Since our class has started to bloom,

The school years have seemed to fly past,

All happening in the classroom.

 

With graduation seeming to loom,

And all we can do is hold fast,

Since our class has started to bloom.

 

No longer a fetus within the womb,

For now our futures are vast,

All happening in the classroom.

 

What life will be like we only assume,

With dreams of being unsurpassed,

Since our class has started to bloom.

 

We’re given a paintbrush in a white room,

In a play we are the cast,

All happening in the classroom.

 

To all my classmates, those of whom,

Have formed friendships to forever last,

Get ready for the big boom,

All happening in the classroom.

H.P. Lovecraft

Although they say that he was daft

He created a whole new generation of fear

Of insanity and horror quite unclear.

 

Edgar Allan Poe

What was his problem, we’ll never know

Through his addictions and his afflictions

His poems created astounding depictions.

There was a young lad from the South

Who had a non-stop running mouth

He was told to be quiet

But he just wouldn’t buy it

And now he is the lad with no mouth.

 

Go on ahead, take a try

It’s real fun and that’s no lie

To dodge a bullet or take a shot

In Russian roulette and thus you’ve got

Somebody who was one shot shy

Alliterative) Reading

Learning, laughing, living, lore.
Conflict, climax, consequence.
Morals, misadventures, many more.
Phenomena, Protagonist, Presence.

Narrative) On a Skateboard

Flying, falling, failing, retrying.
Ollie, slide, projection.
Rolling, balance, detail, striving.
Learning, practice, perfection.

Punch Line) Climbing a Tree

Task, ambitious, brave, dangerous.
Courage, strength, brash.
Climbing, rising, bragging, boisterous.
Snapping, falling, crash.

Darkness

Cold, Oppressive

Decietful, Consuming, Enveloping

Swallows the Warm Light

Shadow

 

Light

Warm, Wholsome

Welocoming, Embracing, Giving

Strengthens the Weak- Hearted

Radiance

 

Colour

Varied, Alive

Expresses, Defines, Inspires

Shows All Our Emotions

Art

 

I sing of nature and all its bliss,

            Of a beauty divine, heaven sent,

            Whispering winds through slumbering trees,

            The horizon swallowed by the sea.

 

In the forest, many song-birds sing,

            Their beautiful lullaby to the trees,

            As mountains reach towards the heavens,

            And the dark depths hold their secrets.

 

I sing of clouds dreamily floating by,

            And raging as their tears descend upon the ground,

            Reviving it as the clouds slowly die away,

            To come again some other day.

 

I sing of life in all its glory,

            And how nature creates it,

            Of how nature sustains it in a gentle balance,

            Singing in soft words of kindness as we fall into sleep.

 

The trees sway silent.

whispering to the shadows

Fortelling dawn's light.

 

A fire consumes all.

Who feel rage, anger, or scorn.

Fire can only spread.

 

Pain drags us into.

A cloud of darkness and woe.

Pushing us downward.

The planet that I was being held captive on was strange indeed. The surface of the planet was uninhabitable due to the constant lightning storms and poisonous gases that ensnared any living thing in its deadly coils. The civilizations looked like several plates being balanced on poles. They were of a bright alien metal that took in every colour of its surroundings. The “plate” held the majestic metropolis, which looked like diamonds gathered in a cluster of heavenly light. The inhabitants seemed human to the untrained eye., but they had smooth vibrant skin that gave the impression that they were glowing. Their stance was strong and yet at ease showing that they are peace loving, but if war arises they will be swift and vigilant. But it was their eyes that fascinated me the most; Topaz in colour, their eyes were cat-like and gave the impression that they contained knowledge beyond human comprehension. These beings seemed angelic in many ways.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked as we flew towards the largest of the three metropolises.
“You are here on accounts that even we cannot explain.” Said the guard in a calm collected tone.
We landed on one of the many glimmering towers and the guards lead me out of the chrome shuttle and onto a platform which brought us to the only stone structure in the city. The building looked like ivory in the sunlight, and the sun made it almost impossible to stare for too long. This was the house of their lord.
I was awestruck by the beauty of it all. As we entered the structure, I saw fountains on either side of the path we walked down, ornate in structure with exquisite touch for flawless detail. Ivy ran all along the inside wall of the courtyard, and birds and other small animals made home and refuge there. Grass and trees dotted the courtyard framing the white stone paths (or maybe they were marble paths, I couldn’t tell) that crisscrossed the main path. We continued down the main path until we reached a columned entrance which seemed more vibrant than any other part of the structure. The columns led way to an archway where light seemed to introduce guests rather than be one itself.
“Our lord will explain to you why you are here,” said the guard in his peaceful yet righteous tone.
I entered the arpeture not knowing what to expect. The light was blinding to the point where it seemed like a fog. Everything disappeared, it was gone and all I could see was white. I cried out for a response, anything to know that I wasn’t alone.
“Hello,” said a quiet, almost withered voice from behind me.
Startled, I turned around to see an ancient man with wizened blue eyes that put one in a trance.
“Who are you?” I asked abruptly, not knowing what else to say.
He looked at me, smiled and said, “I am who your people call God. You my child have been proven worthy of passing into the Great Beyond. Are you ready to take that journey?”

I am a bird, free at wing.
A spiritual melody I often sing.
Of joy at being Gods creation.
Of sadness in it devastation.

I am a bird, in search of home.
My last one destroyed, and I alone.
On Gods green earth, and its bitter remains.
To see fell trees which once had names.

I am a bird, tired and weary.
Survival is key, but I find it dreary.
I call out to others, but hear no reply.
I see decimation through my eyes.

Homes destroyed structures then built.
By beings who seem to show no guilt.
Of what they destroy or whose lives they take.
They instead turn to gluttony, succumb to greed.
To grow their children of unnatural seed.

Andrew-
Unique, friendly, inquisitive, and creative
Brother of Racheal and Sarah.
Lover of autumn with its crisp air, the sound of a skateboard rolling against pavement, and the sight of dawns early rays.
Who feels joy when at home reading a book, anxiety in large public groups, and discomfort in strife.
Who longs for content, serenity, and independence.
Who fears suffering, hatred, and abandon.
Who would like to see more self-respect, acceptance for one another, and more forgiveness in our world.
Who lives in a small cottage of a house on Fifth Street.
- Morris

Am I dreaming am I here?
The prospect to me is quite unclear.
Is this room an image nothing more?
Is my awakening through that door?
Or does this door lead to stranger things?
All inside my odd themed dream.

Well, here I go, I better be quick!
Never mind, it’s a wall of brick.

With you I’m happy.
No doubt in my life.
Protected from darkness.
Resistant to strife.
- I’m complete

Without you I am naught but a shell.
Though the outside world cannot tell.
From the look in my eyes and upon my face.
How much I long for your warm embrace.
- I’m hollow

Am I here, am I there?

Am I really anywhere?

Do I go left, do I go right?

Is it really worth the fight?

The struggle with my head all day.

Should I just let it go to sway?

Aimlessly all here and about.

Without a single care or doubt.

There is no way, there is no how.

That I could possibly end this now.

The poem that is and not my life.

But I had you going didn’t I?

My mother is a great tree.

With her deep roots and hardy trunk.

She grows ever stronger as she ages.

Enjoying fair weather, while enduring the harsh.

 

She shows acceptance to those who differ from herself.

Allowing the birds and other small woodland creatures.

To nest in her branches, learning and sharing together.

To form a union in which both can benefit.

 

And I the sapling, look up to my mother.

To learn how to grow and become stronger.

To make my roots and accept those who differ from me.

To endure the harsh, and enjoy the fair in my life.

 

I am but a blueprint.

A rough-draft before the final.

Making plans and jotting them down.

As I continue to move on through life.

 

As my life progresses, plans change.

Rough sketches erased to make more detailed work.

And others are simply erased and forgotten.

No longer a part of the final construct.

 

Many marks will be erased, and many redrawn.

Some for better, some for worse.

And through my passing, I the ever-changing blueprint.

Take my final form.

My family is a flower bed.

Full of colour and variety.

My mother, the earth from which we grow.

Being guided by her love.

 

My sister Racheal a daisy.

Although small, she endures.

And brings a simple beauty to life.

 

My sister Sarah, a black iris.

Who through time and perseverance.

Has blossomed into a bold and beautiful presence.

 

And my father, a tomato plant beside the flower bed.

Although the flower is nothing extravagant.

He bears fruit, sustaining life.

 

And I, the sunflower.

Tall and straight, my blossom always facing the sun.

Determined to reach ever higher in life.