Back Again For More

While the school year feels like an old routine, it has actually just begun. These three poems perfectly encapsulate the rollercoaster of feelings that a middle schooler has at the start of the school year. These poems from our editors and the artwork from our fellow students will take you on a short journey of darkness (with a little hope) just in time for the beginning of the school year and the Coffeehouse on November 9th in the Holicong Cafeteria!

Facade

We scroll down the screen

And see the pictures that people post

Here we don’t realize it but this is where we are vulnerable the most

Our minds caught up in the perfectness to it all

Not even realizing what we really see

We don’t know it’s a facade put up for people just like you and me

The people we see don’t have a perfect life,

For the pictures are merely a shell of what they want to be

The pictures all so “naturally” taken

Have filters on and are edited to the tee

But nevertheless, this is what we choose to see

The facade a person creates

To hide what occurs behind the screen

by Nina H., Grade 8

Artwork by Emma H., Grade 9

sky

streaks of white on blue

a brilliant hue

how nostalgic, but new

and as the shadows fade

my thoughts cascade

and the dome above darkens

yet escaping shade

and so it begins.

when dawn calls again,

as it always does,

infinity commences

and by the time the contrast

has fallen into itself

we are all wandering

in our dreams

by John M., Grade 8

Artwork by Sarah E., Grade 9

The Words of a Poet

Day and night I write my heart,

I am determined to find my start.

The poet's word are so sleek,

Almost like the lazy waters of a flowing creek.

Shall I stop now, my rhyming endeavors?
Or continue into the night, and perhaps forever?
I think I shall continue down this path,
and take whatever fury society hath.

I enjoy writing and speaking thus,
who are they, to try and stop us?
My power lies naught in my strength,
but within my words, and of course their length.

For naught is the skill of this humble bard,
my true inner intentions I shall no longer guard.
I love the freedom in which I write,
I shall strike hard at those who show me spite.

These are the words of a young teenage girl,
One who will never fold, or even curl.
This is the tale that I will spin,
in the end, just you wait, I shall win.

Society may think that I must fit the mold,
allow me to assure you that, yes, I am that bold.
Push and pull me every which way,
they shall not silence what I have to say.

This is the tale of the strength within,
of a soldier willing to fight for more than just kin.
I will continue to speak as I wish,
for what do we live in, if not ignorant bliss.

Society can try as hard as it might,
I shall never give up on my fight.
The poet's words come easily to me.
so I will say this, leave them be!

A writer I may be,
but there is still strength in me.
Do not forget the fire in which I was born,
it shall be your end, if it is a thought forlorn.

by Ariel C., Grade 9

Artwork by Katherine P., Grade 9

May June Be Jolly

After nine treacherous months of sweat and determination, June is finally blossoming! May June be jolly as we wrap up these concluding days of work until we can reach the beach. We are proud to present these last few selections from the tough students at Holicong that have fought through the countless snowstorms, power emergencies, and finals and look forward to the warm, comforting air of summer! Of course, we couldn't help but include some last puns, so be shore to enjoy and have a whale of a time as you read these final submissions! We'll sea you next year! 

Blue Confessions

The wind played with my hair, twirling it into its layers of air. My jacket buffeted around me, the blue neon sign glowing in the grim air. I hurriedly pulled onto the door of the place I loved so much. 

“The usual, Ashe?” Liam’s kind face smiled at me.

“Yes.”

He turned his back on me, his faultless hair moving with his movements as he prepared my drink. My eyes stared off into nothing, thinking of the chances with the person I loved. Their figure appeared in the back of my mind, permanently stamped. I would never be able to forget about them. As the foam brimmed the edge, he stuck an azure-striped straw upon the silky drink.

“One milkshake, half vanilla, half espresso. Anything else?” he rubbed his hands onto his worn, stained apron.

“Thanks. I’ll just sit somewhere here,” I said, grabbing the glass.

He nodded me off, and I sat by the window, which was mimicking the chilly air outside. Sipping the drink, I felt the grooves of the cup, the frosty condensation burning my palms. They would always tell me it was crazy to drink a milkshake in the middle of winter; little did they know I only drank the milkshakes to see their face every day. I heard the light jingle of the door open yet again, but instead of a regular pedestrian, it was her. The one who would be the girlfriend of the barista. Abby ran, giggling with anticipation, as she flung herself onto Liam. Surprised, he spun her and kissed her forehead. Perfect. She turned and met my gaze, smiling as bright as her personality.

“Hey, Ashley. How are you?” She curled her hair endlessly. She fixed her hair, even though it didn’t need to be.

“Nothing. Still struggling with Mr. Bracer’s homework though,” I responded.

“Same. What even is the purpose of knowing each specific person who helped in the Russian war? Confusing,” she added, looking back over at Liam.

I noticed she wore the cobalt jacket we bought together, her delicate frame curving effortlessly with it. She hugged me, insisting we hang out again.

 No one knows. But I always admired from afar. Yet if I interrupted, I would make things more complicated. I always looked back on the moment and thought to myself, what could have happened? To walk up to the person I loved? They walked as a pair nonstop, everyone gushing on about their future. It left a bittersweet taste, so I drank up other things in life that were better. Friends. Family. This milkshake. After Liam went for a break, I hesitated. He left. Better off him not hearing this.

I walked up to Abby with her beaming face, creating her freckles to dance. Her cerulean eyes were persistent, ready to take my words in. I took a breath. Nothing could stop me from saying my thoughts. She should know.

“I love you.”

by Carolyn C., Grade 7

Artwork by Sarah Z., Grade 9

Exam Anxiety

A Sonnet

The test paper is put in front of me.
I glance at all of the questions and graphs,
I take a breath and start to bob my knee.
Thoughts swirl in my head with nervous laughs.

I start, my unpreparedness becomes clear.
No, that’s not the answer that can’t be right,
My own crushing self-doubts fill me with fear.
My eyes hold back tears in the harsh white light.

In my stomach butterflies flap their wings.
I slowly walk up and turn in my test.
The ending bell laughs at me with its dings.
I wonder why I was cruelly assessed.

My teacher hands back the evil exam,
Wow-- I failed-- education is a sham.

by Brandon L., Grade 9

A kite is the freest of us all.
It can soar higher than us
into the third dimension.
Its only limit a measly cord.

We see it as amusement;
no more than a child’s plaything.
It is of no significance to us.

Yet, it holds unimaginable power:
the power of joy,
of happiness.
It can brighten the day
of anyone that looks up.


It is with this in mind
that we can finally realize
how much of our lives

are in

the hands

of others.

by Lucas S., Grade 7

Bodies of Water

She is the ocean on a mild day,

Swaying lazily, yawning on the sand,

The water lifts and everything's okay

Enveloped in Mother Earth's gentle hand.

She is the sea on a stormy evening,

Churning angrily, pummeling the shore,

The water spirals, always deceiving,

Crashing and miming the chaos of war. 

She is the creek on a hot afternoon

Splashing joyfully, licking at the rocks,

The water twirls and dances to a tune,

Each memory a song in life's jukebox.

She's got liquid feelings that ebb and flow,

That girl's a body of water, you know. 

by Jordan MacConnell, Grade 9

Colors

I like the union of colors,

the way, for example

they blend to enhance the world around us;

taupe with a dash of pink, a smiling face

arcs of gold, eyelashes in the sun, 

deep blue shadows in the snow.

I like the warmth of neutrals,

anchoring the mind in reality,

stirring up memories of swaying trees

And homemade apple pie.

And the energy of neon,

shining amongst the endless sea

of grays and browns,

the spotlight of every gaze.

Even grays are never bland,

just feathers shading in shadows,

an absence of color,

an appearance of depth.

There is a sadness to blue,

one that suffocates the heart

in bittersweet honey,

stealing the warmth of the soul.

And I never fail to be impressed

by the innocence of white,

fresh and untouched,

the purest of this world.

A fiery sunset on a chilly evening,

one sunflower gazing into the sun,

a sad song that pains the heart. 

by Rachel C., Grade 9

April Showers

Scant warmth has come to us in Pennsylvania as April ends, so we hope that curling up with some good reading will help stave off the endless winter in the air.  And remember, as the temperature does rise in May, going outside with a notebook forges an excellent path to some inspired writing.  This month's post features four poems written by Sevenatenine editors. 


Silent

The world 

Was completely silent 

Since the day that I was born. 

I always wondered 

What it felt like 

To have words spill 

Forward from my lips as if popcorn, 

Buttery and tangible, 

Reaching forward and telling everyone, 

Informing, educating, humoring, 

To know that I was the cause 

Of that bright, endless smile 

That would appear on someone's face. 

Words have always 

Been my sanctuary 

Since I realized 

I could not utter a single word 

Floated around on clouds 

Long enough for me to touch them, 

To feel and grasp them, 

But also evaporating and falling 

In droplets of tears, not rain 

Trickling down my cheeks. 

I could never hear music 

Since the day that I was born. 

Never to hear those precious notes, 

Dancing, whispering, calling my name 

As it twirled in circles, 

Never to tell an octave or rest,  

The low, steady thrum of the bass 

High, whistling notes of a flute, 

Dancing, tiptoeing oboe, 

Or placid, rhythmic dums 

Keeping everything together 

But in music, 

There is always a wrong note played somewhere, 

Somewhere in the music, 

Something most people can't hear, 

And that wrong note 

Is me.

by Sarah Z., Grade 9

Artwork by Carolena B., Grade 9

Light

I see a light flicker,
and flutter nearby,
Its golden hues cascading across the sky.

A gentle hum, a vibration illuminating like that of a star.

I step- quickly
wanting to, so badly, catch the light 
to feel its power
shake my hands and warm my fingers
I jump- ready
hands open, then clasped like praying...


I have the light!
I feel the light,
I feel the power,
I see my hands shake


And then my finger burns
because the warmth is now fire.
It pierces 
and I cry out,
releasing my hands 
sucking my finger,
watching the bumblebee fall at my feet.

It wasn't light after all. 

by Sofia P., Grade 9 

Artwork by Lauren G., Grade 9

Long Way 

It's a long way 

To the shallow grave 

That will return her grandfather to the Earth 

It's a long way, so 

You offer her your shoes—she's getting blisters 

She decides to walk barefoot instead.  

You do, too 

It's a long way 

Back to a feeling of normality 

It's been years since you have spoken 

Words other than a garbled "happy birthday" 

Over the phone 

You stand at the back,  

Watch tears roll down her face 

As she says the last goodbyes 

To a person she loves 

That night,  

Your only goal is to make her smile 

Guarantee that nothing you ever do  

Will cause these tears 

You do make her cry,  

But they are tears of laughter, joy, 

As jokes are shared,  

And the invisible gap between you begins to close 

It's a long way to friendship 

But in a place where so many journeys ended,  

Your journey with her 

began.

by Trinity F., Grade 9

Artwork by Kylie A., Grade 9

Books

Nobody said 

To wait and see, 

To stop and look and think, 

To slide your bookmark 

Where stories are 

Made of merely ink. 

  

To ponder what 

And where and when 

The story tries to show, 

To discover a 

Different meaning that 

Before, you didn’t know. 

  

Nobody said 

To step a step, 

To live another’s quest, 

To think inside 

Another’s head, 

To be the story’s guest. 

To hide inside 

A nook or cranny, 

To cover up your head 

With a blanket 

And a flashlight, 

Cuddled up in bed. 

Nobody said 

To wait and see, 

To stop and look and think, 

To slide your bookmark 

Where stories are 

Made of merely ink. 

by Rebeca S., Grade 9