PENDRAGON 2015

Pendragon is a publication of the Greens Farms Academy Middle School, 35 Beachside Avenue, Greens Farms, Connecticut 06838.

Front cover: Back cover: Laila Pina, Grade 7 Lilly Beck, Grade 6

Board Members:

Faculty Advisors: Thanks to:

Mr. Benjamin Gott Ms. Elizabeth Cleary Mrs. Robbi Hartt Mr. Andrew Jones Mr. Griffen Stabler Mr. Drew Meyer Mr. Walker Anderson Mrs. Carolyn Skiba

http://www.gfacademy.org pendragon@gfacademy.org

All submissions were reviewed anonymously and chosen on merit alone.

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Abby Everett Nikki Farber Clare Foley

Stephanie Gentile Owen Lawrence Flynn Murtaugh

Laila Pina Kaitlin Reed Annabel Roth

Allison Telesz

Sarah Wagner

“Why I Write” 5 ........................................................................“Congratulations, Chase” 6 .....................................................“The Beauty” 7 .........................................................................“The Smoke in the Coffeehouse” 8 .......................................“Monkey Bars” 11 ......................................................................“It’s Only Millions of Miles Away” 12 ....................................“Kim” 13 ......................................................................................“An Ode to Tofu” 14 .................................................................“Corny Advice to Tall GirlsWho Wear Black A Lot” 15 ......................................................“Shattered World” 16 .................................................................“I Am a Tree” 17 ........................................................................“That’s Not the Way a Boy Grows Up to Be a Man” 19 ......................................................“And It’s Beautiful Because That Is What We Want Life to Be Like” 19 ...........................“Love Poem” 21 ..........................................................................“Hipster Road Not Taken” 21 ..................................................“Ignorance Is Bliss” 22 ..............................................................“Spring’s Blossom” 24 ...............................................................“Last Birthday” 26 ......................................................................“3 2 5 7” 27 ..................................................................................“Through the Looking Glass” 28 ............................................“The Wind Came” 29 ................................................................“Like Biting into a Juicy Apple” 30 ..........................................“Dream Poem” 32 ......................................................................“Spring: Wealth is in Nature” 33 ..............................................“Dreams Last Forever” 34 ........................................................“Breaking Free” 35 .....................................................................“Underground” 38 ......................................................................“A Beautiful Place” 39 ................................................................

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“Poem for a Sister” 41 ...............................................................“The Louisville” 42 ....................................................................“Guilt is Pain” 43 ........................................................................“Where I Belong” 44 ..................................................................“Camera” 45 ................................................................................“That’s Baseball” 46 ...................................................................“Camaro, Camaro” 47 ................................................................“Clean” 48 ....................................................................................“Goodbye to Charlie” 49 ...........................................................“Why” 51 .....................................................................................“I Felt For That Little Boy” 52 .................................................“The Chokehold” 52 ..................................................................“Running to Frenchwoods” 53 .................................................“What I’ve Learned” 54.............................................................

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Will Whelan, Grade 6

“If you always do what you’ve always done, you’ll always get what you’ve always got.”

(Henry Ford)

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“Why I Write” I write to express the feelings I can’t speak; the emotions I don’t understand. I write to know who I am; what I’m here for. I write to experience the depths of my heart; the inner workings of my soul. I write to believe that I actually have a purpose. that there’s someone who out there who understands. I write to share, so that someone else knows she isn’t alone. I write to feel when I am numb; when I am broken. I write to help myself and the unknowns. I write to be heard, so that the life my pen gives truly lives. I write to Being. I write to Life. I write to Understanding. I write to Escaping. I write to Hope. I write to Love. I write to Hate. I write because it is who I am. It is my foundation. It is my kryptonite. I write to exist. - Rikeh Saingbe, Grade 8

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“Congratulations, Chase”

I ignore all my thoughts. I race downstairs to get my keys and rush out the door to get into my car. I plug my keys into the ignition and start the engine. I step on the gas and my car propels itself forward. The drive passes quickly. I reach Chase’s house to see police cars and policemen standing in the front yard with his dad. I get out of my car and run up to the huddle of people. The coldness of the wet grass shocks my bare feet. I was in such a hurry that I forgot shoes. “Did you find him?” The words come out of my mouth urgently, yet nobody responds. My eyes scan the policemen. “Did you find him?!” I say even more anxiously. They stay dead silent as I stare at them in fear. Chase is nowhere to be found. I turn to look at the house, and an idea sparks. Maybe Chase left something in the house. A note. A shoe. His lacrosse jersey. Anything. Any sign that he was there. I run into the dirty beige house and turn left into his bedroom. I search the familiar room, full of trophies and posters depicting college lacrosse players in Carolina blue lacrosse gear. I fail to see anything, except for his computer. I open it up and go onto his email. Maybe he could have left a note there? I don’t know. Anything. I am looking for anything and everything, but nothing is there. An unread email pops up onto the screen. Hope finds a way into my body as I click on the blue dot next to the name: University of North Carolina. My eyes widen as I read the words: Congratulations, Chase. - Alex Nesi, Grade 8

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“The Beauty”

Transition is a beautiful place to be in. It’s spontaneous and filled with memories both good and bad. It’s a drive across the country, when you at first see long hours full of bathroom breaks at filthy rest stops and major claustrophobia in the car, but then you see the rainbow after the storm or a funny billboard and you’re on the edge of your seat, playing hide and seek with the next exciting adventure.

It’s a move to a new house, making new friends at a new school and everything that I’ve ever known. When I was between two houses just two weeks ago, I was frustrated by the unjustified discomfort of a new house and my exact words were, “Mom, I hate this house, it makes me want to go back to the old house and cry in a hole.” Although I don’t deal with it well, I am enthralled with the escapades it brings, and when I looked around at the simply beautiful woodwork in the bone-chilling family room, looked past the dust that had built up over the months, ignored the fact that we would have to take down the absolutely dreadful curtains, and sat on the musty couch, listened to the tap of giant raindrops, soaked up the darkness in the twilight sky, shivered at my dry skin, rubbed my goose bumps away, let go, and started to believe that there was beauty within this, I realized that I was on an adventure and though most call transition chaotic I call it wonderfully spontaneously beautifully intricately simple.

- Laila Pina, Grade 7

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“The Smoke in the Coffeehouse”

Sara and Eve walk in HE looks up to see them Leggings and tee shirts from Brandy. Staring at cell phones. HE looks down. How could HE see The calculus textbook or Jane Austen novel, carefully concealed in the folds of Eve’s Urban Outfitters bag. The postcard that lived in Sara’s purse from her dad three years ago. That stays hidden. They definitely don’t have HIS problems. HE is blinded by The Smoke. Jonas and Hunter walk in HE barely glances in their direction The stench from their soccer jerseys and the sweat dripping down their faces tell HIM enough. Why would HE know Jonas’s short buzz cut is not a fashion statement. That the phone in Hunter’s hand has a Spotify playlist of songs from musicals no one ever thought he was in. Soccer players don’t prance around on stage, Even HE knows that. Soccer players have a simple life, HE thinks. Why is HIS life so hard? The Smoke thickens.

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Mr. Jackson walks in HE sits up a little straighter. Jonas, Hunter, Sara, and Eve Talk a little quieter and remember The cold, stern stare guaranteed To stay with you for the next three periods. The ever-present pen in his pocket always ready to write a detention slip. Some teachers just hate kids. HE knows Mr. Jackson has no kind bone in his body. HE doesn’t sit next to him when Mr. Jackson takes the bus every day to the hospital. The list of blood donors, proudly displaying his name, stays unrecognized by the adolescent population. Teachers like that have already given up on life. That’s HIS theory. Hating Mr. Jackson is easier that way. The Smoke suffocates Him. The Smoke is being pushed into HIS brain faster and faster with no end The Smoke knows that everyone can be read like a book The Smoke can help make life easier with its help, HE knows that HE is the only one with stuff under the surface. Everyone else can be judged but HE is special, HE has felt real pain, HE has more understanding than you do. You’re just some stereotype but HE’s different.

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The Smoke says HE is the only one with real causes to fight for. The Smoke has many names, but will always be poison. Self-righteousness, Condescension, Nobility There will always be poison.

- Nikki Farber, Grade 7

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Amy Petschek, Grade 8

“Monkey Bars”

Violet swung merrily, skipping across the monkey bars Carefree Her feet just brushing the ground Hand after Hand over the green chipped bars behind her She turned, coming face to face with a dog drool dripping down its massive face Her joy turned to surprise, but She hung there for what seemed like hours the dog was stationary The girl looked at the dog the dog looked at the girl not blinking “Jester,” a call came from across the street the dogs ears perked up and ran home Violet jumped off and ran to safety her house the place where no dog-monster could reach.

- Bella Bohnsack, Grade 6

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“It’s Only Millions of Miles Away”

I’m leaving today. I’m leaving for America. I’m leaving my small town of Mussomeli, Italy. The place that I grew to know and love. The place where Mama and my five older brothers live. “E ora di andare, la barca lascera presto!” My mother says it’s time to go. The boat will leave soon. I take one look at the boat. It looks huge, I think. I hug my brothers and Mama goodbye. I will never see them again. I step on the boat. The boat that will take me to America; the boat that will take me to Father; the boat that will separate me from my simple Italian life. I look back at the town where I grew up and say goodbye in a whisper as I choke on my tears. I look back at a town of memories; a town of houses with people to see; a town with shops to buy supplies; a barber shop owned by old Grandpa Vito. Astonished with wonder and hope, I turn away and wipe my tears. - Joseph Mussomeli, Grade 6

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“Kim”

I wake up one morning and everything changes. I once had a normal family and a normal sister, but not anymore. I felt like I was invisible, when she was actually disappearing. I first discovered that food could be a friend or enemy, and for her a poison. Getting her from school, she was a stranger. When I looked down at her, her nose was bigger, her hair thin, kneecaps huge, and eyes sunk in. Her arms bruised and covered with a heavy blanket of black hair. She did not look human. There was nothing I could do, and I knew screaming at her to eat would not help. The more she starved, the more she disintegrated before my eyes. I always hated how people would stare and point at her, while my parents would do nothing about it. When people did that, I started screaming at them to stop. My parents would get even more mad. I was told to ignore it and pretend that nothing was wrong. My parents were the type of people who hid from their problems.

We lived in a lie.

- Harriet Wells, Grade 6

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“An Ode to Tofu”

So you think you know tofu Tofu is white

Tofu is gelatinous Tofu is slimy, cubed, watery, and served with brown sauce

Next to a box of General Pao’s chicken And a fortune cookie

From the Lucky Dragon Chinese Restaurant down the road

But that is not tofu

Tofu is more than a strange Asian food eaten once a month with takeout Tofu is more than something that vegetarians use to make meat substitutes

Like Tofurky Or a tofu burger

Tofu is a chameleon

Blending in with all the colors of a dish and absorbing their flavors Bringing them together in a perfect bite

An intriguing food Sold at the wet market in every neighborhood

Tofu is diverse Tofu is smoky

Or stinky Or lengthy strings like spaghetti

Pickled, fried, or flat as a pancake Frozen, dried, or diced fine as a carrot

Tofu is a coat of many colors Tofu is China.

- Annabel Roth, Grade 7

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“Corny Advice to Tall GirlsWho Wear Black A Lot”

I see you, yeah, you right there. You don’t want anybody to see you so you try to blend into the crowd, but my eyes are microscopes focusing in on your gothic appearance. When a friend teases you for wearing black all the time, tell her wearing black is the only way to reflect your inner thoughts without using words. Those girls who have a taste in telling lies giggle behind your back. They are pushing an amount of self-worth out of their mouths that goes straight to their brain. They are right. You scare them. But that is only because you have enough guts to stand in front of a crowded room and scream out all of the things that are wrong with the world and you won’t let anybody stop you. Because tonight, you are one and those girls or teachers have nothing on you because you are wonderful. Black may represent your thoughts but they don’t represent your dreams. You will have so much more sympathy for them when you are their boss. You know who you are, you can’t help but cry at night because you make no amends to the world, but wait, there are going to be days when people wish you could walk back into their lives. But, there will also be days when you wish your feet had been firmly planted. And those are the days where more explanation will be shared, detailing why you are here. There are too many reasons why people love you; there are too many reasons why your family will never leave your side. So never think for a second that you are worthless when in reality, you are the bravest person I know. So please, when those girls giggle behind your back, be extra kind to them. Show their hearts that you don’t care if they think you are scary and maybe they can open up and let their fireflies loose. Maybe they can see the world through your eyes, decorate the path paved by your brave heart, and illuminate the sky with the gentle touch of your words.

- Abby Everett, Grade 7

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“Shattered World” First it came gently Then it grew to something unimaginable First it seemed gentle Then it grew into something fierce Once it came there was no going back, the world was shattered The damage was done.

I now knew that life was broken, stolen, gone I had to face things on my own I now knew that I could be crumbled in my mistakes It seemed as if the pieces could never be fixed, the whole never found again

Then I left I found new chances, new opportunities It was then that the gray skies lightened But not completely, for I still remembered Far apart my friends and I remembered each other We still remembered the silly things we used to do, the normality’s that anywhere else would have been so strange. I still knew where I came from We still knew the devastation that was brought upon a 10-year-old. In the morning I would never again be greeted by the faded ribbons Instead, the possibilities, the new goals, the hopes and dreams of the future would engulf me I am no longer afraid to do what once seemed terrifying

I am on my own, but I can still cherish the time I had with them I am on my own; I can no longer leap without falling I still try Sometimes I miss my goals but I will never find anything without trying When the sun shines I know I succeeded When I succeed, I know its because of the bold effort in my new life

- Jessica Cramer, Grade 7

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“I Am a Tree”

I am a tree. Red, orange, yellow,

I sway in the breeze, leaves

rustling. I am alone,

My friends are all gone, fell and vanished into thin air, As if they never existed. And soon I will be too.

Little creatures, with tiny sticks, SHARP and POINTED, have taken my friends away, to never return. I will never find my friends, for they are gone and will never come back. I am afraid they will try to cut me again, but this time they will succeed. I will fall, for I am weak.

But I still sway peacefully in the wind, Because I know one day, Whether it is far away or near, My friends will come back to me.

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I have a hole Inside my trunk, But I live on, I must live on

And sway in the breeze, For that is what they would have wanted,

To live on for them, I shall.

- Aidan Helfant, Grade 7

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Will Mackle, Grade 6

“That’s Not the Way a Boy Grows Up to Be a Man”

The leather slashed my back, left a big ugly scar that’s not as big as the hole in my heart that’s not from the whip or the slaps to the face or the cruel words way of spitting themselves out to hurt more than a blow because I may be tall but I’m just a boy and words hurt more than stones, my back grows weak from each impending slash and I just look up and stare into the eyes of the enemy and pray to god that when I grow up I will be gentle with my words, because my father, a large boy he may be, is not a man.

- Katherine Marcus, Grade 8

“And It’s Beautiful Because That Is What We Want Life to Be Like”

When the throbbing sun rises and the ice moon becomes kissed by light, It’s complete balance; beautiful However the scale becomes unhinged by a feather because of one word one sentence one breath that holds the depth and disparity so deep that it is impossible to crawl out of. What shatters hope into millions of shards we call the social norm. What one person wants for a society out of countless people whose life is based on what other people thought to believe in. One person can be the turning point for change or what individuals want life to be like

- Bryn Morrison, Grade 8

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Patrick Howard, Grade 8

“Love Poem”

Shall I compare thee to a Chinese lantern? Thou art more beautiful and graceful: As it drifts up into the gloomy night, Radiating its warmth to the stars above. The light’s exuberance as it reflects upon a stagnant river. Thou art more beautiful and joyous than the candle blazing bright.

- Piero Panariello, Grade 8

“Hipster Road Not Taken”

The road not taken was becoming popular, In fact, everyone was now taking the road not taken, And the road that used to be used so frequently Was left abandoned, and became dusty, and unkept. They had started a revolution and everyone followed their different way. Everyone was unique, they all drank green tea out of mason jars, And wore glasses without diagnosis. Everyone had decided to become a gluten-free wine taste tester, Professional sleeper, fortune cookie writer, No doctors, accountants, coffee drinkers. Just individuals, Just hipsters.

- Grace McGonagle, Grade 8

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“Ignorance Is Bliss”

The secret roamed through the house like a thick gas slowly but surely rolling its way through. The smell, the actions, the tension was all so familiar I could not seem to place my finger on what it was, but I knew deep in the corner of a cave in my conscious brain. It was not until after the fun I realized in a way I never wanted to, I was told by somebody instead of realizing the thought myself, which I never would have done. The thought when it came to light smashed all the fun and good memories Of it Into a corner and beat them until they Were hurt with bruises of the thought. That secret has marred my brain and still Roams quietly throughout my house, their houses, Their friend’s houses. That girl has yet to learn this disturbing fact And her brain is gnawed by it so we all try to keep it Between those who know and not spread Like gossip through a school running breathlessly Telling everything and everyone about it. I know now. I wish that I could have waited longer but if it had waited It would have been even more disturbing than it is And besides, Nothing and nobody, no matter how refined or kind they are, Nobody Is Perfect.

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If the secret slipped from my mouth and into another’s ear, the pairs of eyes would all turn to me when the secret ran to other’s ears and back to my family’s. The invisible knife Would have found my heart And shattered it for Good. I could never forgive Myself for he Is the candle in the Darkness, The inspiration In the boredom, the trust in the lies. He made me understand and comprehend the true but deep meaning of love, and I could never understand otherwise.

- Avery Duer, Grade 7

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“Spring’s Blossom”

The cool air rushes against me. Slowly drifting through the sorrowful trees, Which have no leaves, but only sticks. Grass, all around. It is brown, for the winter has been long and cold. The bushes, in clumps of branches, Intertwined, in small leafless balls. Everywhere, is death. But somewhere, Out in the cloudy white skies, Over the dirty brown trees, A lone bird chirps. I smell instead of dread, Happiness and life! I see a green blossom on a tree. The cold is gone, The wind has sunk to the ground. The clouds part and a shining ball of light illuminates the darkness and shines upon the deathly reflection of winter.

- Alex Yuen, Grade 6

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Leah Attai, Grade 8

“Last Birthday”

The match scraped across the box With a quick flick of her wrist As she gave birth to light. The flame glowed across the apples of her cheeks And was smothered in the shadows of her wrinkles. Her glasses were two glimmering orange moons, More alive than she will ever be again. She gave light to the three candles that were sagging into her cake. One hundred of her years rested in three dripping pieces of wax. A somber chorus of “Happy birthday” suffocated within the tiny room And the three candles flickered dimly with the frail rhythm. She forced air onto the candles, trying to quell their flames But the steady fire would not yield to her crumbling breaths. Another feeble blow trickled down her chin And the candles decided to have mercy. Claps flapped like bird wings from young hands But they sounded so distant to her worn-out ears. She watched a silky wisp of smoke curl around her gnarled finger And realized this birthday was her last.

- Lil Breier, Grade 8

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“3 2 5 7”

The basketball court was my most familiar place: the squeaking of sneakers, the sound of the ball going swish, the yells of my teammates. Then, downstairs: My God, who is that? I didn’t know that my life had already changed. One week later, I saw her again: Who is that? I walked over. “Hi.” “Hi.” "May I sit?” “Of course.” Three hours later: “Goodbye,” she said. Two years later: “I do,” she said. Five years later: “Nicole,” she said. Seven years later: “Stephen,” she said. And still, to this day, whenever I see her: My God, who is that? How did I get to be so lucky?

- Stevie Greenberg, Grade 6

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“Through the Looking Glass”

Why is it that the mirror is given the most credit for beauty? It doesn’t do anything. In fact all it is, Is a piece of glass, Placed on the wall, For people to stare at. But we stare for hours, Not at our beauty, But all of the flaws. We are consumed by the mirror, Lost in it. The glass soon becomes a rock, The mirror is supposed to protect us, Or so we thought. It’s society’s fault really, They are the ones who tells us to spend as much time possible in front of the glass. Society, however, is indecisive and a knife pointed at us. They tell us to be thin, but skeletons are scary and not welcome. They tell us to hide our true face underneath a mask, A mask made of foundation, concealer, powder, and more beyond that. They make campaigns to tell girls to show their beauty without that mask. They tell us we have a voice, But speaking out can make you a loner, Above all… Society tells us to stand in front of the glass, And compare ourselves to others, But it never tells us that the image we hold Is of a skeleton.

- Lee Dizon, Grade 7

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“The Wind Came”

The wind came Ripped up every last root of hope And contentment And knocked every tree in the forest down. Like those trees we fall. We are knocked down by the failures In life By the hardships that every now and then decide to come upon us And sweep us off our heavy feet. We land on a ground of doubt In heavy air of defeat And sharp grass blades piercing through every last glimmer of hope left. But somehow Some way We get up. We find the single tenacious strand that our mind has left And with every last ounce of strength pull our weight up. Above ground there is happiness Relief But it is known that The greatest glory in living Lies not in never falling, But in rising every time we fall.

- Kaitlin Reed, Grade 7

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“Like Biting into a Juicy Apple”

Like biting into a juicy apple, Cracking the shell, then reaching the sweet core Our relationship has been like a wave It builds up slowly, sometimes fades, but mostly cracks on shore. Just years ago, you and I were strangers Living in the same loop and bubble Facing the same kinds of dangers Yet my idea of you lacked filling. From times where you pushed me around To when you tried to rescue me from drowning As your little elementary school force attempted to lift me up I savor every bittersweet bite of these memories. With your lectures on never trusting too much, Your specific, spine tickling taste in music, And your simple nods and “hey dude’s” I appreciate every smile that you give me. I never show my gratitude and love towards you, But past this shell blockading my feelings, There is a core filled with sympathy and warmth One that would never be the same if it hadn’t been for you. You have taught me to grow You have encouraged me to live happily You have persuaded me to never try and be something that doesn’t bring me joy And most importantly, you have made me realize how much one can achieve. So thank you for the littlest of things The Japanese horror movies we watched and the walks to McDonald’s As well as the casual check-ins and the switching off of the heating. And most importantly, thank you for being there for me.

- Antonia Sousa, Grade 8

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Kaitlin Reed, Grade 7

“Dream Poem”

I am a tiger, Hunting accomplishment. Dashing through the jungle, Following the scent of success. I feel it through the trees, Slowly waltzing, wanting me to take it. Reaching out. I know I have to, I know I must. I know if I don’t get it, I wont survive. I attack. I kill the achievement, I feel the success coursing through my veins, As I reap my reward. Filling me with more energy. Silently, I stalk away in search of a new hunt, In search of a new goal to kill.

- Ella Murphy, Grade 8

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“Spring: Wealth is in Nature”

Spring Wealth is in Nature the gold sun plays in the aquamarine sky and showers the wet bristly grass of bright emerald that has been hidden for so long with white blankets and puts a glow on the trees with barks of silver smoothly folded their branches dancing lightly as if they were only silk brushing through the air the birds talk among themselves through music and instruments wings flapping peacefully, yet urgently you can inhale the scent of fresh soil and crisp, cool air that creates the perfume and spices of nature Spring. - Rachael Lin Wheeler, Grade 6

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“Dreams Last Forever”

Dreams last forever Their appearance might be buried Under discarded piles of passions But they will hang on to your heart Like the melty marshmallow that clings to the hands Of a child devouring a summertime s’more And they will be there waiting Waiting for the time when you stumble across them And can’t quite remember why you ever set them down They will wait for the revolutionary moment When you feel the almost-forgotten vibrant spark of passion Like a ray of sunshine piercing your cold thundercloud heart And know that you can never again return to the bitter cold They will wait for the tears of melancholy that pour down your face And light the wick that leaves you sprinting after those dreams Those crumpled, ripped, abandoned pieces you left behind That last forever.

- Lilah McCormick, Grade 8

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“Breaking Free”

I can feel my breath shortening, breaking, and putting up a fight. A fight not to break out in tears. I can feel faces with stern eyes staring, worrying, and laughing on the inside. Laughter of hatred towards me. I don’t want my tears to fight back. I don’t want the faces. I don’t want to show my weakness. My weakness of loneliness. I don’t want them to feel pity, I don’t want them to think I am self-absorbed, because I am not. It’s not about my loneliness, but about everyone’s. People don’t express it, but they feel it.

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We all are birds, alone in our cages. I cry because we, as birds, are lonely. Every single chirp is a cry for companionship. Someone is trapping us inside. Maybe it’s we ourselves. I cry because we do this to ourselves. We don’t have the guts, the courage, the bravery, to step out. What if nobody flies with you. Inside our cages we have our excuse, the excuse, the reason why we are alone. We are trapped. If we step out, unlock the cage, we lose the excuse, the reason. When we break the lock, the excuse will drift away with the wind, along with it our confidence. I say we break the cage,

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fly free into the wind. We are so oblivious of our loneliness. Once we notice the heart-breaking truth of it, we are scared. So break free, and be scared together. Do what you are afraid to do. Be lonely with us. Together we will be lonely for eternity.

- C.C. Poli, Grade 7

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Jessica Cramer, Grade 7

“Underground”

Under the rule of a bloodthirsty madman Stand up for yourself and be killed Discrimination beyond imagination People forced to fight for ideas they don’t believe in Every night sirens screaming, running to the cellar hoping bombs don’t strike I am a soldier of my conscious I am the wrong gender for a battlefield The Fuhrer has spoken I nod politely on the street and bury my terror Inside my house I hide Jews, deep in the cellar Between the lean cow and vegetables It is the most I can offer I am ashamed of my country Pitting neighbor against neighbor I trust no one but when the sirens howl we sit together in our fear At least we can face the fear together, huddled in silence

- Alexander Peters, Grade 6

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“A Beautiful Place”

Twisting the knob of the French glass door I step outside into the Cold air that burns the gentle Skin on my face. The tip of my naked toe Hits the cold hard cement And the burn continues up into My leg. My breath consolidates Into a white cloud of fog Like a warm morning, but it isn’t. It is a cold morning Colder than you can bear But I’m here. I’m here to breathe, To breathe because it has been a while Since I’ve felt my rosy nose Feel the icy tingles of fresh air. It has been a while since my lungs were filled With the most unbearably cold air That I enjoy so much. And I do enjoy it More than most things, I enjoy the air And as my toes go numb I inhale Because I’m here to breathe.

- Eva Ebbesen, Grade 8

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Stephanie Gentile, Grade 7

“Poem for a Sister”

A wisp of dirty brown hair flecked with mud hangs loosely from her hair band. The young boy meticulously watches her hands dance upon the back of the moist mud. She works her magic on her creation, molding the material to look just as she wishes it to. The final creation forces her student’s eyes to smile with admiration as she shows her mud ganache cake to her brother. Teacher, mentor, instructor. As the sun begins to sink in the sky, the boy welcomes her desired knowledge, advice, and methods of creation. He imitates her movement, the way she always has a response at the ready, as if she has prepared them beforehand. Her confidence inspires the young boy to feel strong. She teaches him her gracefulness. Both of the young children read that night. The girl’s eyes are bound to the page, soaking in the words. The boy’s eyes do not read the words from the page but are silently studying how his sister could possibly maintain such a poised position. How her body sinks into the comfort of the couch, never losing its constant certainty. Breathing deeply, the boy adjusts, becoming his sister’s mirror; following her unspoken directions.

- Andy McIlvaine, Grade 8

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“The Louisville”

Three hundred thousand miles out in the Pacific Ocean standing on the port bow of the Louisville looking at the crystal blue waters. Quite a beauty she was. Fifteen years on sea and working as well as a charm. But not for long. BOOM! BANG! As the plane crashes down into the battleship I see my midshipmen, my reason for being here go down into the waters. The Louisville is now damaged badly. As if it couldn’t get worse, I thought, the second plane, followed by the third, crashes down upon the Louisville, now holding on in the Pacific Ocean. The cold waters don’t help my pain or my midshipmen as the struggle to live gets harder and harder; Aas the once beautiful blue water turns to a vile shade of red.

- Kelley Mooney, Grade 7

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“Guilt is Pain”

Many said I was lucky, But in reality I was hurt more than the people that died The state of being that came over me, Like a dark cloud predicting rain, Pushed and condensed me Until my mind thought I was no more than a crinkled up piece of paper It’s as if I were already dead. Buried with dirt pressed against my chest As I mold in the ground and mix with the ashes of my city. Many who survived the bomb Repeated "Leave me here to die," and people did and the survivor became deceased. I wish I had said those words, And was let to die It would be better than this life The life of guilt, pain, and suffering I will wait for death and die.

- Flynn Murtaugh, Grade 7

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“Where I Belong”

I belong in a place where each and everyday I can inhale the salty sea breeze and let that chill race down my spine like a jockey and his horse. I feel relaxed, safe, and secure as my tangled and knotted hair whips wildly in the wind. The constant motion of my hand wiping away sand in my eyes allowing me to see the broken shells and the dark ominous waters. I never want to experience a day without sunshine without a light of guidance or a sense of freedom. I belong in a place where I can watch the blue-sky turn to pink, then orange, then purple all as I eat my hot sizzling pizza and take gulps of my sugary lemonade. Somewhere that I lay and bask in the sun, as I watch my little brother with his colorful transformer kite in hand and his bucket full of unique treasures. Where the rolling waves and squawking seagulls are my favorite tune and where the patterned boogie boards seem to be the best invention ever to be created. A place where I can kick and splash, swing and hit, dive and catch and most importantly be surrounded by my family big and small. Wherever my family may go…. Is where I belong.

- Alison Telesz, Grade 7

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“Camera”

I have memories, but they’re not mine. Replayed over and over again. I hibernate silently, waiting to be awakened. And finally, my eyes flutter open, open to the world once again. But all I can see is what I’m forced to see, never able to see what I want. Always the same dull places and faces. And every time a single tear dribbles down, and every time he yells, “Ugh! It’s gone blurry again.” And I get the same hard smack over and over again until I forget the tears and focus on my job. And when it’s done, I’m once again hibernating with one more memory that’s not mine. - Mira Mahendru, Grade 6

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“That’s Baseball”

89 minutes is bench-warming in the dugout The harsh inferno sun piercing through my pale skin slouched over, guzzling gatorade and water falling from the moldy, dirt-covered water cooler 89 minutes is playing catch behind the field, getting yelled at by parents for accidentally throwing over Ethan Parker’s head into the crowd 89 minutes is feasting on BBQ sunflower seeds Sometimes splitting open the heavily armored shells perfectly revealing the seed Other times brutally chomping down an entire mouthful of them out of pure laziness And the craving for that savory, salty, umami flavor 89 minutes is smacking the scoreboard for not working Running back and forth from the scoreboard to the dugout And looking in disgust at the operator when it’s as powerful as a 1990’s Gameboy 89 minutes is shredding my vocal chords out at teammates when they hit into the outfield And when our pitcher throws a decent ball 1 minute is that satisfying call from my coach when he says “You’re up!” 1 minute is the trudging from bat to bat as the options get smaller and smaller for which painted metal rod is light enough for me to swing 1 minute is the confusion and the cowardice of standing up to bat Fearing missing the ball, but also going home with a black eye The pitcher throws and I’m still, “Strike!” Confident, he smirks and throws an easy ball, I swing, “Strike” He unleashes his rage and hurls the daunting piece of matter at my head, I jump away and swing with my eyes shut “Strike 3, you’re out!” That’s baseball. - Ethan Furman, Grade 8

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“Camaro, Camaro”

I watch the middle-aged man get out of the beautiful car: a 1967 Camaro with the nicest lines I have ever seen. As he goes into the store, I realize that he has left the car running— for me. I jump from the bushes and, just a second later, I am down the road, cruising, listening to my favorite radio station. The cold breeze brushes against my face… * * * As I walk out of the store, I look up and stand there in shock: The car. It is gone, forever. I drop the milk that I bought for my son David and daughter Dara as the feeling of guilt drops through my body. All I can think is: Camaro. Camaro.

—Will Magrone, Grade 6

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“Clean”

Wind in my hair, Sand in my toes, The crisp, salty air enters my mouth. In and out. In and out. I breathe in the tranquility. The waves pound on the shore as they clash in my ears, like a hammer onto a nail. The waves rocking everything like a gentle mother with her baby. Sand, sun, and sparkle are all that runs through my mind. The one place that lifts me up. I forget who I am Who to be Who I want to be. Looking out far into the horizon, The glistening sea sparkles like a gem, A twinkle in my eye. And for a moment, I am clean.

- Ava Ewing, Grade 7

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“Goodbye to Charlie”

The perfect goodbye: “Shut up,” I say as he teases me. “I don’t care,” I say as he talks about video games. “Can you please be quiet,” I ask as he hums in the kitchen. All of these hurtful, mean words directed towards my very own brother. “Kate, say goodnight to your brother,” Mom says. “Goodnight to your brother,” I say. Why do I say these things, now more than ever? Because I know how much I love him. Because I know how horrible my life would be without him. Because I know that when he goes away next year, my life will be turned upside down. Because I know that once he’s left, I will feel lonely. So Charlie, If you’re reading this: I shouldn’t have said “Shut up.” I shouldn’t have said “I don’t care,” Because I do. And I shouldn’t have said: “Can you please be quiet.” Because I know that once you’re gone, the house will be too silent without you. One more thing: Goodnight, Charlie. I love you.

- Kate Millard, Grade 6

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Lucy Holzinger, Grade 8

“Why”

My people work through the strenuous day My people lie worrying through the night My great people labor for unjust pay My great people suffer a sinful plight The kings sit on their thrones of morbid lies They pretend their ways are that of the Lord They banish my people to darker skies But to my people, Christ won’t lift his sword White kings and queens shall soon change their mixed minds My poor black people never cease to pray Our trumpets will play a triumphant song When we sit in their thrones on judgment day Watch as my people run around carefree See as my children look up and thank me.

- Megan Streeter, Grade 7

51

“I Felt For That Little Boy”

Never have I felt this way, I wanted to conquer myself in the trace of their loss, I felt my own sorrow in the middle of their success, and what for? So I could crumble my own faith and bruise my own confidence? That was who I wanted to be at the time, a piece of humanity so little that my own spirit was left in a small powerless boy and who would’ve thought that who caused it was none other than myself, I blamed my own failure on that boy whom I loathed because I felt like he did, helpless and alone. And all for that little strange sad boy who was no one but myself.

- Lucy Holzinger, Grade 8

“The Chokehold”

Reaching for the loose smokes in the pocket of my cargo shorts, all of my nerves lifted into my throat. I’m afraid. You’ve seen it before, black man arrested or killed. I don’t want to get hurt. I got a family. With my face blank, I try to sell all I have left. To make money in this neighborhood is a joke. I try to do my best. Black hats bob up and down like a wave. It is them. Swarming around me like bees, I feel like a monster. It’s time to take a stand. Lying on the street, weighed down with the burden of my race, and I can’t get up this time. My yells turn into cries of pain as my face loses feeling and smashes into the hard pavement. I try to tell them. I try to force them off and walk away. But my burden stays put, pushing my body through the ground, away from the world. As I drift away, I remember the moment when I escaped from the pests of society and ran toward the light ahead. I have one more question: Will it stop? - Ethan Parker, Grade 8

52

“Running to Frenchwoods”

I stepped into a dust-filled bunk, and instantly a huge smile brightened my face. I was finally home. I was here, after a three-hour drive I finally reached my home, Frenchwoods Performing Arts Camp. It was now my second year at Frenchwoods, but it felt like my tenth. I had so many friends and memories from the past year that they were my second family. This wasn’t camp. It was a vacation with my best friends. I thanked my cousin, Amanda, for saving me a bottom bunk right next to hers that had an outlet, and a window, my two ideal needs. Everyone always wanted the bottom bunk because it had a big bucket under the bed for storage, so it was ideal for people like me, who tended to overpack just a little bit. I continued to walk around the bunk just enjoying the weird, unpleasant smell, and it made it feel like home. Amanda rushed me out the door to go and see friends, but my mom urged me to continue unpacking all of my things. I don’t want to say goodbye. I know that my “family” awaits me, but my mom leaving is the hardest part. I take a deep breath and walk her out into the humid camp air and kiss and hug her a million times. “It’s only three weeks,” she says, but to me, without her it feels like forever. “I love you.”

- Sophia Ebbesen, Grade 6

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“What I’ve Learned”

I know that I procrastinate too much, and that even one moment in time can change everything. I know that life is too precious to never forgive and forget, that one person’s journey collapses when someone else’s starts. I know that loud crying is the need for attention and silent crying is knowing there is none left to get. I know that there are an infinite number of places to go and each one is always within reach. I know that one does not acknowledge love until it is gone and that loss is a crack in the heart that may never heal. I know that when I was young I wished to live forever and that you do not need forever to make a change. I know that fear itself is just a wink from the devil and that luck is just an illusion of hope. I know that I have enough, but I still want more. I know that shadows are a wisp of darkness and evil and there is so much more hidden out of sight.

- Sarah Wagner, Grade 7

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Jolie Rolnick, Grade 8