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Dogs and Brownies Don't Mix by Elizabeth Toshach '19 The oven beeps and I start to bark. Tyler walks in and yells to his friends,
“Brownies are done!” They are eager to eat the brownies, but burnt themselves in an attempt to grab them. They decided to wait and go play video games while they waited for the brownies to cool. That is when I saw my opportunity. I could not help myself; they just looked so tasty.
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Shadows by Sara McInnis-Misenor ‘18 An adolescent girl covered in shadows,
Watching, waiting, observing, Visions of lives unconnected to her own. They go by, Humming the tunes they're told are popular, Dancing to the beats they're told are acceptable, Living themselves as pawns to the meritocracy. Restraining themselves, Chaining themselves to each other. Forming a massive cult of ideas and ideals, More and more are attracted. Succumbing themselves to the vortex, And falling into orthodoxy. A young girl draped in darkness stands at its edge, Observing the souls, Now lost at last, Watching the ones she once looked into. She spreads her arms, and clears her mind, Her beautiful, dark coverings turn to colorless drapes. Escaping into the void, she cries out, The world outside is empty now. No one left to watch her leave, No one left to mourn her absence. Gram-Gram the Kitty - My Great Grandmother by Basia Fisher ‘18 Gram-Gram the Kitty
Is a realistic looking Stuffed brown cat Which wears a blue bow Kitty is named after Gram-Gram Gram-Gram was my Great Grandmother Gram-Gram the kitty Lives on a shelf Next to an African doll Very few memories left Of Gram-Gram are My internal storage box But I do recall looking At the Kitty, sometimes Playing with her When I visited Gram-Gram At the Wardwell in Saco Kitty is just an artifact Who watches me each day As I write or make art Without me knowing Her owner rarely touches her I never think about Kitty That doesn’t mean I don’t Care about Gram-Gram the Kitty She has been in my ownership For almost ten years Real cats are senior citizens When they’re aged ten My Gram-Gram the Kitty Doesn’t need nine lives She will be stuck with me Watching me be creative Could Gram-Gram’s soul Be within my Kitty? Has Gram-Gram read Those unfinished fanfics The WIP short stories Or my current novel? Can Gram-Gram see My homemade cards, The paintings I’ve painted Or my digital abstracts? If Gram-Gram really had Been living inside my Kitty Since Two Thousand Eight That would make Kitty Much more than an artifact Within Kitty, Gram-Gram Secretly and silently had Spied on her Great-Granddaughter As she went through Her “Great Depression” During the SMS era Gram-Gram watched me Sail through teenagedhood At Thornton Academy She’ll experience my graduation When June finally arrives A few years later… I can see Gram-Gram smile When I publish my novel Indeed, Kitty definitely Isn’t only an immortal artifact She’s a subconscious Reminder that Gram-Gram’s Soul still breathes within Kitty as her abiotic shell Sitting on my shelf Peeping at me as I Slowly type and type My manuscript or Peacefully draw and draw Pieces of artwork The Life of the Weather by Zech Thauer ‘19 One swallow does not a spring make
How many swallows does it take To turn the cold cruel claws of winter To the soft and gentle hands of spring The time has come for Father Winter to give up his rule And give the throne to the fair Lady of memories made new The feeling of frost under foot can't compare to the smell of grass covered by dew Why winter feels so long and spring so short I haven't got a clue In the time that Spring lives her beauty is unmatched The smell of fresh blooms in trees and dew on the grass It's the perfect climate for bundles of joy to be hatched A father and mother smile as they watch their joyful lass Slowly Father Winter has died away only to be revived one day And Lady Spring passes away with great sadness giving way To Lord Summer with a sun so bright and warm It gives opportunity and enjoyment to great hordes And as Summer's life comes to an end Mother Autumn's life begins A time when her dresses are exquisite with yellows and reds If beauty is a crime Mother Autumn is guilty of one of seven deadly sins Strong and majestic like a horse with elegance that could never be bred Young lads marvel at the fiery color of the trees Lasses laugh and play in the piles of leaves Mother Autumn smiles at the sight of children And is delighted when they are enchanted by the call of a wren Apparition by Janet Olsen ‘20 He will always be there.
Not for me But in my life He is an armless apparition Who was never there to hug me. He comes and goes In and out of jail In and out of my life Like the ocean’s tide Only the tide comes every day... My father doesn’t. A Rose Reborn by Crosby Adlard '18 Our Love a Rose, like Fire Bloomed,
It’s Tongues lapped up and pierced the gloom, A burst of Light that put the Sun to shame, A Shooting Star Screams through the Dark, But ev’ry Thorn shall leave its mark, And all that’s left inside is shock and pain... You never know Just what you’ll find, When you explore A brand new sky, Suffocate or grow beneath its warmth? And as you feel Two hearts combine Remember now That in your mind You feel this petal flutter ‘til it’s torn Love’s a Rose Reborn. It Hurts today, another Scar, A Mountain Ridge, it seems so far I stare up at the Icy Stone above, I set my jaw, my fingers crossed, My Bloody Hands claw through the Frost That covers your cold heart that once felt Love... I’m reaching up, Snow leaves me blind, And now I realize as I climb The sky peers down upon these stony thorns, And now I feel This Earthen Rhyme I See it Clearly In my Mind, Falling pebbles are Mountains being Born... And from the Dirt, Now mixed with Ash, A Seed beneath from Distant Past, Awakened by the Sun, Survived the Storm... Shooting Upwards, towards the Sky, The Sands of Time breed Firevine The Pebble becomes Sand beneath its Thorns... Love’s a Rose Reborn. Duality of Years
by Jacob Rapucci '19 This year was the worst. Dreams shattered Homes left Lessons forgotten Hearts broken Friendships gone Hope lost Yes, this year was the worst. This year was the best. Dreams created Homes found Lessons learned Hearts mended Friendships made Hope found Yes, this year was the best. Every year Best and worst There will always be pain with joy And sometimes crying leads to laughter So stand strong Your lows will turn into highs Don't let the years’ duality destroy you Lost and Found, Maybe by Lauren Mesley, '18 This goes out to all the missing and stolen wallets of the world. To that ten dollar bill that grew legs and pranced off into an alternate dimension. To the pennies that were thrown on the ground by people who thought they were worthless. This goes out to the one-hundred dollar bill and the car keys that were left in a bottomless coat pocket, and to the despicable co-worker who took the coat thinkin’ it was theirs. This goes out to the smartphones, and prescription glasses, and expensive cameras, that have a nice studio apartment in the bottom of the ocean. This goes out to all the laptops that’ve had the blissful taste of coffee spilled all over their hard drive, and to all the mornings that have malfunctioned because of it. This goes out to all the single missing diamond earrings, and all the engagement rings that have taken a train through the entire digestive system of a dog. This goes out to all that food that had to be thrown away due to a power outage. To all the clean water that goes down the drain when the faucet can’t stop crying because no one cared enough to turn it off all the way. To all the bottles that never get recycled, and all the gym memberships that sit lazily in between the couch cushions and snack on potato chips. This goes out to all the words anyone has ever spoken to themselves. All the fingernails that’ve ever been bitten, All the pens that’ve been absentmindedly clicked, All the knuckles that’ve been cracked, All the conversations that were never listened to, All the hair elastics that have ever been “borrowed” and then joined that ten dollar bill in the alternate dimension. This goes out to all the promises that have ever been broken. All the hopes that have ever been crushed, All the rumors that have ever been spread, All the secrets that have ever been shared, All the lies that have ever been told, and all the sentences that never got finished because the composer was so lovestruck. This goes out to all the cracked pavement, and toppled skyscrapers, and fractured bones, and broken hearts, and cancerous lungs, and all the nicks anyone has ever had the displeasure of receiving while they were trying to shave. Humans are not perfect. We put the ‘I’ in mistake and in accident, but, that doesn’t make us either of those things. Maybe we were put on this world to help each other. Maybe that wallet I lost was found by a good person who took the fifteen bucks, cut up my debit card, laughed at the photo on my school id, and went on their merry way. Or maybe it’s camped out in the space between my bedframe and the wall, waiting to be found. Or maybe it never will be found. Maybe it doesn’t want to be. Maybe. Life's Cutthroat Game
by Matt Kolessar '19 Come, don’t be afraid. I want to take you on a journey with me. Imagine two scenes presented to you. Two beautiful scenes Filled with an infinite number of possibilities. Which one are you to choose? An unfair question for you know not about them. So let me fail to capture that beauty in feeble words In hope to enlighten you about this journey we traverse. You gaze upon one With a pale snowy sheet Accompanied by those cool gusty winds Captured by a pair of sapphire gems. The golden sun hangs down from overhead Keeping one warm while wandering through this cold dimension. Please do not be afraid, for the cold is not to resemble negativity, Just another void awaiting your warmth. Remember, as a child, when you would roam this cold winterland, It was not a place for sorrow, but a time of joy. So why not hurl yourself in, Enthrall that feeling once again. Why not, but for one reason. If you choose to adventure this realm, There will surely be footprints telling your path. So when you have played your wintery games, Choose to settle and gaze at the beauty once again, Will you remember how it once looked, The beauty untouched? What will happen when your fire burns too much? For snow shrieks away at it’s dangerous touch. Who would have thought that the greatest danger this paradise, Could be you? Do not worry or fret, For there is another option. There always seems to be forks in this road. Come now, bring that fire, You shall need it to see this world that awaits. Why you ask, for the darkness flows from the trees, Dangling down over the two moons, Made of metallic green melted and mixed with a bronze luster. Ever watching, looking down for a worthy champion. This world, covered with caramel plates, Is different from the other. It is another person’s paradise. While some whimper and panic, Fleeing from the obsidian night, Others go with their obsidian knight, Facing these mysterious unknowns. Oh won’t you put out your fire, You’ll spoil the fun. The mysteries shriek away from your bright light. If you keep it on, There soon may not be many mysteries left. Is this what you want, to destroy this world too? It isn’t you, it’s your fire. Your passion to explore, The anticipation you burn away with every step you take. Leaving behind a smoldering corpse, In place of the one you longed for. Everything you want in this contest for survival, Requires a sacrifice. Can’t you hear the chanting? Just extinguish the flame. What’s this you say? Maybe there is a way to play the game, All the while keeping your light to find the way. Heresy, Blasphemy, You dare contradict me? I am your voice, Your compass, Your bane of existence. I am you and you are me. I’ve made my choice, So suck it up and take a knee Yes, finally, extinguish your flame, Put aside your passion, pride, and venturing delights. And jump into these worlds of adventure. Untitled Poem
by Brianna Charron '19 Start the timer. Sixteen hours left A hospital bed and wires everywhere, He can't breathe. Tubes and needles pierce pale skin. Fifteen hours left. They can't figure out what's wrong with him. A wife weeps and hopes for her husbands health. Hurry. Fourteen hours left. There's a small blood clot in the brain, They don't know how. He was fine a couple days ago. Thirteen hours left. Sweet memories of the past, Fill a wife's mind And thoughts of the unknown creep in. More tears and more fear. Twelve hours left. The blood clot is getting bigger, They can't do anything for it. Eleven hours left. More strokes and heart attacks. Calls to the family, False hope And prayers are whispered from trembling lips. Ten hours left. The tears won't stop, These mixed feelings of confusion and sadness. Anger. I can't stop shaking. I want to accept it but can't. The tears keep falling It's like a thunder storm in my head Make it stop, please Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four hours left. I was awoken by sobbing. We have to go the the hospital. The hurting won't stop. The car engine hums, It's 6:14 Three hours left. I knew this would happen. SCU 3 is the room number. The air is dense, I can barely get a full breath. Two hours left. Everyone's here now. My mind is blank, What do we do after this. One hour left. I can't breathe, I leave to go outside. I think to myself. Why does this have to happen? Why do I feel this burning in my chest? But yet, I feel cold. Like a mild winter storm. It feels like everyone is going at the speed of light And I am standing still In this sea of busy people That don't feel the same way Zero hours left. We go back inside, Walking up the ramps, Through white hallways, Something lifts off my shoulders. We arrive at the room, I can't believe my eyes. "He's gone." |
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January 2019
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