Laguna Middle School
2008 Poetry Winners
A single tear drop
A single tear drop is like
an emotion running down your face
A single tear drop is like a
swimming pool with people in it
A single tear drop is like
an apple being eaten
A single tear drop is like a
celebrity wearing something on the red carpet
A single tear drop is
something to be proud of
A single tear drop comes
when you are accepting an award
— Jessica Glen
Amputation
The surgery was beginning
And I knew it would be
painful,
Due to the lack of
anesthetics.
My limb was rotten through,
And there was no chance of
saving it.
I would have to let it go.
Crash!
The sound soared down the
street
As the tree’s limb fell to
the ground.
— Christy Hack
Consider This
Consider this,
Your life could be over,
At any moment.
Never knowing
When that time will be.
Now consider this,
When your life is over,
You can’t get it back.
But, consider this.
If you do everything you can
To do the right thing in
this life
Then, maybe
You might leave in peace.
Consider this,
Your life is over.
How did you treat others?
Were you respectful and
loving?
Or were you rude and
hateful?
While you consider all of
this,
Why not choose to do the
right things?
Because,
When your life is over,
You can’t turn back the
clock.
Consider it.
--Kendra Williams
Hidden Change
Hiding the truth is what
many people do,
But they soon discover that
it would’ve been better
Just to tell the world.
Like a flower, when it
begins to die.
It tries to stay upright,
but soon begins wilting.
Or a pencil, which has
become so short,
It cannot write anymore.
In the world, everything
fails.
Rain, machines, clothes and
people.
But they are soon lifted
into something new,
Something different,
something better.
People are afraid of change,
of death,
Not realizing the wonders
that lie ahead.
— Hannah Neuenhofer
If All Were Special
“Everyone is special”
Said my mother when I was
small
This made me think
Ponder
Contemplate
Wonder about
Special means different
Individual
Unique
Above the rest
So if all were special
Then all would be average
Normal
Mediocre
The same
And who would be special
then?
— Lauren Harper
I’m lost; you’ve searched
and I cannot be found
The great length between us
keeps us apart
My love for you is buried
underground
For I’m already broken in
the heart
Can no longer feel your
soft-spoken kiss
Against my delicate rosy
pink cheeks
When the moon falls the
sunrise will be bliss
We should be surrounded by
mountain peaks
Instead we are far and you
not with me
Gives me freedom through the
wide open door
For eternity we’ll always be
free
Like eagles in the sky that
love to soar
You’ve chosen the right path
and paid your cost
I love you, you found me
when I was lost
— Amelia Drabinski
Life Without Risk
What is life without risk?
Without ever taking chances?
Always being cautious,
And always taking backwards
glances?
If you’re always looking
back,
Instead of focusing on right
now,
You won’t know what you can
do,
And you won’t know how.
So today we break free of
caution,
And leave the sad, sad, sad
world behind.
Not to worry about anything,
Except creating a carefree
mind.
— Bridget Devaney
Ode to the seekers
yes to the seekers
yes to the finders
for to them the world is
given
yes to the curious
yes to the lookers
for they shall understand
the world
let them look
let them see
hide not from them life’s
mysteries
let them wonder
let them dream
of all they can achieve
then
when they see
they will make the world all
that it can be
yes to the seekers
yes to the finders
for they shall change the
world
— Michaela Keil
Secret Untold
You never see it coming
It just hits you out of the blue
All of a sudden you feel yourself tumbling
And you know the feeling is true
All of your worries disappear
Time has slowed down to a stop
But now everything is unclear
And your head is a spinning top
You want to scream SOS
You feel completely confused
You feel as though you are a total mess
Other times you are amused
You quickly steal a glance
And look back with a lingering eye
Instantaneously slipping into a trance
And let out a sweet sigh
Before you know it eyes peer back at you
And you quickly look away
You get a sudden sense of déjá vu
Like you did the day before today
You search through your head for something to say
When noting comes out
You just stare in dismay
Emotions shooting through your head
Completely confused but curious
You run away with pure dread
You feel as though your are becoming delirious
And there you are again
Staring into space
And you begin
To think of nothing but a face
Your breath has been taken away
You feel weightless and light
Everything is going your way
Because it’s love at first sight
—
Nadia Sprehe
Quiche
What is quiche?
Do you put it on a leash?
Is it bloated full of
grease?
What is quiche?
Is it a comb or a garden
gnome?
Does it wear fleece?
Is it a designer jacket or a
tennis racket?
What is quiche?
Or... Is it for lease?
Is it brown, green, red,
orange?
...no?
So the real question is,
“Sheesh, what is quiche?”
— Matthew Teel
Some destroy
It seems that no matter what
beauty’s created
No matter the value, it
seems to be fated
To be destroyed without
honor or respect
No matter the artistry we
erect
Noting is immune to the
strength of destroyers
The sowers plant, nurture,
and care for,
They plant the seed of life
that the world can adore
The reaper denies the
creation animation
To what gain!? To satisfy
your appetition?
Nothing is immune to the
strength of destroyers
The hate in everyone tempts
you to heed your greed
The weak submit, opposed to
seeing others succeed.
They can never see what
success truly is
They will only know what
destroying is
Nothing is immune to the
strength of destroyers
— Seamus Land
The Fruit Bowl of Personalities
I look upon the fruit bowl and see
So many personalities arising
And I think how can this be?
And with more thought, it is no longer surprising
The banana with its slick color
Its shape so like a silly grin
Its peel is a thin protective skin
The skin tries its bet to defend itself from the harmfulness of this world
And the banana is shy as away from people it is curled.
As much as the skin tries
Bruises occur and with the peel they’re disguised
The apple has barely any skin at all
And its red color is fierce and bold
It puts itself out there, rolling around in a ball
And gets easily bruised but behold
The apple is short and stout, and with its stem tries to make itself tall
And gets hurt when it takes a roll or a fall
The lemon is protected with its rough coat
Which can easily be pierced through
On the outside, they feel both soft and rough, it’s true
And when reached on the inside
It is sour, bitter and when mixed with sugar, purely sweet
But what isn’t when with sugar they meet?
The watermelon is what I wish to be
On the outside, a thick rind, strong, powerful, you can see
On the inside the color reveals a hint of red mixed to make a softer tone
And from a seed it has grown
Inside lay seeds, making it act very parental and sweet
It is well rounded as it is sweet and powerful, the best type of person to meet
The banana with its shyness and silly side
The apple, fierce and easily hurt
The lemon’s sourness; with its soft coat it tries to hide
And the watermelon kind and strong
Now I am at the fruit bowl, which one to choose
I’ve been here all day long!
—Shannon Peters
The Ghost Light
The lights go out
the shadows fall
the theatre is dark
from wall to wall
The seats are empty
the stage is black
costumes hang motionless
from each and every rack
Lost sequins littered on the stage
glitter quietly; small and bright
illuminated dimly by
the ghost light
After the actors have gone
an eerie blue glow
still lingers sadly
after the end of the show
The music notes have faded
the proud sets still stand
with might
casting broad shadows, chased
away
sadly by the ghost light
When the applause has
died
and the final bow has
been taken
and the doors have
finally closed
then the ever-looming
force awakens
The stage is flooded with
the melancholy glow
with a flicker and dim that
is ever so slight
the magnificent theatre has
now fallen to a hush
illuminated solely by the
ghost light...
— Caroline Hoskins
The PERFECT Place
If only there were a perfect
place
Where lilies grow
Six
Feet
High
Up
A place where you can bounce and
on the bed FOREVER
Down
A place where you can wake
up at noon
And go to sleep at 4 a.m.
A place where there are pink
and purple flowers in every place you
looked
A place where whenever you
look up you see a clear blue sky with one
beautiful cloud in the sky
And tall palm trees and
evergreens where you can climb and take a nap
for hours
A place where kids can run
around and parents won’t have to worry
A place where no one had to
worry about global warming to locking
their doors at night
A place where everyone one
was free to do what they wanted and still
respected everyone
A place that I like to call
“The PERFECT Place”
— Madi Waiters
The Symphony Wind
The wind sounds like a
symphony whistling
through my ears.
At first it is a soft
melody,
Flutes and violins
serenading me to sleep.
All of a sudden, the sweet
melody comes
to a close.
A new tune builds, sounding
like drums
pounding faster and faster.
I sit up in my bed, worried:
I wonder, “Will I wake up in
Kansas?”
I dive under my covers with
fear.
The drums die out, replaced
by, first the
woodwinds, then strings,
Led by one single triangle that
can barely
be heard.
The wind calms down as I
ease back out
from under my covers.
As I fall asleep, I will
always remember
the symphony wind.
— Katie Miller
The Blind Man Can See Better Than Most
The blind man can see better
than most
He can’t see someone’s face,
but he can see the smile.
He can’t see their eyes,
but he can see the tears.
He can’t see their heart,
but he can see their love
and hatred.
He can’t see them flinch,
but he can see their
discomfort.
He can’t see their head
turn,
but he can see their
rejection.
He can’t see their tongue,
but can see the message.
The blind man can see better
than most.
— Tori Troesch
Together
Music is like a story,
it has a beginning,
it has an end.
You run along the words
hipping and hoping, sitting
and thinking
all the way to the end.
You know that the climax is
coming,
it gets you in the softest
spot.
Your foot is dancing and
your brain is thumping.
It’s almost over.
The last sentence,
the last chord,
your last breath,
till the plunge of silence.
— Casey Blauer
(untitled)
The most conspicuous emotion
is born at the lips,
much like a rose.
New and healthy, both of a
soft red hue.
While one is received as a
gift,
the other commonly offers
one.
Both can convey a feeling
while one often in excess,
the other at a simple
glance.
Smooth as silk, and soft as
velvet
both grant a delicate touch
great pleasure.
Between folds of petals dark
shadows lurk,
behind closed lips, secrets
left untold.
Each concealing more than
meets the eye,
each beholding something
rarely found.
— Sara Infante