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"The Quill" is hosted by Brockport High School student and is a place to showcase student created book reviews, poetry and short stories. The staff of the "The Quill" is looking for works to showcase. If you have a piece you would like to contribute please click on the "How to Submit Work" link on the left. Feel free to contact us with any questions or comments.
7 comments:
“What is Grass?”
Elders of the Earth; long strands of jade,
wistful, watchful; silent watchers.
Never ending pillows, where all of time has laid.
Making homes to raindrops.
Silent raindrops that lay on your jade.
You’re jade and emerald, more deviant than the sea.
Ocean waves ponder and envy you.
Envy your silence, your mystery.
Sitting through time to gaze upon such sights.
Your whispers telling others tales
of Kings and Queens.
Tales of heroic battles at Troy.
Sights of Egyptian beauty that lay across your body;
countless and soft, emerald blades of lore.
Fearless of beasts or Mongols,
you halt where the world declares an end,
where death falls upon your pillow of tears
that dropped from the sky.
The bloodstains that paint your world,
paint your world a new color.
A color; your neighbors silently bow their heads to.
As raindrops wash away
the pains and sorrows of the world.
- Emilee Carducci
“Harry Longfellow”
I awoke one dreary morning,
to a chirping cricket on my head.
I spoke softly to it and asked, “What
are you doing
there?”
So it chirped to me and said,
“My name is Harry Longfellow,
and to you I bid you well,
you awoke this dreary morning
after a horrid night from Hell.
Now you see me chirping,
prancing on your sleepy head,
I assure you the finest luck!
Luck to you
as you awoke upon this bed.”
I glanced at the small cricket,
in awe of such a find,
so I stared at him closely,
of course,
afraid I’d lost my mind.
“Luck to me, you say?”
I chuckled with a grin.
“Are you sure luck is for me,
or would that be a sin?”
Then little Harry grinned at me
with glee,
“Yes, luck to you, today,
as lucky as luck can be!”
So I sat puzzled on my bed,
I thought of what to do,
I began to ponder of such wonders,
then I squished him with my shoe.
-Emilee Carducci
“Passions of the Sea”
A Malayan Pantoun.
Hark! The cries of love,
Love and loss at sea,
Waves that push and shove,
Love that will forever be.
Love and loss at sea,
Sailors wearing their wives’ lockets,
Love that will forever be
Grasped within their faded pockets.
Sailors wearing their wives’ lockets,
Love chained and bound within,
Grasped within their faded pockets,
Remembering the touch of their lover’s skin.
Love chained and bound within
Just as Davy Jones once knew,
Remembering the touch of their lover’s skin,
Holding on to what is true.
Just as Davy Jones once knew,
Never to set on land,
Holding on to what is true,
His heart buried beneath the sand.
Never to set on land,
His love, the sea untamed,
His heart buried beneath the sand,
As Calypso’s passion yet remained.
His love, the sea untamed,
Waves that push and shove,
As Calypso’s passion yet remained,
Hark! The cries of love.
-Emilee Carducci
I am an American
by Max Battery
I wonder about what could possibly be outside our world
and how long will it take to find it
I hear what people have to say when they are happy or sad,
not just nod my head and say, "yes" like a yes man, but
actually listen to what they have to say
I see myself in Hollywood as a filmmaker. Creating the
greatest special F/X movies of our time
I want to go back to the beginning. Where it all started, and
see what really happened to everyone and everything. To
be somewhere that was completely free
I am an American
I imagine inventing something great that will help our
economy. To help us all on something that has been so hard
to achieve
I feel a lot of feelings that are good, bad, happy, and sad.
Everything
I touch people's thoughts when they ask me something. I
give them an answer. Or a theory that I might have. It
makes people think sometimes or it could just be something
kind
I worry about my family, that they all live forever. New
generations will start. Sometimes they get sick and I worry.
Or simply when they've had a bad day
I cry when someone passes away, like a dear close family
member or simply my cat. I will scream, yell, fight, and
curse... but that won't make them come back, as hard as
you try
I am an American
I understand that we won't last forever. As much as we try
to postpone it, it is inevitable that we will pass. The same as
the world, it won't last forever
I say we all have a purpose; if we try we can succeed. You
never know the difference you can make
I dream that I can fly. Fly away from this place. Fly away
and be happy and alone
I try to help, people or anything. One simple thing could
help. You never know until you try
I hope for civilization, that we don't destroy ourselves.
That eventually we will all come together, in peace. That
we will all survive. But that won't happen for a long time.
After me, after my kids, and after them
I am an American
“Sardinia Cabins”
by Emily Day
White snow glistens the sledding hills giving me chills.
Bonfire of happiness, and warm, sticky, wet gloves.
Talking and laughing, seven o’ clock, stalking the night.
So tired and wet, admiring each long talk we’ve had.
Each snowflake lands on my tongue, and tickles my hands.
Cold winter bitterness freezing each hair in my red nose.
I’m at peace in the comfort of my fleece.
What a release of cabin heat swarming us with love.
I’m more than a part of the scenery here; I’m one of the skyscraping trees.
Family; we fit together like tight-knit leather.
A home away from home, honey to the comb.
Sitting by the ocean, I notice the waves
by
Jennie Wright
Waves wash up onto the shore to ruin the freshly-built castles,
Asking them to fall back into the sea before they reach out fort.
Varyin in size and sound, they sweep up and pull back in.
Every child runs to catch them, just to turn back and escape,
Screaming and yelling as the cool water grabs at their heels.
Speaking (a Pantum)
By: Benjamin Casatañeda
Speaking is not tough,
Though its formula is opaque.
Many memories and lessons learned,
give rise to sound that’s sound enough.
Its formula is opaque,
my fingers tap and bounce.
Give rise to sound that’s sound enough,
my speaking is a crane.
My fingers tap and bounce,
hulling up matter from my body’s depths.
My speaking is a crane,
my drum is but the frame.
Hulling up matter from my body’s depths,
many memories and lessons learned,
my drum is but the frame.
Speaking is not so tough.
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