going on in our world today which is really sad. It goes to show that we are still fighting for the rights we should have earned years ago. I believe By Lizzy Walklet I believe that grass isn’t always greener on the other side. That smiling at someone can change their day for the better. I believe that nature can heal the soul. I believe that everyone brings something to the table. That a good song can completely change your mood. That everyone deserves to be happy, no matter size, shape, or color. I believe that the earth deserves better. That climate change shouldn’t be a politic because it affects us all. I believe we have a chance to change our ways. I believe we will get through this hardship. That being there for eachother can make even the hardest things easy. I believe that this entire situation has made people realize how good we had it and to cherish even the smallest things in life. The sunshine, a good dinner from your favorite restaurant, a hug from your dearest friend. I chose this piece because it helps remind me what is good. When I reread it I get to see how I was feeling at that very moment and what came to my head when asked “what do you believe in”.That question to me could mean a different thing to me every day. It’s a view into my thoughts as well as to the things I hold dearly. The way my parents raised me is reflected in this piece of writing. The countless hours they took me and my sister out into nature to learn how to appreciate the simple beauties of life. It shows they taught me that everyone can contribute to make something great. How they taught me how to appreciate art and music. I feel as though this piece of writing represents me very well.
I am from Written by Madison Bauer I am from lemonade stands sitting in front of white picket fences, from pancakes and apple crisp I am from the green rusty truck, that sits behind our garage hidden, peeling with a Jeff Gordon sticker I am the sunflowers grown against the garage wall and the sunflower painting in the hall. I’m from the red book, from loud secrets spoken in a German tongue I can’t understand I’m from left hand writers and sleeping late on Sundays I’m from short genes Germany,spaetzle and goulash Raised in an old stone house Pieces of me lay in Kansas Far in distance but close in the heart from bookshelves and hugs Most of all, I am from love. I chose this poem because it so perfectly describes my family. Bits and pieces of this poem put together a giant mosaic of my life. During the school year I took a family vacation to Kansas, and my grandma peaked at my notebook and found this written. She brought it to us all sitting around a couch and each family member passed it around and wiped tears from their cheeks. This is my happiest memory of that trip and I’m grateful for this assignment for it to have happened!
The End. By: Avery Morrell I would say you can see the light in our eyes, but our smiles are so big you can't see into our eyes. Nothing about this day was different when we took this picture. It was a Friday morning, the sun was still hidden behind the clouds. Out of the frame, the rest of our friends were enjoying our regular first-period study hall. Coffee cups all over the table as usual. We didn't know that morning that the course of our senior year would change so dramatically in just a few hours, if we did, we might not have been smiling so big. Maybe we did know a little bit, something in the back of our minds knew it felt different. And I ended up with many more pictures on my phone that day then I would have on a normal Friday. I have hope still, that that was not the end. That we'll all go back and have a few more study halls where we sit around taking pictures and drinking a little more coffee than we should. But if that was the end. I'm glad that my memory of that day wasn't stressful and foggy, but clearly full of joy and smiles.
This piece I wrote for the ‘What is in a photo?’ assignment. I chose to share this because although this is something very specific to me and Nina I think it’s also something everyone else can relate to at least a little bit. And although this maybe didn’t age so gracefully, looking back at it does remind me of just a few months ago when many of us still had a tiny bit of hope holding on and really thought there was a chance of going back to see each other again. Even though this year didn’t end remotely like we hoped it would, we all still have so many memories of our senior year that will last a lifetime. Suffering By Salvatore Somma Suffering is a man in pain. Whether it’s his fatigue throughout the day, his regrets tormenting him endlessly, or the conflicts deep within his soul. His greatest demons, one might ask, are those of the mind. Those phantoms, ghosts, and spectres deep within him, whispering in the night. His past, how he’s been passed up at work over and over again, how his girlfriend, the love of his life, left him, how his friends treat him as if he were a fool. His present, how he’s forced to work day after day at a job that holds him back, how he wastes his time in excess. His future, how he needlessly worries, even though he knows God will provide. Time plays a game with suffering. It surrounds him, suffocating him to the point of death. Almost. Time lets him breathe for a moment, giving him hope, then wraps his hands around his neck for the millionth time. Time knows one day his control will fade. But, for the moment, he enjoys every moment. Suffering’s sea, filled with worries, regrets, and torment, constantly crashes its waves against him, as he lies in the sand, in the pitch black of night. Motionless. Blind. Hopeless. Suffering has always had to live in darkness. He can’t run. He can’t escape. It will not end.
But then, for the first time, he has a thought, and the sky begins to change. Rays of light begin to scrape the night sky. Slowly, he sees an outline of light. He can’t see the entire sun, nor does he know what it is, but he wants to know. He yearns to know. His very soul aches to know. So, he looks around himself. He goes into the rainforest, the hot, muggy, insect-infested forest, and finds an old boat. It’s almost as if it’s been sitting there for many, many years, waiting for him to find it. He takes it back to the shore, patches it up, and goes off toward the horizon. He wants to know what the sun is. The light has pierced through his spectres, Time has finally lost his grip and his sea of suffering keeps him afloat. His eyes are open. He finally has hope. He knows his purpose. I particularly liked this piece that I wrote on suffering because, in this age, suffering is seen as this unexplainable force. There’s no rhyme or reason to all the evils that happen in our lives. I liked this piece because, through it’s symbolic nature, it tries to emphasise that, through the suffering of the world, can grow the greatest of goods. Through our torment, we may build a better and brighter world. It’s difficult to fathom, but our suffering has purpose. The Just Reward - by: Michael Colarte She hung her head, her eyes fixed on the crack in the sidewalk. If only there were a different route home, she would take it. If Poppa were there, things would be different. He would protect her at any cost. He would see to it that they stopped teasing her and be sure that they learned a good lesson along with it. Everyday at 3:20 PM, when school let out was when she felt
his absence most, because everyday at 3:20 PM was when they caught up to her on Murray Street no matter how quickly she hurried home. Shamus began. “There she is fellas, Voiceless Violet! Come on, sweetie. Say somethin’...tell us where it is? Where’d your father leave your prize? What was he doing up in those mountains anyway?” His voice was gravelly and turned her stomach. Shamus Deringer was the Draco Malfoy of Turner’s Grove. He was the stereotypical rich kid; poor manners, bad parenting and a foul mouth. She would never tell them where the last thing Poppa ever gave her was hidden. In fact, she didn't even know what it was, just it’s location. It was clearly marked on a slip of paper they had found in his pocket the night of the crash. She carried it in her brown leather crossbody bag. Violet’s mother had made the mistake of telling Marietta Deringer who, of course, told her big mouth bully of a son. “Probably robbed a bank again and needed to hide the evidence.” Quentin chimed in. He was the quintessential follower. The words he said were borrowed, not owned. Quite hypocritical that he should tease Violet for her speechlessness. Remi laughed but looked around nervously. He knew his momma would scold him good if she knew what he was up to. He was good inside, and Violet knew it, but he was weak was all. “Just like a criminal to have owned a fancy motorcycle when he can’t pay his bills. No money in his pocket, but a rap sheet ten miles long. But we know he had something worth burying the day he died in the wreck, don’t we? Must’ve been desperate to hide it if he took that bike out in the rain.”
Violet dug deep down into the pit of herself, but once again the words wouldn’t come. She would tell them off if she could find them. She hadn’t heard her own voice since the day Poppa died. Doctor Davis diagnosed her as a selective mute, took his money for the office visit and bid them farewell. Six months later and not a peep, no matter how hard she tried. Here she was needing Poppa more than ever. He would know how to get rid of them, how to fix this continuous problem, how to see to it that they didn’t pick on her. He might not have always been good at following the law, but he was always good with people. He knew how to read ‘em, how to predict ‘em and how to fix ‘em. ************************** The next day was just the same. The school bell rang at 3:20 PM and although Violet made her best effort to ditch them, the trio caught up with her before long. “I have had about enough, Voiceless Violet. How’s about you hand over the bag and me and my boys can help you dig up whatever junk your dead father left you?” sneered Shamus. Quentin and Remi shook their heads in agreement. “If it’s cash, we’ll give you your ten percent so that you can buy yourself a decent dress and help your poor widow of a mom feed her family.” Violet rolled her eyes, quickened her pace and tried to ignore them as best as she could. “Don’t roll your eyes at me, girl,” Shamus shouted, and he grabbed the worn leather bag that held the only momento her father had left behind. Violet attempted to snatch it back, but Quentin shoved her by her shoulders and she landed in the dry dirt, flat on her back and disoriented. She came to her senses, scrambled to her feet and began to chase them, but it was no use, they were around the corner and out of sight. Violet heard her own voice for the first time in
six months as she began to sob uncontrollably. “Where was Poppa?” she thought. “He would know how to fix ‘em.” They wasted no time. That night they met in Remi’s attic to plan their treasure hunt. They would skip school and leave in the early morning. Shamus’ row boat was already tied up down by the lake at the edge of Turner’s Grove. It was the fastest way to get to Rider’s Mountain. At first light they met at the water's edge, and made a fire. They carefully went over their plan and mapped out their journey. It was time to claim their just reward. Across the lake they rowed and up the side of the mountain they trudged, all the while speculating about what Violet’s “loser of a dad” had left for them. “Sure was nice of him to remember us in his last will and testament!” Shamus snickered. Quentin and Remi laughed on cue and followed Shamus like puppy dogs up the steep terrain. When they reached the summit, there was a small clearing. Built into the earth was a circular metal disc like that of a sewer plate cover. The top was engraved, “One Last Gift For My Violet”. The plate was propped, making it easy for the three boys to look inside. They could see a large hollowed out space. It was clear that the gift for Violet was deep inside. One by one they slipped in and made their way down a dark, damp cramped corridor. Once they were all in, the clanging of the sewer plate deafened them. “We’re trapped!” yelled Shamus as the space went black. Poppa knew how to fix ‘em alright…
I chose my “Five Image Story” because I consider it one of my better pieces of writing. It was a fun assignment because the pictures could be interpreted completely differently. I enjoyed getting creative with it. The Importance of Places By: Samiya Watkins Two places that hold a special place in my life are my dance school and the playground near my house that I basically grew up on. In both of these places I have met some of my best friends and made lifelong connections with plenty of people. At the park, my friends and I would stay out until dark playing games, talking, having bonfires etc. We would play very intense games of manhunt as well. Being outside all the time helped us bond and become somewhat of a family unit. We even acted as cousins and publicly claimed that we were related no matter race or skin color.We made up cheers for our “neighborhood cheerleading team” and had sleepovers, and block parties. The playground itself had two slides, monkey bars, and swings where MANY accidents occurred. We hashed out our differences and made up at this very park. From sunrise to sunset there were a bunch of kids just being kids. No phones, no IPads, we only had outside. Likewise, at my dance school I have met some of the best people and I am lucky enough to have found one of my best friends while dancing at Newburgh Performing Arts Academy. After countless dance competitions, trips, and the fact that we see each other every week, my dance team and I have formed a sisterhood that I am so grateful to have. I know that if I ever needed anything, my team would be there
for me no matter what. I have known most of them since I was in fifth grade so we basically grew up together. We have been through ups and downs, but I know that we will always have each other’s backs through thick or thin. In my neighborhood however, I don’t talk to any of the friends that I had when I was younger. We have all basically lost touch with each other. I haven’t talked to most of them in years and the only thing that truly connects us are the memories we shared in our childhood. I stopped going to the park around the sixth grade whereas I continue to attend my dance school to this day. I have danced there for about eight years and I couldn’t imagine dancing anywhere else. These places hold a special place in my heart because I have learned so many lessons and they were both a part of shaping who I am today. I have faced many obstacles at both of these places that taught me about life and I will always remember the memories that were made at these places. I chose this piece because it showed how important these places are to me. They both hold so many memories and especially during these times, I often find myself looking back on the memories I had in both these places. I haven't been to dance since March and I miss my second home and family. I couldn’t spend my last year of dance with them and I couldn't be more upset. I also miss the outside and having a normal day out with my friends. I love that I wrote about these 2 places because I look back and realize that I took them for granted.
Love By: James Byrne Love cannot be summed up with one word, or even a paragraph. Love is not man made, it's natural, a natural feeling that can come in the form of a warm confusing hug, or someone holding a door open for you. Love is not something that can be found but something you experience. Above all love is subjective; we all experience it differently and there's no one definition that fits it. It's meaning and importance changes with the changing times, along with societies' interpretation of it. For example, in the poem \"To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time\" Robert Herrick believed that love is something that changes with time. He believed while we are young we have energy, which is when love is strongest. In the text Herrick states \"Then not be coy, but use your time,. . .For having lost once your prime, you may forever tarry.\" This shows that Herrick had a firm ideology on the meaning of love, that it's best when young. However, as time went on the definition of love has changed. Shakespeare also had an interesting interpretation of love. He believed that love wasn't perfect and is not something that could be tainted by comparing it to a false reality. In his poem \"My mistress eyes are nothing like the sun\" This can be seen in the text as stated \"I love to hear her speak, yet well I know music hath a far more pleasing sound\" This sentence in general embodies his idea of love. It's not materialistic or something you see, but it's how you feel and the way you feel it. Love is illusion, everyone sees it differently, but the way it makes each person feel is unique to that individual. I chose this specific piece of writing because it shows how important we all are to each other. Due to COVID we have had to adapt to changes that changed the daily routine of our everyday lives. This poem shows that with love and support we can accomplish anything the world throws at us. Together.
Emotions By: Keely Huling I used to think the moon followed me around. It doesn’t. I was never that special. However, something does trail behind me constantly. Pain has a GPS tracker on you, No matter where you go, he finds you. Pain grasps you like a leech to skin, and doesn’t let go until another thing clouds your mind. Pain is a dragonfly, Hovering above your head unmoving until you pay attention to it. Pain says “see you later!”, And that’s when it hits you the hardest. Happiness always radiates life. She never worries who’s watching her She never worries who’s leaving her She doesn’t listen to who’s judging her And she n ever lets it seep into her soul because she has an inner confidence. I wish to be like Happiness. However, I forgive myself. I forgive myself for pining over Happiness’ life. I forgive myself for avenging murder on Pain. And I forgive myself for ever thinking I was never that special. Now I know the truth.
I am that special. I don’t need to be Happiness to love life I don’t need to let Pain control me However, I acknowledge these emotions, because they make me who I am, And without them, I am Emotionless. Pain and Happiness smell fear Once they hear your trembling steps, they follow you and force you to be a clone of them However, y ou c ontrol your emotions, and you tell t hem what you're feeling today, whether you’re going to let them in today, and never the other way around Happiness isn’t always the best friend you want to be around, because sometimes friends make you mad. And Pain isn’t always the stove you forgot you left on, because sometimes you catch yourself and don’t get burned. There will always be that person that you don’t quite get along with. However, If you never start a conversation with Happiness or Pain, Are you really living? Or just existing? The purpose of this writing piece was to delve deeper into myself and thoughts. As I wrote this I felt like I learned quite a lot about myself, and it gave me a chance to just sit and think about m yself, and not anyone else, for a while. It was quite nice.
When I wrote this piece, it was for young girls and boys that have the insecure feelings that growing causes. Growing up is hard, and learning things that you like about yourself just makes it so much easier. When I was younger my mom used to tell me that I shouldn’t care about what other people’s opinions were about me because God sees me as special and that’s all that mattered. But when you’re 10, 11, 12, that just was simply not enough. Loving yourself is a hard and drawn out process. But, if you learn it young, it comes from within and your years of life are so much more enjoyable :) I want that for all of the children in the world, and that’s w hy I wrote this piece. DEVV’S WORLD By: Leah Carter August 27, 2011: I woke up. Disney Jr was on. I heard whispers downstairs so I looked over the ledge and my Mom saw me. One of her friends came upstairs and told me to lay back down. That's when I knew something was wrong, but I was 8 then... I forgot about the feeling, that bad feeling. It’s like when the teacher gives a pop quiz. My mom and her friend left the house. My Grandparents were watching me and my four siblings. We called my Mom to ask if we could make pancakes. She said yes. We were so excited. After we made the pancakes, people came to my house: family-friends and family. So I said, “We should make more pancakes!” My Nana came downstairs crying. When I asked her what was wrong, she said that she was fine, then my sisters came down stairs crying too and I just kept asking what was wrong and nobody answered me. Noel came to me and said that my parents wanted me to go inside my Mom’s closet to
talk; I asked if I was in trouble and my Mom said no, but her eyes were puffy like she was crying and my Dad who usually talks a lot was very quiet and I was very confused. My Mom told me to sit on the floor and said “Leah, your brother was driving home and he got into an accident and he………..” Before she could finish, I started crying and screaming. I was mad and sad at the same time. I wanted to hear his voice again and see him laughing or something. I knew that I would never see him again and that hurt me, physically hurt me. Then my cousin Tafari came into the room crying and I ran to him, I needed a hug. He asked me “He’s really gone?” and I said “Yes” and started crying more. After I calmed down, my Mom told me not to tell my two other brothers and to try not to cry in front of them. I said ok but before I left, I asked her, “Was he coming home? Was he gonna come home and stay with us?” She said “Yes.” I felt a little better knowing that he was on his way home to see us from college and when he came to visit I didn’t see him. I went downstairs and there were more people and some Edible Arrangements on the table. I saw my brothers’ best friend and he looked torn up. I went to him and said “it's not your fault. You couldn't have done anything to prevent this from happening.” I gave him a hug and walked away. For days people stayed at our house. A week after he was gone, we had the funeral. I remember before they buried him, I said I wanted to see him and they opened the casket. I could see how peaceful he was. I threw a rose in the coffin and stepped back. On our way back home, there were police on motorcycles leading the car and the highway was shut down; I think they did this for my brother. One of my brother’s friends
wrote a song for him: L ift Off, by Mel Blake. I was so happy that many people loved him that much. Through that week I learned a lot about life - the part that shows how unfair it is. When I was 8, I lost my big brother Devon Christian Amos Johnson-Carter. He wasn't there when I got my first job, when I'll get my driver’s license and graduate from high school. That hurts but what helps me get through this is knowing that I have my family with their pancakes and edible arrangements. Devon is in a better place; he is ok now and at peace. I choose to share this because this was something that i had been wanting to write about for years but i could find the right words to. After I wrote this it made me feel so much better, like a weight was lifted off my shoulders. Throughout the years I feel like I have grown and I have learned about myself and what I stand for. I Believe - Charles Quinn I believe that crushed ice can improve any beverage In a way that regular ice cubes can not I believe that any weather is good weather for ice cream But that warm summer nights are the best for it I believe that New York is the coolest state And that I’d feel the same way about it even if I lived somewhere else I believe that all chairs should have wheels (Except for rocking chairs) Anything else is just wasted potential.
I believe that red grapes are far better than green ones And that anyone who disagrees can’t be trusted I believe that I haven’t already heard the funniest joke I will ever hear Or the song that will be my all time favorite I am convinced that I am going to see some truly amazing things And they’re just right around the corner I chose to share my “Things I Strongly Believe In” poem because I had a good time working on it and had even more fun reading everyone else’s creative and personal submissions. I thought the entire unit on poetry was pretty interesting but I think this assignment in particular will be what I best remember the course and class by. Thank you for being you. Thank you for your beautiful thoughts and your contribution to this class. I wish you nothing but the very best!
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