- hair and other happy things
Spring 2002
Cat
Yellow diamond eyes
stare at me from behind
the darkness.
I reach for her
and she hisses,
her mouth full of
white soldiers
warning
as their sharp edges capture
a gleam of light.
She sharpens her knives
pinging
as they strike against one another,
Her eyes
flinch as they intently listen
for warning.
Her arm extend
from behind her body,
and her head retracts.
And she strikes
in a tornado
of claws and blood.
Caitlin, Grade 9
Purcell Marian High School
Tongue Show: Mr. Haap Eats A Sandwich
A wicked grin crosses
His face and his eyes
Widen as he takes
The first bite of fried
Taste buds and chopped
Muscle. Dots cover
The gray meat where
The tongue-less creature
Tasted its meals. He smiles
As tongue smacks on tongue,
Smashed between two
Pieces of bread and
Drenched in sauerkraut
With a slice of cheese.
He wipes his mouth
With his napkin proudly
Ending his Tongue Show.
Caitlin, Grade 9
Purcell Marian High School
Lightning
From the view and range of safety, it looks like fireworks being launched from the sky down to earth. It's brilliance lighting up the sky in pulses of flashes. The sky is dark like the inside of a black hole sucking the light back up above the clouds and out of sight.
Matthew, Grade 8
Cardinal Pacelli School
The Stone Arc
This structure is like a drunken, old, and retired man pushing a button on a remote controller, aiming it inaccurately at a t.v.
Matthew, Grade 8
Cardinal Pacelli School
"The Lonely Polar Bear"
I am searching but for what?
I am traveling but to where?
I feel trapped in the vast prison of nothingness
I am but a tiny raft upon the wild open sea
Jimmy, Grade 8
Cardinal Pacelli School
Solo
Shining pipe
Brought to life by a single breath
Notes arising from the page enveloping the innocent
Flawless tones drift the audience into distraction
Notes meet their end
Silence
Perfection supported by applause
Rhythm enfolds her in its arms
Gliding away
Up the rhythmic staircase
Cascading down
Katherine, Grade 12
St. Ursula Academy
Wildflower
Everybody loves a rose,
but a dandelion is a thing of beauty.
If I were from the papers,
I'd ask you, "How's it feel
to be underrated? To know
you know more than
you're given credit for?
To see yourself smiling
in the background of your shadow?
And to laugh and laugh
when they scorn you?"
But I'm not, and I won't.
Instead you'll find me crying
over your fallen and forgotten petals,
unnoticed and stepped on
in a hurricane of arrogance.
You'll see me picking you up,
holding you close
and releasing your future
with a breath of fresh air.
You'll find me clutching you
with a feeling of warm sticky bliss
like those summer ice cream bars
on the front porch
watching where you offspring have sprung
from the force of my lungs.
Ben, Grade 12
Loveland High School
"Spider's home"
Every day,
He worked carefully
Like a sculptor,
He made his home
The delicate lace glistened
as the morning sun
rose to greet the day
Slowly, he surveyed his work with
swelling pride
Before tip-toeing lightly
toward the fly he called
his own
Julie, Grade 8
Cardinal Pacelli School
Multnomah
The sun's confidence reminds me
Of a provincial, Utopian village
Where shadows lie dozing in the light
Of a beautiful morning
The smile of a Saturday
Dancing with the feet
Of every sidewalk loper.
The shops inhale wisps of pine-scented air
Containing the cups of humanity
Mixed with thoughts of sunlight
And each of their wistful sighs
Breeze the contented people back through their doors
Into the awaiting brightness
The soft, crisp sidewalks are tickled
By the plicker plack of feet,
Welcoming laughter and conversation on its amiable face.
The street, garnished lightly with vehicles,
Opens its concrete jacket to wayfarers
While inside of Bloom's Books, a child is infatuated
By all the adventures found stacked on high on the chocolate shelves.
Across the street, a new time arrives
And Time & Again catches itself sleeping late.
There, glass doors look upon leather cheeks of the shopkeeper,
Spread wide, grinning at the hour.
From the window, one can almost feel
The Earth rumbling purr of the tiger cat on the sill
Basking in the joyous warmth of noon
Winking in his sleep.
As I stroll up the street
The intense aromas of milk shakes and waffles tickle my nostrils
As if the diner cook sent them to find me:
Gelling with the therapeutic coffee incense,
It is like striding through a garden
Of freshly bloomed breakfasts.
As Saturday night falls and the shadows awake
Waltzing in the moonlight,
Simple joys fill my eyes
I realize that though the steel gates of time
And two cities
Keep me from entering,
It never retreats from my thoughts.
Kristin, Grade 10
Turpin High School
cradle
a man stood lone like we think the cowboys do,
a man stood in the sun, hand in his pocket and the other 'round a brew
and i remember thinking he was the greatest man on earth,
the tallest and the most radiant in my little cradle.
a man held my hand like we see in black and white photographs
Pulitzer Prize-winning photographs
a man held my hand, a man guided me and i felt safe
when he would rewrap his grasp 'round my half-dollar palm through every parking lot,
through cross walks, when he squeezed so tensely it almost hurt,
and i remember how i never complained
i could sense that paternity and i felt loved in my little cradle.
a man stood lone like we think the prophets do at night,
a man stood in the sun, the squint and smile lines 'round his eyes
and 'round his heart like tributaries
his skin was softly patterned and predictable like trees,
and i remember stopping to look at him for love and awe as i passed by
i remember knowing, running playfully to be swept up in that safe embrace
i had never read "taketh away" and i felt like i should have in my costly little cradle.
Michelle, Grade 12
Colerain High School
En Route to Pittsburgh
He is the Dean Moriarty of my early flight
across Northern America,
driving with his knees and
flexing his fingertips on an African drum
that he purchased at a pawnshop.
Desperate for a distraction,
we find a copy of T. S. Eliot's The Wasteland
in the backseat.
He vehemently requests
that someone, anyone, give a brief reading.
With no suitable volunteers on board,
he, my brother, does the honors.
He reads with one hand on the wheel,
and animates with the other.
Here, page and road all become poem,
and I think to myself, "We're living it."
Erin, Grade 12
Walnut Hills High School
Sensation of Sound
The sound in the room is
so succulent and sweet with emotion
with harmonies galore.
Melodies that sound like an ocean wave
And chords stacked like a plate of hot cakes.
The piercing sound of the trumpet,
The mellow tone of the trombone,
With the drums keeping the beat.
The melodic tone of the band
covering the room with a blanket of song.
The music stops.
The audience is in an uproar
with applause and howls of appreciation.
the group leader counts off.
Here they go again,
with instruments ready to wail.
As the group plays on,
the crowd taps its feet,
and bob their heads to the music.
You can feel the music,
not only in the air
but in your heart.
The group plays with such emotion,
and everyone loves to play,
that you can feel the feelings of the group.
Everyone has now experienced-
The sensation of sound.
Geoffrey, Grade 10
Princeton High School
