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The Vision 2012

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The Vision 2012 - Page Text Content

FC: The Vision

1: December By Duncan Wilkinson grade 12 In the month of December The ice wraiths along the grey gate Wait in shadows for the stentor The frozen sword dismembers With a wound clean and straight In the month of December The dead in all their white splendor Bending from all of their weight Wait in shadows for the stentor Snow goblins rush toward the center Of those who are left to mere fate In the month of December Do not test the temper Of the mirror on which you skate Wait in shadows for the stentor The only hope for the member Is the fire that fiercely berates In the month of December Wait in shadows for the stentor

4: ERASER By Lydia Hanchett Everyone makes mistakes is a well known cliché, But nobody can understand it as well as he does, He helps to correct them, Though rarely you notice, Because he swiftly whips them away, Never to be seen again, Leaving only a blank spot where your words have been, Once they are forgotten, So is he, He helps you until his duties are done, And he has withered away to nothing.

5: Red Light, Green Light by Colleen Senglaub He tells me to slow down, and think twice about what I am doing. He is my guide, at every new intersection of my crazy life. Glowing, bright, and impossible to miss. He is silent, but I see him telling me the right and the wrong, when to stop, and when to go with my gut. Without his constantly consistent orders, I would crash at every fork in the road. His guidance is always nearby, around every corner, whether I want it or not. Nobody truly appreciates this mysterious wisdom, but without him, the wondrous world as we know it would not be the beauty it is today, tomorrow, or any day after that.

8: Summer Day by Karl Swanson A summer day, Bright, And glorious, No amount of darkness, May put an end to light, Before the time has come, For balance is the ruling power. The day shall rise, Every day as long as there is summer, No cloud may hide her warmth, Her goal to lighten all, From plants to shrubbery. And as the light slowly fades, The earth is slowly turning, And as the light has turned to darkness, Day has gone to night, All the souls put to rest, For they know that if they wait, That night shall turn to day.

9: Famous By Laura Scrivo The pencil is famous to this poem. The CD is famous to the CD player, as the soft sound sweeps across the room. The fireflies are famous to the darkness of the night, but not the brightness of the day. The stars are famous to the clear night sky, as the sun is famous to the bright new dawn. The hand is famous to the piano, as it dances across the keys. Ideas are famous to the mind, which become dreams that are famous to the heart. I want to be famous like the many snowflakes that fall each year. I want to be like them because they were ordinary, but special in their own way.

12: Freedom By Bailey Kircher Slowly she walked in all her splendor. Contrary to the beliefs of all around her, in the woods, she could walk tall and proud. Electricity sprung from every step, her lace skirt dragging through the brush. Her slender figure and scattered freckles swayed with her arms held high above her head, soaking in the subtle serendipity of the familiar trees.

13: I Am By Max Daley I am from the open rolling hills, Like a snake tracking down its prey, Through a wheat filled plain. I am from mountainous views, Over a deep lush valley. I am from sandy beaches, Taken by the roaring waves And vicious riptides. I am from the unforgiving sight of moving trucks and airports, To the sight of sorrow and tears in the eyes of friends, Knowing they might never see you again. I am from the good times that were meant to last, But never did. I am from the good memories, That will never be lost or forgotten.

16: Lyric Poem By Sarah Meacham Leaving As the days fly past you grow more and more anxious This will be a test Maybe the hardest test you will ever have to take No longer will minutes separate us But hours You’ll be here And I’ll be there There will be tears and fights and pain I will still love you just the same Deep in my heart I know we can do it Just please try and stay strong For me For your For us | I’m secretly afraid I don’t want this to ever end You’re my other half “And I know you don’t feel right when I’m leaving” A song reminds me day in and day out But as the sun will rise and the days ago by This too shall come to pass We will be together in the end I know in my heart I can do this The silver lining of this storm Is the thought of years of warmth When this storm is over Our new life will start And I want no other partner For the rest of my life.

17: I Am From By Rainna StapelFeldt I am from the dog’s smelly breath And guzzling down chocolate milk I am from arguments with my older sister And jamming to Justin Bieber From the Good Night Moon stories read to me by my mother I am from sweet memories with my amazing family I am from the three hour drive to Connecticut From inspiration like, “You can do it” And people always asking things like, “What’s wrong with your teeth?’ I am from popping in red sweet skittles any chance I got And puckering up at too many Starbursts I am from the sweet smell of mint chocolate chip ice cream And eating Oreos all day long I am from long winter days when I read a good book And those days when I cry and my mom’s always there I am from playing around in my diaper as a baby From my mom playing Michael Jackson and my childhood song, “Walking on Sunshine” From dreams of being an actress or a forensic scientist I am from too many CSI episodes From watching the bridge magically float up to let the boats through I am from flying in an airplane and think the world below was a giant Barbie dream house and the cars were hot wheels. I am from practicing for cheer an struggling to succeed Somewhere hidden in my room, I have memories Even behind closed doors Time can be wasted, but I will always have the memories Of the good times.

21: Adirondack Chair By Braeden Rombach I sit in my Adirondack chair, gazing at the hills. Oh, look at the radiant burst of the setting sun! Listen to the sound of the crickets, Chirping musical notes, and the rushing water of a river. Smell the fresh air, crisp and delightful. Smell the roses and flowers, a most wonderful scent. I feel the soft grass beneath my feet. That’s me, sitting in my Adirondack chair.

24: Where I’m From By Nick Wilmart I’m from harry potter and James Patterson, Summer weeks spent At a house deep in The Adirondacks, From the sugar maple In the front yard whose Leaves whispered to me softly. I am from Paul Simon And Monday night football Games. From “Keep your hands to yourself!” And “Go to your room!” From pancakes and syrup, Long camping trips and Wild blueberry bushes in the Old back yard. I’m from acapella music And the constant singing And humming of my brother. From skiing on the weekends And long car rides to far away places. I’m from Hershey chocolate And soft pretzels who’s salty Taste lingers still. Hiding somewhere deep in my room Is a collection of memories From long before I was born That defines who I am and who I will be.

25: The Guests By Bailey Kircher Drawn on eye-brows Enhanced chest Red stilettos Top hat Cuff links Patent leather shoes Big lips Sweater vest Argyle knee highs Pin curls Ruffled top Sheer stockings Slicked hair Loosened tie Pressed slacks One by one, they arrive.

28: "Woodstove" Caroline DeCunzo At times I enjoy to sit alone in a small and dark room. Black "woodstove" crackling, and the heat fuming out, enveloping my hand as I write. I have no image of the world out side, nor upstairs, even, just my hand. The ink flows across the page swiftly, pausing when my hand stops, stalled in thought. At times I cannot will it to move at all, it stays motionless stubbornly. The smell of burning wood makes me wonder of some pointless, idle thought

29: Fingertips By Miranda Cordiale I feel your fingertips graze softly against my skin, My stomach consumed with butterfly wings. Whenever I breathe out, I breathe you in. I fall gently into the grace of your arms, Remembering how each memory begins, As I feel your fingertips graze softly against my skin. I quiver when the distance from you is inches away, In this quiet place, my soul has awoken, It’s waking breath breathing you in. I feel you press soft lips upon my cheek, Loving this much should be considered a sin. My heart pounds to the touch of your skin. A smile stretches wildly across your face, You whisper silly words that make me grin, You take my breath away so I might breathe you in. When I first met you, I knew it right then, I would never tire of holding you again and again. I crave the touch of your fingertips against my skin, I feel you breathe out, and then breathe me in.

34: Bunny Business By Bailey Kircher 7 AM. Rory rolls out of bed, makes a pot of coffee, grabs her gear and is out the door by 7:20. She feels like a sunflower in a field of weeds, wearing her faded, patched jeans and Grateful Dead t-shirt as she brushes by people adorned with suits and briefcases. As the people rush off to their corporate skyscrapers, she makes her way to the Glory Springs Shopping Mall, the biggest mall in all of Chicago. She works up a smile and shows her badge to Larry, the half-asleep, donut-filled security guard. “Nice day out. Don’t you think, Rory?”, he says unenthusiastically. “Just wonderful.”, she replies. The mall is empty, lacking the sounds of loud children, ignorant teens, and oblivious parents. Rory walks along to the faculty “lounge”, in other words, a pathetic excuse for a room including a card table and 1983 coffee pot. She punches in, and takes out her camera. As she scrolls through yesterdays pictures she goes through her daily routine of thinking about how much she hates her job. “Easter Bunny photographer.”, she says out loud, “Who in their right mind would ever want to take peoples screaming children, try to get them to sit on the lap of a coffee stained bunny that they are clearly terrified of, and attempt to get a picture of them actually sitting still?”. “You!”, said a voice coming from the door. It was Gloria, the cell-phone kiosk girl. She was the only one that kept Rory sane while at work. Her cheerful smile and calming advice always knew how to get Rory feeling better about the day ahead. Rory proceeded to go on and on about how much she despised her job, and how her goal in life was to become a famous wedding photographer. The clock struck 8:30, and her dreams dwindled away with the sound of the overplayed mall music. Glory Springs Shopping Mall was open for business. By the time Rory got to “Easter Town”, the home of the mall bunny, there was already a line of children and parents waiting behind the velvet rope. She set up her tripod, checked the flash, put on her mandatory bunny ears, unhooked the rope and let her day full of misery begin. Her first customer in line was a mother, single she guessed, with twin girls tugging at her skirt, and a baby crying in her arms. She looked desperate and must have figured this was one place she could have a break, if only for a minute. Rory peeled the little girls from the women’s legs and brought them over to the bunny. Now, this bunny was no charmer. The guy who had the pleasure of wearing the costume reeked of alcohol and cigarettes. His voice was as raspy, he wasn’t friendly, and the only enjoyment he got out of the job was scaring the children away. The twins reluctantly walked down the Easter egg filled, candy sprinkled walkway to the giant throne the bunny was sitting on. Rory struggled to get the twins to sit on the bunny’s lap, but each time she sat one girl down and reached to pick up the other, the girls jumped off the bunny and would try to run away. After a good couple minutes of struggling with the twins, she got them settled by treating the with candy and went to get the baby out of the embarrassed mother’s arms. She brought the baby to the bunny, and put it in the bunny’s arms. Immediately, the baby burst into tears and the twins started to fidget. Rory ran to her camera, waved a brightly colored pinwheel in the air, and snapped a photo. The kids ran back to their mother, and Rory handed her a slip saying when the photo would be ready to be picked up, or in this case, ready to be thrown out. The day went on with patterns like this until it was finally Rory’s lunch break. She unpacked her PB&J sandwich, apple juice, and her freshly purchased snicker doodle cookie from the dessert shop two stores down. Her thirty minutes of peace was soon interrupted when Adam walked in the room. Adam was the self-centered, know-it-all who worked in the men’s department of Macy’s. He always addressed Rory by her full name, Aurora, and was only ever interested in bragging about his own accomplishments. “Good afternoon Aurora.”, he said snidely. “It’s Rory, Adam.”, she responded with a mouth full of her sandwich. Not acknowledging her correction he went on, “How’s working with those little brats today?”. “Just peachy.”, she responded with a fake smile. Adam grabbed a cup of coffee, and left the room, bumping Gloria on her way in. He proceeded to go back to his store, yelling and complaining about how no one respects him or acknowledges him for anything.

35: “What’s with him?”, Gloria said. “Who knows? Gloria, do you think I’m better than this? Do you really believe someday I will actually be able to get out of this boring town? I am sick of it. I need some new scenery, a place to start off fresh, maybe do some freelancing, get a business started!”. Gloria just stared at me, shook her head and said, “Someday, maybe someday.” Rory went back to her camera, back to her screaming toddlers, and smelly costumes. The rest of the day seemed long, and she only hoped for the clock to strike 5 o’clock so she could go home. Home was the only place she felt needed, important. Soon, the day was done, she packed up her gear, replaced the velvet rope, and left “Easter Town” without looking back. There was once again people rushing through the streets, heading home from long days at work, faces blank and tired. Rory made it back to her 9th floor apartment, pulled out her keys and saw an envelope placed under the door. It was addressed to her, with a return address from California. She thought it was junk mail and tossed it in her bag and went inside. Her husband, Luke, was waiting patiently in the kitchen. He gave her a quick kiss and asked her how her day was. “Same as always.”, she replied. She asked the same, and he went on to say that he got a big promotion and finalized a deal with a major law firm. There was always good news for Luke. He was always working, always achieving things. Rory congratulated him and went to the bedroom to change. She put on sweats and a sweatshirt, wiped off her faded lipstick, and let her hair down. She pulled out the envelope and thought nothing of it but opened it anyways. She opened the letter and her hand started to tremble as she read on. When she finished reading, she just sat there. Eyes fixated on the words, not comprehending what had just been sent to her. The letter came from a photographer in California, saying he had seen her work and wanted her to move and come work for him. He explained how he was involved in an editorial photography business and could use someone as talented as her to help out. She couldn’t believe it. Someone actually appreciated her work, pictures she had been led to believe would take her nowhere. She didn’t know whether to scream, cry, or laugh, all emotions seemed frozen. She was ecstatic, yet unsure. She thought about her options. She could go to California, do something she loves, and become discovered. Or stay in Chicago, stay with Luke, and continue to work at the mall. The choices had their ups and downs. Either way, the decision would change her world completely. She didn’t tell Luke about the letter. She didn’t have the courage to, and didn’t want to upset him. She arrived at work the next morning and rushed to Gloria’s cell phone kiosk. She told her the news and Gloria exploded with excitement. She encouraged Rory that moving would be the best thing for her, to get her out into the world. Rory told her that she would love to go but was scared. She didn’t want it to turn out a mistake. “This is what you have been dreaming of, you have to take the job, you deserve better than this old mall, and this offer is one you can’t turn down!”, Gloria explained. Rory stood there, and thought. Leaving Luke would be hard, but he would call, visit, the distance could be manageable. Just in that moment, with thoughts zooming through her head, negatives and positives, she realized what she had to do. She grabbed her things and rushed out the mall and down to Luke’s office. She ran in, and told Luke about the letter. In a matter of seconds she told him how she knew she needed to do this, that she loved him but couldn’t give up the offer of a lifetime. Out of breath she stopped and said, “So?”. “I wouldn’t mind spending vacations on the beach.”, he said with a smile growing across his face. She couldn’t believe it, she hugged him and began to tear up. Luke said he would take the day off to help her start packing. She packed away her clothes, dishes, and books. All her cameras, pictures, and memories. Everything packed away into cardboard boxes and loaded up into the back of her Volvo. She said her goodbyes to Luke and drove off. She drove past the house she grew up in, her favorite coffee shop, and of course, Glory Springs Shopping Mall. She drove away from “Easter Town”, Gloria, and her days in the crappy faculty lounge. She continued on and, even though she knew she was leaving so much behind, she knew she was moving on to bigger and better things. A life of photographs and new adventures. A life she knew she wasn’t going to let slip away. As she reflected back on her life in Chicago, she realized one thing: she was actually going to miss all the screams, and bunnies of Glory Springs Shopping Mall.

38: I Am From by Amanda Ripley I am from chocolate From milk, dark, and white I am from hot chocolate Creamy and warm I am from chips and Spicy salsa I am from softball From bats and gloves From volleyball to skiing On Fridays at West From cold and icy to Sunny and hot I am from Maine From York Beach to Queensbury From beaches and oceans I am from vacations From cars to planes From long car rides To “Are we there yet?” I am from holidays From Christmas to Easter From birthdays to school breaks I am from school From books to studying I am from friends I am from memories From long, long ago From people, places And presents From my childhood On my family tree

39: Rebellious Poison by Deanna Matthewson Twisted and taunting, he prays upon the galaxy. A hero in one’s eye, a villain in the next. He forcefully gnaws on the flesh of the innocent, and betrays his own allies of life versus death. Manipulative yet charismatic, he shows no mercy towards those infected. He displays no compassion towards those who squirm. He howls at the starlight, for the sake of fright, only to be reprimanded by hope. | Famous Poem by Harris Halibi The paper is famous to the pencil, The strings are famous to the screaming guitar, Because they need one another, The rain and the snow are famous to dull New York, But the harsh weather isn’t famous to The Golden State, which has sun and warmth, The great home-cooked food is famous to the pots and pans it’s cooked in, The human has one brief chance to become famous to the world

42: Study Hall By Duncan Wilkinson grade 12 Study hall seems like a good idea at first but don't have one fill it with something like psyche or maybe pottery instead of being stuck in a room for eighty one minutes counting the tiles of the ceiling or the floor which I know there are exactly 108 up there because I counted three times. My only salvation is the promise of food, but thirty minutes later that ends and I’ll be back here again seniority has its perks, but if you're in 3rd block you can’t enjoy them. Sometimes I even think about doing the homework I don’t have or sadly make up physics equations to figure out the velocity of my head as it hits the wall or the table I think this story is a fable because like Aesop, I have a lesson, don’t ever get stuck in study hall you’ll be sure to regret it .

43: Snowflakes Journey By Sarah Antiles Created in the heavens, miracle of nature. Precious crystal lost in a crowd. She dances like a fairy in the frigid breeze. Floating, tumbling, swooping Down to Earth. Uniquely dressed in a lacy white gown. Early in the season, she’s greeted with cheers, but later with groans. Effervescent, like our youth, when she waves goodbye, as she vanishes when greeted with warm tongues.

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  • By: Amy M.
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About This Mixbook

  • Title: The Vision 2012
  • Creative written and art work from students k-12 at the Queensbury Union Free School District
  • Tags: None
  • Started: about 6 years ago
  • Updated: over 5 years ago