Category: 08th

I am from the heat
From the warm and hot days of summer
I am from staying Indoors all day
(fan on max speed
Trying to stay cool)
I am from good cooks
And food
With smells that fill the whole house
And waiting till it’s put on my plate.

* I am from hot wings and smoked ribs
From cookies and cake
I am from the “you’re so smart”
And the “my little book worm”
From be quiet and speak up
I’m from the family who laughs,
has a good time,
And smiles when we are together

I’m from New York and California
Pizza and BBQ
From the fur of the rabbit
Who I won at the county fair
From the grip of shiny metal
From the last call of my grandpa
As my dad flew to New York.
These are the thing of
Where I’m from

inspired by George Ella Lyon’s “where I’m from”

---

Small Middle School

8

I heard a cry, a call for help.
Running into the woods
I saw no one.
I heard it again, “Someone help me!”
Anxious to find out what was going on,
I took off running.
Behind thorn bushes and through the trees,
I came upon a path.
I followed the path, running, my brain swarming with thoughts.
I had to keep going.
Something felt unusual.
“Help me!” I heard again.
I stopped.
I spun around, my eyes exploring, but there was nothing to see.
I was alone in the dark on an ended path and it was just me.
Am I going crazy? Is there something wrong?
I still faintly heard the voice.
It sounded like it was coming from behind me, I turned,
But nothing there.
Suddenly I realized that I was the one crying for help.
This was the voice in my head.
The person calling for help was me.

---

St. Mark Lutheran School

8

Let’s raise our glass
To another awesome year
A year full of laughter
And even a few tears.

We’ve accomplished so many things
At home or maybe in school we bring
Good knowledge, information
Respect, and discipline.

Sharing what we know and have
To the less unfortunate
Made our lives lighter and happier
While others survive and do not suffer.

So cheers to 2019
With a new hope and a new beginning
May all be blessed with peace and good health,
And love, joy, and prosperity be held!

---

Gorzycki

8

Why do you tear the pages
of my history books?
Cherry picking
But they taste sour
They’ve been left on the tree
Too long

Why do you cut and paste
a picture you
want me to see?
Something’s off
The edges don’t line up

Why do you tear the pages
of my history books?
The past is a self-portrait
but you can’t paint it
and it’s too late
to white it out

The holes you’ve made
with your pencil pressure
They’re tearing
Like a careless child eager to cover up its mistakes
What have you done?
I can hardly read anymore

You can try to hide
the things
you don’t want us
to see

But if history repeats itself
you’ve scratched
the record
and no one can agree
on how the song goes

I’d like to dance to it again
I want to cheer and sing along
You want me to

But I also want to cry
at the sad parts
Scream
at the mistakes
I want to remember the past
so more of the tears are
bittersweet
and loving

---

Ann Richards School for Young Women Leaders

8

Pick up a pencil,
let’s create together,
Color our world,
let’s go on an adventure

Paint over the
Black, white and faded grays,
We’re going to make
a new world today

Turn the dull colors
into bright shades and hues,
Fall in love,
with the beautiful views

So, pick up a paintbrush,
and come paint with me,
Together, we can
create a masterpiece

---

Pearson Ranch Middle School

8

There are times
When the waves
Are made of anger.
They tear up the sea
With each crashing
Stroke and die down
Only when the storms
Of frustration leave.
Then they become
Calm and satisfied
And the waves
Can carry and support
The people who need them
But at any moment
They swell with joy
Or fall with rage
Or sway with sadness.
We have
An ocean
Inside us.

---

Fulmore

8th

I sit in a graveyard of memories disguised as a deserted playground
And watch the small field of grass, all patchy green-and-gold,
The blades sway in the late-night wind like lovers dancing to a slow song
And somehow I am nostalgic for my own life,
For days that I can never relive,
The ones I spent running beneath this very same moon;
Somehow it’s a different moon now
With a colder light, and harsher edges.
Beneath me are white pebbles that my smaller hands once sifted through
Searching for something alongside her hands,
Pale and dotted with orange freckles.
It mattered that much, when our hands were that small.
Above me is the sky; it seems as though someone
Has forgotten to tell the stars to come out so
I can only see a streetlamp
And the faint light of the moon.
It creaks loudly when one swings; it interrupts the serenity of the night.
She never cared about that, I remember.
She’d join me and my swing would croak like a tired old man
And hers would wheeze in high-pitched protest, and we’d become
A swingset symphony of two.
I walk to the swings in a trance;
As years wear on, memories fade like a picture taken long agai.
Not tonight, though.
Tonight, the strange combination of moonlight and memory
Create technicolor shadows that dance across the ground;
Shades of pink and blue I’ve never seen before.
Or maybe I have, when the picture was still vibrant with color.
So I sit.
I remember how to work my legs, up and down, up and down,
Old memories running into new ones
like the colors of the shadows as they intersect.
And I fly, and the swing creaks–
A swingset symphony of one.

---

Fulmore

8th

Do you remember those days?
Because I do
When we wore those cheap knockoff Converse shoes
And we ate the seeds out of green beans like foragers
The backyard was the ocean and we were its voyagers?

Do you remember the day we all looked up
And watched the eclipse through the cereal box
And we’d try to stay up but we’d fall right asleep
And we walked through the park and into the creek?

Do you remember the days that we ran in the rain
And baked brownies that burned and wrote comics and sang
All out of tune with your old CD player
Laid Celeste in the yard, buried layer by layer?

Do you remember the days that we ruled over kingdoms
Together in worlds that were all our own
We’d leave food for fairies
Defeat adversaries
And walk hand-in-hand back home?

Do you remember those days?
Because I do
And do you think someday we’ll look back and rue
The day that we left it all behind
And traded our fairies for humankind?

---

Fulmore

8th

I sat on my couch
With a heavy, long sigh
And reached for the remote
On a table nearby.

With the click of a button
& blinding white light
The TV turned on
& prepared for a long night.

A bold red “N” on the screen
Then my name appeared
Under a menu with thousands of shows
That offered entertainment for years.

I began to scroll through
The shows that were shown
Everyone I had seen
At least once or twice though.

My clicks became desperate
Eyes searching like hawks
To find one show
That I had not watched.

With every new show that I found
My brain just said
“It’s probably not good,
You’re better off just going to bed.”

With a sigh of defeat
I turned off all the lights
My thirst unquenched
Just like every late night.

---

Fulmore

8th

People are like seeds–
We may take awhile to blossom and grow,
But all we need is a little loving here and there
You never know what flow may pop up,
So many unique blooms,
From roses to sunflowers to tulips
And it’s the same way with people,
So much diversity,
Such culture, morals and personality.
Everyone is beautiful in some way,
All we need is a little loving here and there
To blossom into the people we will become.