MPitS - Willits High School

MPitS

Willits High School
2002/2003

My foot starts to go numb
I reach down and start massaging it
I don¹t want to be sitting here
the hard wooden chair beneath me
a computer screen before my sore eyes
there are other things I need to be doing
instead I am checking my email
there is no control anymore
no option or choice
when I walk in the door I reach and turn
on the machine that sucks away my time
I click on the mouse, start to type on the keyboard, it breaks the silence
the hard cold machine
has nothing to do with my ancestry
yet this manmade creation
draws in my thoughts
in this age I am more connected
with this hard wooden chair underneath
my now growing numb underneath
my now growing numb bottom instead of
my ancestors who once walked this earth
I am not connected to my body, it¹s numbed
I can¹t walk away to the path, I need to follow

Tessa Crawford
Carley Stewart's 10th Grade Class

I am the calm before the storm
waiting to smother your explosion.
I am lost in your eyes
after your vulgar intrusion.
I am a stranger to the real me,
the one that you've chanced upon.
I am the last wilting petal,
to the flowers that are long gone.
I am the last sentence
that fell from the never-ending book.
I am the final string to reality,
don¹t cut me off before you look.
I am the imperfection
that causes you to grow red.
I am the blade of grass
the mower has left dead.

Adrienne Turcotte
Carley Stewart's 10th Grade Class

My true country is the stretch of my pointed toe
My true country is the hardwood floor
My true country is the never-ending mirror
which stretches from floor to ceiling and wall to wall
My true country is the stage lights which beat down on my face
My true country is the heavy makeup which clogs my pores
My true country is the sweet sweat as it drips from my body
My true country is the bass in each beat
My true country is the exploding ending
My true country is hard work and dedication
My true country is dance

Rachel Prey
Carley Stewart's 10th Grade Class

My true country is is the saddle. As I enter the arena my adrenaline starts to pump, I can hear the announcer saying
something but my mind is somewhere else, as I look at the three barrels set in front of me. I feel my horse tensing up
and wanting to go. I glance at the ground then just let go. I can feel the earth being dug up and dirt flying, as I head to my
first barrel. I can smell the dust and feel it in my face, as we dig into the ground around the barrels. Then the rush as we
fly out from the last barrel, and running home to retrieve our victory. I hear the crowd cheering but can only feel my heart
beating, and smell the sweat and dirt.

Janelle Ritz
Carley Stewart's 10th Grade Class

I am Everything and I am Nothing
I am a moon, shedding light upon everything I see
I am a fish, swimming in the vast sea
I am everything and I am nothing
I am the learner, the knower, the discoverer
I am the forgetful, the sad, and the lonely
I am everything and I am nothing
I am the fire that melts the ice
I am the ice that freezes the fire
I am growing and I am shrinking
I know not how or why
I am everything and I am nothing
I am standing above the clouds
I see all, I believe, I hope, I ponder
I am everything and I am nothing

Geoffrey DeYoung
Carley Stewart's 10th Grade Class

I live in the sun
it is my one and only home
but then I realize
this isn¹t the sun.
It is the love of those around me
I live in the ocean
it is my one and only home
but then I realize
this isn¹t the ocean.
It is the laughter of my heart
I live in the clouds
they are my one and only home
but then I realize
this isn¹t the clouds
it is the gentleness of whom I love
I live in the moon
it is my one and only home
but then I realize
this isn¹t the moon
it is the blinding light of my true feelings
I live in the sand
it is my one and only home
but then I realize
this isn¹t the sand
it is the heart of my inner soul
I live in myself
I am my one and only home
My truth itself speaks to me
and this, I know, is my own.

Brittany Bennett
Carley Stewart's 10th Grade Class

My true country is in the arena
the way a crowd roars on a summer afternoon
the way you tingle as you warm up for the advent
the way your hand burns as you work the rosin
the smell of burning leather
My true country is when I climb into the chute
my chaps fold on my thighs
and the feel of muscle under me as I sit
on my bull¹s back
the pressure on my legs as he leans on them
the smashing of my hand as they tighten my rope
a few short breaths and nod
then time stops as the chute opens
and all the power hits you at once
and all you have is one hand to hold on
8 seconds seems like 8 hours
as you try to stay with the beast
jump for jump
all the power of the world in the palm of your hand
But real power comes to those that can weild it

Matt Branson
Carley Stewart's 10th Grade Class

My true country lies within the pen and me
she and I join hands
and transform my feelings
my desires
my hopes
my imagination
into words
into lines
into pieces
She and I
no one understands us
She and I
we¹d do anything for each other
She and I
together the two of us
disintegrate into another world
together the two of us
are absorbed by splendor
everyone else disappears into the background
as myself and me
enter my true country

Brittany Bennett
Carley Stewart's 10th Grade Class

My true country is being with someone I love
Our minds interlaced, conversations with a glance
This presense resonating within me, warm and comforting
In this glow of honesty and tingle of sincerity I belong

Justin Stephens
Carley Stewart's 10th Grade Class

I am a runner
with blood pounding through my veins
and sweat dripping down my back
I am a runner
who wakes at dawn to embark on a journey
through the forests up, down and around hills
in an atmosphere that¹s so still and calm
like a promise well-kept
A secret between tranquil air
giant redwood trees
a hard dirt path
A sunrise and me
I am a morning person
and I am a runner
Some listen to wild music
Some wear dark eyeliner and dye their hair black
Some slit their wrists
I race up hills
I am a runner

Sarah Hughes
Carley Stewart's 10th Grade Class

The page is blank now
the pen poised
maybe the tip is on my lip
I am about to embark on a voyage
to my true country
I scribble the date across the page
and I am ready
I write letters to the only person
who really understands me
Me
My true country is anywhere I am
anywhere I can sit and be
My true country is the hard cover
and the spiral binding
pressed between my fingertips
I form my true country with every word I write
echoing my deepest thoughts
and storing my heart
in black and white

Naomi Aplet
Carley Stewart's 10th Grade Class

no strings attached
I¹m standing on the edge of cliff
about to break open
I hear the waves crashing beneath me
The sun it draws me in
it¹s powerful heat opens my soul
all my thoughts run through me
like a broken record
repeating itself over and over
And then the thought of falling off
disturbs my train of thought
I am broken yet stable
I cannot come back to reality
No strings attached
I¹m alone
it¹s just me
everything is my own
every thought, every moment
That is my true country

Heather Ovieda
Carley Stewart's 10th Grade Class

My Young Hands

Like a pair of seeing-eye dogs in training
my young hands lead the way
my young hands get no respect
from the one they rely on most
Chattering teeth grind
fingernails, already bitten down
to nothing, far past the bed
Symetrical teeth marks graze
the plains of the back of my young hands
Knuckles popped unconsciously
in nervous situations
make my hands appear older
than they really are
My young hands hold the pen
which releases the tension
in my overloaded mind
My young hands hold a graceful pose
as my young body dances life away

Rachel Prey
Carley Stewart's 10th Grade Class

My hands are young, delicate and inexperienced
Never touched by scars
They are always waiting
They have washed dishes
Brushed gently against sweet piano keys
And held a pen so tightly
it felt like all the words that
escaped would light on fire
And never be heard
My hands have held a dying soul
And caressed a newborn baby¹s cheek
They have been held with such tenderness and love that it felt like they were the only
two hands in the world
The first hands
The last hands
My hands have expressed love

Naomi Aplet
Carley Stewart's 10th Grade Class

I gaze upon my open palm
Each line rooting from my birth
My life¹s existence affected by this body part
My slender fingers
reach out for each day
Striving to create something new
My fingers curl together
to grasp my next breath
My hands symbolize
my unspeakable words
When I am olds, my hands
will have devoured my life,
leaving it to appear weak and tiresome
But for now I hold my powrer
and my ability to work.

Anna Levenson
Carley Stewart's 10th Grade Class

I am my own temple
I am not a problem, but maybe the answer
I am the watching picture on your wall
I am your untied end, but I am also your beginning
I am your unknown statement and your reason
I am afraid and proud
I am your friend and an underlying foe
But who are you, let me listen to your temple, your chimes
let me blow through your halls
I am my own temple

Hillary Manning
12th Grade

My Own Music

I move with my own music
you cannot hear it
I can no longer feel the worries
only the music within
I spin and leap to the sound of silence
I can no longer feel the ground beneath me
I can no longer think
I move
My true country is to love and hate
to make music with my own true instrument
my body
My reason is to dance
to feel the wind but
not understand it
to see the truth
and explain it
I dance to my own music
My job is to let you hear it
My want is for you to understand
and dance with me
to the sound of silence
to the music within

Caitlin Faith McAllister

Twin Islands

Twin Islands
On twin islands
is a desert full of dunes and valleys
Nothing grows even though it¹s humid
Rotate the axis and you¹ll see a
coarse forest, light but slightly noticeable
Extended penisulas house
ruined tips
The hard, ever growing substance
is chipped and shortened
Pieces of the land are peeled away
exposing a red burning tenderness

The middle penisula is home
to a hill
years of pressing work has made
it swell
And the straightest of all ten
has a soft section
where a blade scarred the terrain

Underground rivers show teal
beneath the surface
Carelessness damages the
flow quite often
And the land erupts as warm
plasmic fluid runs
But the sand blows over once again

In this barren place, believe
it or not, is the oasis that my
imagination sprouts from
For these islands are an artist¹s hands

Nadja Quirez
10th Grade

Hands, once inside the material of a puppet
Are transformed into humor and excitement
Kids smile and men chuckle
At the stage of minipeople
You must use your thumb with the puppet
If you use your fingers only it looks fake
Hands are special. Special are hands
Holding his brother, the hands are praying
An essential member of the body
Hands are wrinkled hands are warm
Hands can come in many forms
Hands for an old man hands for a baby
I can do cool things with my hands...maybe
Hands are strong until snapped like twigs
Hands never ever have to wear wigs
Hands are special they are part of me
Hands can share by writing poetry
I love my hands but not all the time
Sometimes they just remind me of slime
How could I do that you horrible hand
But it can¹t reply it can¹t even stand
I forgive you my hands I won¹t disown you
If I were to do that I¹d be sad it¹s true
For hands make me clap and climb and snap
Hands make me flick and hang and slap
I can¹t find a thing for hands not to do
Except, just maybe, if I must kick you

Thomas Evind Hands
10th Grade

I am empty, full of facts
I am forseen, unrecognized
I am an unread newspaper article
I am longing, longing to get away
I am waiting, waiting for my time
I am impatient, patiently waiting

Bamba Downing
10th Grade

to see a line bloom from beneath my pen and sink deep into the recesses of white paper
to take a clean innocent paper, not unlike a child, and give it the joy, the pain,
the beauty and the horror that only life brings
soon it grows and develops until it has a statement of its own to tell the people
it will affect the lives of everyone.
i will be different after giving birth to it and anyone who sees it will reach out
differently to all who did not see
my country reminds me how important and reverent human life is. it is a voice of belief

Anne Magratten
10th Grade

My country is drawing

I can draw whatever I want whenever I want
There are no boundaries, no limits, only the desire to flow.
A plain white piece of paper is a temptation for the eye.
Drawing sets me free, it allows me to express my moods, ever-changing to the demands of everyday life.
Drawing lifts my mood as I drift away in concentration.
A piece is never finished until you want it to be, a drawing speaks to you only when you ask it to.
From the moment I pick up my pencil and begin to draw, I feel soothed by the way the pencil flows, almost like music
flowing from an instrument.
The end product what I am, what my country is...drawing.

Basima Sisemore
10th Grade

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