Ms. Widman
High School Creative Writing
This week the Viking writers read Brigit Pegeen Kelly’s “The Leaving.” We brainstormed our own accomplishments and goals for the future. The young poets were then tasked with writing an epic poem in their own voice that describes achieving a goal. I am so proud to publish the poets below!
“She Spoke!” by Meagan C.
Oh how it felt when it was heavy
the eclipse colored casket
glistening in the moon.
She spoke! She spoke!
It was as if 10 boulders fell out
the casket turning to a mineral ice shade
finally letting light back into her lie.
As a 17 or 8 years old, doesn’t matter.
Opening back up to chapter 8
where no light goes through
finally closing it, the tears
tears escaping the pages.
She is finally at rest.
She didn’t do it in chapter 8,
it doesn’t matter, in chapter 15
she did it.
“Gray” by Amelia S.
It’s black or white.
Us or them.
Right or wrong.
This or that.
Good or bad.
But sometimes,
us starts to look like them.
Black and white become
a smoke gray of clouded reality,
a silver spring of in between.
I find myself in this amalgamation of truths.
I can’t pick this or that,
and sometimes, what’s “good” is bad.
She asks me to be stone white,
he tells me onyx is cooler,
I push back, a stubborn gray mule,
I grit my teeth.
And over time,
I arduously paint my world
with a spectrum of grays.
“A Boom Fills The Room” by Scott M.
A boom fills the room and everyone goes silent,
just for a second, then the chorus returns.
“Service!” the chef demands.
A tangerine flame explodes out of a pan,
a vision of hell hissing at you.
You’re hot and cold and stressed trying to calm down.
You’re rushing with precision. The only legible thing
is orders being yelled at you.
There’s no time to think, you’re body seems to work
from memory. Move faster, your arms flying
between flames until a plate
leaves your hand.
“I Was Buried Beneath My Focuses” by Ace E.
I was buried beneath my focuses,
not looking for another half to my whole.
I enjoyed the raw pink in my life not knowing
the maggots that lived within.
But there was my tulip,
my strawberry lemonade,
my watermelon flavored gum.
Just within reach, yet somehow
so far.
I asked–
I prayed–
I begged to know if he was okay–
With my clingyness, my playful jabs.
I was a dog exposing my stomach to him.
Letting him know that it was okay.
“You can be yourself because I feel safe with you.”
His eyes softened and the hairs on his back began to lay flat.
The faded and used romantic pink that he carried was unveiled once more.
It has been years within the weeks.
Winter now feels far away as summer arrives.
I now brighten his pink.
I am the early morning hues to his nighttime blues.
“The Clouds Rolled in a Dark Wolf Gray” by Gavyn C.
The clouds rolled in a dark wolf gray.
Seemingly my emotions overflow.
My sensation bleeds from my pores
allowing room for others to seep into my veins,
numb to my old sweet innocence.
I’m now so sensitive,
vulnerable, almost.
I feel for others
while not feeling at all.
New year, new me.
My dress hangs a shining cascade white
ruined by my dripping emotions.
I run as it chases me down through the hallway,
my dress pulls,
Lying lifeless and bloody.
