
There's always another one.

He must take care of his cattle and sheep.
And chickens and chicks
That go, "Peep! Peep! Peep!"

His horses and other animals too,
A farmer’s life isn’t easy,
His hard work is never through.

When the cattle, horses, and sheep
All go to their warm, soft beds,
And chickens rest their little heads.

And the farmer hears no more
"Peep! Peep! Peep!"
The farmer's hard work is done
And he can finally go to sleep.

Ode to Farming

By Elijah Todd Davis
Home Schooled, Grade 7

I truly like our farm
But it’s the land that gives me charm.
To look out on a field
And think of the crop it will soon yield.
The layer of snow like an ocean
Though it’s never in motion.
To think of that celestial white
It gives me such delight
A delight needed to complete the work ahead
It lifts off my back a weight like lead
To get the cows up at three o’clock
For at times they can sleep like a rock!
This delight urges me on
Until the snow has up and gone.
There is no work like farming
Though I don’t find it alarming
That you have to be real tough to work
For this is something you can’t shirk.
Nothing beats living on a farm
For as my dad often states,
“Being on a farm teaches perspective,
And perspective is something over which
You should be protective.”
I believe what he says is true
Because farms these days are few
And to many this kind of life is new.
What I am getting at here
Is as farms slowly disappear
So does the meaning of work
It is now only something to shirk
And so does the meaning of perspective
It is something over which you no longer need to be protective.
Farm life is the life for me
Though bonded to work I feel free
If a door to life is shut, I always seem to have the key
No matter what comes my way
I can always get through the day.
Farming give you something more than perspective
It gives you two other things you need in life
It gives you experience, and from that
It gives you knowledge.
I don’t know about anybody else
No matter how much I can complain
As a farmer
You have everything to gain.
I truly wouldn’t have it any other way.
And now that this poem is ended
It’s all I can do to keep more ideas at bay.

Farms, they have many things, from cows and pigs to good old farmer Brown. Farmer Brown is a good, old farmer who does everything on the farm. He milks the cows, feeds the animals, and even cleans up the dirty pig pens. Farmer Brown is overall the greatest farmer of all time, go by a farm or you read a book about farms, remember Good, Old Farmer Brown.

Farmers bring life to Vermont. Whenever people think of Vermont there is always a farmer in the background, helping a cow or making maple syrup. Farmer Brown (Sunny Brown)is always pictured out in his field on a sunnny day, mayking hay for the cows.
Farmers bring life to Vermont.

Nicaraguan Coffee

By Emma Redden
Leland and Gray Union High School, Grade 10

The sun sits high in the hazy sky, tanning your strong back below.
You are a farmer, a true definition of the six letter word.
You live in a home made of cinder blocks, packed mud.
You are lucky, your house is more than bound sticks.
At least concrete isn’t blown down in the winter rains.
It crumbles, but only as slowly as you do.
Your earthen walls enclose a home,
Filled with stuffed burlap sacks,
Second hand clothes, and uncomfortable beds.
At least your babies are nearby when they whimper in the night.
The outdoor bathroom is a simple relief from the
Stuffy stale air of indoors.
A black tarp surrounds a cavern in the ground
To dispose of human waste.
Over the makeshift bathroom
Stand trees, tall and proud.
They are your bread and butter,
Pan y mantequilla.
The lofty tree stands with dignity
Being sole shelter, refuge, protection
For the coffee plant below.
The bananas are still green
The coffee is still red.
Your hands and your back are still tired.
You never stop working and
Yet it still seems never to be enough.
The incredible beauty of the land
Is so harshly contrasted by the
Poverty of your life.
It is as if you were tricked,
Placed in such an idealistic landscape,
With such a demanding daily routine.
Sometimes it seems like it’s an unfair game
And sometimes it seems a gift.
Days are long
Bodies are aching
Eyes are sore
And money is so fragile
The smallest movement could
Break apart the vase of your finances.
But at least you are given the gift
Of spending those long days
In a land painted by an angelic hand.
You are a Nicaraguan farmer.

By Lizzie Armstrong
Browns River Middle School, Grade 8

My daddy leaves early
I never see him go
Even though
He just walks down the road.

He has lots of repairs to make,
But they all must wait.
First he must milk,
Then clean the filth away.
My daddy owns this land.
With his callused hands,
He has worked on every acre,
With mama as his baker.
I collect the eggs that are laid,
Over in the hutch,
Sometimes daddy lets me spread the hay,
I love him very much.
I know daddy works very hard,
Especially in May,
That is when the planting is,
So he is never in the barn.
He loves being in the field,
With the radio on.
But mama says,
I must stay in the lawn.
“Let him have his time,
This is why he lives on a farm”

My daddy comes home late
I always sit and wait
Even though
He just walks down the road.

Farming

By Emily Weber
Ferrisburgh Central School, Grade 5

Under a maple tree
The farmer feeds the chickens
Sprinkles the seeds down like rain
Across the ground
Walks to the pig pen
Recklessly throws
The slop in the bucket
Moves on to the cows
That need milking
Squeezes, squeezes
The warm udders
Drip, drip
Into the bucket
Until they don’t drip any more
He limps back to the porch
Rests his leg on a turned over sap bucket
Leans back on his rocking chair
Nods off.