As we head into the cold, dark winter months, Ms. Levin’s ninth grade classes have inspired us with poetry about a time they have been “In the Dark.”

First, we have a poem by Savannah B., who writes about evil, hidden in the darkness of the night.

Pitch Black

 

Of the darkness, night will come,

‘Til the day that I am done.

The starlit sky so dim as

the burnt-out sun.

 

Why so the clouds be red,

Their haze as fiery as the devil’s head.

Yet a sky so blue, it lights the way,

To sing me softly to slumber.

 

The wind, it takes me to and fro,

To swiftly to softly as I go.

I am met by the eyes aglow,

Of my worst nightmare.

 

A blaze, it stands not far from me,

Drowning me in the Bering sea.

Held heavy by the waters capturing,

Empty as breath would be.

 

Flocked by swarms of heron,

The demon’s children,

Gouging and rapping at my body,

That lies like the Titanic, sunken.

 

No escape is ever found,

What I remember is all that’s bound.

Of the darkness, night will come,

‘Til the day that I am done.

Savannah B, Grade 9

 

Next, we have Owen R. poetically describing a simple walk through the darkness of dawn.

Feeling like

An intruder as I walk

Slowly, quietly,

Not wanting to interrupt

The fragile dawn.

Every footstep, a cannon blast-

Every breath, a roar.

 

Windows watch,

Uncaring,

As I make my way

up the street.

 

Feeling unnatural,

Out of place,

As if

Even the sky was caught

off guard

And didn’t know, or didn’t care

That I am awake

That my day begins now

And I walk.

 

Trudging past sleeping houses,

Bleary streetlamps,

Drowsy streets.

 

Breathing in the sharp, still air

Around me

Resignedly watching the horizon

As the sun finally begins

To rise

 

But before light peeks over

The horizon, I

Wait.

In the dark.

Owen R., Grade 9





Carly W. explains the feeling that even when you are in the light, you can be in the dark when you do not trust what is going on around you.


 

“In the Dark”

 

I see nothing, but hear and feel everything.

 Thinking of so many things

 Step by step I am closer, closer

 A rustle in the bush here,

 Whispering voices over there,

 A queer shiver rushes down my spine

 I feel so alone,

 But at the same time I don’t

 Like a million eyes are on me

 A body to every voice,

 And to every lurking shadow

 And when you start noticing them

 They will notice you

 

 

Carly W., Grade 9

 

 

Stay tuned for another set of "In the Dark" poems from ninth graders next time on sevenatenine!

And We're Back . . .

Welcome back to sevenatenine for the start of a new school year at Holicong, a year that heralds two new principals (welcome!), newly renovated student bathrooms (farewell forever to the tinfoil walls!), and a whole new crop of student poetry and art.

To begin our year, we bring you a poem from ninth grader, Sydney E., a poem that reminds us that happiness is within our grasp despite the challenges.  It is inspired by the painting The Journey by Selma Bortner. 

The Descent

“The descent into hell is easy.”

~Virgil, The Aeneid

 

To my right I see the beasts

The beasts of grief and misery
To my left I see the beasts
The beasts of hope and happiness

 The beasts of grief and misery beckon

The wolf’s growl is seducing
The snake’s hiss is mesmerizing

But the beasts of hope and happiness call
The zebra with his kindly eyes
The duck squirming in the zebra’s grasp
Trying to pull me away from the darkness

My boat is floating closer
Floating closer to the darkness
I want to reach out to the beasts

 As I reach out to the beasts

The beasts of grief and misery
A bolt of lightning strikes the boat
The boat of hope and happiness

I know the end is near
I am drifting closer to darkness
The beasts are calling my name

I hear a woman’s voice

A woman is calling my name
I hear a man’s voice
A man is calling my name

 A man clothed all in red

A woman in the nude
Are on the boat of hope and happiness

They want me to join them

On the boat of Hope and happiness
They want me to leave my boat
The boat of grief and misery

I turn back to the beasts
The beasts of grief and misery
I do not want to join them

I reach out my hand to the beasts

The beasts of hope and happiness
I reach out my hand to the man
I reach out my hand to the woman

I do not want to join the beasts

The beasts of grief and misery
I want to join the boat
The boat of hope and happiness


-- Sydney E., grade nine

Time to Say Goodbye!

It's been a great year at Sevenatenine, but all good things must come to a close.  Enjoy this beautiful day, and let's allow eighth-grader (soon-to-be-ninth-grader) Victoria V. sing us out with one last "What's In My Journal" poem.

artwork by Tori V, grade 8



What’s in My Journal?

Flights of wonder soaring across the pages.

Ideas that burn brightly for only a moment, then fizzle out.

Words as plain as bread.

Thoughts that flutter down on the page, with no place or purpose.

Only when I rake them up do they make sense.

Victoria V. , grade 8

Spiral Poem

This poem is meant to be read in a spiral.  It began with a pattern in the middle, and a line written across the top of the picture.  Keep sprialing to find out where a simple pattern led this eighth grade writer.

by Trent H., grade 8



A Reflective Poem

After a year of working in a Writer's Notebook, students in Mr. Vogelsinger's eighth grade English class are asked to reflect on their work, much in the manner of William Stafford in his poem, "What's In My Journal."  Nolan approaches this reflective work with a keen eye and a coy wit that is characteristic of his creative work. 

artwork by Gabrielle S., grade 9





What’s In My Notebook

Torn pages, and scribbled-out words,

A book in a foreign language

Known only by me.

It is a code, waiting to be cracked,

For if someone cracked the code

They would know everything about me

The things I love, hate, and fear.

But until that day. . .

I write in this language of lines and circles

Where the words only mean something to me.

I still write.

I write because I know no one knows my language,

For no one has found and cracked this code -- yet.

The only door to my mind still remains closed,

The way I want it.

Nolan C, grade 8

Springtime Sonnet #2

What is it about Spring turning freshmen into sonneteers? It's the last one for a while, we promise! What is your favorite line?  Tell us in the comments.

Artwork by Alexa M., Grade 8

Spring

The wind massages flowers on the trees.

The early morning light awakens Spring.

The snows of winter melt; the grass is free.

Resounding in the woods the birds calls ring,

Awakening the world from its slumber.

The midday sun awakens wildflowers,

Gold is the hour, mighty as thunder,

All things shine brightest in their early hours.

The gently trick’ling creek quenches thirst.

The laughs of children break the silent dawn .

The water always flows fastest at first .

It is a hopeful time of year for all.


Summer’l come, school’l end, their best days will come.

They’ll still cherish those spring days in the sun .

 

by Jared J., Grade 9

Ever Feel This Way?

Sticking with our Tuesdays With Morrie theme, here is a sonnet, written by a ninth grader, about the exhaustion we sometimes impose upon ourselves, always trying to keep up.  So sit down, take a deep breath, and enjoy sipping this sonnet to the last drop.

The Race

Everyone runs for their entire life,

Chasing that which we truly desire.

And though the pace may bring all of us strife,

We never stop, despite how we tire.

For the very objects of our pursuit

Are our suns, our centers, our brightest dreams.

And if one denies it, the point is moot;

The prize is one for which every soul screams.

And although countless people choose to run,

Very few manage to claim their reward.

Some will fall, or by pressure be undone,

But all will finish by their own accord.

The finish line crossed, when all has been done,

But few will catch the object of their run.

 

by Sydney L., Grade 9

 

 

If you're interested, here is an op-ed article from the New York Times, an excellent link to the poem : The Busy Trap

 

Artwork by Riley H., grade 8