Student Work

Poems:

Tired Silence

by P.J. Phinney

Tour the gates of where

Those who are gone

Reside now- a pit stop.

The place in between

Depths and heights,

Where we swallow our words.

Where we forget how hard

We worked to get

Where we believe we should be.

Now here, elysian fields of

Silence.

Many will never leave

Many will never understand that

Some are born to die, some

Are born to reach and grab

And feel the stars. Let them go

Let them breathe and in doing so,

Plummet to the earth and shatter.

Destined to listen to the loudest

Ear ringing blasting world shattering

Silence

I have a brother I will have

Had a grandfather within the next

Ten years. Sometimes he speaks,

Other times he is engaged in

A conversation with the bottom

Of his red cup. His liver hurts,

Staring through the swirling glass

I can sense his anticipation of the

Silence.

I hope he isn’t scared.

I don’t want him to leave

In fear. He is enveloped in

His

Silence.

Eyeglasses

By Awesta Yaqubi

I am your superhero side-kick helping you every step of the way.
Without me you’re nothing, useless, and in need of desperate help.
My exact residence is never permanent, though I am in my deepest slumber when in the confinement of a hard case.
Young ones may view me with contempt,
But I am really not scary, you see.
I can actually be quite helpful and only mean to please.
Oh now now it’s really all okay,
While some cringe at the sound of my name others can’t bear their lives without me.

Sometimes when my partner grows older and can mange the bad guys on her own my services are no longer required.
I get replaced by someone more convenient, someone less noticeable.
But on a day you’re running late I’ll always be set and ready as
You pull my arms wide open and place me one your nose,
I hug your face and help you see where ever it is you chose to go.

Work

By Zohra Yaqhubi

Struggling

Trying

It becomes so tough

You try and try, but its never trying hard enough

Days grow shorter and nights grow longer

No Sleep

No Dreams, to help you ponder.

Yet, no reward through all that work.

Always on your mind,

Always in your sight

The mistakes and errors that show themselves, and lurk.

Life is lost through the process

To over and over reassess

The works of others and the work of yours.

But the meaning is not any more

Than the simple meaning of everyday life

That you have been missing because of your working strife

Untitled Poem
by Michelle Ambila

Bad vibes from his heavy lidded eyes,
Flowed and rested on my anxious face,
I can’t help but look away,
They will always be burned into the back of my brain.

They will forever rest on my face,
As a reminder,
Of what happened on the day,
I ripped logic to shreds,
And let my heart flow.

Hallways that we’re both in are like death traps.

The Magnolia Tree
by Mireille O’Connor

The Magnolia tree waiting at the front of my grandparentʼs home
A symbol, a key, something to show where you were
A memory of who is with you and why
Itʼs something that breathes, and in you are lured

As you walk up to the front, you see the flowers in bloom,
And you smell the flowerʼs following scent,
The ground covered with the fallen petals,
You sit there bewildered as to where your time went

My grandfather clips the branches,
And gives my grandmother a whole bouquet,
She thanks him gratuitously with a smile,
While all of their troubles are sent away

A woman comes and she asks for a part,
She grows it in her own garden, thanking the way,
That this has changed her, giving her a memory,
Of the family and that one happy day.

In her garden, as the tree makes it through the years,
Everyday, a little bit more, it grows,
It survives, it lives, through everything,
The rain, the hail, and the snow

Each time she passes it there is a smile,
That comes upon her face,
She thinks about the man and woman,
That made her stop in her pace

Years later, as the two sadly pass,
The neighbor comes and wonders where they are,
She tells my aunt the story,
Of the day they touched her heart

This experience is stuck in my mind,
Every time I see a magnolia tree,
I think about the times Iʼve had with my grandparents,
And how they are always in my memory.

The Long Con
by Daniel White

Life goes on
Life carries on tonight
And all the people of the world are in for a fright

They’re all fools
They don’t understand
They don’t understand the con of man

The shadow is coming
The shadow of pain
For the only light left has now been slain

The game is over
Their lives are lost
It was all played, at too high a cost

And so we go on
And mourn those fools
That didn’t realize they were used as mere tools

Lives were lost
And sin envelopes the night
Sin which breeds with a fierce delight

This sin grows
And creates great hate
Hate which thrives and will not dissipate

Until one day
It all comes to an end,
The fire goes out, and hearts try to mend

Forever Standing
by Nare Gukasyan

Frozen still
No movement in sight
Standing with all its might
Waiting for its chance
To leave its box and dance

The hand comes closer
It feels like the day has finally come
It stiffens up
One last chance to show its strength
As the hand comes nearer
It feels its heart pounce faster
“Yes, its me!” it screams
Finally, I will be the master

As the finger comes closer
It stands as a poser
It feels like hard labor
When instead of me
He chooses my neighbor

The Black Box
by Camila Carvalho

It’s a rather strange black box of such length and degree
Garnished with roses and people that plea
I sing a simple tune, yet hushed I am too soon
For the woman stars with those red rimed irises
Giving me looks of doom

The room is tacit, with the ensemble of black
These cowards hide under their vails, or tug at their slacks

I’m not afraid I knew her too well
But not anymore, not since she fell.
A Catholic girl she is, acsending to heaven, yet some of them say, she now Belongs to the devil.
Her fingers grown frigid, since our last goodbye
Filled with tears and dreams of hers,
Wanting to fly.
Now the boxes are picked up, carried away to the caol
And the wailing of her mother strikes a fire in my soul
For they are so melancholy now, with her being dead and all
But what about the scars on her back befor the fall?

Writers block
by Camila Carvalho

Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmm
Dummmmm Deeeeee Dummmmmmm
Oh I got it!
Wait, no I don’t
I’ll get an idea soon.
Eh, no I won’t.

Trallalla shoe
Tralala Poo…
Ewww poo,
What’s that on my shoe?

Blue!
Like Johnny’s eyes.
Ok, Johnny
I’ll write about you.

Choupacabra
by Camila Carvalho

The Mexican monster,
Furry and tall
Was the nicest monster to meet
With no friends at all.

He thought in the woods
So lonely and sad,
‘Why do the people think I’m so scary and bad?’

As another day went by
With no friends to see
Choupacabra suddenly saw
A little black flea!

They ran through the woods
Wearing matching shoes
But then the flea was gone
And Choupacabra got the blues.

He could not find the flea,
Wherever he looked
And it sadly turned out,
It was under his foot!

Parody

by Christa Caira

I close my mind to all I see

All those lives, all the agony

With one eye opened all the time

My body moves, an endless mime

Squinting with that one eye

I cannot see

I cannot find the answers

Nor the person I long to be

Opening my eyes, just a little more

The only change is the other, just as sore

Quickly shutting both eyes closed

My mind is gone, my body posed

My hands are in my lap

Devotedly clasped

all the pleading, still no answers grasped

Cling though I might

As I wait you are no where in sight

Logic flees

My attention span carried on a breeze

As I lie by

Eyes clouded

My mind so crowded

I decide to leave it blank

My worries sink

Yet lie on the brink

Of my consciousness

As I sleep

And try to forget

Yet it only lasts a moment

Before I know it I’m awake

With the feelings I can’t seem to break

I find myself living only one day

With no way

To end the cycle

So I just continue

Everyday walking

Everyday talking

Everyday I just continue

going through the motions.

Short Writings:

A Short Story by Dylan Lindholm (from a male’s perspective)

I never needed a savior- until now. She wouldn’t hug me until we got outside, safely behind a wide oak by the sea. Her embrace would be awkward, but she’d fit in my arms, and her warmth would make me weak. Her sisters wouldn’t be far behind. They’d have a few scrapes each, but they’d be so strong that they’d shrug off a broken arm, a bleeding gash, and say it was nothing.

“You’re okay,” she would whisper in my ear. “You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

Her relieved whispers were as much for her own sanity as they were for mine. She was apologizing to me, holding onto my arm like she would never let go again. I’d lift her head up and kiss her forehead- because I was strong too. For the first time, I would be able to comfort her.

Queen Bee
by Awesta Yaqubi

“Oh my God! Did you see what she was wearing!”
“Ughhh…did she, like, brush her hair this morning?!”

These two remarkably rude phrases are used unremittingly by this very obnoxious person. Money means everything and genuine kindness is not to be wasted on those below her. She struts the halls with her court, never alone, for that would degrade her to the status of a peasant. Gucci, Prada, and Coach serve as her only advisors, anything that is not made by them is simply insufficient.
The school serves as her castle and as Queen she looks down on those who befriended her when she used to be a commoner. She looks down on those who used to be her friends, those who befriended her when it was “uncool” to do so.
She feels “sorry” for the subjects that do not have the luxuries she as Queen beholds. Maybe one day she will realize that material objects are not the most important things in the world. Maybe this epiphany will knock her off her pedestal, or maybe she will go through life never having realized this fact. If that were to happen then I feel sorry for her.