Dummerston

Waking
Frosty air penetrates
My lungs
The sweet smell
Of wood smoke
Floats toward my nose
A brisk breeze blows
Across my body
Leaving me searching
for hot apple cider
And fresh baked donuts.

As midday comes
A sweater is lost
In the warmth
Of the sun
Munching on apples
Sipping cider
My lunch comes to an end.

Evening approaches
Warm clothes find my body
I escape into the woods
To sit 'til dark
Waiting...
But no animals come
Maybe,
Just maybe,
Tomorrow will be better
And I will have more luck.

I go to bed
And the sights
And sounds of the day
Toss around in my head
Hopefully tomorrow will be the same,
Just perfect!

Once upon a time,
That is how
The story goes,
And
A fairy tale
Was born,

But
As in fairy tales,
A happy ending is due,
The good defeat the evil,
And everyone lives,
Happily ever after.

But nothing,
Is like,
A fairy tale,

Days go by,
And still,
My life,
Is not,
Like a Fairy tale

I wait
For my perfect
Fairy tale ending
That I
Will never get.

I woke one saturday morning and decided that I was going snowboarding. It was spring riding weather so I threw on a pair of jeans and my tall tee and set off for the mountain. When I got there I decided I was going to ride park for the day and try to meet up with some people from my class. The park was sick so I rode park for a little while, then, as I was riding up the summit chair-lift at Mt. Snow, I saw something that I hadn’t noticed when I was going up the lift earlier, I saw this gap in the trees between two trails. There were two pipes side by side, then about ten feet of grassy hill below them, and one of the trails was a little higher than the other one. I thought, that is an awesome spot to build a jump, there was even a decent landing. I could go off the jump, over the pipes down the bank and onto the trail below. I rode down to this spot and started to build it. After working on it for about forty-five minutes I had built a pretty decent jump. I was getting much applause from the chair-lift while I built it, even some of the Mt. Snow employees were applauding me. While I built it, I wondered what ski patrol would do about it, if they caught me building this would they just ask me to stop, or would they pull my pass?

Jazz Pride

By Bryce hunter Bandish
Dummerston Middle School, Grade 8

[February sixth 2007]

“And now coming to the floor the one and only Vermont Jazz Ensemble!”

As I walk onto the stage, I see a sea of people, and all they want to see is me, Bryce Bandish, first trombone. As I sit down on that brown, worn-down stool, I think of the bloke to my left, second trombone. Oh, how badly he wanted to be me, but all the more incentive to play to my fullest potential on my 1910s silver, dented and bashed Martin trombone.
The conductor walks out. We sit and the and the audience stands. Now it’s time to play.
“1,2,3,4, and....”
We're off on a tantrum for the piece "Just a minor thing." Cue in, cue out, swing it now! Right now it’s all about the band but come measure 57 it will be all about me.
One, two, ready, pickups... GO! The band stops and I stand up, sporting a blazing pink tie on a matte pink shirt, the white buck shoes and the pinstripe pants. Here I go!
I’m playing for me, my school, my parents, and everything else imaginable, so I had to light them up. I go thinking about what an honor it is to play for all of these people on my birthday and solo for all of them. I do this at the best of my ability.
HOLD that high note and then slide down to an end.
And the crowd goes crazy just like when the Red Sox won the world series. And boy, am I pumped.
We finish the piece and we stand up. Then the audience does. They introduce me as the solo artist and it’s all over.

[February sixth 2057]

Even in my old age I still remember the day when I soloed with all the pride in the world, as the boy with the with the Martin trombone (which I still have) at the age of thirteen. I still play frequently with that trombone even though it is so beat up. I even played today on it because I always do on my birthday.

Kayla Ashley Wood
3/26/08
YWP
Fishing

So here’s the story of a guy named Dill,
He was a little boy, but,
He always had a thrill,
So one day he went skating on the lake,
And that was the day that he met Drake.

He didn’t want to fight but it was just his luck,
Drake was mean and brought a hockey puck.
Dill gave all of will, but wasn’t strong enough,
Drake shot the puck and hit Dill hard and tough.

I love winter. I love snowboarding. Your first carving turns of the season. Going to the mountains, I think about what I would like to accomplish today. Do I want to ride the trails or the terrain park. Maybe I want to ride powder.

Have you ever just done something, been someone, or something crazy just be different? Take that walk down memory lane and see if you have. Can you pick one day that sticks out in you mind? Go find to express your thoughts, because if you keep reading that is all your going to hear about.

The Rastafarian Song

By Bryce Hunter Bandish
Dummerston Middle School, Grade 8

PART A!

Ya mon lets get goin’ now......
Early in the morning we be doing stuff,
walkin around just hanging tough.
nowhere to go down but funky town.
So now we going ‘round..................

Part B!

Now we get some fish,
everyone know we making a dish.
We be reggae, reggae ya!
Walking around being reggae ya.
Now we just be heading out,
We been getting funky trout,
We be ending the reggae song,
everybody ba-ba-bye,

CHORUS!

We be reggae, reggae ya!
Walking around being reggae ya.

REMIX!

PART C!

Now it’s morning and time to play.
We go out to swim in the bay.
Now we swim on home,
Just to sleep in my big dome.
Ha hay, HEYYYY.......

CHORUS!

We be reggae, rasta too!
We be jamaican doooo.

PART D!

Now I’m tired and going to sleep,
I have no reason tooo weep.
We be reggae and rasta too.
let's go to bed and get a new doo.
so peeeeeace....................

HOW I LOST MY MUSTACHE!

By Bryce Bandish
Dummerston Middle School, Grade 8

He and I had been friends.
Together for nine years, and until all the earths ends.
Ever since kindergarten we had been together.
We had seen all the weather.
And then one day in eight grade,
on January 6th, 2008 it ran away.
Down the drain he went.

We will always be friends.

Patrick Clark

Winter
A time for fun
1 single week off from school
freedom
outside
playing
sledding
snowball fights
kids play all day
chest deep in this cold fur blanket
bundled up so tightly
waddling
in bright colored jackets
hidden behind snow drifts
falling into little tunnels
popping up right behind you
as shadowy strangers
lurking
in these giant clouds

The hills of Gettysburg
The bitter hills
The death stained valley
The rounds of iron
The falling men
The smoking plain
A bitter river
Flowing
The mountain is crying
Crying red tears
The horses falling
The men yelling
The mounds of dead become mountains
Mountains of tears, red tears
The artillery fire
The bayonet charge
The tears still flowing
The men retreat
The north wins

The Flood

By Patrick Clark
Dummerston Middle School, Grade 8

the flood
it came quickly
quietly
unnoticed
crashing
splashing
sweeping everything down the drain
gone forever
silence

When I was about 5 or 6, I would go hunting with my grandfather. I couldn’t hunt because I didn’t have my hunting license when I was that age. I would follow him when he went hunting. I went out hunting with him one day, it was really cold. We walked for about a half an hour before we sat down on a stone wall, the spot were my grandfather usually hunted.

Have you ever found a box or something like that in your, or a relatives attic?

I was looking through my attic for something to do. When I saw a little box next to a box of baby clothes and a stack of old records by bands I've never heard of. I opened it up and to my surprise it opened easily, like the hinges had just been oiled. In the box was a little doll and a note.