A Wild Amalgam

 Sometimes we try to connect all the pieces we publish . . . and sometimes we just can't!

Enjoy a wild amalgam of writing and art this month.  We think you will find lots to admire. 

Artwork by Richard W., Grade 7

The Someone

I never liked someone.

 

Not before, not now.

 

No strong feelings,

No burning sensation.

No anything.

 

I never wanted to feel love,

Or longing.

I was fine with what I had.

 

I haven’t liked someone.

 

Not now, not ever.

 

I'm too young,

I'm not comfortable,

This topic is getting out of hand.

 

I don't like someone…

 

Not ever, not…

 

Can we leave it alone?

I don’t want to talk about this.

This isn't right.

 

But really, deep inside, I know like someone.

 

Before, for now, and forever.

 

The way that they smile,

The way that they laugh,

The way they make my spirits soar.

 

But it's not possible.

 

It shouldn't be possible.

 

I never liked anyone.

Not this way, before.

I don't know how to respond.

 

They don't even know me.

 

I don't even know them.

 

Why do I feel like this?

 

For someone I don't know.

For someone I haven't known

For someone that I won't know.

 

And for that someone, I feel like this.

 

Maybe that's bad,

At least for some people.

But to me?

 

It's the best thing that ever happened to me.

 

So I'll smile, and introduce myself.

 

To someone that I will know.

To someone that I know.

To someone that I have known.

 

To someone,

Who likes me.

 

And that I,

Like right back.

 

Maybe for Valentine's Day?

Cheerio!

by Richard W., Grade 7

Artwork by Mackenzie J., Grade 7

Storybook Ghosts

There are ghosts in my head

I don’t understand them

But I am not afraid

Because I do know them

 

One quiet and gentle

A silent listener

When the days feel wrong

And I wish I wasn’t here to see it

 

One loud and alive

A cheering voice

When excitement awakes

And the music swells

 

One stiff and reassuring

A constant presence

When the world feels crushing

And I swear to god that I’m alone

 

One wise and caring

A feathered umbrella over my head

When the rain drips down

And I walk home slowly

 

One cheerful and innocent

A laughing companion

When I’m second guessing

And nothing I do feels right

 

One smart and eccentric

A comical tablemate

When I sit bored in the back

And do my work between drawings

 

 One empathetic and loyal

A careful advisor

When I have questions I can’t ask

And scars I’d rather not share

 

Yes, there are ghosts in my head

I’m starting to understand them

But I'll never be afraid of them

Because I know what I wrote

by Mackenzie J., Grade 7

Artwork by Will S., Grade 9

They & Them

The left and the right side.

She and he.

 

She was the lightness in the early morning dew.

A treat to be bestowed upon a king adorned with a crown of shimmer.

However, lightness is oh so heavy a burden to carry.

So with a smile she turns to dawn and begs to god she shall not falter.

Never in front of the eyes of others. 

For they could never know, there was never lightness, and never dew.

Now glorious dawn is long, long gone.

Dusk shall stay in place.

 

He was the bite to a glass of ginger ale.

Heavy down the throat and a pit in the stomach.

But he was fresh on the lips and an invigorating surge to the soul.

So ginger ale he was, and ginger ale he’ll be.

A hidden captain to the start of a new adventure.

Too much a shame it’s to say, the journey would never begin.

 

To say they hated themselves would be a lie, but to say they loved the isolation is the truth indeed.

For she was he, and he was she.

Perhaps that made them the biggest hypocrite of all.

 by Jaime P., Grade 8

Palindromes

 There have been a lot of palindromes coming up in our calendar of late: 2/2/22 is the latest.  

While we did not write any palindrome poems to celebrate, you might find it intriguing to notice the interplay between the pieces we publish this month, the juxtaposition of art and word, and find your own inversions of ideas that might be considered palindromic.  We hope you enjoy this missive from midwinter . . . stay warm out there!

To the Stranger In Front of Me

The confusion my heart holds is overwhelming. I linger upon the question of this being loneliness, or a genuine spark. The rhythm of my beating heart though translates to lies in my mind. Something impossible. 

 

I could never gift my heart to a stranger. A stranger who I have known for five years. All the opportunities but none were taken. Even now, with the stranger right in front of me, I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I smile, but it is only when you look away. 

 

I hate this. The temptation to have such a love towards someone is absurd. To find comfort in someone who may not even know my name. 

 

Hope is nonetheless buried deep inside my heart despite the contradicting thoughts in my mind. Possibly they feel the same? No, that is likely not the case. How could that be? After all, I, too, am a stranger in their beautiful mind. The enigma I may never get to explore, but oh how I wish I could. After all, they are only a stranger sitting in front of me. 

by Stephanie T., Grade 9

 

artwork by Mackenzie J., Grade 7

The Old and the New

As the old year comes to an end,

And you think about the old and the new,

You think to yourself that there's no way you'd abandon the old things,

That were so special to you.

 

But as the world changes,

You do too.

Begin to reflect on things

That are old and new.

 

A fresh new layer of paint on a wall.

A brand new pair of shoes.

A different bird that will sing its song,

Delivering information and news.

 

An old, dusty piano,

With cracked and splintered wood.

Yet the notes still sound crisp and sharp,

As any piano should.

 

A new idea enters your mind,

It's terribly shocking and extremely unrefined.

But as you fix it and tune it, making it better,

You realize you just created something you'd never be able to just find.

 

Hobbies are something you're passionate about,

And you really like them too.

But as you try more things, you think:

It wouldn't be terrible to discover something else to do.

 

You think about something else -

Your bad habits and bad decisions that you choose,

And begin to wonder:

Aren't old things something you'd rather lose?

 

As you see children with gifts you'd been given

Something occurs to you just as fast:

No matter how similar a new toy would be,

It never reminds you of that toy from your past.

 

As the old year comes to an end,

And you think about the old and the new,

You realize it wouldn't be too bad to leave behind the old things…

But then again, why not keep a few?

by Richard W., Grade 7

artwork by Mackenzie J., Grade 7

Paralysis

He cups his hands and raises them to the sky

He sits and waits for rain

She does the same

How they would love to meet, but heaven knows they’ll never try

 

They sit around waiting to heal: overdosed on apathy

Staring at the ground, refusing to look at the sun

Waiting for rain

Wishing they could drench themselves in these storms

And watch the trusses bend and sway

They can breathe but would love to start living

 

They're still holding on, still waiting

"Just keep moving"

Etcetera, etcetera

Seas of people staring at their feet, their hands cupped to the sky

Who will never know what they've been waiting for

And who have missed their life flash before their eyes

by Liam R., Grade 9

artwork by Richard. W., Grade 7

artwork by Jacob D., Grade 9

This Is The Way We End a Year

 As the long nights and short days persist, we know the year is almost over and soon the world will brighten again.  To hold you over, we share these snippets and poems, paintings and photography, and we hope they bring you joy. 

Artwork by Julia N., Grade 8

Let Us Raise Our Flags

How many times will we watch

as our Purple Hearts are slaughtered?

How many times will we watch

their lives thrown aside amidst the ranks of cheering crowds?

Why do we hold them in reverence?

 

We fold our flags as our lines draw clearer

While we watch from our safe distance in the crowd

 

We are intoxicated by the throne

We are consumed by our enmity

and we are the winter

 

Let us raise our flags on the graves of the innocent

by Liam R., Grade 9

Photograph by Mackenzie J., Grade 7

Planting Ideas

I don't have the green thumb others seem to possess,

Never been able to nurture an idea

For more than a few hours.

And I'm not sure I want to try again this time.

 

But this is the right time - a perfect idea,

Ready to flourish under your care.

 

I can't seem to make this work!

I can't bare to see another idea disappear.

I only see my failures.

Mistakes.

Regrets.

 

But you'll never know what it'll turn into,

Unless you try.

 

I've already tried.

I've seen my flowering, budding ideas,

Planted…

Watched them wilt…

Deprived of the nutrients of my mind,

And dried up by the burning judgement of others.

 

How do you know this time isn't different?

 

Every time…

It's been the same.

What will make this any different?

How do I know?

How do I know there's a difference?

That this won't become another lifeless idea,

Another beautiful flowering story,

Morphed, altered and ultimately ruined,

By my ever-changing thoughts?

 

You're doing it right now!

Has it become the mess you expected it to be?

 

Maybe not.

Maybe…

This little sapling will sprout

Into the beautiful idea

I've always wanted it to be.

by Richard W., Grade 7

 

 Photograph by Sophia L., Grade 7

Everyone seemed to have their thing.

You had only one role in this hierarchy adults say doesn’t exist.

But it does exist- grown-ups just forget how real it truly is.

Once you had your set niche, there was no contorting it- that was you to the rest of the student body.

Unless someone bothered to get to know you, of course.

But when everyone is so wrapped up in themselves it didn’t happen often.

You were an athlete: Always leaving 7^th period early to hop on a bus going who knows where.

You were that kid: The one everyone knows about, the one people point out at lunch and talk about all the time even if they’ve never laid eyes on you themselves.

You were once the mean girl of your elementary class: That one girl that sent some kids home crying, the one who talks about you behind your back. But middle school is so large that tiny grasp of power slips away. Now, what’s left of your big, bad reputation is… I’m not gonna go into it.

That one kid who towers over the teachers.

The kid that is made fun of for their height.

The one who plays Snake in class.

The one with a book under their arm.

The one that knows everything: Drama, secrets, ready to let loose like a deadly firecracker.

The loud one.

Quiet one.

Smart one--

Or.

Or, you could be neutral.

You could just drift through the drama and never let it affect you.

Watch it go down like a staged fight on a reality TV show.

You smile with the others, watch from afar, never part of it yourself.

Yet there’s a curse behind this neutral stance.

 You’ll always want to be one of them. Known.

And all of them want to be one of you. Anonymous.

 

by Kate M., Grade 7

The Shades of November

This may be the most colorful November in Buckingham we have had in recent history.  The line of sugar maples along the soccer field blazed red, the osage oranges across the road chucked chartreuse orbs into traffic, and the dogwoods in the wild patch by the tennis courts were almost as vibrant as when they are abloom.  The sunrises over CB East demanded our attention.  

The leaves hung on tight a little longer this year.  We are hanging on tight too.  

We hope you enjoy this month's selections as much as we enjoyed choosing them for you.  

Artwork by Julia N., Grade 8

The Procrastinator's Helpline

Hello?

Is this the magnificent Procrastinator’s Helpline, I’ve heard so many good things about?

You may have gotten my previous calls,

But I’m back for more badly needed help

 

I have a thousand-word, three-page minimum essay due in about an hour

And I haven’t even typed my name on top of the date yet

You see, I was going to do it,

But who can work on an empty stomach?

Certainly not me!

And what’s a snack without a drink?

So, if I must,

I shall delay my work to quench my thirst

And fill the hole in my stomach

 

But then

Just as I begin to think and type and work away

I am challenged

Challenged by a pop-up ad from the website I was using to gather facts and research to support my soon overdue thesis

“ONLY 1% OF PEOPLE CAN BEAT THIS GAME!”

Is what it said, mocking me in its bright text intending to draw attention

And being the stubborn and competitive person, I am

I couldn’t back out

And that’s where I found myself for the next forty-five minutes or so

Tearing through the gauntlet of online games proving that am the 1% worthy of victory

So, yeah

After all that

I’m here with you

So, tell me please, lend me your wisdom

How do I get a thousand-word, three-page minimum essay done in an hour?

Or less if it’s possible?

-- by Gavin C., Grade 9

inspired by "Toddler Feelings Helpline" by Sara Given

Holicong Soccer Field in November, photographed by Mr. Vogelsinger

Main Characters

Everyone wants to be a main character.

Everyone wants to be the center of attention.

Whether you deny it or not, everyone wants to have conflict.

Everyone wants to be the Peter Parker, who gets bullied, only to later prove them wrong.

But what people don’t think about, is that Peter Parker doesn’t exist.

Everyone begs to have conflict, instead of being thankful for what conflict they don’t have.

People will be bullied, but they can’t scale buildings.

People live hard lives, but they can’t carry boulders.

People die, they’ll never fly.

Everyone wants to be a main character.

But why not be yourself?

by Jacob D., Grade 9

Artwork by Katilyn J., Grade 8

Drip, drip, drip.

 

Home alone.

Storm shrieking and howling.

Lights out.

 

Drip, drip, drip.

 

A bloodcurdling howl in the backyard.

Whipping out a flashlight.

Investigate.

 

Drip, drip, drip.

 

Horrific howls in the backyard.

The screech of the glass door sliding.

The monster awaits.

 

Drip, drip, drip.

 

Racing toward the target.

A silent scream.

The drenched figure toppling over on its target,

As a piece of paper wafted towards them,

Stating, "Lost Dog."

 

-Anonymous

 

Artwork by Mackenzie, J., Grade 7

COVID Companion

Fingers push against plastic

fingers dance, with so much grace,

flying across the keyboard

and ever so often hitting space

The mouse is moving

gliding across the table

releasing loud, sharp clicks

I'm clicking as fast as I'm able

I'm using a computer

the same as any other day

nothing really special

we all use it the same way

 

by Richard W., Grade 7

The Light and the Dark

In Pennsylvania, October is a time of brightness and darkness, blazing leaves in shorter days, against a backdrop of gray, brooding skies.  You will find that our post for the month -- our first this year -- reflects this juxtaposition, and we hope it might even capture a little of what you are feeling inside as we move through this strange but hopeful year together. 

Thank you for being here, for reading our magazine.  We hope you like what we produce and curate in the monthly posts right here on Sevenatenine.  

Tennis

I, too, dislike it: There are a million more productive pastimes

I would do rather than wearing down my wrist ligaments.

I could find a cure for cancer,

I could write an opera,

Or maybe just get my homework done.

 

But no.

 

Here I am again, repeatedly hitting a small ball over a weathered net.

But my mind always reminds of the perks

that bring my feet back to those green courts.

I love the buzz that sails through my arm after a great shot.

I love the smile that sneaks onto my face after my coach gives praise.

I love how I jump up and slap racquets with my partner

after we win a strenuous match.

 

So.

           

No matter how bright the sun shines,

how tired or weary I feel,

I will still march right back

onto those courts and do it all over again.

by Lyla P., Grade 9

Inspired by the poem "Poetry" by Marianne Moore

Artwork by Jacob D., Grade 9

To the Past, Present, and Future

Hey Kid, we have a goal to accomplish.

No, a dream sounds more appropriate.

I promise you I will achieve it for us. Me and you!

See you soon little guy.

 

Hey, present me, you’re making us sad.

The light of hope you had to achieve the goals we dreamed, is slowly fading,

 

Why give up now when we are so close? Please continue for all of us.

 

Hey! Thank you so much. We are now grown, achieved what we wanted.

We never gave up on our goal. Makes me tear up a little, ha-ha!  

I’m returning to my time: 2021. See you soon! 

by Beck M., Grade 9

Artwork by Isabel D., Grade 8

The sun peeked over the mountain side. The river glimmered in the sun stream.  The birds chirped a lullaby. The evergreen trees stood tall and proud. I come out to my tree house every morning to paint the sunrise.  Sometimes I come out and just look at it for a while. It looks like watercolor floating in the sky. Like someone comes out here every morning to paint it on. The sunrise looks the same every morning but still somehow mesmerizes me. It is as if Mother Nature is telling me that I will be the next painter to paint on the sky every morning, and she is trying to train me for when that day comes.

by Julia N., Grade 8

The End of the Year As We Know It

 In a most unusual year, we have been proud to bring you poetry and memoirs and artwork.  We hope you have enjoyed them! Keep creating this summer, and we hope to see you back for more at Sevenatenine in September. 

Morning (after Krista Lukas)

The blistering tune of alarms

Invites the whisper of sunrise

Through cracks in the blinds.

Quiet footsteps lead to a dim kitchen,

Coffee wafts through morning air,

into my blue mug.

Dew collects on clear windows

As my dog watches a squirrel,

Focused on getting breakfast.

by Zoe L., Grade 9

Artwork by Josephine L., Grade 7

Honeycrisps

In time of despair let us be thankful for small triumphs.

A raspy thank you after you let all the precious hot air escape, as you keep the door open for the granny,

A quiet chuckle after you tell a mediocre joke, that you rehearsed in your head countless times,

A "Bless you!" after you sneeze sticky, thick phlegm all over your new sweater.

 

              People have a propensity to be better than you think,

              They are not flawless, but most are apples.

              Some can be tangy; some can be sweet.

              I prefer Honeycrisps, delicate with a sweet-tart finish.

 

                            Be thankful for Honeycrisps and small triumphs.

by Dhruv M., Grade 9

Artwork by Emma D., Grade 9

 Dear Future Generation

To our future generation:

I am so sorry for all we have brought you,

for all we have left you.

We believed we were infallible

until we began to fall.

I look down at you and feel reverent,

for even though the world is messy and unkind,

you have

-- thusfar --

proved yourself a formidable opponent.

 

May your kind souls

and brave hearts

forever propel you forward

far away from these trash-filled waters.

Humans have a propensity to kill,

but I believe that there will be no more heads on sticks in your time.

Instead there will be glasses on silver platters

and sunlight protruding through thin trees.

There will be innocent verdicts for innocent men

and guilty ones for the poor hearted.

 

Unfortunately, we have given you a war to fight.

Fortunately, you have all the weapons.

Let the battle begin. 

by Calli P., Grade 9

Artwork by Jacob D., Grade 8

Your Hand In Mine, My Heart In Yours

 

Our hands outline each other’s.

Yours in mine, mine in yours.

I can feel every callous and blister,

Yet still it’s soft.

Comforting.

Warm.

Like a freshly brewed macchiato and a pleasantly bitter aftertaste,

I drink up the memory until every last drop is gone,

So that the taste can linger forever.

by Jamie P., Grade 7

 

Artwork by Jamie P., Grade 7