February Fire

The cold weather may be getting you down, but let our artwork and writing lift your spirits.  Welcome back for another month of Sevenatenine Literary Magazine!

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

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

Artwork by Alita L., Grade 8

The Polar Vortex Post

            As we begin the new year, we mourn the winter break that is over and yearn for our next long break that will occur five months from now. So we have collected some writing that reflects the doom-and-gloom attitude of January and some artwork with themes of contrast. 

           In all seriousness, we have found some great poems and artwork for this month that portray several relatable ideas and emotions. (They also happen to be great for January.) 

Enjoy!

Dirt and Spoons

             It was hot. Very hot. The sun taunted us in the sky, peeking in and out of the clouds. Its rays were like streams of lava, burning our backs and arms. It felt like I was standing on the surface Mars or something. I wiped the sweat off my brow, crinkling my nose in disgust. “I think I’m dying,” I told my friend, fanning my face vigorously with my hands. 

“Me too. It's like an oven.” We stood in the cool shade of a maple tree, leaning on its rough bark. The sun poked through holes in the trees canopy, casting a jigsaw pattern of sunlight on our faces. There was no escape from the heat. I surveyed the playground, searching for something fun to do amidst the boiling weather. The black top in the distance had become an ocean from the heat, as though water had been poured onto it by the bucket-full. My attention turned to a patch of trees to our left. 

“Hey… what are they doing over there?” I asked, pointing to three kids huddled on the dirt. 

“No idea,” My friend said. “Do you wanna go see?” I nodded with a gap-toothed smile. The two of us padded over to the children, craning our necks to see what they were doing.  They sat crouched in a circle on the dirt floor, each armed with a spoon or a stick. I turned to my friend for explanation but saw the same look of confusion plastered on her face. “What’re you guys doing?” she asked, peering over the kids’ shoulders.

One of the children looked up at her. “We’re digging, duh,” one of the boys said. I gazed at the center of their little circle. As the boy had said, they were digging, a small hole forming in the cracked dirt. Next to it there lay a pile of dust, topped with a few pebbles and tufts of grass. 

              “Why are you digging? It’s just dirt. What's the point?” The boy looked at me as though I was an idiot.  

               “We’re digging to China. My brother told me he did it once. You just have to keep digging for a super-duper long time and one day you’ll get there, and we’re totally gonna get there,” he said matter-of-factly. I glanced at the miniscule dent in the ground. 

               “You’re not really far.”  

               “That’s why were gonna keep digging today and tomorrow and after tomorrow and forever. Plus, there’s three of us, so it'll be way faster.” That kinda made sense. If you kept digging, you’d have to end up somewhere, right? I looked at my friend. We had nothing else to do. 

               “Can we help?” I asked. The boy thought for a moment then nodded. Gingerly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out two plastic spoons from the cafeteria, offering them to us as though they were blocks of gold. My friend and I took the spoons, smiling. The other kids scooted over to make room for us, and we joined them in their digging circle, not minding the dust and dirt that would stain our clothes. From there, we dug.  

               The ground was coated with a layer of soft dust, so the first few scoops with the spoon were nothing. But the deeper we dug --which still wasn’t deep at all -- the harder the ground became. I hardly noticed the sun melting my back. All I could focus on was digging. Could we really get to China? How long would it take? What does it look like? I had a million questions. I knew nothing about other countries. After all, I was only six. “Will we actually get to China?” I asked. 

             “Of course we will, don’t be stupid.”

by Nicole S., Grade 9

artwork by Madison G., Grade 9

Road Trip

10 hours straight

Of suffering in a car.

At least I have my phone with me,

And oh! my precious chocolate bar.

Damn it

My phone just died!

This can’t be happening! What am I going to do?

I won’t be able to survive without my phone on this trip,

Would any of you?

At least I still have my chocolate- which I plan to save

Until we reach our destination,

But still at the beginning of the trip, it went soft because it’s so hot outside!

And UGH I swear it made me so mad.

I can’t believe the luck I’ve got- and with nowhere to go,

I almost cried

10 hours straight

Of suffering in a car,

Without the pleasure of using my phone

And a melted chocolate bar.

by V. Djambova, Grade 9

artwork by Faith C., Grade 8

Alone In My Mind

A lone star lights up the starry night. 

The final flames die in the embers,

The warm coals heat the air around.

Alone in the dark. 

Owls pitch their sounds to the eerie silence,

Foxes scurry among the vast fields,

Deer nibble on bushes far off, swallowed by the moon.

Alone with the thoughts that scratch in my head. 

Alone in the dark outside.  

The trees reach for the moon,

But only a few can hear their monotonous cries.

Alone with the thoughts that pry open the mind.

Alone in the mind, where none can escape.

The forest hushes its final goodbyes,

As the mind consumes what's left inside.

Dreams drift to far-off places.

The wilderness dies as the morning sunbeams rise.

The animals scurry away. 

The mind eases back to its natural state,

Like the animals receding to their caves.

Alone in my mind.

Alone in the woods and the darkness inside. 

by Amanda C., Grade 9

December Gray

Well, the gray, wet weather persists into December, but it does not stifle our students' creativity here at Holicong Middle School.  Enjoy the wit, humor, and excellence embodied by this month's poets, and we look forward to bringing you new art and writing in the new year. A viola, a photocopier, Instagram and the hospital all make an appearance in this month's post. It is as eclectic as we are.

Forgotten

You may not have heard my name spoken aloud before, but you know I’m always there.

In every orchestral arrangement, quartet piece, even solo.

You hear me, yet you are surprised at my very existence.

I let them make jokes about me, their mockery and cruel laughter crashing over me, day after day.

I let Violin bask in constant praise and attention, for she always receives the melody.

She, of course, deserves the most credit.

You can see the picture painted right before your eyes as she sings her song.

She is the best and most elegant. She leads the orchestra.

I step out of the picture to let Cello have his time in the light, for he is in the back as much as I and deserves respect.

His deep, mysterious voice echoes off the walls of the concert hall. He, too, is just as capable of imagery as Violin.

Cello keeps the beat going while contributing to the melody.

Bass is different.

 He has a highly important job to fulfill-to help us stay in line.

He is the beat we fall back on when we stumble.

And then there’s me.

I’m pushed out of the way.
Forgotten.

I always give up the spotlight, rather I’m forced to, because I’m simply the one who plays the background. 

My job is to support my brothers and sisters, the column that holds the temple up.

Alas, never the solo, never the melody.

Nothing special.

Nice to meet you, I’m a viola.

by Emma S., Grade 9

Copy Machine

There are no uniforms at this school,

But that is a lie.

Because girls are quite cruel, and in order to be cool,

You have some things you need to buy:

1.     Black leggings with long socks

2.     T-shirts from old sports teams

3.     Grey slip-on vans or Birkenstocks

4.     A flat iron to burn your hair until it steams

5.     Make sure your mascara is caked

6.     And your personality is faked

If you don’t follow these rules,

Then you’ll be called a fool.

God forbid you are different or unique,

And if you are, they will quickly bespeak.

It happens every day,

In some sort of way.

It even happened today,

To a girl in my class.

She wasn’t like the rest.

These other girls picked up on it fast,

And made fun of the way she dressed.

In front of everyone.

The poor girl was stunned,

For being herself, she was bullied,

And will never again be herself fully.

Ever since that day,

I am sad to say,

She never dresses the same way,

And just like that, we have another clone.

Their real personalities never shown.

Almost all girls are the same,

To which we cannot tame.

It is all just someone’s ploy,

Your differences, they want to destroy.

Like a candle,

Your flame can easily be blown out.

To most, their words are too much to handle.

Then, without a doubt,

You too will fit the mold,

Until you grow old,

Because of what they told,

And never again will you be bold.

Their opinion, you will always hold.

Because when you were fourteen,

Their words were like a guillotine.

Will somebody please turn off

This horrible copy machine?

by Kayla S., Grade 9

** The following poem is inspired by an article from Psychology Today and meant in jest.  The poet has specified that he wants you to know that he is not actually aspiring to be a dictator**

How I am Turning Into a Dictator via Instagram

Before we begin

Credit should be given where due:

These requirements come from Psychology Today and Mark Van Vugt, Ph.D.

Also hit me up @Morose 42.

1 Expand your power base through nepotism and corruption

I have told my parents and brother to follow me in exchange for favors.

2 Instigate a monopoly on the use of force to curb public protest

People who disagree with me on Instagram are met with immediate and merciless yelling.

3 Curry favor by providing public goods efficiently and generously

I post spicy memes on my Instagram, which are seen as funny and valuable.

4 Create and defeat a common enemy

This one not so much, but I make fun of Trump a bit;

And that is sort of a common enemy, though not created.

5 Accumulate power by manipulating the hearts and minds of your citizens

I express vehement, well-worded opinions which people are naturally drawn to support.

6 Create an ideology to justify an exalted position

I have invented “Morosism.”

This is an ideology wherein I am the sole deity and to disagree with myself is a sin.

The dark part of this is that I am not the only person who fits all of these requirements.

by Eli M., Grade 9

I Remember

My dad,

All the memories I hold near

And I am so glad--

But I also fear

But what do I fear?

Keep hope, keep hope,

The time is near

I cannot cope

Setting up the ice rink,

Mowing the grass,

My heart starts to sink,

Helping me with class

Thoughts of my dad flood my head,

Working hours and hours

The newspaper he read;

I quickly glance over at the flowers

“You call that music?” he would say,

He splashed around in the small Intex pool,

Would tell stories of Santa’s sleigh:

But watching this was cruel

He slowly inhales,

The monitor beeps

His body is frail,

My brother weeps

The look of confusion

Is evident on his wrinkly face…

This must be an illusion,

The hospital is his home base

My tears start to roll,

And he keeps glaring

My heart has a hole;

I keep staring

“Dad, it’s me” I softly say

I think, will the sun ever rise?

Dad, come on… answer, I pray--

“Who are you” he softly replies.

by Delaney P., Grade 9