Theme in Pink
I awoke once again
to the bright morning sun
gleaming down on the misty
flowers and trees around me.
On the ground I saw several
bright pink leaves.
Around me, the flowers opened
up and said hello. Once the
light hit me I looked around
and felt like stretching. I was
a beautiful pink rose, blossoming
after a long harsh winter. The sun
felt wonderful after a long time.
It felt good to be back in
What I Mean When I Say
- I was at my house on the front porch.
- It was raining and cold wind touched my skin.
- The horses were running in a fast sprint.
- My mom was sitting on the front porch watching them.
- The strong cold wind made a tree branch
fall and it crackled on the roof.
- The power went out and the inside of the
house was pitch black.
How to Get to Cloud-9
Go down the old, cracked blacktop
curved over the rollercoaster of hills
cross the line that divides the old, cracked
asphalt with the new.
Carry on that road that holds curves like
violent waves in the sea.
Turn under the large wooden sign
and feel your heart skip.
A crashing wave of thrill and happiness
washes over you like a cold river
and when you cross that gate, you know
That is the time for adventure and memories
so vivid they feel like dreams
that you don’t want to wake from.
The sun staring with blazing yellow
you relax, ready to bask in it for hours each
Theme in Valentines Day
Carried in a bag. Alone and waiting.
The bag opens. Taken out of the bag
red and pink hearts brightly shown
in the light.
Moving quickly, rushing, talking
voices sweet and subtle.
Walking away slowly.
Tossed down in the trash. Cold
alone. Each red and pink heart broken.
Six Ways to See a Sunset
One, the end of a day gone too fast.
Two, a mirage of colors, too great for earth.
Three, a show to watch with loved ones held tight.
Four, the greatest cure for worry and want.
Five, a turn of page, a brand-new day.
Six, a beauty too great for any poet to say.
What I Mean When I Say Old Home
Perched upon a dark hill an hold home
sits. Young children play carefree while
two adults watch. The old smell of mildew
fills the air. My parents, together, take
care of us with no care for the future. The
sky, dark and gloomy, smells of ozone. The
thought of rain beckons. The house now: empty,
removed of inhabitants. In its driveway,
where once wild and playing children filled
the ears, nose, and eyes, sits a box truck.
The truck, ready for its last departure,
gives a final goodbye. It begins to rain
in this place once called home.
Five Different Ways of Looking at a Book
- Never opened, trapped in a drawer, cover
- Once or twice a day the pages turn around
twenty times, every day, sometimes thirty
- Once a day, one book, then to the next, never fails,
the system will never break.
- Steam beside the pages from hot coffee make the pages
soft and nearly damp. It’s an early morning, the sun just
starting to sprout.
- Ten pages a day—stay determined, keep the system steady,
keep your emotions in check, put your pen to the paper
The Far Light
As you head towards the rickety old
house, turn down the bumpy gravel road.
Once you pass the first three lamp posts and find
an old empty creek, turn left onto a brush covered
plateau. There will be many creatures around so
don’t be frightened by the loud noises that you
may hear as you pass. Let these scratches and howls
guide you into the loneliness of the night. As your
headlights glow on the thick wilted trees there’s an
oak tree as big as the Eiffel Tower and as wide
as a bus positioned horizontally. Once you reach the
beautiful and enormous oak stick your hand out
and see what happens. As you reach out the tree
starts to become translucent, almost clear. Continue to
walk through it and see the “Far Light.” Let it
remind you of an old lighthouse built on the
edge of a cliff, shining in every which direction
letter everyone and everything know, “Hey, I’m
here.” As you start to get closer you realize that this
mystery place was once your home. As you enter the
light you awaken startled and drenched.
A small girl gently dances from the tree to the lush soil
Another girl is waiting for her
Both girls light up, and are excited to see one another
The girl at the tree slightly glows
An angel from heaven, the other thinks
The girls fly down the roads
Their shoes barely touch the dim street
Their hears drowning from their shared love
They come to a fiery halt
What I Mean When I Say –
What I mean when I say love.
Love is like the gentle creep of the mornings first light
on your face, the warm embrace of a mother and
her child, and the comforting reassurance of a friend.
When I say love I mean uncertainty.
Love is like chains—shackles to tie you down or
a lifeline to keep you afloat while traversing
the stormy seas of life.
When I say love I mean potential.
Love is like a flower bud, something that has
the potential to become something beautiful,
a lily unadulterated with its peaceful pond.
When I say love I mean work.
Keep your flower watered, or it will wither—love.
Keep your soil tilled, or it will spoil—love.
When love is nurtured, it will thrive. When it is
disregarded, it will look something like my garden—
Dead and withered, waiting for new love to grow.
Six Ways of Looking at a Horse
- The horse gallops at a medium
speed across the plain, feeling peaceful
at the sight of mountains up ahead.
- The horse stands majestically on a
mountain peak, now looking and watching
the other horses prance and play around,
feeling left out.
- The horse is racing an eagle
on the other side of the mountains, which
is another plain, or open field lined
with trees of birch and oak.
- The horse is lightly stepping across
stones, slowing on top of a shallow
creek in a forest.
- The horse is watching the sun set
laying in a beautiful, bring green patch
of clovers, right outside an Indian
- The horse has fallen asleep, the lights
of fire from the village still in sight.
What I Mean When I Say Barn
The old barn where I once played, now riddled
with spiders and mold. Even now I still remember that
barn like new, the overgrown and massive trees in
the background, the metal cages to the side that
would blister your skin from sheer heat, the rotted
wood not even recognizable as wood.
At red lobster there is a girl with
wind all around, going through her hair,
and slightly pushing her. Across from
her there is a guy all drenched
in water, all over his clothes, dripping
from the tips of his fingers and
making sludgey sounds whenever he
walks. I want to talk or move
towards them both but my arms
and body are all so heavy. Like
there are weights on them. Pulling
me down, slowing me down and
it’s hard to do stuff that I like
because everything feels so heavy.
I hadn’t noticed the server
In front of me for I could
barely see him.
Three Ways to Look at a Car
- The car’s color is a beautiful blue, the engine
silver and glossy. The turbos whistle. The wheels
are slick and black, no tread left. Two white
stripes glisten in the afternoon sun. The hum
of the engine so beautiful and loud. The tinted
strong glass reveals nothing inside the car.
- The car’s wheels spin as the car accelerates
down the dragstrip. The car steering back
and forth to stay steady against the power of the
the roaring engine.
- The steering wheel with handprints worn
into the wheel steers the car off the
road into the rocky driveway. The seats
firm and comfortable. The shifter buttery
smooth. Puts the car in park. The inside
rollcage sleek and black.
What I Mean When I Say the Park
It was a warm summer night yet
the birds were still out.
Playing on the swings and smelling
the humid air linger was relaxing
at a time like that.
I was all alone yet felt
accompanied by the glow of the
moon’s full shine across my face.
The buzzing of insects, the croaking
of frogs, the breeze on skin
felt so relaxing.
Sliding down the damp slide,
swinging on the sturdy yet rusty
swing was calming.
The apartments on my left and
the hills behind made me feel safe.
Norfork High School
Dates of Visit: Oct 11-12
Faculty Sponser: Stacy Havner
Grade Level: 7th-10th
Appx. Number Students Served: 174
Visiting Writers: Kait Yates, Caitlin Plante, Elizabeth Muscari, Erin Pinkham