U-32 Middle School

If books were reality
And dreams did come true,
Think of all the things we could do.

If thoughts appeared in bubbles
Above our head
Think of all the things that could be said.

If money grew on trees
And snow wasn’t cold
Think of all the stories that could be told.

If pictures moved
And time could fly
Think of all the things that would pass us by.

If miracles happened
And there was a cloud nine
Think of all the people that would be doing just fine.

The Field

By Sarah Wells
U-32 Middle School, Grade 8

Sweet nectar,
the golden-orange color
of the flower's petals.
They dance in the field,
smiling up at you,
blowing in the wind,
as if to say "Hello."

The wind blows the already falling rain
across the dark field,
covering the dark green grass in glossy,
silver-edged fallen rain.
Sun beams down upon the empty field,
so bright and strong.
It is an awe that the light green grass
isn't ablaze with dancing flames
in hues of gold.

Night falls
and the moon illuminates the empty field.
So many beautiful things
live in the empty field.
Does anyone see them?
Does anyone really ever see
real beauty?

The Man on the Moon

By Kay Bushman
U-32 Middle School, Grade 7

The man on the moon with his silver eyes,
He smiles at me as if to say
Follow me, I’ll show you the way
To silver springs
And magic things
Nestled far away.
Where sugar plums grow
And sweet winds blow
To Penny Lane!
Do not refrain!
Waiting is the joy
Of girls and boys
A gleam in their eye
As they spy
The butterflies!
“Dear flutterbies!
Come away with us!” they cry.

When I think about Vermont, the first thing that comes to mind is the seasons. I love fall for its vibrancy. Going for a walk in the heart of a forest in early October can be magical. Every thing about it is perfect. The way the leaves crunch under my feet, the colors lighting my path – red, brown, yellow, orange, purple. When I listen closely the only sound comes from a nearby stream, joined by the occasional call and reply of birds, or maybe a deer I startled with my presence. Then I inhale the scent. It smells vaguely familiar, like gingerbread and freshly disturbed soil.

Freedom

By Rose Wunrow
U-32 Middle School, Grade 8

It is a frigid morning. Frost clings to the treetops and mist fills the wintry valleys. The sky is the kind of grey it hurts to look at.

Life Lost

By Rose Wunrow
U-32 Middle School, Grade 8

I felt the starlight in my hair, the moon upon my cheek,
The smoke upon the steeple, the ice beside the creek,
I heard a whisper of the night, and the dreams upon the day
I heard the aspen tell the oak someone special died today.

I saw the tears the river shed, and the willow weep in wonder,
I saw the mountains stop and listen, and the magpie halt its plunder,
I tasted salt upon the ashes of a fire out at sea,
I tasted blood beneath the breeze, and the end of history -

Who has died today, I wonder? Anyone that I should know?
For though the world mourns in silence, its pain begins to show -
I ask the birds, yet they turn, and fly in misery
Calling someone, someone, who is lost into the sea.

Then I realize and my heart begins to stammer, and stutter
And the shock is so complete that the earth begins to flutter
And the tears are falling silent as the sky above my head,

Imagination Paint

By Claire Puleio
U-32 Middle School, Grade 7

A swallow and a thrush
swoop across the page
with the flick of a brush

The lilies and red roses
splat the white
in perfect poses

The page is dancing
with deer,
white tailed and prancing

My imagination
paints the page
with articulation.