A Little Bit of a Riddle

This month, our poet asked that we withhold the subject of this poem, excluding it from the title and the introduction.  The imagery speaks for itself, and we believe you can figure it out on your own! 


Requiem

A flood of pain washed over me.
It felt as if the world had ended.
Sorrow, loss, and anger built up inside of me.
It was like my life was dangling from a thread.

2% . . . 1% . . . 0%

The thread broke.
My life fell.
No hope remained.
I was useless without it.
I heard someone offer up their charger,
but it was too late.
My electrical honey-gold heart had died.

by Angelina A.
Grade 7

artwork by Emily W.
Grade 7

artwork by Georgia K.
Grade 7

Turtles and Cars, Antlers and War

This poem builds in fragments of Robert Foote's poem, "An Interrpution," which the poet, Will, recently read in his ninth-grade English class. The borrowed lines are marked with quotation marks, and if you read the original poem from which the lines were taken, you will no doubt be intrigued by how he crafted a poem about war inspired by a poem about a turtle crossing the road.

On the Horizon

The sun’s golden reflection pierces my eyes

I squint in time to see a set of antlers leaping across the plains

They fade

“Till it [is] just a rustle in the grass”

But nothing gold can stay…

That’s when the first scream burst out,

So sudden, even the wind stopped to look

The screams of dying men

The constant sounds of explosions

The whizzing of metal stabbing through the air

All the sounds of pure evil

Coming together to form this orchestra of pain

I feel a small burst of fire shoot through my legs

Gravity is my enemy as I crumble to the ground

Ending all sympathy

“I had for man"

All the explosions and screams suddenly go deaf

I look up

Only to see the clouds begin to cry

At the sight

Of men, who don’t know

"To let life go on where and when it can”

And as my eyes begin to creep shut

I am able to see

The beautiful golden antlers dancing on the horizon

by Will L. 

Grade 9

artwork by Kristin R.
Grade 9

A Found Poem

Tuesdays With Morrie is an inspiring read for eighth-graders at Holicong, and recently students in Mrs. Schmidt's class created "found poetry" using the words of Mitch Albom and Morrie Schwarz to craft their own insights.  The goal is this: create something new (a poem) with scraps of something published (Mitch Albom's book) with an eye for wisdom and an ear for rhythm.  This is just one example of the poetry students were able to craft.

Running Out

lines discovered in Tuesdays with Morrie

My old friend, you’ve come back at last

I want to tell you about my life

I give myself a good cry if I need it. But then I concentrate on all the good things still in my life

We’re so wrapped up with all the egotistical things

Sometimes you cannot believe what you see, you have to believe what you feel

To know you’re going to die, and to be prepared for it at any time

“Dying” was not synonymous with “useless”

I don’t want to leave this world in a state of fright.

I want to know what’s happening, accept it, get to a peaceful place, and let go

Dying is only one thing to be sad over

I’m on the last great journey here—and people want me to tell them what to pack 

I’ve had a good life, and we all know it’s going to happen

I had the coldest realization that our time was running out

by Gage M.

Grade 8

artwork by Paige K.
Grade 8

Mirror Dancer

Are you really good at some things?  Or do you just enjoy imagining that you are? This seventh grade writer happens to be a good dancer, even if it's only for an audience of one. What are you good at?  Write to us in the comments!

Mirror Dancer

 

Late afternoon --

The slow and weary time of my day

Like a broken watch with the soft tick melting weakly each time it sounds.

I open my bedroom door

With a creak and a squeak

And I feel the fuzzy pumpkin-orange carpet in between my toes.

I look at the books resting quietly on my shelf,

At my bed with the welcoming blankets

And smell my dinner cooking in the kitchen downstairs.

Hunger resides in my belly

As I flip the switch on my milk-chocolate-brown radio with a click. 

I listen to a DJ gossiping as I sit down to read.

But then I hear it:

The performers singing, yelling and calling out to me.

And music fills my ears like the refreshing bubbling soda I had at lunch.

I stand up and start to move to the ever-pulsing rhythm

The beat, beat, of percussion

And I see myself in the mirror

Graceful as a swan pirouetting amid its shimmering waters.

Me, a dancer on a dark, silent, and lonely stage

Caramelizing her competition.

But then, I hear a quiet knock

And then two

Louder and louder each time

Knock, knock, knock.

My mother opens the door to tell me that my dinner is ready,

And crimson-red is the face of the mirror dancer,

Swaying silently in the late afternoon.

by Julianne M.

Grade 7

artwork by Justin H.
Grade 7

How Many Lives Does a Cat Have Again?

Oh, that's right -- nine!

It is the ninth of October, so it is now time to present some ninth-grade work.  We share artwork created on a pair of flip-flops, perhaps flip-flops that are ready to explore the open road of life, as depicted in the poem that follows.

#robertfrostwouldbeproud #roadnottaken #metaphor #lifeisaroad

Starting on 10/10/14, information will be available via morning announcements about how students can get more involved in writing, creating, and publishing for Sevenatenine magazine this year. We hope to see many students involved in the creative process!

artwork by Michael T
Grade 9



 What If


What if a road, untraveled, untouched
appeared
for us to explore
the never-ending paths to which it brings us.

All future journeys, for ages to come,
are for us to create our own twists and turns
or maybe even an ending.

From the unfinished patches
to the recently finished miles,
would the holes get paved or
the paved get holes
depending on what wandering footsteps
and continuous wheels may cross it?

What if our own individual road
intersected another's?
Does this mean a car crash,
or a shared boulevard
of eternal love?

What if our road just stopped,
not so never-ending after all?


by Meritt T.
Grade 9



On the Eighth, From the Eighth

As announced yesterday, each month we will present some work from an eighth-grade student on the eighth of the month. 

Any student interested in submitting creative work for our monthly posts can email a submission to bvogelsinger@cbsd.org and Mr. Vogelsinger and his team of editors will consider it for publication on our site. We are excited to work with as many writers and artists this year as possible!

We begin our year of eighth-grade poems published on the eighth of the month with a poem about identity:

I Am

Amanda

tired, bored, loving, artist

daughter of Denise and Robert

lover of the arts and pencils

who feels anxious and scared

who needs art to breath and music to think

who gives happiness to others

who fears heights, spiders, the dark, and lightning

who would like to see every country and experience every culture

who enjoys feeling free and needed

who likes to wear baggy clothes

resident of the Milky Way Galaxy

by Amanda M.

Grade 8

artwork by Sayde S.
Grade 8





A New Beginning

Welcome back to a new school year on Sevenatenine everyone!

We are starting something new this year: a monthly routine of posting work from all three grades. 

Each month, on the seventh of the month, expect something new written by a seventh-grader.  Eighth-graders dominate the eighth of the month, ninth-graders own the ninth. 

We look forward to a productive and creative year on our magazine, and we hope you will use the email subscription box on our home page to follow our journey.

Look for changes to the appearance of our magazine coming soon with the help of editors and after-school club members!

Here is our first seventh-grade poem of the year, a poem about memories and lakefronts and the eye of an artist.

 

Complete

  

A clean slate

A blank canvas

A searing summer day

In the dying days of a season once new

The lake screaming out our names

Yearning to be used

 

Glistening sapphire-blue water

Blood-red boards

Family

 

 

The paints for my summer masterpiece

 

We slice cleanly into the water

Like a warm knife through butter

Heavenly golden rays of sun pour down through a minute puncture in the clouds

Drenching everything in blinding sunlight

Bringing the temperature to a boil

Casting shadows within the painting

 

The murmur of voice sizzles away

Into the fresh air

Nature surrounds us on all sides

Adding a green tint to my composition  

 

Standing up at last

 

Propelling myself forward

Baking in the sun

I jump into the seemingly frigid water

 

Stirring up the lake

I scoop myself onto the board

Lying down again

 

Bliss

 

My hand drifting through the water

Chills coarse through me

A sign of seasons to come

 

A blank canvas no longer

 

A work of art complete

 

 

by Liam M.

Grade 7

 




artwork by Isabel A.
Grade 7