Will Roberts

Grandparents

By Will Roberts
Fairfield Center School, Grade 8

Aged, old and withered
Calm and serene
Grandparents are wisest
Or that’s how they’re seen.

They’re fun to be with
And when you are not
Around these fine people
You miss them a lot.

The fun things that we do
And the memories we share
All were bred out of happiness
No fun thing was spared.

And sometimes they die
But their spirit lives on
Within you and me
Where they’ll always belong.

Wrestling with the rod,
Trying not to fall.
Unseen forces swerve and jump,
Slowing to a crawl.

Ripples spread and fade,
The line jerks to and fro.
I lose my energy quickly now,
The rod is twitching so.

As the boat drifts down,
The rapids and the pools,
The tiring fish is in our boat,
Among some random tools.

Rushing, gushing, swirling
Our boat just travels on.

Premonition

By Will Roberts
Fairfield Center School, Grade 8

I feel a premonition
Something that I don’t like
Not thoughts or superstition,
An aggravating spike

It pierces my thoughts
It alerts my conscious mind
A glimpse of major future acts
Good or bad I’ll find

I speak of what I see
But people laugh and tease
They make me feel so sad inside
Their trust I try to seize

And then it happens, fast
With sound and misery
What bad did happen, then and there?
I wanted them to see

Now that this strange deed
Has happened like I said
They believe that I was true
And tears they have to shed

Regret now fills the atmosphere
Like slowly falling snow
For not seeing that I was right
Has cost them, dearly so

Green is a color, a mood or a thing
Which brightens up life with each gentle spring
Green is a word, an adjective phrase
To sharpen an image by clearing its haze

Green is a color, my favorite hue
I’d rather not pick a red or a blue
But something divine, that represents life
Like how blue represents discomfort and strife

Like leaves on a tree, or birds flying high

Mud, mud, glorious mud,
It’s hard to avoid the ubiquitous crud,
With bits of leaves and other plant matter,
If someone throws you, you’ll land with a splatter.

Sabotage shoes; mess up your clothes,
Their already dirty, don’t worry ‘bout those.
Cars that get stuck, mufflers ripped off
So now our engines sputter and cough.

Mucky and slimy, you take up a season,

It Takes Time to be an Adult

By Will Roberts
Fairfield Center School, Grade 8

This is the last time
That I shall cry or whine
Or pout or fight or mope and moan
I shall truly be divine

Because that’s what adults are
And I am just a boy
To make this large transition
I must be smart and coy

Too long have I goofed around
Expectations are at hand

He is tall, tall for a man
He seems so icy cold
His shoulders broad, just like a bear’s
Hold strength of men twofold

His fitting suit is red and black
With a vicar’s collar and hat
Greased black hair, a watch, and chain
That glow with light, at that

He prefers to live alone
For he trusts no one at all
He often takes long walks at night
And these walks are never small

Limelight, limelight, I hate,
How I detest that word,
Performing is not my strongpoint,
While acting my brain goes to curd.

Past experiences have left me,
Not partial to singing or dance,
While I am in the spotlight,
I’ll seem as if in a trance.

If I’m around my close friends,
Performing can be a cinch,
If the crowd is unfamiliar,
You’ll find me to be in a pinch.

Scorpion, scorpion, black as night,
Under a sun that burns so bright.
Did Satan create you? Why are you here?
Thou is the thing man was taught to fear.

As you scuttle across the burning dunes,
You look to sting more and more buffoons.
Tourists, I tell you, that visit thy home,
They have no knowledge, their ignorance hath shone.

Your poison is like a liquid fire,

I’ll tell you a story;
A story that’s true!
Of black cats and witches
And ghosts that go, “Boo!”

One night trick-or-treating
On a dark suburban street,
I came across something
That wasn’t made of sheet.

It was a ghostly hand
And I’ll have you know,
That it was plain creepy,
And horribly so!

It came floating towards me,
So I ran away!

World War II

By Will Roberts
Fairfield Center School, Grade 8

That was scary,
During the war,
With the missiles and bombs,
And bullets galore.

The quality of our armor,
Was bad, almost nil,
But we still went on fighting,
‘Cause there were Germans to kill.

Hitler was a coward;
He shot himself in the head,
Because he was surrounded,
And his troops were lying dead.