MPitS - Laytonville High School

MPitS

Laytonville High School
2006/2007

Intimacy

the imprint of a hammer

twisted and wrinkled

over the years

intimacy

like eyes never could

experiencing warmth or water

things forgotten

and remembered

Sometimes I wonder

just how much our hands can do

painting

building

caressing

killing

exploring

keeping forever

love and hate

pain

and rage

emotions expressed through lives

the eyes of the body

the tools of life

the catalysts of memories

Danielle Fristoe
Grade 12 Laytonville
Dan Roberts, Poet-Teacher

An Entire Day

I spent an entire day without my hands

twenty-four hours, too long

My voice seemed softer because I couldn't prove any words I spoke

I spent a day without my hands

A silent Day, without the usual

plucking of guitar strings, the familiar steel on string sensation

I spent a day without my hands

without the freedom to apply myself

An entire day without holding, tying, digging

I thought it would be easy, a relief

after all my hands had done for me

But they were not grateful

Itching in my pockets, like caged birds

robbed of their miracle of flight

For an entire day

I couldn't hold your hands in mine

The healing contact of one means of creation on another

People sing through their hands, and that day was too quiet

Too lonely, the feeling of restraint

from all you've ever understood

I spent a day without my hands

without my voice, without my freedom

It was too long of a day

But perhaps a good lesson.

Bryn Robertson
Grade 11 Laytonville HS
Dan Roberts, Poet-Teacher

My hands obey,

precise,

My fingertips brush

the soft petal of a flower

Eagerly, my hands yearn

for the touch of the water

the warm rays of the sun

My hands are beautiful

only in usefulness

I control the movement

the power

my hands obey

My hands are worn, scratched, torn, abused, blood stains my fingertips,

my skin.

My hands still reach

for what my mind strives

My hands obey

Deborah Martin
Grade 11 Laytonville HS
Dan Roberts, Poet-Teacher

Emotional Forest

Emotions run strong, like a forest that is overgrown and over-populated with trees.

Some old trees full of anger

with long hefty branches to prove it. These trees, so old, planted and grown when I was just a young child, now showing their rings of age around my eyes.

New trees soft and small growing as the memories are made. Nearly a tree planted each day.

Emotions so strong, like a windy stormy night in the forest. So rainy, the rain drops drips down my face, from my eyes.

Emotions, so calm, like a beautiful sunny day in the forest. I am happy like the butterflies I can feel fluttering around in my stomach.

Courtney Ohl
Grade 11 Laytonville HS
Dan Roberts, Poet-Teacher

Why do we wear masks?

Is it because we are afraid of others, of what they may think,

of what they may say?

I do not believe it to be so.

I believe we wear masks because above all else we are afraid of ourselves, of how great we may be.

People tend to dislike things greater than themselves.

So we wear masks so those around us feel comfortable.

We wear masks because above all else we are afraid of ourselves.

Maybe we will disappoint someone close to us.

Maybe we are not what everyone thinks we are.

Maybe we are not even what we think we are.

We wear masks because we are afraid of who we really are.

But the only way to change is to be the change.

Only by taking off our masks and letting our light shine bright, do we, without saying a word, give others the chance to do the same.

James Langenderfer
Grade 11 Laytonville HS
Dan Roberts, Poet-Teacher

My True Country

My heart flutters

My mind clears

My body feels as light as a feather

Everything goes quiet

The wind dies

The sun shines down upon the snowy slopes and the beautiful valley

I feel the cool crisp air flowing through me

It all stops

I take one final look at the horizon then make the plunge

It all comes rushing back as

I cut through the powdery snow

This is my true country

atop a snowy mountain with

a snowboard strapped to my feet

It is where I belong

Dan Schumaker
Grade 9 Laytonville HS
Dan Roberts, Poet-Teacher

Country of My Dreams

My true country

it borders on the sky

I go there all alone

My country and I

I grab at the hidden handholds

but I know they are there

for I have been here many a time

and always find something brand new

In my country

I close my eyes and smile

as the wind flicks my hair

away from my face

and my worries fade

from my country

I can sit secluded

and pour out all my thoughts

into the wind

wordlessly

To my country

I can smell the damp crackle in the air

that warns me of a storm

but I do not worry

nature is welcome

in my country

The sight of a new green bud

or the full fronds of a fern

and the bright wildflowers

like eyes

they watch me

in my country

my true country

Kelsey Gullett
Grade 9 Laytonville
Dan Roberts, Poet-Teacher

I am the purple flower in a field of green

I am the jade in a river bed of rock

I am the pine in a field of shrubbery

I am a diamond ring in a pile of trash

I am the eagle among pigeons

I am a shark in the midst of fish

I am a planet among the stars

I am the sensitive one

I am an individual

Torrey Hansen
Grade 9 Laytonville
Dan Roberts, Poet-Teacher

My Country

I love the feeling of a perfect trick

When you are floating down

Then you hit and all the feelings rush in

The adrenaline of the fall and the euphoria of landing perfectly

My true country is skateboarding

I can hear the pop of the wood

and feel the wind and the humming of the wheels

until my feet go numb

Then it's there, the gap

I push down and launch myself into the air

Watching as the board turns, hoping it will end up under my feet

Slam, it's over, and my friends cheer

Now do it again

Ben Steel
Grade 9 Laytonville HS
Dan Roberts, Poet-Teacher

Peace

total peace

the house just down a hill

I lay in the tall cool grass

a ladybug jitters by

hurrying back home

home

my home

filled with all the warmth

and comfort I need

Grandparents always there

these thoughts go through my head

I lose track of time

time slips past

just as the little ladybug

Stand up, walk down the hill

home

my country, my home

Keely Budreaux
Grade 9 Laytonville HS
Dan Roberts, Poet-Teacher

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