Voices - Bristol Eastern High School

Voices
Bristol Eastern High School 2014
2014
Voices - Bristol Eastern High School
Contributors:
Jennifer B.
Alex B.
Emily B.
Caroline B.
Gabriella C.
Isabella C.
Mahrang D.
Eilanna D.
Sophia D.
Carly G.
Kaitlin G.
Marjorie K.
Emily K.
Marissa P.
Kelly Q.
Savannah R.
Jenna R.
Lauren S.
Joseph S.
Nicole S.
Molly S.
Thanks to Project Writeous for the best reason to stay late at
school on Friday afternoons.
Congratulations and best wishes to our graduating poets and
Cover Photo by Gabriella C.
Faculty Advisor: Ms. Joanne Peluso
writers from the Class of 2014.
2014
Voices - Bristol Eastern High School
Retribution: An Ode to GTA V
the pixelated sea to crash into me sirens, sirens all around
Marissa open the door it's 2am I'm shivering the night is so big and I
am not
I don’t remember what came before the war and I don’t know what
comes after
open the door I'm going to burn something so let that thing be next to
you
the night I’m here now Marissa I need you to open the door if you can,
in a plasma screen, there, blood stains have no permanence, you still
haven’t come
Rome didn’t burn in a day and neither will I but ashes to ashes makes
the air thick,
out yet I don’t know if you will but I’m here now I need to be let in,
my eyes burn, I’m not crying I haven’t seen home in a while don’t
look at me just
I’ve got a swinging arm and fighting words the night never taught me
how to be
shoot em down knock em out make them as small as you were be just
be God
terrible, the bad bads infest us they tell me how to spit at my father
and curse at my mother I’ve grown now I swear I just need you
to open the door Marissa I need you to open the door, today Caesar
falls,
Carthage screams the bad bads are coming for me the night swallows
me,
I’ve never done any wrong did you ever spit at your father did you
ever
look him in the eye in the space between two fingers growing
smaller, smaller, until your fingers break his bones open the door give
me
the controller I need five stars I need the police to chase me down
claim it all in the name of retribution burn everything five stars,
pixelated sea,
let the bad bads take you. Julius stabs Brutus. Carthage fells Rome. No
one reaps again.
take me take me take me take me in open the door
-
Mahrang D.
First place winner, 2014 Academic Bowl
2014
Voices - Bristol Eastern High School
A Substantial Concern
(If I wrote celibate on my right arm
It would queerly look like it read sober
Onlookers—agape; relatives—alarmed
Do they know when he shook me, I shook her?)
He shook me, I shook her—we all shook trees
Together. Streams together until there
Was nothing but apples and fish to eat
We ate until we starved in condemned air
So they claimed me Addict, ergo, Monster
Still…still…still there must be a reason why
I mistake the saints of the creed—sober?
Of course I am!—with “sin”. Yes, I declined,
Prostrated, obligated confession.
“Dear Father, forgive me for I have sinned”
Still…still…still he blessed me, graced my forehead
Good Father; His son he had forgiven
And I learned then there is no stronger love
Than that between a father and his son
-
Isabella C.
National Scholastic Writing Contest Award
Winner
From Apollo: I Shall Call Her Betulla
A glass misshapen in my eye—blind man!
I have become less than myself in truth
She seems to me a fellow immortal
For only then could my vision make sense;
(I see what cannot be realistic)
My fair lady cannot be fairer than
Lovely Venus and her impish cherubs
And if I laid but a finger on her—
This girl so elusive and volatile—
Ah! but to touch her! to sink into flesh!
She would burn, she would flake, ignite fiercely
As destructive as birch, more fragile than
Laurel, swifter than that reticent nymph
Destroyed by eternal hunger of my
Own accord; but what would it then matter?
She would wade through the river of Charon
And I would salvage her, her champion,
The victorious variation of
Orpheus, my fallible counterpart
And this little birch shall be mine until
The fall of Olympus, or until there
Sprouts a fairer flora, a fir perhaps
-
Isabella C.
National Scholastic Writing Contest Award
Winner
2014
Voices - Bristol Eastern High School
Fall Fall Fall
Creating pumpkin art leaves stripped off trees
Naked as ancient statues lacking life
Scent of fresh cider caught in the down wind
The dead piles up losing and gaining weight
Red calloused hands battled flaming brown mass
Grinning orange faces staring and mocking
Birds pestering brainless silent scarecrows
Watching people from afar giving thanks
Surplus of food, feasting, some famine
And in the end we welcome the first snow.
-
Jenna R.
Winter Winds
Inside my mind is cold as the wind blows;
frozen rivers run still cutting across
the desolate valley where sun did glow.
Sad snowmen stand alone as flurries toss
on a lake frozen solid stands a hut,
inside a man sits drowning in his loss
singing silent songs of misery but
none are heard choked by the dead of winter
always aware frozen still with eyes shut.
Storms rage and the wood begins to splinter
blown away he stands on the shaky ground
head gone faster than the fastest sprinter.
Circles take shape from him all around
into the water he falls, lost in sound.
-
Carly G.
-
Eilanna D.
2014
Voices - Bristol Eastern High School
Rusted
Rain falls on to my bare feet and
touches my skin like the fragile wings of
a monarch butterfly
I can hear the gentle pitter patter of the droplets
hitting the rusted roof of the barn that seems
years and miles behind me
The barn where I would spend days on end
with my father along the tall grass
and yellow daffodils that would grow
In the doorway
Every day after my mother packed her bags
for a better place, my father would come a little later
to the barn and smelling a little more of whiskey
and despair of hot August days
It’s the barn where the daffodils stopped growing
in October and never came back in the spring
and the only thing that grew in the doorway anymore
were half dead weeds that fed on the hatred
they had for the man who smelled like
whiskey and failure
-
Eilanna D.
And now all I take with me is a wet suitcase
filled with pictures torn at their corners
and a rusted Rolex I stole
from my father
-
Lauren S.
2014
Voices - Bristol Eastern High School
Strict Sessions
Set the speed and internalize the beat;
The metronome will guide you through your work,
As long as you are willing to repeat
Your lines ‘til you play with no effort.
How long can you spend on a single phrase
That only gets one moment of glory?
How little can you breathe before your face
Turns dark purple your lungs a worse story?
To all of the neighbors listening in,
There is nothing that they can do but wait,
For the beat will only cease its clicking
When you’ve finished your task, however late.
Chances are you won’t be done tomorrow,
Or ever. Trying is the way you’ll know.
- Caroline B.
- Joseph S.
2014
Voices - Bristol Eastern High School
I ran through the pages
I ran through the pages, leaving the world
Silver clothed knights stood there in gallant honor
Where girls in damask dresses danced and twirled
Sat on the throne was Old King O’Connor.
Page after page and word after word: alone
Secluded from pointless reality
Sheltered by fiction until I am grown.
Novels are a protecting entity.
Morals are bestowed from the ancient lore
It is stories that assist us in life.
While some think reading is a pointless chore,
For me, it is an escape from hard strife.
Open the pages to find sweet relief
It is a way to avoid hurt and grief.
-
Emily K.
-
Sophia D.
First Place, Project Writeous Photography
2014
Voices - Bristol Eastern High School
Sinfonia Del Demone
Evangeline had always followed these outlandish rules, fearing
The music box itself was a very beautiful antique. Its body was
a sleek black, and blood- red rose petals drifted down the sides of the
box, with silver impressions that swirled across the front, landing in an
almost perfect arch near the corners of the box. A thin silver crank
jutted out from the side. Etched in gold on the lid were the words
Demone Dentro. Evangeline hadn’t the slightest idea what it meant,
not that she had bothered to anyways. The music box belonged to her
grandmother, a souvenir from her trip to Italy many years ago. With
her recent passing, it was now in Evangeline’s possession. The box
had always fascinated Evangeline, for many reasons. Sometimes when
she held it, she could almost swear that it was alive, radiant and
pulsating. And sometimes, if she was silent, and held her ear close to
the box, she thought she could hear a voice murmuring. It was
hypnotizing, and she felt drawn to it, feeling the pull to open the box.
But her grandmother had always been stringent about it, and told her
three simple rules to oblige by, no matter the circumstance.
1. Never open the box.
2. Never wind up the box.
3. Never ever make a wish while the music is playing.
what her grandmother’s consequences might have been. But since she
was no longer around, Evangeline couldn’t resist the desire. One by
one, she slowly broke every single rule her grandmother had put forth.
At night, she took the music box from the attic, and crept down into
her bedroom. She sat down on the floor, her back pressed against the
bed as she gazed down curiously at the music box. Evangeline reached
forward, opened up the lid, and then slowly cranked up the handle.
Music softly began to play, releasing a chilling melody. Yet
Evangeline was captivated, pulled into listening for every hypnotic
beat. Suddenly, the room dropped in temperature, and Evangeline
could see her breath. Gooseflesh raised up on her skin, and she rubbed
her arms, shuddering. A dark grey fog began to creep up the inside of
the box and dripped over the sides. It sprawled outwards, covering
every inch of the wooden floor. The music stopped abruptly, and as it
did, a darker shroud of mist shot up from the box, and piled up in front
of Evangeline. To her astonishment, the black mist began to
materialize into…a human.
A boy wearing dark attire was suddenly crouched before her,
and she jumped back. His black clothes looked like something out of
the Victorian era, and Evangeline couldn’t help but wonder if the
clothing was authentic. Was she dreaming? Maybe she had fallen
2014
Voices - Bristol Eastern High School
asleep while listening to the creepy music, and now she was having
one of those really strange dreams that made no sense at all. The boy
furrowed his eyebrows, chewing on the inside of his cheek, seeming to
be contemplating something. Then, seeming to come to a decision, he
stretched, and spoke.
“Thank you for releasing me,” he said as he stood, bowing his
head in an elegant manner. His hair was black, like that of a Raven’s.
His eyes were so dark, Evangeline couldn’t tell where his pupils ended
and his irises began. She found herself almost too stunned to speak as
she stared at the ethereal being in front of her.
“What shall I do for you?” he asked. Evangeline blinked.
“That’s it? You want…cake?” He drew it out, the word
seeming almost foreign on his tongue.
“Uh…yeah, I want cake. The very best chocolate.” He nodded
slowly, finally coming to terms with her requests. As the black mist
shrouded his lanky figure, Evangeline thought of something.
“Wait! Shouldn’t I -I don’t know- pay you back or
something?”
He grinned wickedly as the mist receded back into the box,
which shut.
“I’ll come back for that later,” he said.
“Um…What?” This was way beyond anything she had
expected to happen once she turned the music box. After a moment,
*
*
*
she realized he was still expecting her to answer him. What did she
want? There wasn’t much she’d been wanting, aside from the
When Evangeline awoke the next morning with the music box
occasional craving for chocolate. Unable to think of anything else, she
lying next to her pillow, she wondered if she really had been dreaming.
decided to go with that. She shrugged.
But when she walked out into the kitchen, she found a tier cake coated
“Chocolate cake.”
His eyes widened, and then he raised an eyebrow. The look he
had on his face told her that no one had ever asked for a cake.
in chocolate sitting on the table. A piece had been cut for her already,
and her mouth watered as she saw the chocolate inside, with what
looked like hot fudge in the middle spilling over the sides. She sat at
the table and dug into the cake. Heaven. The cake was moist, and the
fudge slightly bitter, which blended well with the sweetness of the
2014
Voices - Bristol Eastern High School
hidden chocolate chips. He had kept his word; this was the best cake
she had ever tasted. After she finished off the slice, she went to her
room, briefly wondering what he’d possibly want in return. As she sat
on her bed, a memory abruptly resurfaced, flashing through her mind.
Evangeline was younger, and she sat with her grandmother on
the bed, holding the music box in her small hands.
“Grandma, what does this mean?” she asked, pointing toward
the writing on the box.
“It says Demon Inside.”
Evangeline laughed. “Demons aren’t real, Grandma.”
Her grandmother shook her head and pointed at her. “It’s all
right if you don’t believe in them, just don’t go asking for anything if
one comes knocking.”
Evangeline tilted her head to the side. “Why?”
“Because the only thing a demon ever wants in return, is your
soul.”
Evangeline paled as she was brought out of her memory, fear
sinking low into the pit of her stomach. Suddenly, the black mist crept
out of the box and materialized. The boy was grinning, and his eyes
slowly went from black to a deep dark red.
-
Gabriella C.
-
Alex B.
Voices - Bristol Eastern High School
2014
Shoot
I remember your first day of school,
holding your hand as we walked through the doors.
I remember the Christmases spent,
my proof that you can’t be what they say you are.
You can’t be a monster.
I read all of the books,
before you were born I was worrying about your death,
but I never thought to worry about you breathing.
I wish I could say that I hate you,
but I can’t bring myself to add another lie to a life of them.
And all I ever taste are the children’s names on my lips,
but all I ever see is you.
They ask me why I couldn’t see,
how I didn’t know this was coming,
maybe I was just too busy remembering the “I love you’s”
to realize that maybe they would not last forever.
The monsters were something you begged me to check your
closet for.
Not something I created.
And now, even as the pictures on my walls light up my
television screen,
and the reporters are giving each bullet you shot a home,
I want nothing more than to hold you,
to tell you that it was just a bad dream.
Because I can’t help the fact that you were my beginning,
and my end.
There is no forgetting,
there is no “new normal”
because “normal” said goodbye long before you did.
Child, tell me,
when you held the gun to their faces,
were you trying to shoot away the thought of me?
Did you hear my screams,
just like the ones you would fall asleep to every night?
Did you mistake my tears for regret?
Darling,
the only regret I have is not loving you more.
And now,
I am standing over your grave,
when you should be standing over mine.
And now,
I will never be able to tell you “I love you” without flinching.
And as much as I’ve wandered and wondered,
I will never stop asking myself,
If bad things only come to good people,
what happened to you?
- Savannah R.
First place winner, Project Writeous
Contest
2014
Voices - Bristol Eastern High School
The green strands
The green strands like hay,
Green growing life,
Growing with help,
Or not growing at all.
Not talking, not complainingLaying or standing just to be stepped on
Stepped on fast and hard
Stepped on the living, stepped on the dead
The stepper turns the green to brown:
A lighter shade of death
The death can’t speak, but speak through showing
Showing the stepper the brown death of stepping.
-
Kaitlin G.
Daily Life in Taiji
They roam through the deep ocean blue, playfully chasing each other through
its deep dark depths.
Mothers watch contently as their children play, relishing in the peace that they
live in.
But then, the horrific sound of metal poles clashing and banging together
resonate towards them,
And they frantically flee, panicked and frightened, away from the sound barrier,
That threatens to entomb them in a watery grave.
But little do they know, what they are headed for, is so much worse than the
sound wall.
Suddenly, Mothers are ripped away from their young, and a net blockades their
only escape.
They can hear the alarmed cries as the adults are herded into a smaller sectioned
off area,
And then, the cries go from being panicked, to terrified.
At first, there is only fear, and then there is pain, as they are stabbed and
stabbed and stabbed,
- Gabriella C.
Viciously with long metal hooks from men in fishing boats who regard it as
nothing more than a task.
They desperately try to escape, and the children can do nothing but listen,
Listen to their family being slaughtered in cold blood, only a short distance
away.
One makes it over the net, but as it comes back up for air and goes down again,
it never resurfaces.
The pretty, serene blue water of the little cove, slowly turns to a deep red,
Stained with the blood of all the dolphins that were being brutally murdered.
The young are now orphaned, and sold off to the highest bidder,
Forever having to succumb to being put through tasks they were never made to
do.
How can one little town have such a horrific secret?
The saddest thing is, this will happen again tomorrow, and the day after that,
Continuing on for months, just like it does every year.
But worst of all, hardly anything is being done about it.
As this continues to go on, what will happen to the Dolphins?
Will they realize too late the severity of their actions?
Or will they not care, and only stop when there aren’t any Dolphins left?
-
Gabriella C.
Second place winner, Project Writeous contest
2014
Voices - Bristol Eastern High School
Praying Mantis
Two people are coddling each other in such a way that would inspire married
people to blush.
On the window pane, there is a small figure watching them, knocking, the
Does he even bleed?
Are you,
silhouette of a gangly thing holding kitchen knives.
A wife no longer a wife,
You can see the serrated edges and you can hear them scratching in such a way
Content for a sacrifice that I find so secular that I wish to rename you, o,
that you can call it “unison”: one knock following another, a synchronization of
praying one?
shark teeth on glass.
Upon closer inspection, you see that it is a praying mantis, green as can be, it’s
large faceted eyes watching the two people.
It is just one figure, and from the linearity of its mouth, you know it is a female,
but wonder, as it is springtime, where the male might be.
Then, as if hearing you, the praying one lifts her head to reveal a small knifearm hanging from her mouth, and you know what has happened; you address
the praying one:
“Is it cannibalism or devotion?
You loved him so much that you devoured him, kept the head for last.
Do you confide in the black spider—the one with the scarlet marking on her
back?
Do you both go to the clergyman in reconciliation? But then again, how can he
forgive you when you still have the head saved?”
The green one doesn’t respond, as she is only an animal.
The wonders and horrors of nature conflict so much I fear there’s a mother and
a father; that it’s all just green—just nature—an internal conflict solely based on
a decaying marital status.
And if the praying one can’t even be forgiven, where will I go?
-
Isabella C.
Second place winner, 2014 Academic Bowl
2014
Voices - Bristol Eastern High School
Hands
I’ve never looked at your hands.
I was always too caught up in your face, imagining it so close to mine
I could taste your breath
I’ve never looked at your hands.
I was too busy thinking about your voice, your soft secrets sending
shivers down my spine,
I’ve never looked at your hands.
But I know they craft prose that teleport you two thousand miles
And every word, every joke, every line those hands bring to life adds a
branch to the fire of hate that burns in my chest for you,
This fire sends a cloud of smoke to my eyes, forcing out boiling tears,
It consumes my sanity, and burns my confidence to ashes,
She will never love those hands the way I do.
I wish you saw that.
I still can’t comprehend
How you could share them with someone else.
I’ve never looked at your hands.
I know that for my own sake I shouldn’t,
But one day my obsession will finally possess me
And the only thought in my mind will be those hands running down
my sides,
Resting on the small of my back, pulling me into you,
Filling my head with your cool cologne and sweet sweat
And I’ll take those hands in mine and feel the static electricity
From the feet I’ve been dragging since those hands first wrapped their
fingers around me.
- Sophia D.
-
Marissa P.
2014
Voices - Bristol Eastern High School
Tarzant
Fishing (Villanelle)
Papa and I went fishing at the pond
Whatever we’d catch, we had not a clue
He pulled the string taut, as tight as our bond
Of the quack-quacking ducks, we were quite fond
Hoping to catch anything but the flu
Papa and I went fishing at the pond
The smart little fish, they could not be conned
Preserving patience, we would not be blue
He pulled the string taut, as tight as our bond
Some slippery, shiny scales, they all donned
There were geese galore, we told them to shoo
Papa and I went fishing at the pond
Rain started to fall, we did not respond
I had a rain jacket; he had one too
He pulled the string taut, as tight as our bond
I said I caught one a foot long, or beyond
He kept the secret, for it was not true
Papa and I went fishing at the pond,
He pulled the string taut, as tight as our bond
-
Emily B.
I am an ant.
I live my life, day by day,
Dreading the first day of spring,
When the people start mowing their lawns.
They don’t understand.
I like the tall grass.
I love swinging from the blades of green forest
Pretending to be Tarzant.
They always have to ruin my fun,
Cutting down my playground.
I trick them by hiding in my ant hill. Until they’re gone
And then when they leave and it is safe,
I become Tarzant again,
Who has no fear of being killed
By that evil machine.
I climb the tallest tree I can find,
And sit there, happy to have made it through another day.
Another ant crawls up beside me,
And I look at her and say “Me, Tarzant. You, Jane.”
-
Emily B.
2014
Voices - Bristol Eastern High School
Waves
Rolling, crashing, angry, joyous, lovely, sweet—
When you awaken to a gray sky, a bitter sea, a damp mood, a sullen
everything—you will know my name.
the sea is me, my name, the description of my being.
You will know it when the storm clears and a rainbow takes its place,
When waves crash and thunder thrash and rocks are swallowed by fury—you
glimmering pastel hues along the ripples of the sea. And when you see this,
will know my name.
won’t you keep it in your memory? Won’t you cherish it? It is certain that
violent storms will return, will always be lurking under the surface—watching,
waiting to strike. Never forget this memory of me, for sad but true, I will not
When waves whisper calm thoughts to a sun gleaming against a sky like
always be this way. I, a tidal wave, will constantly move, never at a standstill.
diamonds—you will know my name.
And even when I am someday six feet under, I will be looking down from a
thousand feet above.
When the wind howls and spews water into millions of directions, no steady
current, uneven and unsure—you will know my name.
When water rushes to kiss your toes on the shore, and you feel invincible,
happy, relieved—you will look out to miles of ocean, and you will know my
name.
It is difficult to put name to something that is always changing, something that
ultimately leads to more than one place.
Remember my name for what it is worth; for ALL it is worth.
-Molly S.
2014
Voices - Bristol Eastern High School
As Virtue is to Sin
As temperance is to gluttony,
So is chastity to lust
And kindness is to envy.
“Ashes to ashes and dust to dust.”
This human race is in need of clarity
Before the highest does what he must.
Because pride is to humility
While sloth is to diligence
And greed is to charity.
Care in the heart has taken up absence
Because it is known that wrath’s opposite patience.
-
Jennifer B.
Tornado
Swirling through the innocence
an unending rotation of suffering
Mistakes
dragged deep down
into Pandora’s Box.
her life was
like shards of jagged glass
(once a priceless sculpture)
slammed into anyone who dared to approach.
the Destruction.
those who run away in fear
are wise.
because the beauty is trapped too deep.
beneath the shattered pieces of heart
thrown all in a heap
beneath the painted face
of the softest porcelain
Beware Beware
-
-
Joseph S.
Kelly Q.
2014
Voices - Bristol Eastern High School
Living Day Lights
Sunlight splashes on the newly greened leaves
Oh little spider, why do continue,
Sunlight splashes on the newly greened leaves
Creating webs of silk and lace satin?
Like droplets of water on sun-kissed skin
To watch and wonder what mess will imbue?
In a meadow lost to the world
Stands I in beautifully quiet bliss
Stop! The wind, the sand, the prey shall flatten!
Us young are malleable, wait to fill,
And fill we do in ways we did not plot,
Cram and bundle yet it is not our will,
Scrape away infection pending distraught.
Our metal cools and turns to copper rust,
Until we are slight red flecks in green eyes,
We become the wind and the copper dust,
Disturbing your precious webs in disguise.
A noise proclaims my attention one day
And on the edge of sight a dark shape forms
Curvy and peaceful a rose in his hand
Illusive as happy days in the rain
He dances on spring’s edge away from me
Days pass as I near his every move
So elegant as the seasons themselves
The warmer the days the closer he gets
The longer the days the clearer his shape
And when the earth tilts most towards the sun
I see him true and he is my heaven
He is a newly blooming spring flower
He is the breeze my aching heart floats on
And tucked under light’s blanket we embrace
I ask, grow wings and fly away to flights,
They exclaim our webs the living day lights!
Moving and twirling and laughing so free
We fall to the grass and lay side by side
And in my hand he places the red rose.
-
Marjorie K.
-
Carly G.
2014
Voices - Bristol Eastern High School
My putrescent people!
Why have you been permitted to ponder your own principles and purpose?
I cannot help but remember when I was happier, when I had no followers
If I painted a circle around my heart, I considered everyone to have shot
straight because no one released an arrow at all.
But if I painted a circle encapsulating my whole body—a De Vinci mannequin
They pierced me, the lot of them.
Sadducees, Pharisees, high priests—I can list them all as if every one had their
own upside-down crucifix.
But alas, there is always the last, an end, a death.
And your majesty,
Presently, I have yet to recall your time of weakness, a chip in your shined heel.
To whom does your knee bend?
Your own that perches upon thy golden throne, whose detached mouth spews
flamboyant nonsense, decrees of injustice?
Or the fountain who flows, consistent and true, steadfast and unwavering, from
one well to another?
-
Alex B.
Honorable Mention, Project Writeous Contest
A Letter of Retribution from the Town Crier to the King
Gossip is an unlikely companion, but a companion nonetheless to those with
unhinged lips.
And though it has not escaped mine own, here I write to you, my lord, through
hand and not through mouth:
I am but a pinkie, sir, a digit of dexterity.
Many a people find that I will soon be gone, yet useless as I may be, I do serve
For etiquette
For nobility.
And the streets will be empty without the cacophonies of scrolls I am able to
regurgitate from my lungs—
They will not know of the world without me!
They will sit, like sinks full of mud and slime, impenetrable and dilapidated,
ignorant and indifferent to the vain attempts of progress.
I live to serve, sir, and you repay me with dismissal.
In these final days, where it is inevitable to mull over stale epiphanies like seeds
in a strainer.
I cannot help but imagine a world where we all look down and aim low for the
toes of centipedes and the roots of oaks.
What if we all sprawled onto our bellies and disregarded the wings of birds?
Flight would forever be impervious, settled in the branches just as my words
have drifted to the bottom of a black marble vase.
It has occurred to me, sire, that kingdoms are nothing more than upside-down
caverns, inverted into the air,
And heaven is within my core, rendering spires useless.
Therefore, you persecute me,
Impaled.
-
Isabella C.
2014
Voices - Bristol Eastern High School
A Sunday Night
Greatness will never spew forth from my mouth,
like water out of a wild geyser.
It will never come out as poetry,
for which my final breath will hold on to,
The humming that comes from my throat is loud
and obscene to my twine like vocal chords,
Trouble spreads like cancer in the lymph nodes,
And my frail body shall never resist.
I will never be the one to address,
I shall only ever listen to it,
I will never be the protagonist,
of even my own illicit story,
For it in me is common seven ways,
and distributed out family thin,
The music and notes go to the victor,
and the perseverance to the witness,
The greatness forever to the oldest,
and the understanding to the youngest.
What to the medium man I dare say,
only dust and greater shadows than I,
I who am the Achilles heel of minds,
and most pathetic of bodies and bones,
No, no, no, the one who wakes and waits,
Singing songs on the veranda it is,
The one with vast amounts of price receipts
All back to the deliverance army,
Stomping the souls of their dead boots severe,
all the spirits they possess lay wasted,
beneath them in the ground of hope and fear,
Crying out in a thrilling humming voice,
too high to be heard with our human ears.
And we all have those mundane human ears.
-
Marjorie K.
-
Sophia D.
Anything I Dream I Dare
It’s a long way, nowhere near perfect
This path I travel
But all I know is it’s worth it
I ask myself if it’s worth the hassle
But I’d rather lose than give up the fight
To finally reach the legendary castle
I try and try with all my might
It’s just a hill not golden hair
That I must climb to win this fight
He looks at me, a penetrating stare,
But he doesn’t know that I’m fearless
And anything I dream I dare.
One thing is true I must confess,
I am no dainty, royal princess.
-
Jenna Rodjenski
2014
Voices - Bristol Eastern High School
Atlas
It seems he is half cloud and half ground,
Burdened by both, alleviated by none,
And crowns commanded asked him to reach for the stars,
Stretch, stretch, stretch,
Until he pulled out his arms and ripped his veins so,
Spread so thin until he was tattered in two,
For muscles to shred and stomachs to explode,
Lift your arms and straighten them out so,
Bend your knees and shoot right up until you grab hold of greatness,
And he was tricked had agreed
As time passed he asked for less more,
Ignorantly not prideful, he was given asked for more,
For the earthlings were happy with their state
And the clouds were happy too,
So he was forced asked for more…
“Make me taller, make me bigger,
Grab holes in my body, place them on my head,
Take my toes and glue them to my eyebrows,
Unwrap my intestines and string them up on my shoulders,
Swiss cheese and Jenga blocks scoop me out,
To make me expand,
Make me superior, make me soaring,
Until my feet have betrayed me and I can barely stand.”
His muscles you see had not begun to atrophy,
His back had still been straight,
His arms low high and spirit soaring low like fog,
So many pencils of black and white concreting grey,
He did not see the strength in his legs begin to tear grow,
His bones begin to break thicken.
He held on to bricks and stones,
Of your his passion,
Held for dear life,
And when it came time to jump,
There was nothing everything left in him,
And he, defeated absolutely, sank to dirt in hourglasses of time…
Each drop of sand another vein to pop fortify.
He didn’t make it decided not to make it to the stars,
He only did make it to the clouds,
And in vain hope he thought the clouds could hold his burden for a while,
But see they had just recently cried out their mass,
And were wispy light little things of air and
water not strong enough to hold their his houses and pebbles
Just clouded enough to block show the stars
From ridiculing encouraging him.
“Look there at Atlas and his magnitude great Struggle!”
“My life for my uncertain future,
My arms for stretching as you,
Please, please, please for you”
Today he lets go keeps hold of the stars
Knowing he who waits will see black eyes,
And know it is in them that he will irrevocably never rise.
-
Marjorie K.
2014
Voices - Bristol Eastern High School
“Who is that?”
There was a day when you forgot my name.
I looked at you and then began to cry.
I knew Alzheimer’s was the one to blame.
I wish all this had just been one large lie.
My heart began to melt just like a candle.
The tears came down my face just like a flood.
This was something that I could not handle.
I thought my heart had just been thrown in mud.
That day always replays inside my head.
I thought you would never remember me.
The thought of you sinking into that bed,
It looked like you had drifted off to sea.
I always think of when you turned to me,
Put out your finger and said, “Who is she?”
-
Eilanna D.
-
Nicole S.
2014
Voices - Bristol Eastern High School
My Apologies
I will light a candle for you,
And know that I never said a word,
Ever knowing what words to say.
I will hold its flame on my cheeks,
For keeping quiet in your time of need,
Ever knowing I deserve the flame.
I will press my palms,
And rewrite psalms,
For the apple and the eye,
Ever will you know it happened.
And as I fell asleep,
And spoke normally to you,
Ever knowing that death had left its mark on your clothes,
I share with you my condolences,
Ever never making up for the loss you have endured.
Ever will you know now,
That had it not been I,
She may have lived a second longer,
For you to say goodbye.
-
Gabriella C.
Marjorie K.
Voices - Bristol Eastern High School
2014