Blaise Gervais

Winter Carnival
A biting wind silently roars
A subtle knife tearing through me
Like cutting open a bursting net of dead fish
It spills into the now skeletal Carnival stalls
Aging them, to wash away the bawdy memories
while the empty colors fade
into a deeper haze of gray.

An arbitrating judge,
The Ferris wheel stands
High above the tumultuous hoards
Of confused and desperate emotion.
It deflects the sun’s pleading rays
Letting them fall rejected and useless
In the crisp sterile air.

You always said that life was a like a Ferris wheel
And I thought you meant it had its ups and downs
A roulette of good luck and bad
I thought you knew
You would always rise again
Under a golden crown of sunshine.
I thought that even in your sea of self
Pity, misery and shame,
You would still remember the smiles
Of crimson poppies, and eager crocuses,
The slobbery kisses of concord grape
A scent I thought impossible to forget

I have these french verbs
'dancing round in my head
they make me so dizzy
I fall on my bed.

They execute steps
I know nothing about
Then they twirl 'cross the floor
But i don't know the route.

I step on their toes
and receive icy stares
I slide them sweet smiles
But i get tight-lipped stares.

The dance calls for a twirl
But they spin me around
'Til my head is a tail
and my feet leave the ground.

The world keeps on spinning
Around and Around
My head's spinning too
But it's homeward bound

As I lose all my balance
And I fall to the ground
My plastered on smile
Turns into a frown

What right have these callous
and blue nosed verbs
Past tense, conditional
and Imparfait
Have to waltz through my mind
while sipping their brews
when I was about
to have such a nice day?

To get rid of these snobs
while they pose with their punch,
I hang up a sign that says
Quote, "out to lunch"

The True Test

By Blaise Gervais
Burlington High School, Grade 9

TEST TAKING

My pencil, sharpened
Stands at attention,
Ready to destroy any problems
that dare misbehave
by proving difficult, tricky,
or otherwise disagreeable.

My unruly hair has been pulled back-
for the moment;
The boisterous wisps are straight-jacketed,
Unable to cause any unwanted distraction.

My shoes are comfortable,
But my big right toe taps nervously,
Like an eager hummingbird batting its wings
In anticipation of a delicious flower.

My contacts are in their place,
Like the shiny tinfoil that envelops chocolates
I don’t really need them,
But it can never hurt to actually see the test.

The test gets passed out
Like a football player
before a game in the rain.
A crisp white uniform, impeccably clean.
What a pity it will soon be covered
With my countless muddy,
grass-stained answers.

I feel like I am throwing hits
at a heavy leather punching bag.
I clobber it with all my might,
Yet it just swings listlessly back and forth,
Like a corpse that has just been hung.

I come to a problem I don’t know the answer to
I feel like I am stranded in a vast desert
without any landmarks.
My friends all have maps
but that will lead straight to a detention- or worse.

Now my colorful, foil-wrapped eyes
seem to be developing a will of their own.
Pulling my head like a dog on a leash.
Embodied by my hands, my conscience holds my head in place,
Staring blankly at the little black marks;
Ants that are ruining my picnic.

Before I can rationalize, any stupid decisions
I put my name on each page
and PASS it forward.
Now I have PASSed the true test.

Weightless

By Blaise Gervais
Burlington High School, Grade 9

The drops slide down my body
Salt mingling with the pure, honest streams of life
They weave together sliding over the scars,
Of sorrow imprinted on my skin,
Washing away the blemishes
of guilt and regret.

As the water slithers
Like silvery snakes through my scalp
It tickles the nape of my neck

By Blaise Gervais
Edmunds Middle School, Grade 8
Out slips a smooth black stone,
Cool as satin sheets.
Visions of rippling waters,
Hide beneath its glassy surface

A red plastic soldier marches out,
Its complexion the same color as its uniform.
One foot frozen in a jaunty stance,
Next to the end of its rifle.

An old battered coin falls with a dull clatter,