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| Artwork by Madison G., Grade 9 |
Dawn
5:42 am the clock crashes off the nightstand, the nightstand
that is only ever in use during the day. The sun has yet to rise, leaving the
atmosphere still cold and dark from the wrath of the moon. Cool winds snake
through the forest and birds ruffle their wings to make themselves comfortable
in their beds of twig. The clock is desolate on the ground, dormant and waiting
to be returned to the pedestal by the bed where is lives. Morning traffic
passes on the highway as people lazily head to their long hours of work. Some
more awake than others, some more lively about their occupations, but all weak
from the tireless seconds of their days. Many up before their children are off
to school, some still trying to nod off and get a few minutes of rest before
morning official strikes. Dawn exists solemnly in the backyard of fall, and
with winter approaching it creeps back. Sunlight streams in through small,
broken, rhythmic rays of a majestic flowering earth. Lush fumes of morning
meals caress the air and dance through a pilgrimage of those with nothing to
eat. The morning is still sleeping and will continue to shut eye until dusk
howls it awake. A heavy beating emerges from Earth’s core, a sudden reminder of
our land’s pulse and breathing. Then a calm hush rolls over the equator and
cataclysmically denotes itself as hero. And when the sun sets, the universe
itself exhales deeply and waits for everything to occur again tomorrow.
by Shannon R., Grade 9
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| Artwork by Rafe P., Grade 7 |
A
Strange Human Behavior
How odd the human body
A miraculous creation,
Left with reflex so cloudy
As to its motivation
The hiccups are an enigma
With purpose unexplained.
Held with disruptive stigma,
They really are a pain.
From within the world wide web
Comes forth ideas to fix
That from in our chest which ebbs
And flows with burps inflict’d.
All have been dismissed
As fiction from the minds
Of those who’re hiccup-kissed
With moment’s peace to find.
And as we all well know
They sometimes turn aloud,
As if the hiccups desired the glow
Of the eyes from a staring crowd.
Spasms from a muscle
Within the diaphragm
Make a person wish to tussle
With the lungs at hand
If one has never felt the fear
Of a hiccup hicc’d aloud
Or the eyes that follow, so austere
They're not from on this world
Reflexes left over
From primeval times
Useless in our tech-filled world
Of drones and pizza pies.
by Michael B., Grade 8
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| Artwork by Alita L., Grade 8 |
