YWP Anthology 4

Anthology 4
Young Writers Project

Anthology 4
Young Writers Project
2
Acknowledgments
Young Writers Project is an idea: Student voice is essential; we must both nurture it and
learn from it. Now in our seventh year, YWP has an almost endless list of people to thank
who have helped us with our mission: Parents and teachers, benefactors and volunteers, staff
and advisers, foundations and businesses, artists and mentors, and, of course, thousands of
youth who have written with YWP.
For those of you coming to these pages for the first time, YWP is an intricate beast:
\c erc e vihren onlinc .onnuniy ol 2,500 .ivil, .rceivc ccns on
youngwritersproject.org;
\c erc e rcguler scrics ol hcs vork in 21 ncvsecrs end on Vcrnon luhli.
Radio;
\c erc e .onnuniy orgenizeion vorking vih s.hools, eriss, ncighhorhood
grous in hc Old Norh lnd ol Burlingon end hroughou Vcrnon, end
\c erc en cdu.eionel roc. vorking in 40 s.hools vih 200 ce.hcrs end 5,000
students through a digital classroom platform and ongoing training and mentoring.
1hcrc erc e lcv orgenizeions end colc vho nccd e nod lor hcir sc.iel hcl his ycer
Media partners: Addison Independent, Barton Chronicle, Brattleboro Reformer, Burlington Free Press,
Caledonian Record, Charlotte News, Colchester Sun, Essex Reporter, Milton Independent, North Avenue News,
Randolph Herald, Rural Route Today, Rutland Herald, St. Albans Messenger, Stowe Reporter, Times Argus,
Valley News, Waterbury Record and Williston Observer and Vermont Public Radio.
Major donors: Green Mountain Coffee Roasters, Bay & Paul Foundations, A.D. Hender-
son Foundation, FairPoint Communications, Physicians Computer Company, Amy E. Tarrant
loundeion, enc B Cook Cheriehlc 1russ, Vcrnon Counry Sorc, Birdscyc loundeion,
ein Srcc lending, Vcrnon Connuniy loundeion, lnicd \ey ol Chicndcn Couny,
lcy Benk end our loundcrs, Vcrnon Busincss loundehlc 1henk you o cvcryonc vho hes
given so generously.
YWP leaders: Board chairman Stephen Kiernan is untiring in his work on YWPs behalf.
1hc 2012 hoerd Suzennc Bcsc Cerriy, ohn Cenning, lu.y Conso.k-Cey, 1cd lishcr, lehy
lollcy, Vel Cerdncr, Cerncn Ccorgc, Sehine Heskcll, i.hecl ehon, olly .Cleskcy, Sere
Quayle, Jeff Rutenbeck, Meg Smith, Sarah Soule, Bob Stevens and Jane Swift.
YWP staff: Kate Stein, the glue that holds us together; Susan Reid, the guru of publica-
tions; Doug DeMaio, Facebook maven and web workhorse; and teacher coaches Darcie
Abbene, Nick Brooks, Pam Campbell, Cindy Faughnan, Kathy Folley and Lisa Italiano. And
sc.iel edviscrs, Berhere Cenlcy, lise Vcnriss end 1on Cerlson
1his hook ves dcrivcd lron 12,000 ic.cs ol vriing end 2,000 ic.cs ol er \c .ouldn
have done this without our YWP summer interns, particularly Katy Turner, Jessica Austin
and Bridget Iverson. Thank you. And pulling all this together was the maestro, Susan Reid.
Her attention to detail and content make this book our best yet. Many thanks, too, to Andrea
Gray, our graphic designer, and to Queen City Printing, who once again did their magic.
Our dedication this year was easy: Green Mountain Coffee Roasters, Inc., has shown
remarkable generosity and advisory support in shaping this year, which has been our most
ambitious. Their counsel is as valuable as their financial gifts. Thank you. We dedicate this work
to their belief it is important to give audience to good ideas and to strengthen student voice.
A special thanks, of course, to all you writers, the ones you see here, but mostly the ones
you dont, the ones driven by the audience of their own soul, by the understanding they
have something to say or by the recognition of the importance of writing to our success as a
democracy. Thank you. Keep trying and keep opening that window for us to see what you see.

Geoffrey Gevalt, YWP director and founder
3
This work is dedicated to the people
at Green Mountain Coffee Roasters, Inc.,
who understand the value
of developing a childs voice.

4
Katy Trahan
Essex High School, Grade 9
5
Introduction
By Katherine Paterson
ln 197, in en cssey on hc hiics ol Heigh-Ashhury, oen lidion lencncd, 1hcy lccd
back exactly what is given them. Because they do not believe in words . . . They are sixteen,
fifteen, fourteen years old, younger all the time, an army of children waiting to be given the
words.
ln 2012, vc vho erc oldcr vorry ehou his youngcr gcncreion vho .onnuni.ec in
cxs ol 10 .here.crs or lcss end vho gc hcir inlorneion ehou hc vorld in sound hics
Without rich language, we wonder, how can one think? And if too few people are able to
think deeply and critically, how will democracy survive?
When young people ask me for advice on how to become a writer, I say: Read. That is
how you learn, not only the words you need but also how language works, how story works
and how the minds and hearts of other people work.
In graduate school, once, one of my professors stopped me in the hall. She said she had
just finished reading an exam Id written and wondered if Id thought of becoming a writer. I
ves e rcedcr l kncv vhe grce vriing ves end l kncv l didn ncesurc u No, l rclicd
l vouldn ven o edd enohcr ncdio.rc vricr o hc vorld
\cll, shc seid, eyhc he is vhe Cod is .elling you o hc
I couldnt believe God was in need of more mediocre writers, but I finally figured out what
the professor was saying. If I wasnt willing to risk mediocrity, even failure, I wouldnt become
a writer at all.
So Im thrilled to introduce a volume written by young people who are willing to take
risks end vho erc holdly going hcyond 10 .here.crs 1hcy hevc dercd o vric i dovn lor
all of us to read, and appreciate. I thank them for this.
Katherine Paterson is the Newbery Medal award winning author of Jacob Have I Loved and Bridge
to Terabithia. In 2010, Katherine Paterson was named the second National Ambassador for Young
Peoples Literature by the Library of Congress and the Childrens Book Council. She is a board member and
instrumental supporter of Vermont College of Fine Arts.
Nightmare Clouds
Coyote Farrell
Richmond Middle School, Grade 7
They come
rolling across the sky,
across the mountains.
Dark
black
masses.
If the white ones that flit
across the wide expanse of blue
are dreams,
then the ones that overwhelm
the brightness of the sun now
are nightmares.
The whole mountain
is encompassed in a sense of gloom.
Terrifying,
thats what the clouds are.
They come rolling in,
piled up so thick
that they can block out
the light of the world.
Anything
could reside in their depths,
thunder,
lightning,
rain,
hail.
But what they hold
is a treasure.
I know
that what falls from the black masses
people have been wishing to come.
When they open their doors,
those colossal, amorphous shapes
will release fragile crystals.
They will smother the grass,
which has been alive
for months too long,
and winter might finally begin.
Slow Dance
Aliza Silverstein
Homeschool, Hyde Park, Grade 10
That last leaf I told you about?
She lost the bet, she fell.
Invisible hands plucked her from her
branch.
Remember the pond I described?
The ice has stilled it
no wind can bother it now.
It can rest for a season.
The colors have given way
to the next step,
the crystalline white, you know.
Its the beginning of the slow dance, my
love,
when weary partners catch their breath
and lean against each other,
their tango-scuffed shoes
tracing circles in peaceful meditation.
Now is the time to rest, my dear,
before the constellations spin
themselves back to the beginning,
and the spirit of the martyred leaf
reascends to her lofty twig.
Now is the time to rest,
for when the slow dance is done,
a new song is begun.
7
Theres No Way Around It
Tessie McDonnell
Rutland High School, Grade 10
Its simple but its not.
The way her curls bounce in her wake, and she lets out carefree shrills of girlish
excitement, gives me the most twisted emotions. The way her parents are tucked away
all day, getting caught up on sleep or absorbed into the monitor of their computer,
leaves her needing attention. Needing love. I want to wash her face with warm water
and give her a princess tiara, but that wont fill her empty void thats only going to get
larger as she matures.
The way that she has low expectations. She expects to be happy, to let her own
laughter nourish her soul, to let the sun that beats down through the pine trees in her
backyard allow a smile to come across her face. She expects a hug a day, and turns
to me. I pick her up and spin her around, feeling full to the brim with love, by the
animated excitement in her eyes.
The way that its only going to get worse over time. As she ages more, shes going
to need more complex things. Shes going to need a mom to teach her about her body,
about boys, and about how everything can be so dangerous. Shes going to need a
father to scoop her up in his arms at the end of a long school day, and when the man
in her life leaves her hanging.
I can see myself in her eyes. And all I can do is love her to pieces, and play
airplanes with her.
Tiffany Barnes
8
Caitria Sands
9
Bit Like Summer
Braeden Hughes
Mount Mansfield Union High School, Grade 11
Sometimes you wake up and the way the sun comes through the windows
reminds you a little bit of summer. You open the door and where the dark siding of
the house has absorbed sun, you can stand and be warm. You drink chai with not
quite enough sugar and the earth is wet from the rain, but the sun shines on your face
and a slow smile creeps across your lips because you feel peaceful holding yourself
there in the sun. You know if there were someone sitting on the couch in the living
room watching you, they would think, she is beautiful in the sunlight.
But you are alone and thats part of what makes it so special: that the house is
empty and you can listen to the music that no one else in your family likes and you
dont have to say anything because only the walls are listening.
And you think about the people who were on the phone last night because
their faces are on a constant loop in your mind, thinking about where they are and
what is going through their heads and how they look in the sun. You do a little bit of
homework because it starts your mind moving and because you dont actually hate
homework, you just hate when you dont have time to do it. The window draws your
eyes occasionally, and you think about the people again: a mischievous smile, soft hair,
a soprano voice over the phone, a husky chuckle, amber-green eyes. You miss them,
but its with the warm sort of ache in knowing that youll see them soon. (Beneath
that is the raw hunger of another absence, but it bubbles quietly on mornings like this
and you dont talk about it much anyway. People never quite know what to say in
rcsonsc cx.c sorry
You put on shorts to go outside and think about how you havent done that
in a long time. You run along the rutted dirt roads, feeling your ponytail bounce
and muscles burn. You cant really breathe. This is the time of year you always get
bronchitis, but you inhale against the chill in the wind and keep running. Your breasts
sway slightly against their wire prison and you think about big hands that fit into the
curve of your waist. (A dark-haired girls thin fingers playing with your hair. Youre
falling asleep on the mattress listening to her hum to herself, and it makes you want
o .ry hinking ehou hov hceuilul shc is You run u hc les hill, lccling your hced
spin. You should have eaten before you left, but you didnt want to; the curves of your
stomach rounded out too far this morning. You reach the top, and cough violently but
inhale against it, knowing that the burn in your esophagus will fade in an hour. The sun
warms your shoulder blades and you stretch them delicately, feeling part of yourself
open to the light and the wind. You think about a city and what it would feel like to
drift in the perfect blue of the sky. You think about her eyes and you think about your
mother, and then you walk down the driveway singing tunelessly because you cant
actually sing so you only sing to yourself and the woods. You go inside the house and
drink apple cider in the open doorway and the sun feels a little bit like summer.
10
I Love You Still
Tya Johnson
Ive got you underneath my fingernails
and I dont know how
youve stained yourself on my skin in
criss-crossing lines
that make no sense
and I dont know what to say, I dont
know
what to do when Im around you.

Baby, baby, I loved you once and I loved
you twice and I love you still,
but youve got your hair falling in your
eyes
and I dont think that you can see me
because Ive got
my heart open and my eyes are shining
and I cant seem to speak
when you laugh and sit down next to
me.
Youve got that smile that makes my
heart stop every time, that
look that you make when you look my
way never fails
to leave me breathless and I think
that I just might be falling more in love
with you than last time
because I loved you for so many
innocent years,
but I gave up on you because how could
someone beautiful
love back someone ugly like me?
you twice and I love you still.
I used to watch you run like the wind
around dirt tracks
and when your hair was flipped to the
side and your eyes were shining
I thought that maybe, just maybe
you could see me, but you couldnt
because back then I was invisible.
Perfection does not exist in this world,
but baby,
you come pretty damn close
with those young eyes and wide smiles
and the way you
play that guitar makes me wonder if
maybe
you could hold me like that someday, if
maybe
you could look at me with such utter
concentration and love
so I could tell you that all this time Ive
been falling in love with you.
you twice and I love you still,
but Im too afraid of clichs to brush the
hair out of your eyes
and to look you in the face and ask you
if maybe, just maybe
you can finally see me.
11
Mirror
Julia Dunn
I am not the girl in the mirror
Who smiles in the hall
And seems to burst with
Confidence.
I am not the girl in the mirror
Who laughs all the time
And doesnt seem to
Give a care.
I am the girl standing
In front of the mirror
With a tear down her cheek
And fear in her heart.
I am the girl standing
In front of the mirror,
Reminding herself every day
It is worth it.
The Unlucky Ones
Jeremy Brotz
Homeschool, Burlington, Grade 7
Oh, if I could solve a problem in
Burlington,
I would help the less lucky ones,
The ones with less than less.
Id give them money:
They could get new clothes,
They could get a nice comfy tent,
Or some good food to eat.
Yes, if I could solve a problem in
Burlington,
I would help the forgotten ones,
The ones without a home.
Margaret Slate
Peoples Academy, Grade 10
12
I Remember
Ada Case
Edmunds Middle School, Grade 6
I remember
The day my brother was born
A honc O.ohcr 18, 2005
I saw it
Even though I was only
us urncd 5
And I practiced
Practiced writing his name over
And over
Zera
lrze
Zra
lnil l linelly go i righ
lzre
lzre
lzre
I remember
I remember
My first day of
Kindergarten
When I went into the
Wrong classroom
And I cried
And cried
I remember
I remember
In second grade
When our teacher was very sick
I think with some sort of cancer
Maybe
And we had a sub
For most of that year
And I did not like her
I remember
I remember
In second grade
When my friend got a tumor
In her back
l did no rcelizc
At the time
That she had cancer
But I was scared for her
And when my mom told me about it
For the first time
On Easter
I cried
But she survived
I remember
I remember
When my sister
Fiona
Was born
er.h 2, 2009
At home
I saw it
And I got to hold
Her
First
I remember
I remember
When Fiona
Fell
Out
The
Window
But she was
OK
I remember
I remember
When my parents told us
That they were
Getting
Divorced
I remember.
15
Braiding Fate
Kate Cipolla
Homeschool, Montpelier, Grade 10
Twist twist twist
twist twist twist
twist twist twist
as I braid myself a new
bookmark I wonder if the fates
arent knitters but braiders and this
life thing is a lot simpler than we think
and instead
of stitches and needles and a ball of
yarn that is waiting to be cut its just
three strands of yarn that have already
been cut and tied and all there is to
life is
twist twist twist
it seems almost too simple and we have
been taught that everything is more
complex than
it seems that there is no such thing as a
free lunch
and usually theyre right its rarely that
easy sometimes a
cross on the path is simply two sticks
that
happened to fall on top of each other
and a shooting
star is just a chunk of rock I think it
would be in
our nature, a certain irony residing deep
in our bones if life was so easy as
twist twist twist.
Douglas Schonholtz
14
Earthquake
Eva Theriault
Champlain Valley Union High School, Grade 12
The first morning was a Saturday, but the month doesnt matter so much as
the year doesnt matter as much as the day of the week matters. You used to know
the date, the year. I used to sleep in late. You were always reading the newspaper.
We both used to remember each other, until we found it in ourselves to forget. That
first morning, after the second and third and four-hundredth mornings, that was the
beginning.
You vcrc elveys clling nc, lon losc your kcys lon lorgc o huy norc .ollcc
Your shirt needs ironing. And I would find the keys before I lost them, and I would
buy the coffee and iron the shirt. I was always behind schedule or making a fool of
myself. You were generous and I was wasteful, sheepish, untidy. You had a garden, an
orchard. I reminded you of your late mother. Everything was my fault.
You were obsessed with pointing out my flaws. The second morning I burned the
toast and set off all the smoke alarms in the apartment. The seventh morning I made
what you yelled was the worst cup of coffee you had ever drank. The forty-third
morning I didnt make the bed.
You liked everything just so. Blue shirt ironed and buttoned-up. You wouldnt
wear corduroys or tennis sneakers. Wouldnt use any other brand of shaving cream.
Never drank except on Christmas, and then only the third, the eighth, the eleventh, the
twelfth, the thirteenth, the fifteenth, the sixteenth, and the seventeenth years we were
ogchcr And hcn you drenk cvcry lcv nonhs, cvcry vcck, vi.c e vcck Vodke,
scotch, whiskey. Every day.
I could see you cracking and crumbling like a building on a fault line. First there
were hairline cracks in the foundation, or mold rotting the wooden beams under the
floor. Or maybe you just werent built to endure the earth opening up underneath
you, swallowing bricks and muscles and concrete. With every drink there was another
murmur in your heart like there was in the earth, and you tried not to show me how
close you were to collapsing altogether.
And I went on overcooking the eggs and overboiling the pasta and underironing
my blouses and undermaking the bed until the first morning, that Saturday.
I woke up and the air felt different: harder, firmer, warmer and sickly sweet. The
sheets were clammy and my mouth felt like it was full of cotton. The clouds were low-
hanging, dark, and heavy. It took a conscious effort not to fall back to sleep. I walked
down the stairs, one at a time, the sweaty bottoms of my feet sticking to the wood. We
didn look elikc, you end l, hu vc hed hc senc sizc lcc \c velkcd dovn hc seirs
the same way, so that after seventeen years of walking down these stairs there were
worn foot-shaped spots. On the step above the landing you could even make out
individual toes. The wall above the wainscoting in the stairwell had smudge marks that
15
looked like bruises. You would scrub them with all-purpose cleaning fluid every now
and then, but they didnt fade or turn green the way real bruises do.
The first floor of the house was oak, and the second was carpet. The grain of the
wood pointed all different ways, and the seams were coming apart as the wood aged.
I was inching along in bare feet and a bathrobe when I felt a sharp pain in my heel.
When I twisted my ankle around so the sole of my foot was pointing at the ceiling, I
saw a small sliver of glass covered in blood. The next step also brought a sharp pain
and another sliver of glass, and the next, until I was walking on shards of broken glass
in puddles of amber liquid that stung the cuts in my feet as I walked through the study
and the dining room to the kitchen.
There I found you, face down with yesterdays newspaper over your head and
the cord of our Black and Decker iron wrapped around your neck. You had smashed
bottles all around you: fish sauce, Jamaican dark rum, vanilla extract, rose flower
water, Tabasco sauce, red wine, white wine, soy sauce, peanut oil, vodka, milk bottles,
sunflower oil, a bottle of preserved red peppers and capers. The liquid was leaking
under the doors, seeping in the cracks of the floor you promised wed get repaired,
soaking into the cream-colored cable sweater I bought for your birthday. You were
always reading the newspaper.
That morning, I didnt make the bed. I didnt wash the dishes or burn any toast,
because I didnt make breakfast. I didnt make coffee because I didnt want to wake up
any more. With the soles of my feet still bleeding and still wrapped in my bathrobe, I
walked out the door, through the garden and the orchard, the only things you cared
for all these years, as the aftershocks began.
Brady Bessette
1
Uncle Matthew: My Hero And Light
Matthew Andrew
Vermont Commons School, Grade 7
Onc ol hc nos inoren colc in ny lilc hes elveys hccn ln.lc ehcv
ny godlehcr, ny rolc nodcl, ny insireion ln.lc ehcv is hc ni.cs crson
imaginable. Everyone loves him. You can see kindness in his dark brown eyes and
hear it in his gentle voice. He looks like a movie star on the outside he is handsome
and in good shape but inside, he has had a kidney transplant and part of a lung
rcnovcd ln.lc ehcv hes hc higgcs hcer, lull ol dch, hu i is discescd nov,
hc.eusc ln.lc ehcv hes inhcricd oly.ysi. kidncy discesc, e scrious .hroni.
disease where cysts grow in kidneys and other organs.
Yc hrough i ell, ln.lc ehcv hes hccn .ouregcous Hc hes crscvcrcd hrough
his downdraft. As life-threatening as his sicknesses were, he has done everything to
ovcr.onc hcn His nohcr dicd lron lll, end ln.lc ehcv .ould hevc, oo
\hcn hc nccdcd e kidncy renslen, ln.lc ehcv hed o cll his sory o neny
people. A man who he hardly knew heard about him and volunteered to give up his
kidncy in ordcr o sevc ln.lc ehcv Bc.eusc hc nov hes only onc kidncy, ln.lc
Matthew cannot drink any alcohol, and he needs to watch his diet. He has excellent
scll-.onrol Hc hes o hevc surgcry on his hcer ncx Bu ln.lc ehcv ncvcr
complains. He has found his way back from pain and strife. He has turned his conflict
into his own positive strength. He is the bravest man I know.
ln.lc ehcv hes eugh nc sonc vondcrlul norels end lcssons Hc hes
shown me that you can always pick yourself up whenever you are down; you can
ovcr.onc your .hellcngcs ln.lc ehcv hes ekcn e lull lce ovcr his srugglcs, end
is successful in his life. He has dignity.
ln.lc ehcv is e grce lehcr o his vo vondcrlul .hildrcn end is e ruc lricnd
of mine. I know that he will always be strong, kind, and be by my side whenever I
need him. I really look up to him and am appreciative of what he has taught me. He
is us likc hc hocnix hurning hrigh hclorc i urns o eshcs end rc.rcecs ln.lc
Matthews conflict has led him to light. He is my hero in life.
17
(Makebelieve)
Katelyn Jewell
November is calling to you
from behind crinkled sheets of paper
& crumpled bedsheets,
his fingers coiling around
your bitter wrists
& fastened hair.

He is climbing out
from beneath the wood paneling,
his knots unhitching,
one by one,
with every finger kissed.

1hc scesons don eologizc
to anyone
& neither do their children.
Autumn & Winter
raised November with a stern hand
& too many rules.
How could he ever grow up to be
a good man?

He laughs when his younger sisters
toss hurricanes at one another,
.oncnuous ol hcir hrcczicr los
He only speaks
when spoken to
& avoids picking fights
at all costs.

Head down, November storms
through the streets
with a quickened step,
evoiding cvcryoncs gezc
whilst shooting daggers
of hail
at the universe-cracked sidewalk.
Dylan Garcia
18
Angry
Anna Rutenbeck
Champlain Valley Union High School, Grade 12
When you were angry, you created
one million tiny earthquakes, shaking
the house like nothing ever had
before. The aftershocks reverberated
from the basement to our bedroom
and sometimes I loved it when you
were angry. Loved how the plates
sounded crashing on the tile, loved how
everything was quiet when you were
done, loved how everything was perfect
in the moments after the storm because I
have always been in love with perfection
!cvcn il i cxiss lor only e ninuc
Howling Owl
Ben Graham
Bridge School, Middlebury, Grade 3
A flying bee
Went in a tree
And caused an owl
Again to howl.
The owl thought
It could be caught
And the poor thing
Received a sting.
The first howl was caused, of course,
By a quite annoying horse.
The owl had two howls that day
And he said hed fly away.
Elise Schumacher
19
In 10 Years
Zaley DeLeonardis-Page
Champlain Elementary School, Grade 4
ln 10 ycers, l vill hevc en ovl, vo .es, vo dogs end 10 lish l vill livc on e lern in
Vcrnon end hevc hig voods hchind ny housc end ekc ny dogs lor velks in hc
woods, and at night, I will look at the stars in the fields. I will own a bakery. I will ski
at Bolton and be a ski instructor and I will write stories.
Sean Finnegan
20
Hot Dogs, Stains, And
Everything Else That
Makes A Waterbury Spring
Eli Rivers
Crossett Brook Middle School, Grade 7
Spring comes to Waterbury and
the hot dog lady makes her specialty,
and
the stains on my Clyde Whittemore
Little League uniform show themselves
again.
Spring comes and
the sound of lawn mowers purrs again
and
bug spray stings your eyes again.
Spring comes and
hc sound slesh is e .onnon sound
at the Waterbury
lcz egein
The smell of burgers on my dads grill
taunt me.
Spring comes and
the pop of my baseball bat rings in my
ear and
the feeling of walking into a cool hockey
rink after
playing in the hot air hits me again.
Spring comes and
I get to see my brother again after his
college year
and smell, taste, feel and sound
are what tells us it is
another Waterbury spring.
Mikayla Grace
21
Teachings
Sophia Moore-Smith
Christ the King School, Grade 6
I was inspired by my fifth-grade soccer coach. He taught me to never give up and
to keep trying even though I am tired. He really helped me to improve my soccer skills
and my life skills. I learned from him that it is okay not to be the best, but to always
try. I think that this is very important because people cannot be the best at everything
but should try to be the best at who they are.
In a way, he did not just teach me soccer skills, he taught me how to act around
ohcrs Hc seid, Alveys hc ni.c end .ongreulec hc ohcr cen, vhchcr hcy vin
or lose, because you have to be kind to everyone. To me, this means that I have
to respect everyone, no matter what color their skin is, where they come from, or
anything like that. It is what is on the inside that really matters.
While my coach was teaching us soccer, he was also meaning to give us life
lcssons, su.h es vhcn hc seid, Cirls, .onc ovcr hcrc lcncnhcr vhcn l seid o hc
nice to the players on the other team? Well, that applies in real life, too. You have to be
nice to everyone, no matter what they look like. Look for what is on the inside.
My fifth-grade soccer coach has inspired me to take an extra step and approach
the new kid, or to keep on trying, even when I am struggling. Thank you, Coach, for
inspiring me to keep on trying.
Frank Puleo
22
My Poetry Is Dead
Kyle Coburn
Chelsea Public School, Grade 10
I know this is selfish
But I have a problem of my own
It seems as though recently
I cannot write a poem
This year started out grand
I hit the ground running
Bu is ell lizzlcd ou
Ive lost my wit and cunning
It was fun while it lasted
Now Im all washed up
For my short poetic career
I request we all raise a cup
My poetry is gone
It has abandoned my head
Though sometimes it sleeps
This time its dead
I try to write verse
And it comes out all wrong
If I cant write some lines
How will my poetry live on
I already said it once
The thought still tortures my head
I struggle to hold as it fades
My poetry is dead.
Zoe Frolik
23
Innocence
Luna Isham
In my arms
I hold
a life,
the steady rhythm of a heartbeat,
the rhythmic whispers of breath,
the wonder that lays his head upon my
lap.
I run my fingers through his hair.
He shifts slightly in his sleep,
chocolate strands fall across his face.
He looks so peaceful
in contrast to his
waking self,
the turmoil I usually see in those soft
brown eyes.
With a jerk, he awakens;
he looks me in the eyes.
I see an innocence there
that quickly fades away.
Beauty
Tyler Harris
Burlington High School, Grade 9
Beauty comes with a story.
A person can have perfect hair,
perfect skin, perfect clothes
but their life has been handed to them.
Theyve known nothing but love.
Theyve worked for nothing,
wanted nothing,
because they have everything.
A person who has struggled
has loved and lost
is someone who is beautiful,
someone who has worked
for what she has,
but still has nothing.
A woman who has been
to the depths of herself
is a woman who is truly beautiful.
Kayla Rideout
24
Unspoken
Kyle Brown
Northfield High School, Grade 12
I didnt say goodbye. I couldnt. We were friends for such a long time, and during
that time it seemed like our friendship would never change we would always share a
bond. We hardly had to speak, we knew what each other was thinking.
It began very slowly, our growing apartand now when we talk, its about
unimportant things, talking the way I would talk to someone I just met on a bus just
sharing a laugh about whats going on in the moment.
Now we are both leaving, starting a new life chapter. To arrange to meet and say
goodbye would be awkward and so we dont. I silently wish him well, and I hope he
hears it.
Ashley Douglas
25
At The Bus Stop
Sammy Storz
St. Johnsbury Academy, Grade 9
The homeless lady
at the bus stop,
who probably wasnt homeless,
thought I was homeless.
At least I
hoped
she wasnt homeless.
It gets cold
around here at night,
50 hclov, on
occasion.
She was matronly
and old
and wore a
baby blue frock,
with a picture of
Eeyore
and the words
Olcn Cruny,
although her character said
differently.
She had a laughing face.
Creased.
Wise.
She saw me sitting there
at the bus stop
smiled,
and sat down next to me.
She asked me if I had
eaten
at all today.
Concerned with my
personal image,
and that of my family,
I said yes.
I wasnt homeless,
and I didnt want to
look
like I was.
Getting on the bus,
I noticed I was the only
child
there.
A couple sitting in the back,
looking wasted,
and a middle-aged man
with earphones
were the only ones on the bus.
I sat down on a torn seat
and the old woman
sat next to me.
She must have wanted to
protect me or
something.
I think she was
!sin.crcly
concerned.
About what I dont know,
but looking back on this a few
years later,
l rcelizc
how skinny
I mustve looked.
Walking past the bus stop the next day
I saw her,
and she was smiling;
again I didnt know why.
But I waved and walked in her
direction.
And she offered me a
sandwich.
2
The End Of The World
Gwen Williams
Oxbow High School, Grade 11
l svcer, l ves going o gc hcrc on inc vhcn ell ol e suddcn i ves hc cnd ol
the world, I said, exasperated.
My mom raised an eyebrow and looked at me over the rims of her glasses. She
sccncd skci.el, Co on
You rcelly ven nc o` l .ould ekc deys o dcs.rihc
She crossed her arms and kept looking at me.
linc, hu you nigh ven o si dovn
She did, and I moved to sit across from her at the small table on our porch.
l sercd his norning vhcn l ves gcing ino ny .er 1hcrc vcrc iny rcd dros
falling from dark clouds in the sky that I hadnt noticed before. They landed on my
windshield in little clusters and the wipers only smeared them.
l .ouldn scc e hing, hu l drovc vih hc vindov dovn end nedc i o hc cnd
of our road, although I did almost hit a deer. Oh right, there were animals everywhere,
all going in the same direction as me, towards the river. There were bears with cats and
dogs riding on their backs and frogs riding on theirs. You should have seen them!
\crc our cs hcrc` lid you scc our .hi.kcns lleing elong hchind your .er`
she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
No, l didn scc hcn 1hcy vcrc rohehly su.k in hcir .oo hc.eusc you elveys
forget to let them out on hot days. She glared at me.
\cll, is e good hing you didn lc hcn ou odey hc.eusc hc cncreurc
drocd o hclov zcro, l hink All hc rcd rein lrozc end glicrcd By hc inc l go o
the main road, it had stopped raining, but the stuff was everywhere. Some big truck
had gotten in an accident on the road up ahead; at least I thought it was a truck. I
go .loscr end ullcd ovcr o hcl end l rcelizcd i ves e snell lenc 1hc ilo ves
standing there and he said he had lost all control of it. Other planes were going down
for no reason at
No onc ves hur in hc lenc .resh`
No he l .ould cll, hu he ves hclorc hc .hesn ocncd u l ricd ocn hc
road and pulled the wreckage of the plane down into it. My car was balanced on the
edge of one side and I didnt know what to do, but then I heard the pilot yell run! So
I did. You know how much I hate running, so I must have been really scared. There
were still all the other animals on the road, animals I didnt even know we had in
Vcrnon, likc .encls end lleningos l ves e rcguler Aninel llenc sencdc l sev en
elephant and jumped on its back, pulling the pilot up behind me.
You uncd u on en clchen`
Ycs, i nus hevc hccn hc edrcnelinc lron hc siueion Nov, so incrruing
My mom leaned back in her chair.
27
So, l uncd on o hc clchen, hu i sercd o run oll ol hc roed 1hcrc ves e
big vine hanging from a tree and I grabbed it and swung and leapt onto a tree.
You--
No norc qucsions 1hcrc ves lighning end i sru.k dovn hc rcc, hu l .ould
suddenly fly. I guess that comes along with the end of the world.
lvc hcerd cnough
Bu ln no donc
All ol he rcelly hecncd` 1he ves hc rceson you vcrc 15 ninucs lec lor
school? My mom unfolded her arms and set her hands on her lap.
Ycs l noddcd ny hced
Soncincs l vish hc s.hool didn .ell ehou hcsc hings, shc leughcd Co do
your homework. She started to go into the house.
l los i, l seid o hc ground
Hov` Shc urncd
\cll
Alex Day
28
Wonderland
Jessica Austin
Sugar and milk, he says,
Sugar and milk.
Theres grass on the floor, he says,
Covered in silk.
But the moon in the night, he says,
Wouldnt be so
if the girls here on Earth
all wore the same bow.
Look to the west, he says,
Look to the west.
Theres no one to see, he says,
Why look your best?
Sugar and milk, he says,
are the color of snow,
but little girls like you
shouldnt wear the same bow.
He says, Ive sat on grass
much greener than this,
and Ive seen the night
much brighter than this.
He says, the west wasnt won
based on the color of ones fur,
and the way that you dress
shouldnt just be for her.
You are sugar and milk, he says,
Sugar and milk.
And there are girls just like you, he says,
On grasses of silk.
And if their bows are like yours, he says,
Are you like the rest?
Look to the west, he says,
Look to the west.
Fourth Of July
Samantha Masse
Benson Village School, Grade 8
Sitting in the hot sun
On a nice summer day
Waiting for
The vivid stars to come out
Of the black shadowy
Night.
The bright colorful lights
That fill up the sky
Remind me of
That dance that day
When I didnt want
the night to end.
And the crackling
And popping
Sound of the fireworks
Is like the sound of
1hc voods in Vcrnon
During hunting season,
The fireworks
Soaring by the moon
Like a bird looking down
At his prey.
As I listen and watch,
The memories of the past
Float through my head.
1hcsc dezzling shecs
Form in the sky
On every Fourth of July
And I wonder why
I was so afraid
Of fireworks.
29
Orange Peel Smiles And Banana Phone Calls
Mugdha Gurram
Brattleboro Area Middle School, Grade 7
Laura loved fruits. She loved lots of things. Flowers, animals, television (especially
.eroons Bu shc rcelly lovcd lruis Shc lovcd giving orengc ccl snilcs, csc.ielly lor
the camera that her mom would hover over her with. She loved to call her mom on
her banana phone. They would play catch with apples.
leure grcv u o hc 9, 10, 11 Shc sill lovcd llovcrs, eninels end clcvision And
shc sill lovcd lruis Bu hcrc vcrc no longcr eny snilcs or .ells 1he vesn .ool
anymore. Nowadays when she grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl on their coffee
table, she didnt beg her mom to play catch with her, like she used to. She simply ate it.
Lauras mother missed her little girl. She still loved the girl who now gobbled a
banana down in two seconds, but she missed the child who thought her mother was
the coolest person ever.
Lauras mother soon became weak with skin cancer. It devastated the whole
family. She soon became too sick to even leave the hospital. They brought stuffed
animals, photos, home movies, anything they thought would make her happy. But she
wasnt. She smiled weakly when they visited, but there was no twinkle in her eye. It
overwhelmed Laura. This was her mother, her idol, the one who was always there for
her, lying in bed, slowly and painfully dying.
In the hospital, one day, she sat by her mothers bedside, trying her hardest not to
.ry, honc vidcos on hc 1V 1hc vidco leying ves onc ol hcr .elling hcr nohcr on
a banana. She looked back at her mother in present day and she was smiling. A real
smile. With a spark of emotion in her eyes. This excited Laura.
She took an orange slice, stuffed it in her mouth, and smiled. Her mother was
laughing! It was raspy, but it was a laugh. Her mom raised a trembling arm, and Laura
gently placed a slice in her moms mouth. Day after day, they played these games.
Every day until her mother died.
There were tears, lots of them. There was sadness and remorse. But there was
comfort in fruits. In orange peel smiles and banana phone calls.
50
Rachel
Jonathan Zacharias
My sister Rachel has something about her that makes everyone around her enjoy
her company. I think that it might be her loyalty. She has always been there for me
in everything. She is behind me when I need her most. Theres no better feeling than
seeing someone you love look out for you and stand up for you. If I was picked on as
a kid, they were suddenly someone that my sister despised more than I did. It might be
a bad thing, but she would hold on to grudges longer than me as well. It doesnt feel
like a bad thing when shes standing up for me, though. She doesnt do it because shes
expecting something; she does it because that is what she feels is right. My hope is that
she feels the same way about how I act towards her now that I am growing up. I hope
I can carry on the loyalty given to me by her, to all of my friends and family. Rachel
has been influential in ways that I dont even think she knows. Her loyalty, that is just
second nature for her, that she shrugs off like its nothing, is the same loyalty that I will
remember forever.
Kelsea Battig
51
Dissonance
Abigail Rampone
Fair Haven Union High School, Grade 11
Theres nothing wrong with a little
dissonance,
rasped wrecked throats sandpapering
ghost
songs that break necessary glass bottles
like
splatted spiders underfoot on the streets,
run flat and ground in by the cars,
lossilizcd ino hc evcncns, nedc o
bend and break like Jacob Marleys
miserly Christmas hymns, because he
paid with all his money. Theres nothing
wrong with
violins with the tuning pegs screwed off,
screwed screwed screwed tangled bent
strings in a tumbleweed nest, rolling
down the perfect
plastic shopping aisle and grabbing for
the cereal with
wire octopus hands.
Theres nothing wrong with a little
dissonance, banged-up broken-up
hammered-up smashed organ strings
still singing underfoot like
the fault lines placed a call
and ordered something shook-up
and off-kilter and surreal. Lets
let our skies be run by mixed-up music
and plate tectonics.
And It All Just Looks The
Same
Colleen Knowles
Proctor Jr.-Sr. High School, Grade 12
The sound the key made in the lock
echoed through our plastic house,
shaking plastic cuckoo clocks
and startling the plastic mouse.
It bounced off plastic ceilings, floors,
and windows out the plastic door.
It echoed many times, and more,
then finally, it stopped.
But everyone had heard the noise.
The plastic town had felt it roll,
and all the plastic girls and boys
had hurried home already, so
we didnt try to hide it then
from plastic mice or plastic men,
hu no onc lesi. .ricd, Agein
when finally, it stopped.
Youll never find a harder place
where heartbreak never comes to die,
cause plastics harder than they say.
They say it bends it wont, so I
am leaving this old plastic town
where smiles mean as much as frowns.
Plastic hurts, but melt it down,
and finally, it stops.
32
The Best Aroma
Heidi Ambrozaitis
Im sitting outside my house
just taking it all in,
with the birds chirping,
the bright sun shining down on me,
my calves running round and round,
tangling me up with their halters,
my dad in the field bailing hay,
and the smell is better
than a freshly baked apple pie in the
oven,
my mom coming outside
with dads lunch in hand,
running through the lawn to catch him
before he starts another lap,
looking over to see my brother
getting ready to mow the lawn,
my other brother working on his four-
wheeler,
my sisters always doing their chores.
It just makes me feel at home
to have the smell of farming
surround me.
Its like a huge pillow
that comforts me whenever I need it.
Its just something that I cant carry with
me
but that is why its my favorite
and why it comforts me
because the only way I can feel
comfortable
is being at home
where I grew up and where I love.
Electronics Taking Over
Jenna Flint
Rice Memorial High School, Grade 9
Theyre seducing our brains
and rattling them like chains,
not having us think,
showing us everything we need before
we can blink,
encyclopedias, dictionaries, bibliography
makers, spell check
crashing our teens like a fast train wreck!
No longer knowing how to spell or use
a book,
just turn your electronics on and look!
Kids talking on phones? No!
They put on a show,
texting and instant messaging
Facebook, Twitter, Myspace!
In school in which they no longer ace!
Heads glued to the screen,
no longer lean!
le end lezy,
youd hink ln going .rezy
Cellphones, laptops, Game Boys,
all these electronic toys.
Whats going on?
No longer do we take a walk at dawn.
No more family time,
just these innocent crimes.
33
Heaven
Sara Swartz
Mount Holly Elementary School, Grade 4
If I could visit Heaven,
Its where Id like to be.
The streets are made of gold;
Its what I have been told.
If only for a minute,
Imagine what I would see.
Id be greeted at the gate,
Where there would be no hate,
Only peace and joy,
And a very special little boy,
My brother, Christopher.
Ill see him one day in Heaven,
Even if Im one hundred and seven.
My Neighbors Flat Pet
Delaney Brunvand
Shelburne Community School, Grade 4
I am full of so much regret,
For I flattened my neighbors chubby pet.
He perched there on the bed
And I sat on him.
He was fantastically fluffy like a white
cloud,
A white cloud, not a cloud the color of
lead
lnil l llecncd hin
After I sat on him,
Oh, how flat was his head.
McKenzie Silk
54
Cemetery Dance
Holly Sherrer
St. Albans Town Educational Center, Grade 8
I met Emily Bronte walking in the graveyard near her house on a night so still, not
even the clouds dared move. The blackened sky, a web of charcoal, pressed down on
me as I lumbered around the cobblestones, panting heavily in the bitter air. My breath
puffed out in front of me, pillars of steam twisting up towards the sky until they, too,
were dragged into the emptiness of the dark. It was a horrid night to be walking, but
I was determined to clear my mind and my conscience, and start with a blank slate in
the morning.
The girl in the cemetery was such an odd sight that I almost believed myself to be
hallucinating. Despite the frigid temperature, she wore only a flouncy skirt and blouse,
bleached to grey by the dim moonlight. She twirled among the stones, occasionally
nisscing end lelling o hc ground, only o rc.ovcr, eologizc o hc lerh iscll,
end .oninuc on l ves ncsncrizcd, shc .eivecd hc ecnion ol cvcryhing - living,
dead, or inanimate and together we watched her.
And hes vhcn l rcelizcd Shc vesn dclying hc sillncss ol hc nigh 1hc nigh
was still because of her.
Tentatively, I stepped through the wrought-iron gate, and it creaked with a low
moan. I was sure the sound would destroy the magic of the moment, but it only
enhanced it, echoing in a thousand voices around me, overlapping in beautiful
melodies. She smiled, and slowed the tempo of her dance to match the repeating
sound.
My heart was battling with my mind. I so wanted to go up to her, to ask her why
she danced, to ask her why she wasnt afraid, but something inside me said I wouldnt
understand the answers. Something inside me kept me silent. I was caught in an
impossible tangle of logic, of mystery and confusion, and it was threatening to overtake
me.
llcesc, us cll nc your nenc, l .ellcd ou, end ny voi.c eddcd en unvencd
minor key to the perfect music.
She looked up, not startled, but not happy. Slowly she turned, and the magic
stopped.
lnily, shc nurnurcd lnily Bronc
She took off running, disappearing away into the infinite darkness. The world held
its silence only a moment longer before the stillness broke and life continued. I, too,
carried on with my walk, and the girl in the cemetery was all but forgotten.
The dance was done.
55
I Feel
Eva Edwards-Stoll
It makes me feel so angry,
so upset.
How people think how people are.
They think how Charlie is;
how he is dumb.
He has this operation
and he gets a little smart
and he gets a lot smart
and he gets really, really smart
and then he deteriorates
into the man he was before.
I feel like Charlie should be dumb
because that is who he is.
I feel a strong connection with him.
Bc.eusc 80 ol hc inc l lccl likc hin,
plain old dumb.
When Charlie was dumb, he depended
on other people,
but he was kinder.
l likc hov hc rcelizcd colc vcrc
treating him poorly
and he quit his job because of it.
He had a lot of dignity, then,
when he was dumb.
If you have a disability,
like Charlie or me,
people should help you,
people should understand you and value
you.
And not just think that you are less than
them.
And not just think that you
are plain old dumb.
Because inside, you are not dumb.
You are this miraculous piece of nature.
Melanie Lopato
5
Dresses
Anastasia Page
Shrewsbury Mountain School, Grade 4
I crave dresses! They could be gold-yellow, lime-green and even sky blue. I dont
care what the color is, just not white. White gets dirty faster than water pouring down
a waterfall.
1hc drcsscs .ould hevc zigzegs, olke dos, end cvcn srics l don cvcn .erc
what the print or even the type of fabric is. I just desire the twirl of a dress!
If I didnt have the room for all these outfits, Id build a giant closet to hang my
dresses in. If I had an endless supply of dresses, I could wear a new one every day.
Zoe Frolik
57
My Town
Lily Weissgold
One word?
Hipsters.
They come out at night
with eyes open wide.
They fill the coffee shops,
fedora brims pulled down,
gripping the dregs of the night
like the coffee, long gone
from their mugs.
One word?
Historic.
Cien Vi.oriens loon
on streets sprinkled with oaks;
brass plaques on the door
rced 1890
Conjuring a picture of old men,
pipes hanging out of
bearded mouths.
One word?
Rainy.
More often than not
I arrive at my house,
the hem of my pants
soaked through,
dripping water onto the mudroom floor,
turning the linoleum the color of the sky.
One word?
Green.
Come spring, the sky
turns a brilliant blue
and the tree tops
open their green to the sky.
Crocuses peeking purple eyes
from little leaves
let the world know
life is new.
One word?
Home.
And although I am not a night owl
or a historian
or a rain-lover
or a tall, tall tree,
or a little amethyst flower,
this is my home and I am staying put.
For now.
Someones Frozen Tears
Michelle Fenimore
North Country Union High School, Grade 9
I hold my breath and observe as delicate
minuscule tears fall from the sky
lnsurc lron vhosc cycs hcy erc lelling
We become intrigued and want to know
why they fall
Why they do what they do
And why does there have to be a
consequence for something so gracious
Something so overwhelming to
understand
Why do we have to solidify from the
frigid winters tears
They are troublesome, but far more
advanced than our knowledge
They fall almost slower than imagined
possible
Stacking on top of each other
One by one by one
They are resting and look almost unseen
One polar mouth full of these skies
crystals
Contains more than we will ever
understand
We sit as night stumbles on
And we watch the falling snow as it
glimmers in the moonlight
38
Shooting Star
McKenzie Apjohn
I can hear the soft green grass waving
around a few yards behind my head
like the legs of a jellyfish would wiggle
deep down under the ocean
that my cotton-candy pink toes are
swimming in.
The wind softly blows throughout my
now messy dirty blond hair,
making it swirl around my head like a
tornado,
my very own tornado,
with only me
in the middle,
in my own little world.
Daydreaming
about all the things I wish could happen,
I feel the packed wet sand
underneath my purple tank top and
zchre-sric eene ens
It fits to my body perfectly,
like a snow angel surrounding me,
made of freshly packed snow.
I can smell the salt lingering above the
sea,
threatening to take over my body,
like the waves are starting to take over
the fluffy dry sand
as they crash further and further into the
shore.
I slowly start to wake up from my
dream.
I feel the water creeping further up my
legs
end rcelizc l nccd o go he.k honc soon
I look deep
into the seemingly endless black sky.
The stars twinkle brightly back at me
as if trying to make out a picture
or tell me something.
Neither happens, though.
But as I lay there, wondering,
what else is beyond those stars,
I catch a quick glimpse of something
moving.
A shooting star!
I watch it closely
and smile to myself,
knowing I have one wish.
I close my eyes
and think in my head,
if only, if only,
I could stay here forever
end ncvcr hevc o go he.k o ny .rezy
life.
The drama at school,
all the pressure at home,
and all the worry about high school
because that will be the next step for me.
Here I have no problems.
This place seems like a dream
and I want to stay here
forever.
If only wishes came true.
59
My Love, My Star
Cherish Amanda Greene
Chelsea Public School, Grade 11
On wings of stars I found you
Descending from the skies.
I knew that you were perfect
With one look in your eyes.
No one I have ever known
Is anything like you.
As long as you are near me, love,
Theres nothing I cant do.
Heaven-born, Earth-bound,
My heart youve always owned.
Constantly, repeatedly,
Your magic brings me home.
We dance among the comets,
Blow kisses to the moon;
You know I dont care where we are
As long as Im with you.
We journey far beyond all time,
Beyond all pain and tears.
Wrapped in your so loving arms
I lose all sense of fear.
You whisper perfect songs to me
When I am sad and lost.
Your voice brings smiles to my face
Your sunshine melts my frost.
Your eyes contain the oceans depths,
And shine like stolen stars,
Your hands have power in their touch,
And break my prisons bars.
You set me free, then make me yours,
Through time and space we sway.
My love, my star, you make me whole,
And thats how it should stay.
Ashley Douglas
40
Dreams
Phoebe Tucker
Black River High School, Grade 11
Trampled wildflowers cried at their feet,
besotted, anguished, lost in the heat,
the dandelion crown, the mint julep
bouquet,
like a crying child, or a wandering stray.
Many walked by, yet nobody cared.
They didnt know the rose or the
raindrops shared,
when one little person, a girl about three,
stopped to take a rest by the old oak tree.
She noticed the flowers, all dried up and
torn,
picked up the crown that someone had
worn,
said my, wouldnt this look good on my
head,
rather there, than lying here dead?
She thought its friends would like to
come too,
so she freed her feet and collected the
flowers in her shoe,
skipped carelessly along down the old
dirt road,
ran through the field that nobody
mowed,
finally stopped at her fort by the stream,
and tossed the flowers in,
each one for a dream.
Fallen Is The Shade Of
Violet
Alyx Sellars
Peoples Academy, Grade 12
My feet mark the night,
And fallen is the shade of violet.
Enlightened by the moon,
They whisper the harmonious songs of
cherry blossoms,
And a sweet, yet musky smell of
unearthed ground has sprung.
As the ravens feather falls and marks the
clearing,
The grass is free, a deep burgundy of the
past.
The lush blanket of the forests breath
has yet to return.
But the wash of snowflakes has scattered
with the warm embrace.
And here the evening brings the change,
And the path that follows, leaving
footsteps behind,
Lingering in the past.
Because as the seasons alter into a
contortion of birth,
My life flutters like the wings of the moth
that has milk-colored wings,
And glitter falls as it flies.
Decisions are made, and I walk with a
fresh mind,
Like spring, like the dawn.
But at the moment I am in that inexplicit
hanging moment,
Between one action and another.
And with every step that falls,
My feet mark the night.
41
Candy Hair
Joey Gloss
Shrewsbury Mountain School, Grade 5
There was something strange about our new teacher, Mr. Smith; he had cotton
candy growing from his scalp. His tasty locks were pink like a flamingo and blue like a
whale patterned with swirls, and styled like an afro. Clusters of hair were growing out
his ears and nose like plants sprouting out of the ground. Every time he was hungry,
he would pluck a piece of his hair and stuff a clump in his mouth. This made him look
like a chipmunk for a brief amount of time. Each time after he ate, scraps of cotton
candy stuck on his face like stubble.
When his cotton candy stubble appeared, half of the class would laugh at him; the
other half of the class was revolted. You would always find at least one student staring
at him like he was strange. Personally, I started to feel nauseous whenever I would see
his face. I would turn around to face the wall to find comfort. Thats about the same
time Mr. Smith would rush out the door sobbing. I started to feel badly for him, but I
knew that tomorrow was going to be the same routine all over again.
Zoe Frolik
42
I Am Poetry
Olivia Pintair
Lake Champlain Waldorf School, Grade 6
I am poetry.
I am a thief I steal your attention.
I seep through the cracks
of your heart,
forming thoughts
you cannot dominate.
I am creator of your dreams
and keeper of your soul.
I am a depressed soul
when I long for emotion.
I am a lions soul
when I feel strong.
I am your soul
because I am a listener.
I hear the energy of the world around
me
that inspires me to be all I am.
I am poetry.
Hear my voice.
I am more real than
you.
Tayler Stutzman
45
Solitaire
Julia Hancock-Song
Pacem Learning Center, Grade 10
Somewhere out along the lines
of the universe and curves of time,
amidst dusty scattered skulls and spines,
I seem to have lost a friend of mine.
I dropped her at her destination
(shed long been bound for other
neions,
but by our arranged visitation,
she was not done with exploration.
The first sister I could have kept
when we parted ways, I think she wept.
But by her choice, as New England slept,
she left, to freer lives accept.
I promised that when she came back,
no bonds of friendship would have
snapped.
I told her I would stay in touch;
she said shed miss me very much.
And now, somewhere beneath my pride,
I wonder if we both had lied,
for neither wrote or spoke or tried
to cast our bottles on the tide.
I wait for us to realign
among the cogs and wheels of time;
I hope to God she has not met
the lines that my life overstepped.
I wonder, now, what foreign air
blows through her game of solitaire;
and was it she or I that despaired
of finding the other
anywhere?
Monica Keithcart
44
What Makes Up Dreams
Chiara Evans
Colchester High School, Grade 11
Conglomerate messages wound up in the
days thoughts
A simple process of untying your own
knots
The best objects of your desire
A wish for something better
A touch of love
A tear shed for something gone wrong
Allow yourself to take a journey into
your own mind
Look at yourself through your own eyes
And see what others see
Go floating through your scatterbrains
And dont let anyone take away your
childish wonder
The best entertainment is one you make
Wrapped up in memories and wishes
To go far away
To have something new
Or just a better life one day
Dreams fulfill us and take us through
sleep
Seemingly short but ever so long
Conscious but unconscious you sleep
While being carried off farther and
farther
Dont get lost
Dreams will haunt you, make you laugh
Dreams will love you, and send tears to
your eyes
But you have to remember not to get
caught
Hold on to reality
Because dreams are just your brain
Figuring things out.
Kevin Huang
45
Tinmouth Pond
Gregory Eaton
Mount Holly Elementary School, Grade 4
My favorite place to be
Is on the ice. I am free!
Free of working with my brother,
Free of listening to my mother.
At Tinmouth Pond I catch many fish;
At home they make a yummy dish.
My shanty there is nice and warm.
It keeps me out of every storm!
Garden Ghosts
Abhi Dodgson
Homeschool, South Hero, Grade 4
The wind chimes are chiming,
the lake is shining and
the sun is peeking through a cloud.
The ghosts that dance in the
garden rise up and
become the clouds
that sit atop the sky,
and when its time for the ghosts to
come down, they gracefully
fly back to their little
home in the flowers and
then it happens
all over
again.
Grace Palker
4
They Used To Dance
Izzy Moody
Mount Abraham Union High School, Grade 9
For so long, the words would
tango,
velz,
pirouette
straight from my mind
through my fingers
excitedly
onto the paper,
barely contained
by those parallel blue lines.
Now the words stumble.
Confused, they have trouble
even walking now,
let alone grapevine.
I imagine them getting lost
within me,
bumping against the walls of
my head,
my chest,
like the lights are turned off,
but they arent.
When they do find their way
through that labyrinth,
he nezc,
they emerge as alphabet soup,
jargon
completely and utterly
wrong.
Ive tried to close
my eyes and reach
inside,
tried to pull off their
blindfolds
and push them,
shove them,
drag the words
with my pointer finger
in the right direction.
But they dont seem to
respond.
Maybe I should try
dance lessons.
Luke Beard
47
How Do Colors Make You
Feel
Caroline Johnson
The Renaissance School, Grade 4
Red makes me feel like a tigers tongue.
Green makes me feel sick.
Purple makes me feel calm like a snail.
Grey makes me feel bored like a day
when you are sick.
Black makes me feel dark like the sky in
the night.
Bluc nekcs nc lccl voozy likc
daydreaming.
Orange makes me feel squishy like a
squished orange.
Yellow makes me feel warm like the sun
shining on my face.
Sounds Of Fall
Zani Lewis
The whispering wind pushed my hair
like a tornado
And the dead orange, yellow and red
leaves spun around me like a whirlpool.
The birds flew and chirped, heading
south.
The red squirrels gathered nuts and
chattered noisily.
The ants silently marched with food to
their nest.
The clouds were heavenly white and the
sky was streaked with blue.
The sounds of fall are beautiful!
Rae Merrill
Randolph Union High School, Grade 12
48
Born Into This World
Frida Rosner
Marlboro Elementary School, Grade 5
Born into this world,
everyone has a pure, white feather
resting upon their heart,
a golden sun above them
and an eagle spirit hovering nearby.
But theres always a black puddle of
worry
lying at their feet.
Somehow the darkness lures all.
Keep your feathers clean.
Keep the sun shining above you.
Save your guardian eagle.
Then you will learn to turn your back
on that puddle of worry.
Do You Know?
Alexandra Contreras-Montesano
Champlain Elementary School, Grade 5
Do you know what makes the wind the
sweet, sweeping sound that reassures us
that there is air to breathe?
I know what makes the wind blow so.
Tis you who makes it flow.
Do you know what makes the berries
ripe with juice and raw newborn color?
I know what makes the berries ripe.
Tis you, tis you who makes the flavor
burst.
Do you know what makes my life so
sweet with bursts of small delight?
I know! I know!
Tis you, tis you.
I know it is.
Mikayla Grace
49
Aria
Zoe Soule
Leland and Gray Union High School, Grade 10
Faint.
Gentle.
Sweet.
The notes fill the air,
tip-toeing upon ears with exaggerated
steps,
soothing and airy,
a fairy breathing her secret lightly into
an ear.
The melody takes reign, adopting a well-
remembered theme,
forgettably named, yet lyrically catchy.
See them flitting about?
Soaring skyward, whirling joyfully.
The triplet sails by, flying ever higher.
The low B flat thunders on the ground,
content to stay in familiar territory.
Their colors permeate the world around,
an incandescent glow of candlelight,
familiar and exciting all at once.
Suddenly, the climax reaches the peak
and the world tilts and changes to a
shimmering silver and gold.
With a final flourish, the refrain ends,
and with that, the decrescendo takes up
its long trot.
The last notes are weary and regretful,
disappointed children who want the day
to never end.
The light loses its desire to shine.
The final note comes to a rest, a perfect
chord, fittingly melancholic.
Perhaps some might be left wanting
more;
More excitement, more complication.
However, the simplicity is what makes it
perfect.
A lasting memory of indescribable magic
that lingers on your mind, tingles in your
fingers, and dances on your tongue.
Its gone too soon, but hasnt
disappeared too far.
Remaining locked in your mind,
ready at the call to march its way out
with a smile and dramatics.
In a moment of darkness and loss, it
enters.
With a hum, the first few notes begin:
Faint.
Gentle.
Sweet.
Fighting The Tides
Sarah Wells
U-32 High School, Grade 11
Even during their youth they were old.
Two old souls drifting through the
turbulence of growing up
and into each others arms.
An old man regarding his wife with all
the love in the world.
And an old woman, looking at her
husband like all the stars in the sky.
Time came and went,
but they never strayed from each other.
There was nowhere left for them to go
when all they ever needed
was with the other.
Alone on a sandy beach, two chairs sit
stoically as the waves approach,
neither minding the impending crisis,
not as long as theyre side by side.
The chairs of the couple,
who sit on them to watch the sunset,
forever together against the rolling tide of
change.
50
The Lonely Fish
Emily Aldrich
Monkton Central School, Grade 6
Im a lonely fish. That may sound weird, but the most fun Ive ever had is when
my owner accidentally tipped me over in my plastic bag as she was bringing me home
from the fair. All I do now is sit here. Sometimes Ill hide in my obviously fake log, but
otherwise, there isnt much to do.
As my owner walks in the room, she carries a bag of colors like pink and orange
on her back.
Hcy, lcunie, shc seys end hurrics ovcr o ny dish l don gc vhy shc .ells
me that. Im a goldfish, not a flower. My owner plants her face onto the side of the
dish end sers neking noiscs lvc ncvcr cvcn hcerd, likc, hcy, lishy, lishy, nve, nve,
mwa, come here, boy, come here! Aww, do-be, do-be-do. I swim over to my log so
that shell go away, but she doesnt; she just stays there, watching me, which is kind of
creepy.
Conc on, lcunie, shc seys, rce.hing hcr hend ino hc hovl l un ou ol ny
log and make sure that five-finned thingy doesnt touch me. My owner starts laughing
end docs i egein, likc shcs rying o greh nc 1his gocs on lor 50 norc sc.onds end
then my masters master walks in.
lclscy \he erc you doing vih he oor lish` shc shous So ny ovncrs
name is Kelsey.
Bu on lcunie vouldn do enyhing lclscy elks he.k o hcr non
!eercnly Hcr non s.olds hcr end shc cnds u siing on hc hcd .rying Shc
moves her hands away from her eyes and looks at me, and then scoots closer to my
bowl.
You erc hc vors lish cvcr, lclscy seys end is ovcr ny hovl l go unhling
dovn vih vecr sleshing cvcryvhcrc - on nc, hc drcsscr !vhcrc l ves e, end hc
.erc !vhi.h is vhcrc ln hceding
Glass breaks and I keep falling. Once I hit the floor, I feel wetness, but it is
escaping. The water is going down through a trap door in the ground that is too small
for me. Let me down! Let me down! I shout as I flop up and down. Kelseys mom comes in.
lclscy \he on lerh` ls hc les hing l hcerd
51
Winter Beauty
Oscar Downing
Ferrisburgh Central School, Grade 3
On the chair lift,
Rocking
In
The wind,
I see
Sparkling
Snow on
The trees,
Shining
In the sun,
The forest
Towering
Like
A crystal fortress,
Glinting
Against
The bright
Blue
Sky.
The swish!
Of skiers
Far beneath my feet,
The humming
Of the lift
And the whooshing wind
Against my face
Like an icy whip.
This is
What makes winter
So
Beautiful.
Close Enough To Touch
Gabriello Lewis
Diving, swooping, and flying around
me,
They are so close
I can feel the wind from their wings,
Blowing my hair across my face.
Their extended talons flash in the
sunlight,
Momentarily blinding me.
Suddenly I hear a crash,
Followed soon after by a loud piercing
cry
To fellow captives.
I look up and see that he has flown
Right into the wire mesh above me.
I drop the dead rat I was about to set
down on the perch,
As my mentor, too, looks
And then goes back to putting food on
the perches.
Yet I continue to stare,
Transfixed by the majestic sight.
The sunlight filters through his wings
As if hes a messenger of God.
As I walk out of the aviary,
I watch my favorite hawk fly by,
Close enough to touch.
52
Two Lonely Chairs
Paige Thibault
Charlotte Central School, Grade 5
If you go
Through the trees
Into the forest
Where all of the leaves
Hide you from the sky
And the sky is not seen,
You will find
A clearing.
Go to your left;
Turning right is not the way.
Follow the path
That winds back and forth,
l hills end dovn
So vihin 50 e.cs, end hced overds
The sunflower faces,
l ilcs ol grcy ro.k,
And sloping fields.
Keep on going,
But then yield
When you come
To the ocean shore,
Soft sand
underfoot,
Some rough seaweed
Left behind
From the waves
That sweep and twine,
Most rough seashells
Washed away.
There is something odd
I see today.
Two lonely chairs
Rest on the shore,
Facing the sea.
I sit down
On one of those two chairs,
Wondering why
They are there.
Soft cushion,
Dusted with sand.
Memories that are not mine,
Flash through my head:
A dog and a sailor,
Husband and wife,
Child with child.
Many have sat here.
A feeling of peace settles
Somewhere deep inside of me.
I sit there and watch
The waves that rock back and forth
And dance to the tide
Like it is a song.
I want to stay,
But the sky is dark,
So I return home.
I get up and walk
On the soft sand that is underfoot.
I know I will return
To those lonely two chairs
That hold their own story
That sit by the sea.
Those chairs are now special to me.
And I walk back the way I came,
As happy and as peaceful as could be.
When I reach home,
Though out of reach,
I will always remember those two chairs
That sit all alone
On that very beach.
55
Two Coyotes In The Yard
Rebecca Valley
Bellows Free Academy St. Albans, Grade 12
Ive got a loneliness that I pray to
that has your green eyes and my soul.
Ian, there are coyotes in the yard now
and when I called you,
you spoke to them,
told them that I am very frightened
of their blackness, their eyes in the night.
She is, you said, blind right now.
She cannot see you. If you come into the
moonlight
she will know your soul
and she will not be so afraid.
And we stood at the back window
and watched them stand still, hundreds
of feet,
merely, of separation a greyness in the
night
and lift their heads, the pair, and howl
one after the other.
It is about speaking the same tongue,
you said.
And I told you that fleeting love
has too many words, and not enough,
and that it outlines itself along the spine,
see, and you can hear it in her howl
in the night,
in the way that she calls back to him
from across the broad lawn
elreid ol en c.ho he.k he seys, l en
farther away than you thought, darling,
or worse, her own voice, empty,
only one pair of tracks.
Nothings Changed, But
Everything Has
Jonathan Merchant
Peoples Academy/GMTCC, Grade 10
Feels almost too weird, like a dream
playing out in reality
Nothings changed, but at the same
moment, everything has
Onc dey, is sering ou seying hi
Just meeting you, not knowing who you
were, but fancied to know you
Having you as my friend is all its been
Sill seying hi, hu edding in e hcy
end hov erc you on.c in e vhilc
Still nothings changed, yet same breath,
everything has
About a year down the road, still saying
hi, sill seying, hcy end hov erc you
But now theres a hug, a high five and
lots of smiles
Ive gotten to know you more, but
nonchclcss sill seying hi
Nothings changed, but everything has
Two more years have passed
Sill sey hi, sill sey hcy end hov erc
you, still giving hugs, high fives and
smiles
But now Im sitting next to you on the
couch, with fingers interlocked, holding
your hand
Nothings changed, all the while,
everything has
54
The Rains Came
Quincy Alves
The rains came and didnt stop.
The Winooski filled up in the blink of an
eye.
Soon enough there was no place left for
the water to go.
The water rushed into Waterbury like it
owned the place,
leaving everything destroyed in its path.
The next morning was a Monday,
a Monday that will always be burned in
my brain.
Driving through the village,
I felt like I had to pick my jaw off the
ground
after I saw the damage it did to our
town.
I didnt just see damage though;
I saw hope.
Our community rallied.
Our .onnuniy nedc nc rcelizc l ves
proud to live there.
Irene made me stop and think about
how lucky I am.
Silly Scared Little Me...
Katrina Strout
Cornish Elementary School, Grade 8
All alone in my house,
nobody near.
The quiet lingers
and tells me to fear.
Jumping left and twitching right
at a contrary sound
or an intricate sight.
The look on my face,
an inscrutable one,
When the basement door opens
y lirs hough is, llN
Bu hcrc l si, lrozcn es i.c
Maybe its a ghost
and perhaps he is nice.
But I am in for a shock
as I step real close,
for its only a mouse
and not a ghost.
Now I sit; Im such a fool.
But the air around me
feels unusually cool...
55
The Sound Of Autumn
Mary Pelchat
There is no sound.
lvcn hc hrcczcs
That pass by
Dont whisper,
Knocking the fire from the trees.
The flaming leaves fall to the ground
Dancing,
Spinning,
Twirling around each other,
Not to make a sigh
As they lay down to rest,
Leaving the trees empty.
Even the birds no longer sing,
No longer filling the trees with their
bright plumage,
The air with their songs,
Their songs of fairy tales,
Of places we have never dreamed of,
Only heard of in far-off places,
Songs that call to something inside us,
To our hearts,
But now the branches are empty of birds,
And those left,
Dare not make a sound.
Everything is silent in this time of year,
So it can listen,
Listen to the song thats inside,
Inside that of which we cannot hear
anymore,
But
If we listen,
If we stop,
If only for a moment,
We, like the whole of nature around us,
Can hear it too.
A Requiem For Titanic
Evan Wing
Rice Memorial High School, Grade 12
She, once built in the light
Of the grey Belfast sky,
Now rests in the dark,
A dream come to die.

She once carried gentlemen,
Ladies, cardsharps and priests,
Lawyers, celebrities,
Investors and thieves.

She now rests deserted,
But visited by
The spirits of memories
Who refuse to die.

Shes a shadow now
Of what she had been,
Grave for the innocent,
Tomb for true men.

But true ships never sink
And a true ship is she.
She now sails through longing thoughts
And quiet reverie.

A nezc ol hc honcs
Of the ambition of men:
Titanic immortal,
1hc sces quccnly dcnizcn
5
On The Hill
Charles Myers
This poem was written in memory of Charles
close friend and classmate, Bentley Davis Seifer,
who died at age 12 in a swimming accident at
Bolton potholes on July 12, 2011.
Once in a while I have a day when I
cannot feel anything but pain and grief.
I walk to the park and sit on the hill
where I used to play.
I wish to have one more day to play in
the snow and make forts in the woods.
I eat my favorite foods and watch as the
sun shines brightly upon my face.
I listen to the wind, hoping to hear his
voice one last time, but it never comes.
I cry and lay there on the hill most of
the day. I try to remember, I try to bring
sonching he.k 1hcn l rcelizc he i
will not come back. I know I can still
remember.
Something about that hill, with the sun
on my face and the wind going through
my hair, gives me comfort.
It makes me feel as though he is still
here, playing with me, like he always did.
Once I open my eyes and come back to
reality, the feeling goes away, and I am
left alone, sitting on the hill where I used
to play.
I wipe the tears from my face and slowly
walk home with a blank expression.
Once I get there, I lie in my bed, knowing
another day will come when I can feel
nothing but pain and grief.
I will wait to sit upon the hill where I
used to play once again.
If Only
Miriasha Borsykowsky
Burlington High School, Grade 10
If not by chance and not by spite,
How can our words make blows?
Intentions are the secret;
Theyre the knowledge no one knows.
Would it be better
If your thoughts were mine,
And mine belonged to you?
If we could think for each other,
Would we be kinder,
Know the truth?
If we could feel what others do,
Their desires and their fears,
Maybe then wed win the war
Weve been fighting all these years,
The war thats waged against ourselves,
Our assumptions and ideals.
If only we saw the other side,
No child
Would drown
In tears.
57
Legs In The Sand
Kay Bushman
They took the clothes, and the knick-knacks, and all the linens in the closet. They
left the drawers open and the rooms bare, let the sea air play with the window curtains
and midnight noises take over the day. They left the house with only the feeling and
the way she used to smell when shed crawl into bed next to him. Just like the ocean
end hc sky Sce hrcczc end .louds
He watched them as they moved everything out to the front of the beach house,
leaving boxes on the sandy yard, full to the top with memories of her, packed carefully
away. From here, it didnt seem like his life, his sadness. It was just movers, moving
boxes.
They packed everything into the big truck, memory after memory, moment after
moment, every piece of her disappearing into the belly of a dark stranger.
And then the lawn was bare, and the house was empty. All that was left was the
sea, gently meeting the shore. He looked out at it one last time as he got into his truck.
Everything he knew was behind him all that he had once loved. The only thing
remaining of the home he had made were two chairs, stuck in beach sand, overlooking
the ocean behind the house.
They were there as a promise and hope stuck waiting for two souls who longed
to look at the sea, set there as a reminder of the quiet, gentle times before the tide came
in.
Bryan Storck
58
The Day Northfield Was Knocked Down
Miranda Buck
When the news got out about Irene, everyone in Northfield laughed and assumed
we would get nothing but a tiny rain storm. Little did we know we were all in for
something bigger than all of us.
On a Sunday afternoon, it started to rain; as that rain came pouring out of the
bluish-grey sky, most peoples worlds stopped. I walked down to the green footbridge.
What I saw broke me from the inside and out. The roads of Northfield were
hc.oning reging rivcrs lcolcs honcs vcrc hell undcr vecr 1Vs, oys, veshcrs
end drycrs, roenc enks, lrcczcrs, .heirs, end or.hcs, you nenc i, l sev i lloeing
by. It was tragic and heartbreaking to see my hometown destroyed and completely
dominated by Hurricane Irene...
People from other towns came and lent a helping hand to people they didnt even
know. They were cleaning, shoveling mud, tearing down walls, bringing food and
water to the workers and families.
The community stopped worrying about the silly things in life and came together.
In a way, I would like to thank Irene, not for the heartbreak, but for waking everyone
u end rcelizing he vc shouldn hc lighing or hcing scllish, vc should hc hcling
one another.
Emily Herring
59
The Way He Looked At Us
Mia Eaton
He was like the feeling you get
when you inhale a winter day.
Crisp eyes,
green, veined.
Cold.
Teenage morning-feet shuffled
across linoleum
and metal chairs scraped.
He looked at us. So deeply.
Glowed in the light of the projector.
And zicrs unzicd
Crisp eyes.
Tinted with ivory, and sand.
His figure rose, into the creamy light
from the wheeled seat.
Long strides.
Rows of desks.
His slender fingers scrawled
in chalk,
Mr. Smith,
for the class.
Strength
Kara Piergentili
Brattleboro Union High School, Grade 11
Pelting the window,
Trying to break through the impenetrable
glass,
Wanting to drop on my skin,
Make my clothes damp.
It has power, you know,
The power to transform things,
Happy to sad,
Sad to happy,
Sweat into mold,
Sweetness into staleness.
It has the power.
Like everything else in this world.
Power hungry and controlling.
You must keep out the dampness,
Put on a barrier and dont let it through.
Hold tight onto what you have.
Never take anything for granted.
You must live for this one moment.
Eventually though,
It will take it from you,
Like candy from a baby.
We are not strong enough to keep out
the rain.
0
Tenses
Elizabeth Cummin
Moving is like dying
you go somewhere else,
and stay there,
and maybe sometimes you stop by at
your old places
but its never the same,
going back. You dont belong. So Im
never sure
whether to use past tense
when I say
l lovc/d hin,
or when I say
l niss/cd hin
Because I do, but he is not mine
to miss, he was never mine
at all, really. I spent
the majority of my childhood wasted
on him.
I always wonder
about my life
if I had stayed.
Maybe I wouldve given up hope.
Something last year
stayed my hand and my heart
from doing damage
maybe it wouldve,
just
not
there.
I wasted
everything
on him, there.
But moving is like dying,
so I dont have to
actually
do it.
Hes still there, tucked
in the corners of my heart,
a book
with too many dog-eared pages
and dust in between the binding.
It cracks when I open it, and I run my
fingers
over my old thoughts about him.
I wonder
why I even bothered
to keep them.
Coyote Farrell
Richmond Middle School, Grade 7
1
Lines
Chaya Holch
Brattleboro Area Middle School, Grade 7
1hcrc erc lincs he vc .ross cvcry dey lnsokcn lincs lnsccn lincs lincs
around topics people dont want to discuss. Lines around things that make people
fragile, or are fragile themselves. A lot of times we dont even see a line until its far
behind us, and by then, there is no crossing back.
Now some people might say that I have lines. Around everything, maybe. Bold
thick lines that trap little rooms around me. Lines that are not meant to be crossed.
But if you really knew me, youd know that my lines really arent that strong, really
not so different. There are little places in them that are cracked and torn and very, very
crossable.
l unil he dey l ves hc sor ol crson vho ncvcr sccd ou ol hc lilc
box I created with my lines. I had worked the lines into shapes and ideas that fit like
a glove around me. Around every emotion I had ever had, every action, every word
I had ever spoken. It was that day that I was forced to crack the shell the lines made
around me.
I guess you could say it was just an accident. A little slip that might have led to a
tragedy. Might. Maybe. Someday. The rain had been splashing on the roads for hours,
and the autumn leaves were wet and slick. Id been watching him walk for blocks. The
trudge through the rain. Even from far away I could see that the little boy hated it. The
walking. The wetness. I wondered about his lines, if they trapped him, too. I wondered
if they pressed down a little too hard in some places, or if they were loose in others
(Go to youngwritersproject.org/node/65556 to read the complete story)
Emily Sohlstrom
Spaulding High School, Grade 11
2
6 WORDS
Write a story in six words? On youngwritersproject.org, our writers have it mastered.
Here are just a few that we especially liked from our vast collection, with the online
usernames of the authors.
The sunset spreads across like blood.
Blackrose
Why the heck should you not?
Emmers
Try not to hurt the innocent.
flaming tears
The world went somewhere for vacation.
Tafpia Otecimme
What if we forever lose art?
establishus8
We are dying from our birth.
Lucid Ninja
I have an education to complete.
Circe
I just wanted to be heard.
wordswordswords
Youre not tragic for loving someone.
who.am.i
Once upon a time, I lived.
bendibles12
We werent the same after that.
MeganH
It seems obvious enough to me.
gradster1
See how the tables can turn?
somebody_else
I am the personification of envy.
chrissysmith
Scars dont heal with this stuff.
DylanNoel
My turn to be the writer.
Fey Lady
Errors make everyday life more exciting.
tune.out.the.world
Well, which would you rather be?
Peaches
My story takes more than six.
Gogreen
Why dont people write happy things?
AlonewithFriends
5
a bit o whimsy
a description of a beef farm
a story that wants to get out
another failure to pin my thoughts down
badbadbad car trip
because if I use lovely again my head will
explode from repetitiveness
Canadians
chewed up piece of gum
confused yet?
do the things you think you cannot do
do you believe in ghosts?
ducks are cute
every day is exactly the same
excessive gratuitous profanity as usual
friends are awesome!! like whoaaa!
ha ha ha ha had to write this
he lands on a branch and sleeps
hitch hiking is a bad idea
hows this for weird?
huzzah for nonsensical unrequited love
poems!
I am morally opposed to keywords
I caved. I broke my promise. I RHYMED.
I dont really want any keywords
I eavesdrop shamelessly
I got sick of moping
I know schmuck isnt a very poetic word
I like chocolate-covered pretzels
I usually like birds
Im not much of a fisherman
in which I discuss many off-topic ideas
just putting it here for safekeeping
literally wrote this in 20 seconds
lost in a snowstorm with a bear
mac & cheese
milking cows can be dangerous
not sure why Im writing about frogs
one heck of an over-extended sentence
polka-dotted cheese
so shouldnt we help decide our future?
some people are just weird
taking care of a puppy is HARD work
the constant rain demotivates me
the day the world went away
This is meant comedically, not offensively.
Just so were clear.
this is probably why people think Im
strange
a long-deserved tribute to an undeserved
friend
a mutant minimalist that grew a little
bigger
as you can tell I dont actually know how to
play guitar
KEYWORDS from YWP
Keywords, or tags, are intended to be a quick way to identify the subject matter of a
ic.c, e vey o hcl orgenizc or .ecgorizc Bu, vih vricrs, cvcn kcyvords rcrcscn
a creative challenge. Here are some of our favorites:
4
Student Writers and Artists
A|dr|ch, Em||y .................................................50
A|ves, Ou|ncy .................................................54
Ambroza|t|s, He|d| ..........................................32
Andrew, Matthew ...........................................16
Apjohn, McKenz|e ..........................................38
Aust|n, Jess|ca ...............................................28
Barnes, T|ffany .................................................7
Batt|g, Ke|sea ................................................30
Beard, |uke ...................................................46
Bessette, Brady .............................................15
Borsykowsky, M|r|asha ...................................56
Brotz, Jeremy ................................................11
Brown, Ky|e ...................................................24
Brunvand, De|aney.........................................33
Buck, M|randa ...............................................58
Bushman, Kay ...............................................57
Oase, Ada .....................................................12
O|po||a, Kate ..................................................13
Ooburn, Ky|e..................................................22
Oontreras-Montesano, A|exandra ...................48
Oumm|n, E||zabeth .........................................60
Day, A|ex .......................................................27
De|eonard|s-Page, Za|ey ...............................19
Dodgson, Abh| ...............................................45
Doug|as, Ash|ey ....................................... 24, 39
Down|ng, Oscar .............................................51
Dunn, Ju||a ....................................................11
Eaton, Gregory ..............................................45
Eaton, M|a .....................................................59
Edwards-Sto||, Eva ........................................35
Evans, Oh|ara ................................................44
Farre||, Ooyote ...........................................6, 60
Fen|more, M|che||e .........................................37
F|nnegan, Sean ..............................................19
F||nt, Jenna ....................................................32
Fro||k, Zoe .......................................... 22, 36, 41
Garc|a, Dy|an .................................................17
G|oss, Joey ....................................................41
Grace, M|kay|a ......................................... 20, 48
Graham, Ben .................................................18
Greene, Oher|sh Amanda ...............................39
Gurram, Mugdha ...........................................29
Hancock-Song, Ju||a .....................................43
Harr|s, Ty|er ....................................................23
Herr|ng, Em||y ................................................58
Ho|ch, Ohaya .................................................61
Huang, Kev|n ..............................44, back cover
Hughes, Braeden .............................................9
lsham, |una ...................................................23
Jewe||, Kate|yn ...............................................17
Johnson, Oaro||ne ..........................................47
Johnson, Tya .................................................10
Ke|thcart, Mon|ca ...........................................43
Know|es, Oo||een ...........................................31
|ew|s, Gabr|e||o .............................................51
|ew|s, Zan| ....................................................47
|opato, Me|an|e .............................................35
Marcotte, Robert .............................. front cover
Masse, Samantha ..........................................28
McDonne||, Tess|e ............................................7
Merchant, Jonathan .......................................53
Merr|||, Rae ....................................................47
Moody, lzzy ...................................................46
Moore-Sm|th, Soph|a .....................................21
Myers, Ohar|es ...............................................56
Page, Anastas|a .............................................36
Pa|ker, Grace .................................................45
Pe|chat, Mary ................................................55
P|ergent|||, Kara ..............................................59
P|nta|r, O||v|a ..................................................42
Pu|eo, Frank ..................................................21
Rampone, Ab|ga|| ..........................................31
R|deout, Kay|a ...............................................23
R|vers, E|| .......................................................20
Rosner, Fr|da .................................................48
Rutenbeck, Anna ...........................................18
Sands, Oa|tr|a ..................................................8
Schonho|tz, Doug|as ......................................13
Schumacher, E||se .........................................18
Se||ars, A|yx ..................................................40
Sherrer, Ho||y .................................................34
S||k, McKenz|e ...............................................33
S||verste|n, A||za ...............................................6
S|ate, Margaret ..............................................11
Soh|strom, Em||y ............................................61
Sou|e, Zoe .....................................................49
Storck, Bryan .................................................57
Storz, Sammy ................................................25
Strout, Katr|na ...............................................54
Stutzman, Tay|er ............................................42
Swartz, Sara ..................................................33
Ther|au|t, Eva .................................................14
Th|bau|t, Pa|ge ...............................................52
Trahan, Katy ....................................................4
Tucker, Phoebe ..............................................40
va||ey, Rebecca ..............................................53
We|ssgo|d, |||y ...............................................37
We||s, Sarah ..................................................49
W||||ams, Gwen ..............................................26
W|ng, Evan ....................................................55
Zachar|as, Jonathan ......................................30

YWP Anthology 4

Загружено:

Сведения о документе

Исходное описание:

Авторское право

Доступные форматы

Поделиться этим документом

Поделиться или встроить документ

Параметры публикации

Этот документ был вам полезен?

Это неприемлемый материал?

Авторское право:

Доступные форматы

YWP Anthology 4

Загружено:

Авторское право:

Доступные форматы

Anthology 4

Young Writers Project

Вам также может понравиться