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Download November's Teen Writing in Adobe .pdf format. Click here. |
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| Poetry | Essay | Short Story |
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| The
Fog Kasumi twining between solemn poles of deep moss and mahogany. Echoes drifting, stretching questing fingers into the woven faces. Mist-blue silence rolls in with it, bringing the phantom pain back, And the sky turns to a wall between the weather and the heart. Gray and silver flames drip slowly down the barriers erected, Unspoken tears follow the path, so many times since it was first tread. Raindrops like bullet wounds sear shut old weeping-holes and open new ones, A broken second and a chord shudder through the fog, slashing violet. Deep violet lightens shade by shade, swiftly rotating the prism hues to silver. All is still again, only the familiar shapes of forest sentinels pierce the cloud, And all belongs to the fog. |
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| Sarah 12th grader St.George, UT |
Carmen 11th grader Bowling Green, OH |
| This is a copy of "the Fog," the very first collaboration! Sarah and I wrote this together, each writing about two lines at a time, e-mailing it to the other, and then waiting anxiously for a reply. We kept a copy in our word processing programs (okay, Sarah did, I was a slacker and had to get the thing from her later) so we would both have a running record of how much was completed and we'd both have it when it was done. And now, without further ado, I proudly present "the Fog," written by Sarah and Carmen . Tell us how you like it! | |
| Season's
Treasures
A memory lost in Autumns passed |
| Katrina 10th grader New Glasgow, Nova Scotia, Canada |
| No Remorse (a
song)
I walk through life in a trance, |
| Christa 9th grader Alberta, Canada |
| About the author of Reality
A big thanks goes out to Mrs. Perry my Language Arts teacher. Who, unlike my parents, supports my poetry! |
| The Memory
Curse
I'm dead, or rather, I wish I were. That's one thing I've found about wanting to die; the wish itself is a noose, hanging you in your fantasy. So here I am, 16 and dead. I'm not vibrant. Not light-hearted. Not here. I'm dying. Dying. Dead. I remember being six and sitting on the back porch of my house counting my freckles. I was trying to memorize the patterns they formed, the mazes they created. I examined their texture and color and memorized accordingly. I firmly believed that memorizing my freckles would help me remember my life. I felt that I could point out the circular patch of freckles above the knuckle of my left ring finger and say, "I got these the summer Daddy took me to Hood Canal and threw me on his shoulders, running with me into the water, because I was afraid of the jellyfish." I never knew that my memory would be a curse. A curse. My personal stigma. Sometimes I wish that I could induce Alzheimers. If I could forget the scars that form sparkling spiderwebs across my wrists I would be in heaven. But I can't. It is impossible to forget. So I try to kill the memories with fantasy. But, fantasy becomes reality. That's why I am hanging here, to kill the memories. Please don't cut me down. I'm dead. Dying. Dead. |
| Katie 11th grader Little Rock, Arkansas |
| Crush-ed-
Cavity filled revenge oozed and stained your teeth Spit out her ravaged tongue and went for more Ten o'clock came, |
| Stephanie 8th grader Topeka, Kansas |
| Hmmm
Lust Care Tears But try I laid my heart like a rug But be you |
| Elizabeth 8th Grader Philadelphia, Pennsylvania |
| Autumn To Me
How can I capture the beauty of fall? A spectrum of shades which nature reveals And if you listen carefully As I gaze at the cloudless sky, If a dream is a wish your heart makes |
| Tiffani 10th grader Milford, Pennsylvaniz |
| About_The_Author:
I'm a high school student (10th grade) and I LOVE to write poetry or lyrics. I like to read poetry also. And my fave band ever is Savage Garden. They make the most meaningful and poetic music i've ever heard. |
| Never
Why? |
| Derrick 11th grader San Antonio, TX |
| About the author of "Never". He is telling of how someone very special has walked out of his life. He know that lots of people can relate to this piece. |
| Life
Life is a bubble inside itself What a life to live to weave to wave |
| Jeff 10th grader Manlius, New York |
| About The Author:
What a weirdo am I |
| Why?
Every night before I sleep, It is because of him, I speak of my father, It is the respect and love I have, I don't know why I forgive him, I leave here alone now, |
| Jen 9th grader Ludlow, Ma USA |
| About the author of Why. I am 14 years old. |
| Do you?
You laugh at me |
| Miranda 9th grader Monona, Iowa |
| About The Author:
I'm 14 and I've been writing poetry since I was 11. |
| Why My Dog
Eats Bugs
Animals do baffling things. It is a fact of life, something we all know and, generally, we accept. Cats pounce imaginary things. Rodents eat their offspring. Cows and horses sleep standing up. Monkeys dance. Sometimes, monkeys dance while wearing a fez and a small vest. Of all the fauna on this planet, however, I believe that the most intriguing and mystifying must be the dog. Yes, man's best friend. Supposedly, our canine companions have an inborn nature to love and protect we bipeds. This has been going on for eons, ever since the wild dogs of prehistory took it upon themselves to guard a band of scraggly, hairy, cave-dwelling men. I know that happened because I read it in a book. In any case, this was the beginning of the dog's inexplicable actions. I mean, what partially-sane organism would willingly, dutifully, and without complaint, stand at the side of humans, perhaps the most fickle of all animals (aside from dogs themselves, of course)? Answer: none. A lot has changed since cavemen first walked around with a pack of wolf-dogs at their sides. Now mall babes go on shopping sprees with their toy poodles. Either way, this was most likely a bad idea. We were stupid enough to trust the wild animals in the first place, and they were stupid enough to trust us. It all evens out. So, while they occasionally turn rabid and maul an unsuspecting schoolchild, we pay them back in a number of ways, each perhaps worse than being bitten in the keister by a German Shepherd. Among other things, humans have (in no particular order): leashed, trained, groomed, walked, caged, petted, bathed, dressed, kissed, fed, collared, teased, and given funny haircuts to our pet dogs. And why? Is it because it gives us power? Partially. But more than that, it is an equalizer, a sort of compensation for the weird things that the dogs themselves do. If you have a dog, or have spent much time with them, you'd know what I'm talking about. Big or small, whatever breed, there are some universal truths among dogs. Universal Dog Truth #1: Although perfectly well behaved around the household, whenever taken outside a dog will immediately begin to act like a complete fool and embarrass you. This is especially true when applied to situations in which saving face is of the utmost importance (while around your superiors or attractive members of the opposite sex, or in places where there are many, many people). Universal Dog Truth #2: Even if you're convinced that your dog is house trained, if left alone for more than fifteen minutes, it won't be. Universal Dog Truth #3: Dogs are all implanted with the internal urge to hunt and kill. If deprived of weekly fox hunts or the opportunity to maul small rodents, the dog will turn its teeth to the nearest object of value to release its pent-up hunting energy. Pump heels, important school papers, and anything over the value of $20 are especially valuable prizes to dogs. And, of course, as with most species, there is one, supreme law which is the center of every action and every reaction, the alpha and the omega, one undeniable truth that can neither be escaped nor denied. Supreme Dog Truth: If there are bugs around, a dog is compelled to eat said bugs. Now, some people have objected to this truth. They say that they have never seen their dog eat a bug. To those people I say (and this is a direct quote) "nanny-nanny-boo-boo, you stinky-butt poo-head." Besides, you can't watch your dogs all the time, and if you were to put any dog under constant video surveillance, it could not and would not go for twenty-four hours without eating a bug of some kind. Perhaps just one bug; a gnat, a fly, a moth . . . heck, spiders count too, though they are arachnids. Dogs can't tell the difference. Teams of top scientists at the world's highest-esteemed scientific institutes have conducted in-depth study of canine endocrinology, genetic makeup, interactive environmental factors, and chew toys. However, not a one of these studies (which often include surprisingly insightful evaluations of doggie IQ) have produced a feasible answer as to what unseen forces uphold the Supreme Dog Truth. Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, dog-lovers of the world . . . I have been shown the light. I have found a better way. I am no longer fumbling through the darkness, searching for the answer to that all-important question; "Why does my dog eat bugs?" It was a surprisingly simple revelation. I was sitting around in my living room one lazy Tuesday evening, watching my daily dosage of cartoons. Now, it being early November and my residence being in Northwestern Ohio, the weather has been somewhat brisk (READ: It's frickin' cold!!!!). Some may not know it, but most insects cannot survive in temperatures below 40° Fahrenheit. Wishing to preserve their little bug-lives (even though the average life-span of an insect is all of two weeks), they often sought haven in the warm nest of us mammalian couch potatoes. Unbeknownst to them, doom awaited in the form of a small, white, slightly paunchy Jack Russell Terrier named Missy. On that particular night, it was a rather sizeable moth that entered our dwelling and, knowing no better, it latched onto the wall behind the couch. I did not notice it; Missy did. She climbed to the back of the couch and stood on her hind legs, stretching her neck out to snap at the unsuspecting moth. It was just out of her reach, so she began to whine slightly. At this point I noticed her hunt and began to watch, amused. If you view this as inhumane in any way, you might want to stop reading at this point. I, personally, am not concerned about the life of a small, winged bug with a brain the size of a grain of salt and three days left to live in any case. To make a long story short, Missy proceeded to chase the moth around the room, much to the delight of the entire family. Once she caught it, she quickly devoured it. This, of course, is the part which, until now, was shrouded in mystery. The dog has no quarrel with the bug. The bug is not worthy prey (as Dog Truth #3 states, they would much rather dismantle a brand-new pair of $50 stiletto heels). It is obvious the bug does not taste good, because immediately after conquering the mighty moth, my dog will immediately make faces of disgust, paw at her mouth, and drink as much water as her mouth allows. So why, we ask, was the dog so intent upon catching and eating the bug? The answer is simple. Simply refer to the Universal Dog Truth #4, which states that dogs will, under any conditions, become insanely jealous of any other organism that enters the home they claim as their own. Dogs view moths and other bugs as intruders, capable of usurping their undeniable authority and becoming the six-legged rulers of the roost. Our furry friends will have none of this. If there is an animal on their territory they can safely swallow without the hazard of choking to death or being whacked by a rolled-up newspaper, they will eat it without question. Truth be told, dogs would likely eat humans if the opportunity presented itself. However, we are larger and more intelligent, and we pet them besides. The dogs are content with forcing us to cater to their every whim, feed them gourmet dog foods, allow them to claim and shed all over every piece of furniture in a five-mile radius. On the other hand (or paw), we get to put them in reindeer antlers at Christmas and make them roll over for a stale dog biscuit. We are at a stalemate, the dogs and the humans. And, while we battle for superiority, the bugs quietly sneak in through our air vents and under our doors, taking up residence in dark corners and hibernating in lampshades until it becomes warm enough for them to launch a full-scale assault on all which presume to crush, dominate, and oppress them. So, do dogs really protect us? Or are they so caught up in their jealous quest for authority that they are doing nothing other than facilitating the demise of the human race? This leads to another, perhaps more distressing question; which really is the most intelligent species? Humans trust the capricious canines with their lives. Dogs allow themselves to be ruled by hairless apes with a fascination for dog-clothes. Does either have a mental advantage? If I had to pick the most intelligent species, my vote would go for the bugs. |
| Carmen 11th grader Bowling Green, Ohio |
| About the author of "Why My Dog Eats Bugs": Neither a serious attempt at writing nor a relevant piece whatsoever, I just thought it sounded pretty funny. I'm not a completely humorless, stressed-out, oddball teen writer. I'm a stressed-out, oddball teen writer. |
| The Survivor
Bitter-sour and gold, the October light hit the splintered glass and refracted into shards of a long-lost rainbow. Crouching, Gabriel examined the first glass he'd seen in months. Rarely did he pass through towns, and when he did they were the war-ravaged shells of suburban neighborhoods, long-deserted and just as long pillaged. When he did pass through, he did it swiftly, glittering through on his finely-tuned Banshee, the jet-black of the cycle silhouetted briefly against the outer walls of ghost buildings. Loose dust billowed up around him as he bent, and his heavy, gray-brown trench coat stirred up a breath of wind. Gabriel ran his calloused hands lightly over the frost of glass, as it adoringly pricked his fingertips. Sparks of pain leapt on his fingers, but Gabe had become indifferent to much worse tortures than a little broken glass. He recalled absently that he'd once watched a wise man walk a bed of broken glass, somewhere in the deep, gray shadows cast by the Dunes. Or perhaps the old, sun-cracked man had been stark-raving mad, and the other villagers, equally as browned and as soulless, were simply torturing the ancient one for their own glee. It was not uncommon to see this anymore, though it was quite the change from the brief utopia that had finally engulfed the world. Leave it to humans, he thought, the words catching on the barbed wire of his mind's fence, to attain total peace only to use it as a reason for war. Discontent with his long-winded train of thought (Gabe had always been more for actions than thoughts, reflexes were perhaps his greatest asset), he straightened up and looked from side to side. There was no one there, nothing of any importance, and this did not surprise him. It no longer pleased him, either; in fact, it upset him, thinking that he might be the sole person left alive in North America. At first it was a rather amusing thing, and he was a little proud of himself; surviving a virtual Armageddon by predicting it, preparing himself for it. However, it was no longer funny. Not funny at all. He was lonely and tired and discontent. Above all, he was bored. He missed the violence that his renegade-hero life had perpetuated. He missed coffee and (perhaps more than anything; perhaps not) the woman that he'd loved, the one he might have married one day. But it was all ash now, never to be forgotten and never to be lived again, fading and being bleached in the sun like everything else. Assuming that, perhaps, somewhere, there was someone else alive, Gabe picked up a few of the larger shards of glass, cutting himself only once. Even his blood, he noted, was thin now, but he noted it only in a detached, coldly observant way. Once his satchel was loaded with glass (something rarely found, along with most other things), he moved back to his cycle. It seemed the only perfection in a stained, drained world; still perfect black, glimmering, purring and riding like nothing else. Again, the dull longing arose, but he dismissed it as nothing more significant as thirst, and straddled the bike. The engine revved easily, and Gabe allowed himself to close his eyes for a moment and remember. The crime-stained world that he'd protected by perpetuated violence; the emerald bliss that had swallowed hate and greed and everything for about a week, but, like rotten meat, couldn't stomach it; the fire that cut off the feeling and left a good-bye hanging in the air . . . Then the tear hit his cheek. Gabe's eyes, alert despite the blistering sun and the screaming dust, popped open upon the sensation. Roughly, too roughly, he brought his hand across his face and flung away the sorrow. Riding off, heading ever east, the survivor purged himself of his soul and rode on as a shell. |
| Carmen 11th grader Bowling Green, Ohio |
| About the author of "The Survivor": This is a much-edited form of a longer work-in-progress, just from the prologue. If it seems incomplete, perhaps you can fool yourself into thinking that means something. |
| my personal
life
There are some days, |
| Trista 11th Grader Boonton, New Jersey |
| About the author~My name is trista and i have been writing poetry since freshman year. I love to read and write. I am also a big fan of computers. This is the first piece I have submitted and i hope it is enjoyed |
| Love Costs
It all happened on the schoolground floor Clatter of bells, crunch of the snow The wrenched gut's distention, sweet smell of dismay The court now so empty he started his task He moved 'til he reached the center of the court The wrenched gut's distention, sweet smell of dismay Standing alone, his eyes scanned the field Then this smile disappeared, in its place a harsh scowl The wrenched gut's distention, sweet smell of dismay Clatter of bells, squeaking of doors Crowds closing in, red engulfing the white The wrenched gut's distention, sweet smell of dismay "Hear me now!" he bellowed with rage The crowd fell apart, their fright all around He watched the confusion; a grin crossed his face And then she appeared, her face unafraid She spoke not a word but looked in his eyes The wrenched gut's distention, sweet smell of dismay Silent crowd, watching his tears melt the snow The wrenched gut's distention, sweet smell of dismay |
| Daniel Manteca, CA |
| About the author of Love Costs
I find that third-person poetry is more effective than first-person. People tend to try and relate to fictional characters more readily than with the living, breathing poets themselves. |
| AN
EPIC (ODE TO MR. SALINGER)
*sometimes there aren't any signs of life passed the barrier of emptiness*could you imagine that one day you would awake and not be able to see an inch passed your face*think about how it feels to pass a corner not knowing what is on the other side*now think about how it would feel if you couldn't see passed anything* there would be no reason to hide your face from the spectacles of phonies*no reason to believe in anything you couldn't see*or would it make you believe more in things that you couldn't see*imagine a little boy in the middle of a room not doing anything*now imagine if he were blind*there is a sudden feeling of sorrow and angst because the boy is too young and too adorable for this to occur and yet it has*imagine the child as he grows up*there will be people who will laugh at him and taunt him*there will be people who will love and care for him*imagine shooting a blind man with pure ardor*he wouldn't know what hit him*imagine the falling darkness suddenly becomes more than darkness*that it would change from hatred to haste*give the blind man a gun and he'd try to shoot you back*imagine all the innocent people he would kill in the process* think about how much it would matter to him*imagine that one of the innocent was a mother who had a four year old son*now imagine the pain that he would feel the guilt*the pain would be incredibly terrifying* imagine that the boy becomes a teenager*the world has changed for him he perceives it differently than it perceives him*imagine that the boy was the least popular boy in school because he was overweight*imagine that he had just asked out a girl and had been rejected*imagine that he was abused by his foster parents* imagine if you were the boy would you commit suicide*would the world change its view*imagine that the world were not real*that this was all some game established by a higher power*imagine that all you know is false could you handle the truth*imagine that the blind man was not born blind and had faked his handicap throughout his life*could you then shoot the man in pure ardor*how guilty would you feel about it then* what if this is all life has to give could you die content*have you ever truly seen the lights above the world do you find them as brilliant as the lights in your mind*when your mind is closed do you dream dreams that you could never tell anyone else*in your dreams are you bulletproof can you fly*in your dreams can you tell him how you really feel can you say to him what you really imply*do you conquer all evil in your mind*the stalemate has become fluently resolved*the emblematic smile that you depict will show all that is righteous and explain all the unknown*look at all the tools of destruction and hide in the closet*imagine that you were deprived of the holy ghost*how many sprites and demons would you face in your journey*imagine that you were sent on a journey but did not understand the purpose of the journey*would you be able to discover the panacea*such an idea that you would be able to live without support could you handle it*there is a tampered undermined intelligence amongst the people who strive further*they see their success they see their victory* every now and then they see the success of the people they care for but what about the rest*the miles between people have been severed by distrust and greed*imagine that you are the man who was born without a mother*imagine that you came face to face with the blind man who had killed your mother*what would you do*how many times have you seen something that was entirely unjust something that was just incredibly insensitive*now think about how many times you weren't laughing*someday i will gain the strength i need and when i do the world will change*i will not receive it from a higher power for you see i do not believe that a higher power would let this travesty occur*imagine living in a world where God did not exist*would you be able to live in that world*i wouldn't*there are times when God exists in the most spectacular forms and yet i don't believe*i guess i believe when the world is mine but when i fades out and flounders i don't*have you ever been able to walk the streets at night*it's hard to believe that people used to leave their doors unlocked*it's a frightening truth to see nothing ever is solid anymore*imagine living in a world where you are given absolutely no respect in a world where you are taken away from but never given back*imagine a world in which no one ever listens to what you have to say*imagine that he doesn't care what you say*he doesn't appreciate what has become of his unbridled silence*there will no longer be a hole in the place closest to your heart*that all the phonies who belong in hell will find their way to heaven and your bitter soul will be cast away to hell*imagine that holden caulfield had never existed if he had never been dreamt up that he had never been thought of*now imagine that mark chapman didn't have the book in his pocket would he still have shot john lennon*imagine that mark chapman didn't have the book in his pocket would future assassins still carry the book*imagine if mark chapman didn't have the book in his pocket would jd salinger still be writing today would he be the most glorious writer of the present day*someday all the verses will fall together in a fashion that is anything but dire*then all of a sudden the world will collapse on itself because of the approval of sadness and disappointment*there will be a day when the end will come but will that make nostradamus correct or just make us implicitly insipid*we know it's coming so why can't we stop it*one day you will die one day a relative of yours will die why can't we stop that*imagine that your judgment was incorrect and that just for the slightest second your expectations became nothing more than wishes of entire worlds of glory*imagine that one day you will look back on today and remember when therewere 108 days remaining and laugh at the unaltered pain*imagine that reality is no longer your imagination* |
| Leslie 11th grader Calgary, Alberta, Canada |
| Ballad
of the Halifax Pier
BALLAD FOR THE HALIFAX PIER SEA BALLAD. The year was 1779 when they set off from England. Shed no tears, for their the broken men of the Halifax
Pier. I was but a lad of ten when I first saw that mighty
ship. Shed no tears, for I’m a broken man on the Halifax
Pier. Then one day we came under fire of a pirate band. Shed no tears for the broken men of the Halifax Pier. Well here I am in my twenty-third year, I arrived in
Halifax yesterday. Shed no tears, for I’m a broken man on the Halifax
Pier. |
| Michael 12th grader Ark City, Kansas |
| About the author of Hallifax Pier.
This is an old sea ballad sung by sailors to lift spirits or to help take their minds off the toil of daily work. |
