Archive for Thursday, April 22, 1999


April 22, 1999


These "poem sketches" were inspired by word groups which the student writers incorporated into the poems. They were written by Lawrence High School students in Joy Clumsky's creative writing class.

I waited

Cold and gray

The pavement slept

Beneath my bare feet.

I knew not the time,

Or how much

I had left.

Patiently, I waited

To hear the soft words

Of the crickets

In the green grass.

I had waited

A lifetime,

Although I'm sure

It was longer.

Softly sang silence,

Its sweet song

In my ear.

In knew not the time,

Or how much

I had left.

Contentedly, I waited

For sunrise to come

I had waited a lifetime,

Although I'm sure

It was longer.

Above my head,

Darkness had flown

And swallowed the sky.

-- By Sirita Duncan

After Death

The late afternoon was blank, dead.

The brick school had no children

Roaming the winding halls.

On the deserted swings,

No girls or boys gamboled.

The honeysuckles were wilted

And lifeless.

The breath of death

Lingered in the sultry air.

Smiled not--

Lips as white

As skeleton bones

On each corpse.

-- By Allison Moore

Wishing It To Be So

As the candles are lit,

A spectacular light fills

The quiet room.

Shiny are the wine glasses

That sit atop the silk-adorned tables.

Waiting, waiting in silence,

As if a king were to appear

Before them at any moment,

Waiting, waiting in silence,

They bow their heads,

Remembering what was no more,

But wishing it to be so.

-- By Ella Seibel

Starting Again

Like an aged faucet

Left to drip, drop upon the sink,

The sands of time

Trickle down in slow, lingering droplets these days.

The thick air

Of this steamy August

Slows my pace evermore

As the end creeps silently nearer.

My clearly lived-in exterior

Weighs heavily upon my softened bones,

And my dusty heart

Hangs damaged within my breast.

I grow tired of living in this place

With all of these same faces and walls holding me in.

I've lived as many lives as one may ask for...

Now, hours bring on a weighty exhaustion.

I pass through a corridor,

The doors sweeping closed behind me.

I drop my lifelong cloak and stand nude before the exit sign

As I did, once upon a time, in the beginning.

-- By Cole Cottin

My Way

The woods cried to me,

"Come, come...

Reminisce with us."

The soft-whispering moon

Coaxed me

Through the rusted gate,

Back, back into childhood.

Memories: forgotten tractor,

The bleak farmhouse,

An anthill squirming with activity.

My years fell away,

As I gaily followed

The worn trail again.

-- By Stephen Jones

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