MPitS - Laytonville High School

MPitS

Laytonville High School
2011/2012

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My hands
It is the scars that tell their story
From the infant
Clutching everything in sight
To the young girl climbing trees
And on to the present
Helping me with everything
Carrying out any task
Eventually, they, like the rest of me
Will grow old
But until then they stay occupied
They lie in wait
Desperately hoping for summer
To propel and pull me
Through endless water
Have the warm sand running smoothly
Through my fingers
They itch from the excitement
They lie cold during the winter nights
They are warm when content
My hands have their own emotions
Usually coexisting with the rest of me
Sometimes completely independent of all
Their story is long and complex
It is the story of me
But it is more than that
It is parts of the stories of all who
Have interacted with them
Touched them
Helped them
They are my hands
They are mine

Izzy Shere
Grade 10, Laytonville High School
Mr. Nail, Classroom Teacher
Dan Roberts, Poetry Teacher

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I believe everyone has a mask,
whether they realize it or not.
Some people’s masks hide things from,
for themselves,
others have taught them what they think is right and wrong.
So those unknowing people never really know
what they’re interested in, only faintly know.
Some masks are glue on,
some people forget how to take them off
or when it is time to take them off.
Masks help those in denial when they need to accept,
masks can only help you escape for the moment..
Masks help people to lie not only to others,
but to themselves.
A lot have taken their masks off
but kept them for safe keeping-
most will walk around with their mask
until the end.
Stand in your room, be strong,
take off the mask and let it fall to the ground.
Open the door and walk into the light-filled world
that all the unmasked people go to, and be accepted.

Alyssa Flynn
Grade 10, Laytonville High School
Mr. Nail, Classroom Teacher
Dan Roberts, Poetry Teacher

The Moving Trees

Ever heard of the hedgehog effect?
Like a hedgehog, people get close to each other but their spikes, and in this case feelings keep each other away, inflict pain on one another.
While the roots of the trees dig into the ground,
for many, nourishment is nowhere to be found.
Some will grow tall and absorb most of the light
But for all, this pursuit is an endless fight.
Unlike trees, people can move
Like trees, we need a place for our roots
and when we are independently transplanted
the location can become better understood.
More room to grow, more room for light
More room to know, less room to fight
The soil will always seem strange to us but the more that you show,
the less you will fuss
Because the more that you show,
the less you will fear
And the less that you fear, the path seems much more clear.
And the light that you find
Can allow you to shine.

Josef White
Grade 11, Laytonville High School
Mr. Kale, Classroom Teacher
Dan Roberts, Poetry Teacher

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I am foreign.
While others belong, I should make haste.
While these, who have existed as a family,
are appreciating the joys of such things
I will never belong.
I will never know what it is to be, at least,
not in any form of closeness I see.
And though I have been so very long lost,
struggling through their forest of familiarity,
I feel nothing.
While their roots are sown deep,
I am abandoned.
Yet though I am not woven into the fabric
Of the earth and the panic in their mind,
I can walk.
I may never understand what I walk through,
But I will walk through everything.
I will travel farther by just existing
than those who find themselves among
the anchored.
And though they will treat it badly,
avoid it sadly, loath it madly,
I will see what it truly is.
Though it hurts beyond hurt to be different,
I can still be moved.
I am not held down.
Though I have no family to be stuck to,
and that I’ll never feel luck too,
I am forever free.
So when you try to move only to find yourself not, know it is your tie to your brethren,
That is forcing you to rot…

Royal Barton
Grade 11, Laytonville High School
Mr. Kale, Classroom Teacher
Dan Roberts, Poetry Teacher

My Own Bridge

Inside my mind
A bridge   resides,
One that spans
A great   divide
But I am stuck
On neither side
I am the middle
Of wrong   and right
And each decision
I choose   to make
I have to choose
Which side   I’ll take
But blind I am
To what   I’ll find
On either side
Inside   my mind

Each way I look
They seem   the same
And the path I take
Leads further   away
From the opposite side
And now   I pray
That I’m walking towards
Not falling   astray

Evan Steel
Grade 11, Laytonville High School
Mr. Kale, Classroom Teacher
Dan Roberts, Poetry Teacher

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Be careful when building bridges.
Build them out of different things
Iron, steel, wood, or maybe something that’s flammable
Because you never know which bridges
You will want to burn

Build a bridge that can hold a car
Burn a bridge that holds a scar
Physically, emotionally or symbolically,
Bridges connect us and make us alive

The bridge that has connected me for so long,
Has been destroyed
It was time to destroy it to cut off connection, to cut off the pain and regain mental stability
Pain used to go one way but now it goes both

Quick! Call the cops!!
The water is on the rise
Although I despise the liquid that’s on the rise, it is essential for our well-being
If it is to violate the bridge that connects us to others than let it do so
For one is more important than the other

Colten Grover
Grade 11, Laytonville High School
Mr. Kale, Classroom Teacher
Dan Roberts, Poetry Teacher

The Sound They Hear

I am the sound people wish to hear
I am the words people hold dear
I am kind, I am quiet, I am here
I am me
I am the constant tick of a clock, whisking time away
I am the steady beat of a drum
I am the slow strumming of an instrument
I am the familiar sound of a reminiscing family
the cheerful laughter of close friends
I am the sound they hear
I am the quiet of the forest, the singing of the birds, the buzzing of the bees
I am the gentle breeze through the branches and leaves
I am the music at a festival
I am the laughter of children
I am the sound they hear

Devin McCaffrey
Grade 11, Laytonville High School
Mrs. Kyne, Classroom Teacher
Dan Roberts, Poetry Teacher

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