LITERATURE FROM THE LOST AND FOUND
Jared Swisher
GREELY MIDDLE SCHOOL 2016-2017
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CONTRIBUTORS Literary Work Connor Albert Carson Bell Braden Bickford Stephanie Bruder Sam Carter Grace Clapp Bella Colavolpe Marisa Crowley Liesel Cybulski Cassidy Dean Riley Duong Madeline Fowler Jack Gervais Virginia Googins Tyler Grasky
Maddie Hall Rylan Harrison Leif Harvey Isaac Herreid Abigail Hollis Wyatt Horning Anna Horton Addison Isasi Paige Jones Megan Lawrence Ryah Lempert Malcolm MacMahon Meaghan McBrearity Riley McBreairty Jenny Medrano
Holly Moss Mia Netland Zoe Payson Ava Poperechny Elise Provencher Kate Ramseyer Lea Raven Sara Santerre Elijah Saylor Wesley Schuyler Jared Swisher Jane Way Adele Weaver Patrick Young Pelle Ziervogel
Art Work Samantha Bright Elizabeth Chmielewski Grace Clapp Cosima Curran Kendrick Dahme Luca Duina Evan Dutil Adam Giroux Rachel Goldburg
Bella Hendry Anna Horton Eliza Ingersoll Kaidan Ingersoll Diana Kimball Hannah Kropp Camilla Lattanzi Megan Lawrence
Faculty Advisors: Alisha Goldblatt and Jacey Morrill 
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Luke MacArthur Olivia Marsanskis Chris Martucci Solon Perry Ella Poor Corrine Rivera Jared Swisher Elisabeth Traister Braden Wells
TABLE OF CONTENTS 1
Jared Swisher
Cover Art
POETRY 7 8 9 10 12 13
Kaidean Ingersoll Addison Isasi Chris Martucci Isaac Herreid Meaghan McBreairty Corinne Rivera
Artwork Afraid of the Dark Artwork Death My Father Artwork
METAPHOR POEMS 15 16 16 17 17 18 18 19 20 20
Diana Kimball Jane Way Riley McBreairty Rylan Harrison Malcolm MacMahon Anonymous Braden Bickford Adam Giroux Bella Hendry
Artwork Poem #1 Poem #2 Poem #3 Poem #4 Poem #5 Poem #6 Artwork Metaphor Answers Artwork
CHARACTER SKETCHES 21 22 23 24 25 26 27
Rachel Goldburg Sara Santerre Samantha Bright Ryah Lempert Eliza Ingersoll Tyler Grasky Solon Perry
Artwork Of Mice and Men: Curley’s Wife Artwork Of Mice and Men: Crooks Artwork Of Mice and Men: Slim Artwork
REFLECTIONS 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39
Kendrick Dahme Artwork Kate Ramseyer Elie Wiesel’s Night Ava Poperechny Sleep Madeline Fowler You Don’t Know Me Elizabeth Chmielewski Artwork Marisa Crowley Your Couch Ella Poor Artwork Elise Provencher Social Issue - Racism Evan Dutil Artwork Cassidy Dean and Megan Lawrence Sitting on the Corner Hannah Kropp Artwork !4
SHORT STORIES 41 42 43 43 43 44 46 48 49 50 51 52 55
Grace Clapp Artwork Maestra Sobral’s 6th Grade Class El Conejito Coco Elizabeth Traister Artwork Olivia Marsanskis Artwork Luca Duina Artwork Bella Colevolpe Mr. Linden’s Library Riley Duong Story from my Head Wesley Schuyler Lift-Off Braden Wells Artwork Elijah Saylor Harris Burdick Creative Writing Camilla Lattanzi Artwork Mia Netland An Except from Meant to Be Luke MacArthur Artwork
INUIT POEMS 57 58 60 62 64 66 67 68 70 72 74 76 77 78 80
Cosima Curran Grace Clapp Adele Weaver Connor Albert VG Zoe Payson Lea Raven Liesel Cybulski Holly Moss Sam Carter Jack Gervais Anna Horton Wyatt Honring Jenny Medrano Abigail Hollis
Artwork When I Come Up For Air Aningan Thing of a Million Things Hahaha Sedna Dog Sled Arctic Dog Hunting Caribou Hunter’s Second Struggle Alone Seals Arctic Ocean There’s Something in the Leaves
SHAPE POEMS 83 84 85 86 87 98 99 90 91
Megan Lawrence Stephanie Bruder Jared Swisher Carson Bell Patrick Young Leif Harvey Paige Jones GH Anna Horton
Artwork The Kite The Puck Falls As the Sun Goes Down Pyramids Snow On Four Legs Magical World Artwork
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POETRY 

Kaidan Ingersoll
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Afraid of the Dark Addison Isasi
We all were once afraid of the dark As it seemed to be a park For demons and monsters that feel like theyŕe there And as we feel a breeze of tension against the air We begin to realize we're never afraid of the dark as scary as it can be We are only afraid of what we can't see Our minds seem like big tanks And we watch slowly as the bullets fill in the blanks We were taught to see these things And as we feel the stings We see a shadow, a movement We can then understand how fluent How our mind sets us apart For we were all once afraid of the dark
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Chris Martucci


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Death
Isaac Herreid A ponderous topic, death It being blown into time like a man’s last breath Wherever you run, it seems to be there In the water, fire, earth and air And when it finally comes to outstretch its hand Where does it take you, what life? What land? It is our strongest fear and greatest motivation Being able to inspire thousands or cripple nations For many it is an end, for many a beginning For some a loss, and some a winning With it, many feel ignorantly without Without it we would not be devout It is emotions defined Yet lacking luster Darkly it shines Depicted with bluster
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My Father A “Found Poem”: A collection of random phrases from several different unrelated texts, pieced together to create an original poem
Meaghan McBreairty
My father is uncomfortable to be around, A real pain. He doesn't like wearing shirts, And he carries a small bag around that has absolutely no functionality. He is a confident guy, Brilliant and wise. I have a difficult time being around him because he admits a general boredom. My mom was very shy when she said hanging out with him was supposed to be fun, But being with him is wasting your time. And he continues to speak loudly, Talking about stories of aliens, And the roots of the family. There is only one moment per day when he only says a few words, Or goes without saying anything, And simply being in his presence at that time is a gift. But, even though he is an unreasonable chronic pain, I am proud he is my dad.
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Corrine Rivera


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METAPHOR POEMS
Diana Kimball
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Stories told, never remembered. Movies viewed by an audience of only one. A break from time, our own worlds. Still, but moving furiously. Activity. Quiet. Never the same, always wild. Crazy, beautiful, joyous, tragic, terrifying. Yet unmoving. Even when we shut our eyes, we’re still seeing. By sunrise, they disappear along with the stars. They melt into the morning sky, barely leaving a trace. Their fire, poison, bliss, tears, fantasy. Disappear forever. — Jane Way
I am always born again Pressure is my friend When people trample me They don’t really see Animals come and go Even they don’t know That I am strong My life is short or long My reign never ends I’m always born again. — Riley McBrearity !16
I am a harmless noose
A fancy feat A uniform Sewn for hours Worn with great power Made by brothers Or the ocean Purchase new Or at the thrift So many options do not drift — Rylan Harrison
I have been used for years. Six sides are too many. The color yellow makes me gag. I leave behind a trail like a slimy slug. Yet I can clean it up in no time. Our kind murders trees without thinking twice. When I am new I am immense. When I am old I am poky. — Anonymous !17
It’s not a weighted blanket, it’s a sheet of ideas. It’s your Daily read, it’s your entertainment in the powder room It’s edges are sharp, it’s not a knife It’s the pulp of a living thing It beats rock Cut me up and I can be a person(s) My family tree is exceedingly vast — Malcolm MacMahon
I travel in the corner Making many treks Following my friends As we go on trips To the metal boxes To where we are then Ripped. It could take Much time to get there But for the right price We always arrive. Sunday is my day off As we sit and rest. — Braden Bickford
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Adam Giroux


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What are those metaphor poems about? • Dreams • Footprints • A necktie • Pencil • Paper • Postage stamp
Bella Hendry
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CHARACTER SKETCHES

Rachel Goldberg
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Of Mice and Men Character Sketch: Curley’s Wife Sara Santerre A young woman strides across the dusty ranch; her hair bounces beside her head, curled into two perfect sausages. Huge ostrich feathers dangle from her red shoes and drag along the dust, coated in a mask of brown. She walks straight forward not paying attention to any distractions behind her. Her dark eyes dart back and forth, desperate for an interaction of any kind. Her eyes light up as she spots three men moving past the barn, laughing on the way. She calls out to them and rocks on her heels ready to pounce. Her lips are dried and crackled, and rouge paint disguises them, giving the perfect texture and appearance. She avoids licking her lips to keep the paint from smearing down onto her cheek, ruining her perfect complexion. Her mouth slips into a deep smile, and she creeps toward the men holding her excitement down in her throat. Suddenly, a pair of hands rested on her shoulder. One so soft and smooth a cloud would have frowned with jealousy, and one so rough and rugged a wild animal would have crumbled away in fear. The woman takes a deep breath and sighs softly to herself. She turns her head and looks past her shoulder, forcing a smile through gritted teeth. “Hi sugar, I've been lookin’ for yah,” she chirped. She maintained a calm feminine voice that sounded very well rehearsed. Curley grins at her and starts to talk about people on the ranch. She smiles and pretends to listen, but under the surface she cries, for the three men have disappeared behind the barn. All of a sudden Curley makes a fist and belches “Oh how I’d like to give him the old one two, he well deserves it, yah know.” The young woman calmly responds back to him “I'm sure he does, he would be a fool to mess with you.” Her response sounded dry and sarcastic, but Curley didn’t take notice.
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“Well, I better get back home, you know how much I love the house.” Her soft voice cracked a little when she said the word love. Love isn’t the word she would use to describe that house, or her marriage with Curley, but she choked down the hatred. “Well I reckon’ I'll see you at home then.” Curley added. He bends down to plant a single kiss on her cheek. Her fists tightened and her eyes squeezed shut; she held in her anger and inhaled sharply. Curley walked away and vanished into the barn. “I could have been in the movies,” she sighed and moped to the road, regret following close behind her.
Samantha Bright
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Of Mice and Men Character Sketch: Crooks Ryah Lempert An older man sits on his bed, living in a little room separated from everybody else. He slept on a long box filled with straw. His bottle of liniment is in one hand, and the other is rubbing his crooked back. His room is swept and clean. His possessions are hanging on the wall: a broken harness, a split collar with the horsehair stuffing sticking out, strips of new leather for mending, and an old apple box above his bed holding medicine for him and the horses. Too many to carry on his old crooked back. Crooks, the stable buck and a cripple, he knew that meant he was permanent to the farm. He read lots of books, but books don’t mean nothin’ when you are lonely. Because a guy goes nuts if he ain’t got nobody. When he was young, he lived on his father's chicken farm. Every morning him and his brother would go out to the barn an’ turn the chickens out and sit there on the fence. Life was good. But then everybody grows up and leaves. And then you become lonely, you make your way, stopping at different farms working and leaving again, nobody talking to him. He thinks it would be different if he was white. He thinks and opens up“S’pose you couldn’t go into the bunkhouse and play rummy, cause you was black. S’pose you had to sit out here and’ read books. Sure you cold play horseshoes till it got dark, but then you got to read books. And books ain't no good. A guy needs somebody-to be near him.” Sometimes he ask himself, if he really just saw that, if he really just heard that. But he can’t ask nobody, ‘cause he’s lonely. He thinks he’s goin crazy. But he can’t tell. They say he smells, so he sits in his little room, by himself listening to the sound of moving horses, feet stirring, the sound of teeth champing on hay, the rattle of the halter chains, rubbing his old crooked back.
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Before he came to Salinas Valley, he worked on another little farm. He was the stable buck, caring to the horses like they were his, waking up each morning, giving them their hay, and watching them run outside. But one morning nobody was there, just him an’ the horses. It was raining and windy. He was trying hard not to disturb the horses. He heard a noise, the wind was so strong, everything blowing, chairs in the air, tables flipped over. It was crazy; he turned too quick, and he was on the ground, his back aching with pain. The gelding was standing there with terror in his eyes, staring at the man on the ground. The man couldn’t move. He laid on the cold cement ground, crying for help, but nobody heard him‌
Eliza Ingersoll
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Of Mice and Men Character Sketch: Slim Tyler Grasky Late in the afternoon, Slim is in the garden trimming the bushes. Sweat runs down the long chiseled features of his face. He finishes trimming and picks up the hose with his large hands. He is about to water the flowers when he suddenly releases the hose. He kneels next to the flowers and clips some off. He walks around the house with long strides to a large stone in the back yard. He places the flowers on the ground in front of the smooth rock and goes back to tending the flowers. Inside he eats some eggs fresh outta the chicken. “Hey George! Wake up, I made you some eggs!” No response. “Wake up you son of a bitch. Your eggs are gettin’ cold! --- silence --- “Alright guess you’re eatin’ cold eggs.” Once he’s done with his breakfast, he cleans his cheap plate with cold water. George still isn’t awake yet. Slim walks to the thin, oak door of the bedroom and knocks rather harshly. “George! You in there?” No answer. “A’right I’m comin’ in.” It’s been almost a month since George died. Slim was lonely in the house all alone. Every morning he’d wake up to the rooster crowing. He’d feed the dog, his only companion. He would go out and feed the animals. Sometimes he would go out back to the smooth rock and talk like a living person were there. He would tend the garden. Afterwards he would chop firewood and feed it to the stove. Then he would sit and feed the rabbits
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alfalfa like Lennie would’ve. Slim was always thinking. About George and Lennie and what it would be like if they were there. Sometimes he would think of something funny that might happen and he would laugh to himself. Before George died they would always crack jokes about Lennie. They’d say how they would be missing a few rabbits if he were there and how mowing the lawn would be easier if there wasn’t a headstone in the middle of the backyard. Stuff like that. Slim missed that stuff. He took his fifth shot of bourbon.
Solon Perry
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REFLECTIONS
Kendrick Dahme
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Elie Wiesel’s Night Kate Ramseyer People are painted with red, and black, and white. Tears are no longer shed They are replaced with guilt, And relief, And survival, And emptiness. Fog escapes through yellow teeth And split lips, Carrying with it The smallest breath of What they used to call life In a long, rattling inhalation Of gray dust. They are gone. Their faith Dignity Minds Hearts Places Are ripped from them And broken across their backs. If they open their glassy eyes And feel with their petrified fingers Can they find a fragment? What was once a full, beautiful mind, Was abandoned And became an empty shell. Even the smallest piece of the past Will not fill the gap. But Just because there is darkness Around them Does not mean It is ahead.
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Sleep Ava Poperechny Italicized phrases from Elie Wiesel’s NIGHT
I drifted off, desperate for rest I heard someone calling my name I tried to open my eyes: it was my father I looked at him without seeing him But I could tell by his voice His was the face of an angel in distress He told me I can’t sleep, that I would never wake up The days became short and the nights almost unbearable Sleep was never fatal Why now when I need it most Were there still miracles on this earth? Why was this happening? Deep inside me, I felt a great void opening Like a bomb exploding. I no longer pleaded for anything There was nobody to plead to I began to think of myself again I should be thinking of my father I knew that I was no longer arguing with him but with Death I wouldn’t let it take me Liberation Finally
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You Don’t Know Me, a Sestina Poem This poem, "You Don't Know Me" is based on my study of social issue topics in a sixth grade ELA class. We read books, articles, poems, and short stories about various social issues and this poem reflects what I've read and learned. This is based on a fictional person and a fictional issue.
Madeline Fowler Based on: regret and bad pasts The feeling I have is horrible How do people live with guilt All I can feel is regret I do not want to remember So now I sit alone Swimming in a world of hate I am not full of love, I am full of hate The people who are like me, are horrible I do not like being alone Always feeling guilt I try to start over, be a better me, but then, again I remember My past, I fully regret I can’t stand the feeling of regret But my actions show the world hate When people see me, they see a bad person, so that is what they remember When I try to change the way I am, I can’t because on the inside, I know, I will always be horrible I do not like the feeling of guilt I wonder if I one day will change, or if I will forever be alone Unfortunately I have gotten used to being alone I never knew that what I did would make me feel so much regret And guilt My stomach squeezes when people stare at me with hate When somebody is staring at you, and won’t look away, that’s being horrible That is something that you always remember
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Why do I have to remember The pain of being alone There are no words to describe the feeling it gives you except one, horrible I get so angry at myself for what I did all those years ago, I am embarrassed by it and I have a strong feeling of regret Sometimes it is hard to see the world clearly, when all I can see is hate It is hard to get up in the morning knowing that today is just another day of feeling guilt I always seem to wonder if I am the only one who has guilt If I am the only one who has a bad past to remember I am being consumed by hate It is hard to live with the fact that I will continue to be alone I can make my life better, but the thing that hold me back is my regret I hope from this point on that my life will not be so horrible I hate to remember that horrible day I regret all of my negative actions but the past can not be changed so now I live with guilt Sad and alone. 
Elizabeth Chmielewski
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Your Couch: A Sestina Poem Marisa Crowley Your place on the couch, empty of your presence, I walk with your hand in mine, leading you on your way, You ask the same question, “Who am I?” you say. I remember what to say, but lead you to your couch, this time I question, when your presence, will return to the normal way, I memorize your time with mine. The time I see you, you are mine. To you I say, “I love the way, you sit at the same place on your couch, the way you act in my presence, I’ll remember you in every way.” Now you don’t question, I feel you are now mine, I feel your presence, the things you used to say, the way you feel your couch, the look in your eyes, that way.
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You have gone a different way, Can you stay longer than last time I question, The look in your eyes is now on your couch, I know you have gone back, you are not mine, I don’t know what to say, I don’t know your normal presence. The emptiness of your presence, makes me turn the other way, you start to say, with a face full of question, you take your hands in mine, you lead me to your couch. Your presence I question, You say “You are mine” on our way to our couch.
Ella Poor
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Social Issue- Racism, A Sestina Poem Elise Provencher The colors of our skin separate us. Even though we are all the same on the inside, But to them, we are different, And different is bad. No matter what we do to them, They can only see the color of our skin. We would be looked at differently with white skin. Our color wouldn’t be the first thing they knew about us, Then we would not have been so different to them. They can’t look past our skin, to see what’s inside. See past our skin and see we aren’t bad, To see we are just different, we are just different. Just because our colors are different. The first thing they do is judge us due to our skin. Being not exactly the same as them, it’s bad. They hate and they judge us. Not even seeing what we’re like on the inside. Even though we’re not that different, than them. We are “weird” to them, Like aliens, even though we’re just different, very similar or almost the same on the inside. Yet, we are not equal because of our skin. They make sure we know they don’t like us. To make all of us believe we are bad. We didn’t do anything, yet we are still bad. They don’t like us, even though we did nothing to them. !36
They will tell us to not be us To make us not different. But, they can’t change our skin. Or make us weak on the inside. They can not break us inside, Make us forget what they did, all the bad, What they did to us just for the color of our skin. Have us try to forgive them. Since we were different, and we’re still different. They thought different was bad, but not to us. We were the same on the inside, but still strange to them. Outcasts because our skin was different. We are not bad we are just, us.
Evan Dutil
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Sitting on the Corner Our Sestina Poem Cassidy Dean and Megan Lawrence Sitting on the street corner. Holding my cardboard sign. People walk past without even looking at me. I want to have a better life. Someone drops a penny in my hat, And I know people can give more. I sit in the shelter hoping there is more. I see people like me sitting on a corner. I see my dirty clothes and torn up hat. At least I have a night without having to hold my sign. Tomorrow I won't have a bed, unfortunately this is my life. This shouldn't be me. I walk around the grocery store and everyone stares at me. Everything's too expensive, I just need a little more. I lost everything in my life. A woman sees me and turns the corner. I see a 50% off sign, With sadness I look at the little money I have in my hat. Winter is coming, I need a new hat. Someone sees me, And my sign. They give me a penny more, While I sit freezing on this corner. I have a broken life. I look and see everyone having a happy life. While I sit here with an empty hat, On this busy corner. There's almost no life left in me, I need something more. !38
But all I have is me, my empty hat, and an old cardboard sign. I need a sign. To show me I can have a better life. I pray I can have something more. Even a new hat, Or new clothes for me. But still, I sit on this corner. People look at me as if I'm an old hat. I'm covered in dirt and I want more, a better life My sign asks for donations to help, but I’m still stuck sitting on my corner.
Hannah Kropp
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SHORT STORIES 

Grace Clapp
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Translation: There is a bunny; his name is Coco. He lives with his bunny parents in Georgia. Coco loves carrots, but he cannot eat them. He is allergic to carrots! Coco feels very sad he cannot eat carrots. One day, there is a terrible accident. The fox invites Coco to a party. The fox wants to eat Coco and has a plan. The fox gives Coco some carrot juice, Coco drinks it, and he feels really sick! However, Coco has his hoppi-pen and saves himself! Coco is alive, and the fox is very angry! He attacks Coco and eats his leg; Coco throws the hoppi-pen at him. The fox trips and breaks his head. Coco climbs on his hopi-board and goes to his parents’ house. Mom and Dad bunny are very sad. Coco has no leg, Coco is missing a leg! He cannot walk! Mom and Dad bunny take Coco to Vegas. The end!! !42
 
Elizabeth Traister
Olivia Marsanskis
Luca Duina
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Mr. Linden’s Library Bella Colavolpe
He had warned her about the book. Now it was too late. His words had echoed throughout the library. But the book had already gotten to her. It stayed glued to her chest as she turned her back on Mr. Linden. His words were wise, I had been there the whole time, watching the cover of the book as if it was alive. I knew my sister was in danger, and I had to warn her. Checking my book out as fast as I could, I raced after her. “Why did you do this!?” I say, talking to no one. This town is falling, being destroyed. And all because of a book! It looks different to everyone, the cover was where they want to be. Why hadn’t Mr.Linden just taken the book out of the library? He knew what happened when they read it, when they became one with it. He had told me! But again and again, letting it happen, watching the town sink to its knees. __________________________________________________________ I found her in her room, murmuring the words as she always did when she was reading. My memory rushed back, and I realized this wasn’t the same. She didn’t even know I was sitting on her bed with her, she was so into the book, it was as if her life depended on finishing it. I tried to take it away, but it was glued to her hands. No matter how hard I pulled, it was staying there. I could see her eyes glazing over as she started reading faster. I had no idea was she was saying, I could only hear chunks of it. Something like, “With the tall trees,” “free as the birds roaming,” and “do whatever, whenever.” It almost sounded like - the book was saying a lullaby to her, wanting her to go to sleep. So she would wake up in, in, the jungle! She longed to be in the jungle. I remember now, “with tall trees,” free as the birds roaming?” I jumped up quickly to go get my parents, to tell them the news. And oh, how stupid I was. !44
__________________________________________________________ “Mom! Dad! Hello? Is anyone there??” No, of course no one was there. They had surrendered to the book, too. That’s when I heard a slight bang, a creak, and a small “Hello.” Running up stairs, I yell for my only family left. “Sarah!?” I round the corner and the door is closed. That was the creak. But what was the bang? And the small hello? I try to turn the knob, but it won’t budge. “No, please no!” I’m screaming now, tears pouring down my face. My arms are burning from the effort of trying to get the door open. I finally give up, it’s no use. I’ve lost her. My last member of the family, my last friend. And that’s when I fall back, the door has opened. I expect to see Sarah looking at me with confusion, but I don’t. Instead I see her lying in bed, vines coming out of the book. “Sarah?” I whisper. But it’s too late, the vines wrap around her, pulling her into the pages. With long spikes, they grow and grow. Never ending, moving fast. I’m too slow, too slow to dodge them. I plead with my limbs to move, but it’s not enough. I am its next victim.
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Story From My Head Riley Duong Bow and arrow poised to strike, Renaila waited silently in the forests of Azul. Or at least that was what they were called, before the war against the four kingdoms and the Dark realm. Long ago, there were four kingdoms: Fuego, the kingdom of fire, Aries, the kingdom of wind, Caillou, the kingdom of earth, and finally Azul, the kingdom of water. Together, they lived in harmony and kept the peace in the country of Aria, but that all changed during the War of Shadows. There was a prince that believed the four kingdoms of Aria should be destroyed, for they were the ones that took the throne away from him, the ones who took away his rulership of the old kingdom Saria. So the prince waged war on the four kingdoms and eventually won, taking out the rulers of all four kingdoms, and taking the lives of the soon to be queens and kings of the four, all except one. Renaila shook away the memories of her past and took the shot at the young doe in the middle of the forest. “Great,” Renaila breathed, “first deer of the season and I miss out of spite.” She walked briskly through the snow-covered forest and retrieved her arrow lodged into the snow. Ever so silently, she walked back to her home hidden away in the mountains, making sure no Sarain spies would find her. When she finally got to the halfway point that divided the forests and the mountains, she heard the snapping of twigs behind her. What was that? she thought. Quickly, she notched her bow and made sure her dagger was within arms’ reach. “Who’s there?” she yelled. “Whatever you are, I’m not afraid of you, or whatever you’re going to do to me!” It seemed as though no one was there, until it finally spoke up. “Arrogant one, aren’t you,” the voice spoke up. “You know, you should really make sure you know who you’re talking to.” The figure got closer, and Renalia aimed as it did so. “Show yourself!” she called. “Why are you here and what do you want? Whatever it is, you aren’t going to get it from me!” The figure got closer, until it was directly in front of her. “I’m showing myself, are you happy now, princess?” he asked. Renaila still kept her bow aimed at him. “You didn’t answer my question,” Renaila snapped. “Who are you and what do you want?” He got closer, too close. !46
“My name is David Fuego, last heir to the throne of Fuego. And I was sent here to find you by the Rebellion of The Four Kingdoms. I was told that you were the lost princess of Azul,” he answered. “So does that answer your question?” “The princess is dead,” Renalia replied. “Your mission was indeed a fraud, David.” She put her bow down and looked at the man. “Then why do you look exactly like the princess I needed to find?” He walked closer to her, which was ultimately a bad decision. With snakelike grace, she moved swiftly and pinned him to a tree with her dagger in hand. “Listen, I don’t care who you are and what you want, but your little foolish destiny of finding all the lost heirs of the four kingdoms will never come true.” Renaila snapped. His armor shined in the gleam of her polished dagger, sword at his back with a deep red ruby in the hilt. “In all my years of being a prince, not one that I met acted like such a warrior before,” he replied. She could hear the twinge of sarcasm in his voice. With one small movement, he quickly knocked her off her feet, pushed her into the snow, pinning her at her wrists. “Look, I don’t want any trouble from you, I just want you to come with me back to the Rebellion’s castle, alright?” He answered. His green eyes seemed to pierce daggers into her soul as he looked at her. He finally took his grip off Renaila, and she got up and rubbed her wrists. “What makes you think I can trust you, David?” Renaila answered, his name tasting bitter in her mouth. The snow slowly fell around her and David as she walked up to him. “Because,” he said “we’re both royalty, lost heirs to our forgotten thrones, and I’m here to help you get it back, that’s why you can trust me.” Renaila thought for a moment and finally answered. “Fine, I’ll go with you, your highness.” She walked up to him until she was a few feet away. “If getting my family’s throne back is what you are offering, I’ll take it.” “Good,” he said. “We leave now, your majesty.”
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Lift-Off Wesley Schuyler It was a perfect lift off! He jumped from the ground and slammed the ball into the hoop, and everyone was cheering. Or that’s what he thought, but they were laughing at his horrible fail. He thought he was set but then he hesitated, dropped the ball and gave the other team the winning score. He was so disappointed in himself, but the worst part was that his whole family was there at the game so he wouldn’t hear the end of it. As soon as he got home it’s worse than he thought. His brother kept chanting “Butterfingers!” And then his sister, mom, dad and uncle joined in: “Butterfingers!” They all chanted. He hoped this was just a nightmare. That next day at school it got worse. His brother came up with the name “Sixth Grade Butterfinger.” And then at his lunch period, he was taunted by everyone and completely humiliated. He was known as the “Sixth Grade Butterfinger” in his house, in the school, in the town. Everyone disliked him for losing the championship game, letting down everybody in the town. “The next game, I can redeem myself. Only 5 months to train. Gotta get going!” Five months later, he sees himself again at the champion game against the Miami Cows. “A chance to redeem! A chance to start over. I can’t screw this up!” He said to himself in the locker room. First quarter, 10 to 3, the Miami Cows are winning. He was just a backup, so he couldn’t do anything about it. Second quarter the player was out, he was in. As soon as he got out, a random person said “Hey look! It’s Butterfingers!” He was discouraged enough as it was, but he kept going and tied up the game 23-23 in the second quarter. In the third quarter he was out, Jimmy was in, but he was the worst player on their team. At the end of the third quarter, it was 49-27, the Cows ahead. In the fourth quarter he was in, and Jimmy was out. He was day dreaming through the whole quarter about him messing up, but next thing he knew, it was 56-55, Cows ahead. Seven seconds left. His teammate lobbed the basketball towards him. He went for the shot, “5! 4! 3! 2! 1!”
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The crowd yelled. As soon as the stadium said “1!” he shot. The ball rolled around the rim with everybody gasping, and he made it! Everyone cheered, but for real this time! His teammates gave him pats on the back; they picked him up and ran him across the floor. Little did he realize this was all just a nightmare, he was safe. When he woke up in the morning, he was relieved it was all a nightmare and he said “It was a perfect lift-off.”
Braden Wells
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Harris Burdick Creative Writing Elijah Saylor His heart was pounding. He was sure he had seen the doorknob turn. That door. When he bought this house he wondered why that door was there. It was no taller than 12 inches, dark wood and dusty. Sweat started to bead on his forehead. The previous owners had told him a story, that the first owners had passed down from owner to owner. When the house was built in 1500, it was cursed, so that every 100 years a shadow, a spirit of pure darkness, with no distinct shape and always darker than those around it, would come and demand the soul of the owner in exchange for the owner’s life. He, of course, paid no attention to their story, but who would? He stared at that door for a long time, looking for even the slightest disturbance. Eventually he dismissed the idea that he ever heard or saw anything and went upstairs to eat dinner. As he was making dinner, he thought hey, it’s the year 2000. This house was built exactly 500 years ago. That realization did nothing to soothe his unease. As he was eating, he thought about the things he didn’t do. He had never married, he had never visited any wonders of the world. The only foreign country he had ever been to was Canada. He never made a bucket list and he rarely saw his family. He suddenly snapped out of his daze and realized he had spilled his dinner on himself. After all the mice in the house had learned a dictionary full of swear words, he came downstairs with a fresh change of clothes. He continued to eat his dinner and told himself that he would not wear his food this time. He froze.
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He heard a creak coming from the basement. He did not move, not knowing what to do. The blood rushed in his ears. His heart was pounding. Sweat began to trickle down his face. Did he go to the phone? Or look down there himself? Who would I call? He thought. A neighbor? The police? The Army? Coming to his senses, he thought: Nonsense! I’m being ridiculous! It’s probably just a mouse or something. Besides, who would believe such a ridiculous story? He got up. And slowly, step-by-step, creaked his way down the stairs. His heart-rate started to rise. His foot hit the bottom step. He looked at the door. His eyes were greeted with darkness.
Camilla Lattanzi
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An Excerpt from Meant to Be Mia Netland
Ruby “Unfair!?....” I asked myself as I looked around my new room. The only things in my ‘room’ were a reed mat, a dresser, and a small table. On the table was a small drinking gourd, filled with dust. “Sorry your highness, I thought this room would be nice for you! Shut up and be happy!” Ruby’s uncle yelled. He slammed the small door and went in the kitchen. My stomach growled for food. I followed my uncle into the kitchen, and looked through the cupboards. Nothing but a few beans. I soaked them in water to make them a little appealing, and looked for spices. None. “Well, you’ve not been to the market for a while ...” I mumbled. The beans reluctantly went down my throat, and did nothing to soothe my hunger. I looked around the house. It was very small, only including three rooms and the attic where I sleep now. “This is my new life…” Ruby thought, “I guess I better get used to it.” I numbly closed the cupboard doors and walked back to my room to unpack what little things I had brought. I placed my dolls and most prized possessions on the table and dresser, then put my old, torn clothes in the drawers. I walked into the main living area, and my uncle glared at me. “Go get these things from the market.” He handed me a list, and a few dollars. “Scram!” He then yelled. I rushed to the door in alarm, actually fearing for my safety. The only other time I had feared for my safety was the car accident just a month ago.
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*
*
*
It was a cold, foggy, winter day in January. My grandma lived in Portland, Maine, and my family wanted to visit her for the week. She was recently diagnosed with breast cancer, and my father and mother really wanted to cheer her up with a surprise visit. I was happily singing along to my favorite songs on my phone with my earbuds in the car. The snow fell softly on the car window, and I used my finger to trace my name on the window. I loved living in Maine. The snow felt like angels were sending down small gifts down to me, as a present for being a good student, daughter, and friend. I was interrupted from my thoughts by my mother speaking. “ Honey? Should we stop at the hotel?” my mom asked my dad. “ Mom! I want to get to grandma’s house without stopping! I miss her a lot! I haven’t seen her in about a year!” I interrupted. It was true, I last saw her at her house last Halloween, three months before she got breast cancer. My mother glanced at my father wearily, but he just shrugged. “Why not? I’m sure we would be fine, it’s only a couple more hours….” He stated. My mother sighed. Finally, she looked up at me and my father and gave us both a tired smile. Her smile suggested she was fine with the decision, but her eyes said otherwise. “Okay, I trust you guys. Are you sure I shouldn’t just text her that we’ll be there soon?” “How is it a surprise if she knows that we’re coming?” I pointed out. Mother just sighed, defeated, and turned her attention back to the road and her hands fidgeted in the passenger seat. At the time, I had just turned 15, and my attention was on my iPhone, texting my friends in a group chat. I sighed, the sooner we got there, the sooner we could leave! Stacy had invited me to this wicked party, and I couldn’t go because my annoying parents said I have to spend some time with grandma.
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I slouched in my seat, wishing that the snow wouldn’t fall down any harder. I could barely get a glimpse of anything outside by my window, it looked like a blizzard. As more time passed, I grew more and more anxious, because the snow wasn’t going to stop falling anytime soon, and I had convinced my parents to keep going. To try to calm myself down, I looked out the window again and saw a glimpse of the ocean below us. It was iced over, with small patches of water here and there. Everything looked very colorless, yet alive and spirited. “We’re almost there,” my dad assured us. His eyes squinted through as he attempted to look through the snow. “Honey, I honestly don’t think we shou…..” The car started swerving. When I look back on that day, I could surely say that my heart stopped. The car slammed into the rumble strip, and we were sent flying down the mountain. I tried screaming, but the only words that came out of my mouth were tiny squeals of fear. My heart stopped. Time seemed to slow down, and all I could hear was own heartbeat. I frantically looked around to see my mother’s beautiful eyes stare deeply into mine. We landed right at the edge of the cliff, the car teetering at every move we made. Right then and there, I knew my parents weren’t going to make it. “Ruby! Slowly make your way to the back of the car!” my dad told me. I did what he said, and carefully made my way to the trunk. I could see my father push a button, and the trunk opened. At that slight movement, the car started to sway. “Quickly Ruby! Get out of here!” My father screamed desperately. “NO! Not without you!” I cried, sobbing. I tried to take deep breaths, but nothing could comfort me at that point. I knew how this would end. But, I couldn’t, wouldn’t let that happen. “We’re right behind you,” my mother said soothingly. “Everything will be
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alright.” I quietly nodded and made my way out of the car. I tumbled in the snow, my eyes watery and my vision blurred from the snow. “MOM, DAD!” I cried out. My eyes searched frantically and I tried to get a view of their heads. “Be strong Ruby,” my mother choked out. “It’s going to be alright.” I reached my hand out, and leaned further into the trunk. “Bye my beautiful daughter,” my father said. Then the car fell down the cliff. I sobbed hysterically and ran to the edge of the cliff. The car rolled down the hill, and every second I saw a blur of my parents’ bodies. Dead bodies. And that was it. I couldn’t take the pain any longer. I fainted, knowing that the last words my mother told me were a lie.
Luke MacArthur
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INUIT POEMS

Cosima Curran
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When I Come Up for Air When I come up for air Up on the ice Another seal is waiting there. He looks at me And I stare back He looks as if he might attack. But he makes our noises And moves like a seal Just like all the other seals here. But then he changes No longer a seal He wants to use me for a meal. I move back to the water hole As quick as I can He pulls out his weapon and has it in his hand. I hear his weapon fly through the air As it pierces my skin all my energy grows thin. He never transformed He was never a seal He is an Inuit hunter using me for a meal. —Grace Clapp
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Aningan I, Aningan, God of the moon Brother of the sun From up above I watch. The Inuit hunt With a harpoon I live up in the sky In my mighty Igloo. My people look up To me and pray Thank you for this food. I am the best hunter I y high as an eagle I soar through the wind Cutting through air Like and ulu. I, Aningan, God os the moon Brother of the sun, Watch my people hunt. —Adele Weaver
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Thing of a Million Things Thing of a million things, Cold, heat, shelter, food, With blood it means success, But without it can mean failure. It can be light, It can be heavy, It can be wet, It can be dry. Over 1,000 different types, Not one flake the same. Cold, heat, shelter, food. Thing of a million things, Snow. —Connor Albert
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Hahaha A demon Twisted and evil Kills with no warning, Never seen, by the corner of your eye Twisted smile, never turn your back, If you laugh you will die A horrible death But if you fool it, You might live, Ask for some water before it kills you, Whoever lived to tell the tale, Will never want to encounter this creature again, Hahaha is evil, Hahaha is a demon. — VG
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Sedna
My name is Sedna I control the sea Brush my hair and you’ll receive… Your ocean friends once again Don’t feel relief… I’ll come soon again I’m the goddess of the sea… I was left behind Out in the sea My hands grew back quick as a bee… You may be frustrated when you came home with no food But remember that Sedna is obtrude. You’ve vowed to me. You've booed to me. You’ve called me a stank But you have to realize I rule the ocean seas… — Zoe Payson
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Dog Sled Icy paws, tread the snow Icy paws, it’s time to go Snowy fur, keep up the pace Snowy fur, leave on a chase Frosty nose, catch the prey Frosty nose, it’s something grey Powdery tail, start gnawing the meat Powdery tail, come lay ay musher’s feet Chilly ears, Musher drags meat to the sled Chilly ears, if we don’t get back the village will be dead —Lea Raven
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ARCTIC DOG AS MY MUSHER YELLS MUSH THE PACK HAS A RUSH WE SPRINT INTO THE COLD ARCTIC DARKNESS A GUST OF WIND BLOWS PAST MY NOSE AS WE SLOW DOWN MY HUNTER FINDS FOOD I LAY DOWN MY PAWS FREEZING AS WE RETURN BACK HOME I ROAM IN THE SMALL ICE DOMES THE QUILQ BURNING WARM THIS HAS BEEN A WONDERFUL DAY. — LIESEL CYBULSKI
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Hunting in -40 degrees, hunting for my family my hands frostbitten My arms barely able to move Knowing my family’s life depended on me waiting on the ice To see the seal. The animal that would feed my family The animal that resembled my life The seal popped up. I make my call I throw my harpoon Hoping the animal will fall I pull it out of the water I have food now I pray and thank the gods For this kill And I look back at the doll on my sled And remember the journey home will be safe. — Holly Moss
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Caribou Here I stand I watch I listen I am a memorable one Here I stand I an the sentinel I defend I protect I give my all To live each day For I secure All of my kind I am the caribou Danger is impending Though Inuit men are friends to me Some turn out murderous to my beloved family The time has come for me to leave It’s hard to flee the life that was so fine But life must move on For new things await me In the further world —Sam Carter
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Hunter’s Second Struggle Gusts of wind beating against us. Boots trudging through the snow. The back-bending weight on our should. We’re drenched in sweat, but almost there. Step after step. Left foot over right foot. The urge to stop. But must keep going. We reached the top of a familiar hill. We have reached our igloos with their bright-burning quills. We have arrived. — Jack Gervais
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Alone One by one bloody fingers fall into the frigid water. Soon my stone cold body fell to the sea floor. Slowly my eyes open, I see the kayak far up above. The paddles assaulting the water. Now only I saw a ripple. I lay alone, My hair in knots. — Anna Horton
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Seals Seals swimming Through the dimming water. Then the Polar Bear Not being nice Eating the seal. Making the seal be a sacrifice To distract the hunters Above the ice. —Wyatt Horning
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Arctic Ocean A vast treacherous land A world in its own, Home to various sea creatures Both young and full grown. Fierce, rough and deadly It is in man’s eyes, But what isn't apparent The wonders inside. The animals that live there Each one with a soul, Each one with a purpose A meaning to hold. Giving food to the Inuit With the help of a knife, The ocean deserves thanks For being a main source of life. — Jenny Medrano
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There’s Something in the Leaves I’m always safe while in my hole Away from all of those sharp-tipped poles Except for when their hands search deep That is when I need to flee As I scramble deeper underground I hear a chilling rustling sound Attention to this I do not pay Once my hunger overtakes the purpose of hiding I finally surface and find something surprising No pairs of hands reaching for my meat Instead, my eyes fly to an adjustment of the leaves As I creep closer to inspect the leaf pile Thrilling chills run down my spine Suddenly, a single misplaced step Can instantly trigger a sensation of regret I know that he’s satisfied I know he’ll live on As I see my life’s purpose I know I won’t see the dawn — Abigail Hollis
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SHAPE POEMS

Megan Lawrence
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The Kite Soars Through the sky, people Watch in awe at the sight of this kite. A colorful blur zooming past the peripheral vision. People try to control me, but I run too wild. I fly through the sky, Wind rushing through my stitching, through my bones, my string, and my grip As the kite soars it flies like a bird learning how to fly, with the wind as an ally, the kite gains control and now begins to Think with the mind of a plane, flying Steadily now, similar to the Planes in Planes. up up up up up up up up up up up up up up up up up up up up. — Stephanie Bruder
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The puck falls, gathering the gasps of thousands with it And flies back. Then at a blistering speed, is ricocheted off the boards toward a line that is known like a hand reaching up, grabbing you. It rims around the white above the kickplate, and gradually rises by the hash marks to hit the glass. Rolling smo ot hly along with thousands of eyes, it comes to a halt and is directed towards the goal, with the goalie out of position as if to play it, when it was coming around. The 3 inch rubber disk glides through the air with people in awe as it E heads towards E an empty goal that E Normally is similar E To a rubix cube to score. E The skaters They jump up E and down as if little children E once again, when their only feeling in the world is joy E They hug and celebr ate the feeling that is so E hard to describe. The other team, E a chance. To redeem themE -selves. To come back E into the ga me. So it is E that the zebra lets it E fall again onto this E unforgiving surface E we call the Ice. E All for one shiny E shiny special E goblet. Filled E with EEEEEEE Joy. 00 00 00 00
—Jared Swisher
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As the sun goes down, the night is just around the corner. Dreading the night for its darkness, people forget the moon’s light is on its way. Controlling ocean’s currents, the moon is like a heart never stopping, always at work. A wonder of space just around the corner from Earth, irresistible for exploration. Some refer to the moon as missing, when it’s always there waiting to be replaced by the sun. God made the two great lights—the greater light to rule the day and the lesser light to rule the night. The moon is a thief of time to some, and a endless duration to others. Then as the morning comes, the white guardian of the night goes away and the day is about to begin.
— Carson Bell
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Pyramids So old seNile, perhaps I am what is, what hath been And what should be. My veil hath been disclosed by none. But all the secrecy and mystery of this unknown might soon come to an end It’s been long, they say things like “as lasting as the pyramids” but it’s crumbling, tumbling, Golden-red sands turned to heavy cement, turned to broken weak down brown rocks, turned artificial Soon all that will be left of me is memory and a little of my base, if that, worn down by time and weather like the others
— Patrick Young
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SNOW We are all different. Unique. We
are hated by many. People move to avoid me. I am most known more by human,
shapes. Slip, slide, sled, ski. I fly through
ball, and cave appearance than my other
the sky and rest upon my friends and family, unless I am lucky and am first. Our combined strength
makes us feel soft as a pillow, but
when we sweat, we are packed, and propelled at a life form. Smack. Bull’s eye. Get ready, go outside, dust. When the equinox comes, we fear our slow and painful deaths. We cry so hard that we die. We live from sea to shining sea and beyond. The sun never sets in the snowy empire. — Leif Harvey
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On
four
legs it
pads quietly
like a feather
undercover from
its very own self while the shadows follow close behind making the light dimmer as it pounds on the ground but then a precious boundary crawls behind but it’s not for the cat but for the blind mouse ahead who didn’t see the pounce of the cat in advance as it runs from the creepy monster who has claws as long as its fears while they pass a series of long empty halls filled with silence and hush as windows cry from the cold ice outside and from the scene before them for a casket is filled under this miserable and
night starry
— Paige Jones
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Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien a book based in a magical world A world full of myths, magic and malice besieged by evil and protected By good endless lines of lore written about the great world of Tolkien’s Middle Earth, symbolic of the first world war an endless fight of good and Evil, like the epics of Homer it tells of battle and heroism an endless sea Of magic and mystery stretching from Forlindon to the Mountains of the East the graceful Elves with Sylvan daggers and masterful mirkwood Archers to the Dwarven lords who create unparalleled armor and weapons Like works of art, or the Uruk Hai a group of vicious and ruthless Orcs with no sense of morality, the Kingdom of Gondor full of nobility The Lords of Horses the Rohirrim who stood three hundred against Ten thousand, or the commonly forgotten and underestimated Hobbits who were in the end the reason that middle earth was saved From a tyrannical ruler these do not even begin to scratch the Surface of the world that Middle Earth is it is truly an endless World one ever growing and expanding Each time one thing Is discovered ten more questions arise in a world as Diverse, and strange in a world where a black Sunless wasteland full of magma and hate And a forest full of life and beauty Exist on the same plain Who knows what Awaits the Reader
— GH
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Anna Horton
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