Wyatt Mosher

Yesterday afternoon, while on the way home from school I listened to an interesting piece of commentary on the radio. The speaker, an author living in New York City, was relating his experiences regarding his attempts at finding parking spaces in various cities around our nation. I, and no doubt many of his listeners, could relate to what he was saying--It is very difficult in some major cities to find a parking space. And there are sometimes different local street parking "customs," and there is the thrill of finding the perfect parking spot, and there is the agony of having to drive around the block in search of one.

A Best Friend's Help

By Wyatt Mosher
Woodstock Union High School, Grade 10

A best friend stands by you
When no one else cares
Understands you
When no one else dares
Believes in you
When everyone just stares

Summer is gone,
Winter is on its way.
I wake up with frost on my window,
excited to scratch it off just like a lottery ticket.
Waiting to see if I won,
little by little the window grows,
but then I see that mabey tomorrow will be the one.

Time to Vote

By Wyatt Mosher
Woodstock Union High School, Grade 10

Voting is our given right
Which men have died to keep.
Voting shows our people's might,
So our country won't get in too deep.

But there are those who never vote,
And constantly seem to complain.
Patriotism they don't promote,
And their rights they choose to abstain.

Every vote does really count,
To let our officials know.
For their actions they must account,
Or their ratings will never grow.

So come next election time,
Go cast your vote with pride.
Voting doesn't cost a dime,
Plus the outcome you help decide

Haunted

By Wyatt Mosher
Woodstock Union High School, Grade 10

I stand before a darkened doorway
Stairs before me rise.
Windows flanking on either side
Like square, accusing eyes.
No one dwells in this house now.
The walls are bare and cold.
The people who used to live here
Have long since moved and grown old.
Although no one has died within,
There lives an inhuman host.
Memories and dreams that linger on
Has since become its ghost.
Echoes of children's laughter
The very essence of life.
Peal down the hallways
Piercing the silence like a knife.
While you’re inside you feel it.
Nothing ever dies.
The wood that creaks beneath your feet
Are the house's tired sighs?
A house like this can't be replaced.
New is not necessarily good.
The energy of the people who have come and gone
Lives on in the rotting wood.

A Winter Poscard
The good looks of a winter's morning
when snow is fresh and clean;
Boughs on evergreens clothed in white
a winning sight to be seen. Bushes are, themselves, a sight
to be remembered in the spring;
a postcard scene on a winter's morning,
to me, is everything.

True and reasonable advice
To be sure.

But how comforting
One day instead to hear,
"It's a normal human thing.
Real change takes time
As well as effort."

Two points of view:
Your feelings for me,
My feelings for you.