- Poem by Katie Wilsdon, Grade 8

 

As I spring up

And out of the ground

I am blinded by the scorching sun

For only a mere moment

The sun beats down

On me day after day

I start to wonder when rain

Will fall to quench my thirst

 

As the wind picks up

A storm is near

I sway back and forth

Side to side

Rapidly picking up speed

Losing some petals

The rain starts to fall

Gracefully coming down

Drop by drop by drop

 

After the storm has past

And my quench has been cured

I start to feel myself becoming

Tall, taller, tallest

Rising above the rest

I look up as I follow the sun

It seems to me that

I am reaching for the sky

Towering over all plants

Like I am king of the world

Or at least the sunflower patch

This is the 4th piece of student writing in a string of two straight weeks of student writing!

Check back every single day 'til Christmas to see if your writing gets posted!

The following story is an interpretation of the 1,000 Words image in the November/December, 2006 issue of Writing Magazine.

Soar

- Story by Ashley Dahl, Grade 12

 

At first, it was an uneasy feeling, climbing to the tops of the cliffs to build the snowman. But it seemed the farther they climbed, the closer they grew to accomplishing something. Their father had taken the same journey every year until the cold claimed his life. Now his children carried on the tradition - no longer for bragging rights, but now as a yearly memorial to their dear departed father.

 

The brother and the sister fell to their knees, the sound of the snow crunching beneath them barely reaching their ears over the whistling winds. They smiled sadly at each other before digging their mitten-covered hands into the snow and forming it into a snowman. They started small, with a one-foot snowman, but as their father's voice filled their heads and as his spirit warmed their hearts, they worked furiously.

Soon the snowman stood taller than either of them. The brother and the sister climbed to their feet and stood beside it, their tears on their cheeks frosty and chilling. "I miss him." The sister whispered, running her hand over the uneven lumps on the snowman. Her brother nodded. He dropped his backpack and dug through it, handing his sister the squares of coal for the snowman's buttons and face, and the carrot for his nose. The sticks for the arms he kept.

 

When his sister was done giving the frigid snowman a warm smile, the brother gave the snowman his arms. The arms stuck straight out as if he were flying.

The sister pulled the final item from the bag: their father's scarf. Her brother helped her wrap it around the snowman's neck before they held each other.

 

"Soar, Dad, soar." She whispered.

 

This is the third piece of student writing in a string of two straight weeks of student writing!

 

Check back every single day 'til Christmas to see if your writing gets posted!

- Essay by Zara Fishkin, Grade 10

Hey, my name is Zara Fishkin, and my toothbrush is purple. Right now, I am talking to you from my computer during my writer's workshop period. I just want to speek to you about the beauty of the arts. Most people would tell me not to include myself in this piece, but I think that it is as much about where the opinions are coming from as it is about the topic. So while you, the reader, might not normally care what color I see when I brush my teeth every morning and night, this is my way of communicating to you what it's like in my world. 

Interestingly enough, that is what I feel the essence of art really is. No, it is not about my toothbrush. It is about how the composer is able to communicate a message, a feeling, or a sense of understanding. In the same way that a successful writer expresses these things, so can a painter, sculptor, musician, dancer, or even an athlete. As the late, great runner Steve Prefontaine once said, "A race is a work of art that people can look at and be affected in as many ways they're capable of understanding." Running was what he was good at, and so that was the art form that he chose. 

The whole meaning of the work is what the reader will most likely be affected by. For example, while you may not remember word for word, everything that I am sharing with you, or that I spelled "speak" wrong in sentence three, it is my hope that you will comprehend and understand some of the same thoughts that I'm sharing. In the case of a musician, a person may not recall whether the "B" was flat or sharp, but the feeling the composer was trying to convey when the work was created, the listener most likely received. This is how I think that all the forms of art are connected: they are what make us not alone with our thoughts, but part of a community. I believe that a truly skilled artist is one who gives the clearest idea of what he or she is thinking, whether it be a thoughtful message, or simply a whim of the imagination.

Where's all the student writing?!?

That's a very good question. I'm so glad you asked. Well, we haven't posted any in awhile. Sorry. My only excuse is that I have no excuse. And that's not a very good excuse.

To make it up to you, here's what we're going to do--

Starting Monday, we'll be posting a new piece of student writing every single day until Christmas. Why? Because we can. And because we have a mailbox full of your awesome stories, poems, and "1,000 Words" gems.

So check back in on Monday...

and Tuesday...
and Wednesday...
and Thursday...
and Friday...
and Saturday...
and Sunday...
and Monday...
and Tuesday...
and Wednesday...
and Thursday...
and Friday...
and Saturday...
and Sunday...

and then have a Merry Christmas on Monday. Unless you don't celebrate Christmas. If that's the case, have the best December 25th ever! You could, you know.