Author: DaylanP

My Family is a Closet

My family is a closet. My dad is like jeans, sturdy and able to get through hard times. My mom is a t-shirt, flexible and loose. My brothers are socks, because like socks they stick together (but sometimes they stink). I am a hat or jacket, protecting from cold, heat or rain. The name Petershagen is like shoes, so many different types but with one defining quality: we support the wearer.

Gorzycki

6

Summer School

Today is school
School in Japan

Quiet and Peaceful
Like you’re at a library

Old and beautiful
different from America

We wear sneakers in school
They don’t

We eat in the Cafeteria
They don’t

We bring lunchboxes
They don’t

We go to school in vehicles
They don’t

We have friends
And they do too

Gorzycki Middle School

6

Crystal Eyes

your eyes shine like the stars above you
they sparkle like a thousand diamonds gleam
colors shift between shades as the winds blew
shining lights echo from every dream

blind to the changing world around us all
as i gaze upon your heavens gemstones
can you catch me when we finally fall
falling in your gems endless ocean tones

but the dark clouds start to conceal the light
hiding the precious stones from my gaze
you become hidden from my searching sight
stolen from me into a hidden blaze

as the winds change my sight will never shift
but the winds will never cause us to drift

Bowie High School

9

The last day

Was march 25, 1911
Parents dropping off their daughters at work
Not knowing that will be the last time they’ll see each other
A waist basket went up in flames
Then one after another the building blew up in flames

Shivering screams were heard far and wide
As women and children jumped out
Fire trucks wailed their sirens
As they tried to help
Six of the 146 were not identified

Years later, happiness enters the air
Names were read of all who died
All 146 were identified
No one was not recognized
It was a tragedy with a smile

Those Cobblestone Streets

The aged cobblestone streets whisper
with the sounds of
feet shuffling in every direction
Joy radiates
as flowers bound from buildings,
Spreading alluring colors.
The cobblestones were assembled with a memory of centuries past,
As if the city was attempting to grasp onto every last bit
of the country’s violent history.
The statues were discolored with the rebellious remains of those from wars of former times.
Frozen with the faces of determination and independence,
Marked with the bullet holes of those who lost their lives to the cause,
Of independence.
And now, today,
The air is contagious with blissful euphoria
the city beamed with the sounds of talented street performers.
The bright green blades of grass peaked in between the bricks of the streets,
As if playing a great game of hide and seek.

I Don’t Know What to Write!

I don’t know what to write,
I think I might stay up all night!

Should I write about a lair or,
Or about a chair?

Should I write about Ginger Ale,
Or about a folktale?

I don’t know what to write,
I’m thinking with all my might!

My pencil is out of lead,
I think I might write in red.

I can’t find my red pencil,
I have another writing utensil.

I still don’t know what to write,
I’m still thinking with all my might!

Gorzycki Middle School

6th