Wind blowing through my hair – I’ve felt this before
Sun dappling my body through the trees
As I sit there in a pleasant harmony she comes
She holds me tight and it all makes sense
I have felt this before
I step outside as if I’m stepping
into the wicked witch of the West’s heart.
As I’m walking I can hear ice
cycles falling to the ground
They shatter into pieces as new ones
are being made.
Everywhere I look I can only
see thick white clouds coming from
You’d think they’re smoking,
but that’s just December in Illinois.
They sky is filled with cedar smoke.
Everywhere I go it smells
like I’m back at momma’s home.
Boiling hot chocolate with marshmallows
sitting by the fireplace.
The skies are musky with no sun.
The ground’s continuing to be hidden
under all the snow.
It’s just a typical December in Illinois.
Floating lazily on the choppy water.
Warm by the blistering rays of sunlight,
the below freezing temperatures, pounds
of snow and ice.
The dogs claws running, jumping
and splashing into the clean, crystal lake,
the kids rubbers tubes and plastic flopping
Fins dragging and slapping the surface.
Now bobbing lazily, heavy with empty
Heavy with the proof of enjoyment,
and happiness permanently engraved into it.
The fork slides
into the mound of
fiery red sauce, which
has been completely
covered by a blizzard
of cheese and a
shower of hot sauce, the fork
creates a tornado of
the mess, spinning
and splattering the
pure white of the
untouched sides of the
plate. Dripping goodness
on its way to be devoured
a single strand starts to
unravel, the bundle enters
his mouth, but
the lonesome clumsy
strand dribbles its
sauce down his chin
up until the vacuum
begins. The noddle
doesn’t know what hit
it as it is pulled into
his mouth. Near the
end it starts to fight
and flap, until it
The average student isn’t so average
Her clothes aren’t name brand, shiny, or pine fresh new
Brown hair’s wild wavy from the wind on a warm fall day
The mind thinks of the building as a loose-fitting prison
One made of concrete, prep, and over hyper people
Teachers are guards with every day clothes to her
And peers are annoying prisoners to ignore
In her left-field mind, School’s a creative, cold prison
That holds a wild brown haired, short captive
Waiting for that last sound of freedom,
That sound of pure elation made of a metal
bell screaming, sweet, high, and long
No bars are around, but she, who feels so mouse small
But instead feels like it’s a short lived privilege.
The Average is really extraordinary.
The black asphalt burns your bare feet
Hot sand doesn’t feel good between your toes
You can see the waves of heat
flowing through the air.
The sun beats down on the
world, blinds you, burns you.
There’s an occasional breeze
that you miss the second its gone.
People all around with their melting ice cream
and water bottles gossiping and shopping
the day away.
Some go lay by the ocean, soak
up the pelting rays of sun, with the
cool salty water just feet in front of them.
The smell of salt and sealife follows
The afternoon storms kick in, the
roaring wind and the smell of rain makes
for a cool, relaxing night.
Sound of rain on the roof, cool
breeze coming through the window
Norfork High School
Date of Visit: October 28 – 29, 2014
Faculty Sponsor: Stacy Havner
Grade Levels: 11, 12
Appx. Number Students Served: 70
Visiting Writers: Kirsty Bleyl and Larissa Sprecher