week2-09

I.
I don’t remember when I retreated from the sun.
It was gradual, in increments, little incidents
drawing me further and faster into darkness.
I didn’t realize until the morning
I opened my mouth, words came out,
and nobody glanced toward me.

I hated this prison, this half-self-made cage.
I could see, I could smell, I could hear --
but I could not do.
I wouldn’t let myself. I’d be exposed.
People might see
what the mirror reflected so glaringly.
But what do mirrors show
but truth?
It’s our eyes that lie.

Once, when someone asked me
what animal I’d most like to be, I dropped my gaze
and said a maple tree, tall, thick-trunked,
steady branches spreading wide and up.
A tree is in the background; a tree
observes and whispers what it sees
and doesn’t care that no one looks its way.

II.
I leaned against the slick white bark
and listened for the footsteps of a no-longer-ghost.
It would be so easy, so fitting,

At the end

By Noah Detzer
Hartford High School, Grade 12

So soon it ends
in one year
everything will change.
everything.

All will leave
Some will succeed.
Some will fail.
Some will be left behind.
Some I may cross paths with
but
All will leave.

In a sense
it's a reboot.
a new beginning.
a success.
a new way of living.
the first day of the rest of your life.
so they say often
repeating it as though it is law.

Some parts are good
leaving behind
the fake,
the plastic,
the insecure,
the immature.

Yet some are far worse
leaving the best friends
the ones who really mattered
the ones you love
for a new life somewhere else.

At the end
all of the struggles,
the successes,
the pain,
the sorrow,
the sadness,
is rendered moot.

At the end
everything changes.

Full Moon

By Jamie Benson
Crossett Brook Middle School, Grade 7

A shaft of moonlight seeps through your window and rests on your pillow.

You check your clock, 12:00, you try to sleep but you can't.

You look out your window at the cool night.

The moonlight on the driveway, as puddles of shadow, endless.

Sections of sky woven seamlessly together.

It makes you wonder... . Why.

And in that moment your head rests on your pillow and your imagination soars.

The Man sat at the bolted-down table in a bolted-down chair. He watched the investigator pace back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, in the dim, orange glow of the bare bulb. The investigator was a heavyset, balding man in a grey suit and a dark blue tie. His grey eyes peered out from behind heavy eyebrows and his mouth was set in a permanent frown.

“Do you know why you’re here?” the investigator asked.

The Man shook his head.

“First, I want to know who you are,” the investigator said, setting his palms on the bolted-down table. There was a heavy silence. The Man stared up at the investigator. The investigator glared down at The Man. Then the investigator grabbed The Man’s mask and yanked it off, tossing it aside.

Another, slightly smaller mask peered out at the investigator.

The surprise was evident in the investigator’s cold eyes. His lip raised in a silent snarl, the investigator grabbed the second mask and pulled it away.

My lullaby

By Erin Trzcinski
Rutland High School, Grade 12

Cradled in your arms
My head upon your chest
I hear your heartbeat
Strong and steady.
I listen to your breathing
Slow and deep.
Listening to the rhythm of your heart
Coupled with your breaths
It never fails to lull me
Into a deep, peaceful sleep.

Don't mean a thing

By Dylan MacFarlane
Long Trail School, Grade 8

O, father, O, father
Have you found what you were looking for
spent a long time looking
but you've been knocking on a locked door

try to find the reason
try to find the key
what is the reason for being
why am I me
but there is no answer
nothing from which to cling
because we don't mean a thing
don't mean a thing

O, father, O, father
you've spent a long time studying those pages
but when our lifestyle hits the stages
should we stand by, imitators
immune to the changes
should we stand by, imitators
or should we stand up
face up
stop toasting from an empty cup
find something else from which to cling
because we don't mean a thing
don't mean a thing

O, father, O, father
there has been too much pain
too much hatred
and nothing from it to gain
but we could stop all of this
if we stole the crown from the king
and realized
that he don't mean a thing
don't mean a thing

Thoughts on old, drunken men

By Isabella Blanchard
Essex High School, Grade 9

I would be lying through my teeth if I said I've seen the ups and the downs of the world. I have been very privileged in my time here on Earth and I think that as someone as blessed as I am, I have very little perspective on those who have not been so fortunate.

I'll Show You

By Colleen Crete
Rutland High School, Grade 11

You think you know me
But you don't
Just wait and see
And I will show you what I can be.

My Childhood Memory

By Kelsey Johnson
Hartford High School, Grade 11

The night I lost my sister I felt like a part of me had disappeared into thin air. She was like the second half of me that I never knew that I had, even though she was a year older than I.
We had just moved into our new house in Wilder from Windsor and were adjusting to the new change. My parents had just then put us in our own bedrooms. Ever since we were born, we had been sharing the same bedroom. Then, it didn’t seem like a big difference. I mean, we were still right next to each other, so what was the big deal, right?
Well, I didn’t know it then, but it was a big difference.
One day, I was getting ready for school and she was lying on the couch. Mom had said that Kristen was sick and couldn’t go to school that day. I shrugged it off; I figured that it was a common cold, that anyone could get it. But when I got home, she was still lying there. I remember she looked so pale that it scared me.

Leave the Front Door Open

By Brett Morrison
Frances C. Richmond Middle School, Grade 7

When you walk down the street,
You probably don’t think about that
Shabby old man you walk by
Or maybe that young lady in the suit.
But,
You may not know what they are going through,
But even though that man seemed poor
He might just be happy.
And when that business lady seemed well of,
She might be unhappy and lonely.
You may choose not to listen to me,
But then you may.
The world is full of hidden secrets.
What lies beneath the golden shell may be rotten.
But what lies beneath a rotten shell may be golden,
And, you know it’s easier to get through a rotten shell.
You are in your own world,
And although you may ignore the most wonderful
People who may come into your life
Who knew?
When you think of it,
A little part of you dies when that man you walk by
Doesn’t say hello
Or maybe doesn’t even look at you.
You think, “Is he deaf? Maybe blind?”

Words to Scream

By Peyton Wilson
Vermont Academy, Grade 10

Lead, ink, stone and paper.
Impermanent, like us all.
Still and motionless, without life
They won’t do at all.
It’s all erased, the chalk, the marble
By the moving sands of time
Inconstant, changing, until it’s faded
And I’ve no more to rhyme.
I want my words to leave a mark
And I want them to sing out loud
They can’t stay inside my heart
Because these words are just too proud.
They want to live, they want to be
Something unachievable by touch of the pen.
They shatter the glass around my voice
And will do so again and again.
They are there, and they are here
Breathing their voice into my head.
Bearing down on me at all sides
Starving to be fed.
Nothing –- my blood, my heart -- can liberate my words
In the way they should be free.
They want to vibrate and create their own world
Until they’re bursting out of me.
And I find, when my vision goes dark,
These words are all I have left.

A letter I won't send to my father

By Sarah Carpenter
Rock Point School, Grade 12

I’m writing this to you
Because you avoided hugging me yesterday
When I was leaving

Because when you do hug me,
you let go too quickly and hold on too loosely

And because when I was eight you took a picture
Of me sleeping, with my face against a pillow

Dad, I watched you
watch me
Fall apart

You hold your pride
I hold my composure

A Little Less Sure

By Liza Duchesneau
Milton High School, Grade 9

You push me off the branch,
Before I am ready.
I can tell from your smirk,
That you know I’m unsteady.
I want you to want me,
I do everything I can.
But I cannot learn to fly,
Before I can stand.

Look at you on your pedestal,
So high and mighty.
If I didn’t love you,
I would’ve pushed you off already.
A "boss" like no other,
So naive and insecure.
And every time you speak,
I’m a little less sure.

Every ounce of my being,
Thinks of you and me as a whole.
But I am a little less sure,
That you’re the perfect mate
For my soul.

My hands move frantically,
As if to curse to the air.
You make me so mad,
That I can no longer bear…

…I can no longer bear,
Your touch on my face.
But all that’s said and done,
Will not erase.

The time keeps unwinding,
As I fall from the tree.
But I know deep in my heart,
That somehow you’ll save me.

Don't You Just Hate it When

By Allyson Paquette
Rochester High School, Grade 10

Waking up too early
Shower’s not getting hot.
Hair won’t stop frizzing
Make-up needs to be bought.

Driving to school
Almost out of gas.
Stalling at the light
Everyone wanting to pass.

Walking down the hall.
Books falling to the ground.
Leaning to pick them up
People just walk around.

Hearing others whisper
Not sure what’s going on.
Heads turn, eyes stare
Something has to be wrong.

Tests get handed back.
All I see is red.
Bringing home a C
Excuses run through my head.

Mom yelling, Dad screaming
Running to my room.
Let music fill my ears.
As I turn up the volume.

Staring at the ceiling.
Wishing it wasn’t there.
Clock still says three
This just isn’t fair.

Don’t you just hate it when
Everything goes wrong?

Questions

By Jasmine Carpenter
Montpelier High School, Grade 9

Looking at him wondering…
He talks about life.
Does he know…
He laughs at our childhood memories.
I feel this way?
He leans over and hugs me.
Does he know…
He says he's happy we're best friends.
That I dream of him?
I hug back and try to not look him in the eyes.
Does he know…
I tell him I'm happy we're friends also.
I'd die for him…
"good" he whispers.
…he doesn't know

Spring

By Tommy Bowen
Benson Village School, Grade 7

Spring
Hot like you’re two feet away
From the sun
The wind
As it compresses
Against your face
Green grass
Between your toes
Like you are getting tickled
By a hot girl
Spring

Converse

By Karlie Kauffeld
Leland and Gray Union High School, Grade 11

Books

By Taylor Comstock
Brattleboro Area Middle School, Grade 7

Leather bound
spiral spines
yellowed pages
a fraying bind
hardcover
paperback
piled up in a spiraling stack
sat in a row on a high wooden shelf
the story could be about anything you want
all written in a different font
they are an author's creation
and they rely on imagination.

Hope

By Rowan Dunfey
Richmond Middle School, Grade 7

Like a fallen star from the sky of elsewhere
He arrived
In a new place
A new country
A new home in a new sky
The person who was going to meet him
Wasn’t there
And he wondered if anyone was wishing
On him, the lone shining star
Standing alone in a train station