Green Mountain Valley School

My father needed
very few things
to stay content.

A pack of cigarettes
and her quick wit
to smoke them with

He found her in med school
Ironic,
where he won her over
with peppermint sticks.

His candy
and hers
Both balanced between
their lips.

It went like this
for 20 years
He’d smoke
She’d laugh.

But his work
left her alone
and in time her,
sweet tooth died.

So she left him.
alone with worthless
Cigerettes.

My father needed
very few things
to stay content.

A pack of cigarettes
and her quick wit
to smoke them with

He found her in med school
Ironic,
where he won her over
with peppermint sticks.

His candy
and hers
Both balanced between
their lips.

It went like this
for 20 years
He’d smoke
She’d laugh.

But his work
left her alone
and in time her,
sweet tooth died.

So she left him.
alone with worthless
Cigerettes.

Why is it
Boys can’t hula-hoop?
And have you ever
Seen them try?
They concentrate real hard an all
But just can’t
make that hoop fly.
They all have this notion
To spin that ring real fast.
Thinking if they hope
the spinning motion’ last.
The beads inside simply rattle
With no smoothness to the sound.
They bounce around on boys hips
Just to smack the ground.
And maybe it’s because
They have a bulge within their pants
That gets caught up on the hula-hoop
So boys just simply can’t.

Luna

By Katherine Scalia
Green Mountain Valley School, Grade 10

Luna…
was my
brother's first
word. It must
have been the
Spanish nanny
who would point at
the dimpled fluorescent
sphere lighting up the sky
and brightly say, “Look
little Nicolás! They hung
it there for you! It shines
that big for you!...
la luna, la luna,
shines like that
for you…”
Luna…

Contemplation
by Carl Spielvogel

I saw a man
sitting at a bench
he had a paper
held up in his
salty hands
but he was not
reading
his eyes were stout
and straight
grumbling from within.
I couldn’t help to notice
with the traffic
in full array
his splintered
bare feet
flopped out like
raw meat
on the suffocating city street.

Earth
by Carl Spielvogel

It’s flat and round
Brown on the ground
But when you travel to the shore,
The waves certainly do not snore.
It has been traveled on
Through night and day.

Over mountaintops of snow,
Through caves and valleys down below.
We’ve seen the forest and tasted the rain,
And the essence of life
That can sometimes be full of pain.

While earth is traveled
And been discovered,
It’s nothing more
Than a mere stack of cards.

Four suits,
Fifty-two in a stack,
Play out the card
In a definite methodical attack.

The earth we know
May be so long,
Its universe,
A bow,
Playing skipping stone notes
To a never-ending song.

Summer Night

By Jeff Bak
Green Mountain Valley School, Grade 12

Warm air envelopes the body
Everyone anxious for the rare gem
of a cool breeze
Sweet, icy drink in hand
Glass sweating profusely with condensation
The chorus of crickets and frogs
Play their never-ending tune of elevator music
The night is filled with sighs
Everything is finally content
The mountain tops are free from winter bondage
The rivers no longer gushing with spring waters
The ground not yet dreading the fall's frost
I sit on the creaky, green rocker
Adding to the chorus
Time seems to take a break from ticking
No need to end this perfect night
My eyelids begin to droop like the wilting garden next door
Everything is perfect
Nothing could be better

My legs were shaking
My breath that of a dying old man
My friends were far far below
My stomach felt squeamish

This mess came upon me
How could I be so unfortunate
These people little more than strangers on the street
The life of a nine year old now in their hands

Coaxing and reassuring filled my head
The words were as empty
As an old aluminum can
Now cast out to rust

I couldn't let on that I was afraid
There would be no fear here
Cool and collected I must be
I thought it was the end of me

I leaned back because I had no choice
I was sentenced to this task
I closed my eyes
And fell like a newly cut timber

I winced as I plumeted
Sure that I would crash and splinter like the tree
But I never did hit the ground
A safety net of arms was always there for me

Age

He was once a great man.
Beyond our comprehension.
Considered by all
a genius;
unmatched.

People would flock.
Like birds to the seed.
A mind so great,
so encompassing,
had never been seen.

His eyes now crazed.
Blood-shoot and piercing.
They shut out the world,
no one let in.

Wrinkles surround his face.
Dragging him to the ground.
That inexorable pull,

Please see attachment. Poem is in word art.