A Myth

artwork by Vivien A.
Grade 7

Recently. Mrs. Trammel's classes studied mythology, and after learning all the trappings of Greek mythology, she challenged them to craft an original myth.  The assignment unleashed Isabel's creativity, as you can see below.  She shows us Disney is not the only one who can craft a tale of frozen whimsy.

Kairos

         Kairos is the goddess of time. She lives on Mt. Grandfather, separate from all the Olympians. On this mountain, she makes time pass, controls night and day, decides when people are born, and when they die. Kairos has the ability to pause, rewind, and fast-forward time. She is neither good nor evil, but the universe would not work properly without her. Many people, even a few of the gods, do not like her. They believe she possesses too much power over the world. Because of this, Kairos is a bit of an outcast among the gods and is very lonely on her mountain. She does not even like her own powers much.

       When Kairos first learned of her powers, she was felicitous. She traveled all over time seeing the wonders of the world, and she loved it. She saw much more than most had, and because of this, Zeus made her swear by the river Styx to never tell anyone other than the gods what she saw. Kairos saw beyond Greece and beyond the ancient world. She knew well about the modern cities and technologies that were soon to come and about the dinosaurs and cave men who inhabited the land long ago. 

        One day, when Kairos was weary of time-traveling and controlling the fates of human beings, she decided to explore Earth. Seeing the beautiful green rolling hills, peaceful forests, and majestic snow-capped mountains reminded her that present-day Earth itself is full of wonders. Kairos was walking through a small village when she started a conversation with a poor man named Lykaon selling crops on the street. Kairos enjoyed the man’s company, so every time she came down to Earth from then on, she and Lykaon would get together and talk.

      Eventually, they fell in love. Kairos could no longer resist the temptation to bring Lykaon along with her on her adventures throughout time. For one whole day, the two traveled far and wide from places like New York City in two thousand fourteen, to the planet Oolzynus in three thousand fifty. They had such a wonderful time that Kairos forgot about her oath by the river Styx. 

       At the end of the day, Lykaon’s human body was worn out from all of the time travel and he died. Kairos was too depressed to care that she was deprived of ambrosia and nectar, and she mourned Lykaon for years. She had decided that the company of others was not good after all and went back to being lonely on her mountain. Sometimes, she would cry so hard that her powers got out of control, and time would freeze, freezing her tears with it. 

      This is why we have snowflakes.  They are Kairos’s frozen tears.

 

by Isabel A.

Grade 7

I Believe in Little Things

Whether it is the gears inside of a watch, or the optimism inside of or hearts, little things keep the wide world turning.  Both the artwork and the poetry in this month's final post emphasize this fact.

artwork by Natalie D.
Grade 9

Little Things

For every salty teardrop,

There is a gentle smile.

For every rainy day,

There is a rainbow.

For every hateful person,

There are thousands more who give their lives for others.

For every goodbye,

There is a hello.

For every Monday morning,

There is a Friday afternoon.

For every second that passes in your beautiful life,

Is another memory made,

For life is not measured in time,

It is measured in moments,

Keurig coffee on a rainy Sunday morning,

Pastel sunrises beyond the horizon of the vast ocean,

The aroma that fills the whole house when there are homemade chocolate chip cookies in the oven,

The carefree innocence of a baby’s giggle when you do something silly,

Waking up to a soft, white blanket, covering the town in December,

The first sunny day in April,

Smiles from a passing stranger,

Warm sips out of a steaming mug after a day in the cold,

Long hugs with the ones you love,

When your favorite song blasts through the fuzzy car speakers,

The smell of freshly cut grass,

Sand making its way between your toes,

The rays of sun that beam, radiating warmth on your skin,

For these are the moments,

That make the struggles worth it,

For you cannot experience the beauty of joy without the pain.

Life is not measured in time,

It is measured in moments.

by Lauren B.

Grade 9

To celebrate the recent production of Peter Pan at CB East, Rachel C. designed this artistic typography to share with our readers. It reinterprets the first page of J. M. Barrie's classic, Peter Pan.

Darkness and Light

For the first time in the history of sevenatenine, we have poetry and artwork created by the same person this month.  Notice how one resonates with the other, even though they were created at different times.

Love

Is love

A pair of rings?

A kiss?

Two hands entwined?

A smile passed between near-strangers?

Is love

A mother's warm embrace?

A father's pride?

A brother's sticky-fingered high five?

A sister's shared Barbie doll?

Is love

A flutter in your stomach?

A racing pulse?

A blush, coating your cheeks?

An unconscious smile?

Is love

Something that can be measured?

Something that can be counted?

Something that can be weighed?

Something that can be calculated?

Is love

To be taken for granted?

To be cherished?

To be strived for?

To be upheld?

Or is love

Something different

For each heart?

by Evelyn H. 

Grade 8



artwork by Evelyn H.
Grade 8

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