Seldom do we have such a perfect match of a picture and a poem, but here is a sunrise captured in words and graphics created by Holicong students. 

Beach Day

Early morning,

Grainy sand clinging to my feet,

Waves lightly coat my toes like a watercolor painting.

 

Crystal-clear tumbling waves,

Towels whipping in the wind,

Beach toys sprinkled across the sand like crayons after a kid has scribbled with them.

 

Seagulls screeching in search of food,

The smell of salty sea water,

Tall dune weeds sprout from the ground like brushes from a cup.

 

Colorful umbrellas providing shade,

Glasses protecting my eyes from the sun,

Pinching lotion from a bottle like trying to get the last few drops of paint.

 

Storm cloud-grey fish swim about,

Rock barriers between sections of beach,

Shells scattered across the sand like splatters on a canvas.

 

The beautiful Sea Isle, New Jersey.

by Katie B., seventh grader

 

 

drawing by Madeline G. (no relation to Kenny G)

Just a quick reminder that as we watch the leaves fall and brace for winter, spring is never far away.  What would artists and writers do without the changing seasons?  Thanks to Amanda H. for this colored pencil drawing.

Enjoy the figurative language and imagery in this poem by seventh grader Emily H!

Where I’m From

I am from clay,

from pencils and paints.

 

I am from the desert underneath the silver stars,

cold and distant from the earth.

I am from the ocotillo bush,

the jacaranda tree,
whose purple flowers litter my memory
every passing spring.

I’m from ice cream and imagination,

from Rowling and Patterson.

 

I’m from the show-offs

and the shy ones,
from Well Done!
and Pay Attention!

I’m from “Once upon a time…”

with a book in hand and
daring adventures waiting to unfold.

I’m from quiet nights and warm days,

chirping geckoes and sour fruits.
From the friends I’ve lost because of
Pennsylvania, the family I left for
my new life.

In my closet was a notebook

bursting with drawings,
a cornucopia of inspiration
enough to keep me awake at night.

 

I am from these moments—

budding early, then blooming—
another blossom on the family tree.

Emily H. -- seventh grade

 

Taking the Plunge

While these poems both examine literal dives into the water, they can easily be interpreted figuratively as well.  After all, any time we try something new we "take a plunge."  Fervently, we "dive right into" our work.  And through it all, we try to "stay afloat."

The Great Unknown

                                                              

If I remember correctly,

We had been laughing,
Laughing at the great unknown.
It seemed almost crazy,
To jump into the growing darkness
Called the sea.
Yet there we were,
Laughing,
Joking,
And jumping into the salty water.

 

The mist off the great waves stung my eyes

And coated my tongue.
The cool air,
Encased me,
As if it too was afraid
I would fall and hurt myself.
My small body broke the surface of the water
And sent me tumbling downward
Into the darkness.

 

The water attacked me
And refused to let me out of its icy grip.
I fought against the current that had been
Pulling me in all directions.
But I prevailed,
And broke the surface once again.

My chest heaved as I gasped for much needed air.
And the distant cry of a seagull
Penetrated my ears.
But I could stay no longer,
In the icy water.
My fun would soon be over,
For my supper waited.

Anna A. -- Eighth grade

At Peace 

I feel the daze of the sun as it beats down,

Glazing the ocean with a golden coat.

I inhale, taking in the salty air that surrounds me.

My heart pounds and I slam my eyes shut as I dive, leaving the dock behind me.

Cutting through the icy blue floor, sharp and swift,

I feel the waves around me shatter and I emerge into a universe of silence.

Serenity consumes me, those few moments of peace slipping away,

As I emerge to the creamy orange sky, greeting my face with warmth.

As my escape from the real world comes to an end,

A certain feeling of familiar joy finds me,

Inviting me home.

 

Nicole H. -- Eighth Grade

A Twilight Zone Moment

We could not resist a quick shout out:  You are visiting sevenatenine and today is 10/11/12.  And all is well in the universe!

See you on Monday with some new poems! 

What Is a Murmuration?

Have you ever heard of a murmuration before?  If not, you must check out this video before reading the poem below.  This is the video that prompted eighth grader, Lily M., to craft her poem. Simply awe-inspiring!

Murmuration

The birds didn’t fly

They danced

Stirring as if they choreographed it

The sky was a swirling black mass

Flooded with birds

Like a blanket over the island

The birds covered it

Now twirling again

Mocking those who are flightless

 

Lily M.

 

P. S. Thanks to another eighth grader, Matthew R., for his research.  He discovered that often a murmuration is sparked by a nearby predator, like a hawk, and the birds, by sticking together, can chase away or confuse the predator. Only birds who fall out of sync with the rest of the murmuration are in danger.

A Brand New Year

Typing this title, I feel like I can hear Sting (does anybody know who this is?) singing "turn the clock to zero" in the back of my head.  And that is kind of what the start of each school year feels like to all of us: new faces, spaces, great expectations (the kind you get signed on the first day of school, not the Dickensian sort).  Soon, though, we'll all settle in to a routine, a rhythm that life assumes, the turning open of notebooks, the tides of tests.  Some might call it boring, but to those with the right frame of mind and attitude, every waking moment is an adventure, even the predictable ones.

So take a moment to connect to the little things around you with this poem to open our year, written by eighth-grader Maggie M.  After all, what defines an adventure is all in the eye of the beholder.

Little Things

The red scarf

Slid slowly down

The brown banister

Past the puffing fan,

The barking dog,

The open refrigerator door.

 

The ruby scarf

Gazed at the generations

That lived on the walls.

Dipped its frayed edges to the

Coat hanger,

The hats shivering at the wind,

Blasting from the open door.

The scarlet scarf

Jumped up the shoes

That lay scattered

Across the floor.

The scarf rested on the cushioning

Of the upholstered
Green bench,
And waited for the next
Adventure.


Maggie M. -- Grade 8