2007/2008
| MPitS | |
Laytonville High School 2007/2008 |
My true country is faraway with me and my violin
as my mind and the bow flows across the strings
my fingers fly swiftly and free, nowhere to go
except into my deep mind, where as clean
as my violin sounds, does my head.
I no longer worry, nor feel any feeling
as I hear the ocean sway back and forth
the sound so sweet and the feel of my feet
beneath the sand.
The wind blows and the sweet melody flies away
and in my calm place, I stop to play again.
Rhonda Oeth
9th Grade, Laytonville High School
Dan Roberts, Poet Teacher
I am the cold in the ocean
I am the heat of the flames
I am the ground that I walk on
I am a pair of shoes that will
walk me into my future
I am the thoughts in
my head that will help me achieve
I am the words in my mouth that
will show you who I am
I am a prisoner stuck in a jail cell
I am the keys that will set me free
I am reality
Audrey Brandon
9th Grade, Laytonville High School
Dan Roberts, Poet Teacher
Taking photographs is like breathing
the lens like a third eye
twenty-first century Siddhartha
I see a world once
and then again as it appears
slowly, slowly
in the bath of chemicals
in dim red light
bat light
I feel like a bat sometimes
as the hours
strike off soundlessly
entire afternoons passing
the sacrifice of one day
to document another
life is fleeting
and I feel as if the most splendid
aspects of earth are slipping
if I could just hold them
bring back the tribes
lost to technology
bring bank the spotted lynxes
taken
when I shoot people
I do it with film
I own no guns or ammunition
stacks of negatives pile up
adding dimension and depth
to my dining room table
weight shifted from one foot to the other
anxious
and then they appear
the millions of black dots
combining, fusing to create not just
a photograph, but a sensation,
an interpretation,
a passion.
Bryn Robertson
11th Grade, Laytonville High School
Dan Roberts, Poet Teacher
Piano, My Steps
Steps, black and white steps,
Like a miniature world for miniature feet,
Each step has its own note, its own tone,
My fingers responsive and strong,
Dance on these steps, dance and
from that dance come melodies
and songs that are only created by
me.
My steps.
A chord of notes, like a church choir,
echo, and I feel the strain on my hands.
The cool ebony and ivory notes beneath
my skin are mine, they are mine
for the time being, they are mine
for eternity, they are my steps.
The ivory and ebony may be taken
away, my sanctuary may be taken
away. Anything physical on this earth may be taken away
but the notes that prolongingly
play in me will forever persist and linger.
My steps.
Jenny Pierson
10th Grade, Laytonville High School
Dan Roberts, Poet Teacher
Boom, the glass vile shatters into millions.
The damn experiment that I put so much effort,
poof, so easily destroyed.
My mind turns its gears as my ears
revoke the surrounding sounds.
I think and think, where is the answer?
My thoughts seem to be traveling around
the universe, a never ending path.
Each experiment has continuous, unavoidable flaws,
when shall I be blessed with the flawless experiment?
My ideas piling up like heaps of sand.
The answer seems to be the needle in the haystack.
I can't wait for the utterly ecstatic moment
that my brain brews up the right recipe.
Teal Mandzik
9th Grade, Laytonville High School
Dan Roberts, Poet Teacher
Today I wore my mother's mask.
She wakes up every morning smiling as did I
She exercises at 7 and eats at 8 as did I
She hides from all but her family as did I
She does the right thing in a boring way as did I
But yesterday I wore my friend's mask
She dances and sings in the shower as did I
She plays softball and loves to ditch as did I
She wears bright clothes and makeup as did I
She plays with dolls and loves to laugh as did I
But the day before that I wore my boyfriend's mask
He played basketball aggressively as did I
He walks without fear as did I
He is mean to those he does not like as did I
He stays up late and sleeps in as did I
I think tomorrow I will wear my own masks,
my personalities and my masks
I will be who I need to be
Because the best mask for me
is my own
Emily Blaize
10th Grade, Laytonville High School
Dan Roberts, Poet Teacher
Age
My hands age with me
I am born inquisitive, my skin soft and chubby
I start to learn about the world, my hands roughen
I come to a part of my life where I'm lost, my hands cold
discovery makes me fidgety, my hands become fragile
I find my calm, now they are smooth and understanding
I gain knowledge and love, they grow indifferent
I grow and have kids, hands are tired
I have grandchildren, my hands are wizened
I am on my deathbed, my hands are my memory
I die and my hands are bare, I have lost my thoughts
River L.
10th Grade, Laytonville High School
Dan Roberts, Poet Teacher
Poem About Hands
The soldiers of my memory
marching out to do justice
or revenge
My soul incarnate
The messengers of love
they express what words cannot capture.
Even the most fragile of emotions
lie cupped lightly in two conduits of self
or suspended breathlessly between finger and thumb.
Everything that I am
may be gathered by the perceptive
through the flick of an ivory finger
or a beguiling turn of the wrist.
Seamlessly,
they flow into me
and I into them,
and around it all, the world turns.
Every facet of my being
is conveyed through these restless, fluttering,
silken beings of steel and leather.
The world turns
and I take my place in it,
alone and unique among millions.
Kelsey Grullett
10th Grade, Laytonville High School
Dan Roberts, Poet Teacher
If you ask me of my true self and true country, I will tell you where I go to find myself.
This place I go, is atop my mountain homeland,
sitting upon my horses back, as we are overlooking
the herd of cattle and horses,
physically feeling only the two heartbeats, my own
and that of my horse as we, two creatures, become one.
Emotionally feeling only as free as the wind is,
the freedom that can only come to me when I am here.
For when I am here, I feel as though I am reborn
time and time again.
Friends who are with me when I am here
they know, really truly know, who I am.
And if I am lucky enough to bring that one special friend here with me, then this endless beauty can never be destroyed....EVER.
When my true country becomes greater and greater
I will only become stronger and more free.
When I am in my homeland I feel as though nobody can crush my spark,
for this spark is my soul,
and I in fact keep my soul safe
in my true country.
Ashley Barney
11th Grade, Laytonville High School
Dan Roberts, Poet Teacher
My hands are my minions, they carry out my will.
They never falter, never disobey
My hands work for me, day in and day out
I am cruel to my hands, yet they still obey
Every command I give them, faithfully carried out
From games of bloody knuckles
to playing my guitar
My hands are my expression
but that's not all they are
My hands are worn and battered
My hands are scarred and beaten
yet my hands help not only me
but others as well
My hands help cure the pains of life
Without my hands I would be helpless
Without my hands I would not be me.
Freeman
12th Grade, Laytonville High School
Dan Roberts, Poet Teacher
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