Scant warmth has come to us in Pennsylvania as April ends, so we hope that curling up with some good reading will help stave off the endless winter in the air. And remember, as the temperature does rise in May, going outside with a notebook forges an excellent path to some inspired writing. This month's post features four poems written by Sevenatenine editors.
Silent
Silent
The world
Was completely silent
Since the day that I was born.
I always wondered
What it felt like
To have words spill
Forward from my lips as if popcorn,
Buttery and tangible,
Reaching forward and telling everyone,
Informing, educating, humoring,
To know that I was the cause
Of that bright, endless smile
That would appear on someone's face.
Words have always
Been my sanctuary
Since I realized
I could not utter a single word
Floated around on clouds
Long enough for me to touch them,
To feel and grasp them,
But also evaporating and falling
In droplets of tears, not rain
Trickling down my cheeks.
I could never hear music
Since the day that I was born.
Never to hear those precious notes,
Dancing, whispering, calling my name
As it twirled in circles,
Never to tell an octave or rest,
The low, steady thrum of the bass
High, whistling notes of a flute,
Dancing, tiptoeing oboe,
Or placid, rhythmic dums
Keeping everything together
But in music,
There is always a wrong note played somewhere,
Somewhere in the music,
Something most people can't hear,
And that wrong note
Is me.
by Sarah Z., Grade 9
 |
| Artwork by Carolena B., Grade 9 |
I see a light flicker,
and flutter nearby,
Its golden hues cascading across the sky.
A gentle hum, a vibration illuminating like that of a star.
I step- quickly
wanting to, so badly, catch the light
to feel its power
shake my hands and warm my fingers
I jump- ready
hands open, then clasped like praying...
I have the light!
I feel the light,
I feel the power,
I see my hands shake
And then my finger burns
because the warmth is now fire.
It pierces
and I cry out,
releasing my hands
sucking my finger,
watching the bumblebee fall at my feet.
by Sofia P., Grade 9
 |
| Artwork by Lauren G., Grade 9 |
Long Way
It's a long way
To the shallow grave
That will return her grandfather to the Earth
It's a long way, so
You offer her your shoes—she's getting blisters
She decides to walk barefoot instead.
You do, too
It's a long way
Back to a feeling of normality
It's been years since you have spoken
Words other than a garbled "happy birthday"
Over the phone
You stand at the back,
Watch tears roll down her face
As she says the last goodbyes
To a person she loves
That night,
Your only goal is to make her smile
Guarantee that nothing you ever do
Will cause these tears
You do make her cry,
But they are tears of laughter, joy,
As jokes are shared,
And the invisible gap between you begins to close
It's a long way to friendship
But in a place where so many journeys ended,
Your journey with her
began.
by Trinity F., Grade 9
 |
| Artwork by Kylie A., Grade 9 |
Books
Nobody said
To wait and see,
To stop and look and think,
To slide your bookmark
Where stories are
Made of merely ink.
To ponder what
And where and when
The story tries to show,
To discover a
Different meaning that
Before, you didn’t know.
Nobody said
To step a step,
To live another’s quest,
To think inside
Another’s head,
To be the story’s guest.
To hide inside
A nook or cranny,
To cover up your head
With a blanket
And a flashlight,
Cuddled up in bed.
Nobody said
To wait and see,
To stop and look and think,
To slide your bookmark
Where stories are
Made of merely ink.
by Rebeca S., Grade 9
by Rebeca S., Grade 9
