DANCE
THEATER
CREATIVE WRITING
writing writing writing writing writing writing writing writing writing writing writingThe Chess Song
Zachary Toner, M-9
It's a hostage situation
There's a bishop and a rook
They're your loyal pieces
The ones that the enemy took
The whole entire game
You've been playing it safe
So it's time to go attacking
In every possible space!
We will, we will block you
We will, we will block you
There are holes in their defense
And a look on their face
That tells you they're losing
And they're out of their place
A grin is on your face
As you take their rook
You're winning this game
Despite the look
Horse
Andrea Beganskas, M-9
Why am I here?
Why can't I roam free?
I want one special person, not two
I want to be treated gently
Where is the love?
Where is the friendly spirit that I used to have?
I can't stand the gate that lies in front of me
I need privacy for once in my life
I dream of the day that I can gallop with no boundaries
I dream of open fields that I grew up in
I need love
Two
Vicky Metal, M-9
Two sides.
Two stories
Two options.
To be anything.
To allow life to pass you by,
Or to live it.
To stand with confidence.
A word foreign to your ears.
And to your reflection.
But you want it.
And now it's here.
Take a broken soul.
Give her friends.
Give her something to care about.
Give her a place.
Give her the means to smile,
And she will.
Give her a reason for life,
And she'll embrace it.
Give her anything.
Don't knock her down on purpose.
Because she can fall farther than you could ever imagine.
It's not an even fracture,
It's a pain that never goes away.
Even heroes need to take off their masks to cry.
Caffeine scent
Sabrina Ross, M-9
The fireplace of our midnight
Simmers and waves goodnight like
A somber ocean, pulling at the sky.
We say our seventh goodbye
And our sixth I love you,
Jump off our swing and fall to the sand.
It shivers when we land, to
Surround us like a smoke cloud,
We inhale.
And exhale onto each other
Me on your cold hands, you on my neck
I feel the Café Verona in your sigh
As I gasp for air but hold my breath,
Pulling at the sky.
Reach your feet up high, close your
Eyes and you can fly away
To a crowded place, closer to the stars.
We count up fifth grade scars
And our fourth favorite memories,
Extend our legs to touch the branches with our toes.
The wind tugs at our clothes, to
Chill us like a scary tale—
We listen.
And retell to our dead mentors
Me to a poet, you to a musician
I smell the espresso roast wafting towards guitars
As I strum far strings but throw my pen,
Closer to the stars.
The window of our afternoon
Opens for pink balloons like
A lost romance, I'm starting to miss
We are my third best bliss
And my second best reality,
Grasp our helium and savor the atmosphere.
The air no longer here, to
Fill us up like cups of coffee,
We brew.
And pour ourselves into lustful mugs
Me with the sugar, you with the cream
I taste the gold Coast Blend in your hurried kiss
As I believe my eyes but remember dreams,
I'm starting to miss.
The fire of our last lament
Burns away the caffeine scent like
An explosion, wondering why
We say our first badbye
And our no I love you.
Let go and fall through the sea.
Drown to darker depths of me, to
Sting our eyes with ocean water,
We inhale.
And exhale when we reach the surface
Me with myself, you with yourself
I float all alone and pull at the sky,
As you leave tired and flavorless,
Wondering why.
Seasons
Mara Robinson, M-11
I know the sudden gust of a cold wind blowing down the street.
I know the last bit of warmth flying away on an eagle's wing.
I know the little white crystals falling from the sky like an angel's tears.
I know the joy of watching a single flower sprout and blossom.
I know the sight of green creeping its way into the trees like a sly snake.
I know the smell of dew on leaves, crisp and fresh.
I know the feeling of a brutal sun burning me.
I know the sensation of cold ice cream trickling down my chin.
I know the gift of freedom.
I know the green on the trees hiding away with red, yellow, orange, And brown taking its place.
I know the animals gathering food and fading away, slowly, but surely,
Until there is not even the distant sound of a bird's song.
I know the feeling of everything dying down.
I know the sudden gust of cold blowing down the street...
Miss
Adina Weinberg, M-11
Sometimes you miss an event. You are asleep, you close your eyes,
you turn your head: like the girl who blinked and missed her true
love standing only 20 feet away....or the boy who took a nap, and
missed his chance to be forgiven, a chance that will never come
again. I like to think that I slept through world peace. That the world
had a chance to love, hand in hand, looking up at the stars. Maybe
I slept through world peace this time, but next time peace comes
around, I'll be awake. I won't miss it next time.
Family portrait
Tahra Friedman, M-11
Mother.
Her arms tightly embrace her daughter.
Her teeth, whitened by the flash of the camera.
Her dress, neatly ironed, no wrinkles,
Clings tightly to her oh-so-trim body.
Memories hiding behind her aquamarine eyes.
Father.
His pin-straight posture, belying his crumbling insides.
His hair all gel-shiny.
The outfit he chose to wear is impeccable, as always.
But his smile is filled with fake pride.
Son.
His glasses rest straight on his nose.
His arms are crossed, a smirk on his face,
As he tries too hard to create a "cool" veneer.
His dirty converse, hidden by the wooden mahogany frame.
Daughter.
Concealer, blush, and eye shadow packed heavily on her face.
Those rounded shoulders under her mother's tight grasp.
So heavily accessorized, every part of her
It's impossible to see what's beneath.
The portrait, which appears almost-perfect,
Viewed closely, reveals a multitude of secrets.
Rock
Brooke Holman, M-11
I had no beginning. Pieces came together, making my being. However,
I am always changing, so I suppose I don't even know what my being
is. Winds have swept across my surface like the softest whisper and
the loudest scream. Rain has fallen on me, a gentle caress or a rough
slap. And time is something else entirely. When you're there forever,
it is like you aren't there at all. Minutes and days and centuries blur
like the watercolor sky at dawn. Every second exists at once, yet no
seconds exist. There is no consciousness, no thoughts. A vegetative
State, except, in the instance, that something existed before. I, on the
other hand, am all that I've been, that I ever will be.
I have no end.
Fog Haiku
Kristen Chao, M-15
The foggy day is
muggy, unbearable—like
A clam licking me
Prospect Park Steps
Isabella Alessandrini, M-15
Cold black steps lead up to an unknown destination, and light fluffy
snow blankets the stairs in saturated contrast.
Sleeping, the seemingly dead trees wait patiently for spring to warm
up their wintry bark and bring life back into their frosty branches.
Like the steps, the trees are engulfed by a thick white quilt of
protection that covers every surface.
The trees' thin, spidery branches form an intricate gossamer web
of intertwined arms that gloomily reach out to each other and are
destined to stay tangled forever.
Will of a Dying Man
Sophie Downes, M-15
To the waters and the wild
I leave my courage, skill and nerve;
To my brother's youngest daughter
I leave my energy and verve.
To the very distant future
I leave my memories and dreams;
To my shy and awkward nephews
I leave my pride and self-esteem.
To the clouds that drift above
I leave my hopes and thoughts and prayers;
To the ever-changing sea
I leave my worries, fears and cares.
To the woman that I married
I leave my love and time well-spent.
And to my niece I leave my library.
With that I am content.
The Warrior
Bill Tang, M-15
Alone, a bloody red bird perches on a fine twig
Dark lava wings rest upon his body, so big
Like royal red armor shielding his feathers
A fan tail sprouts from his lower body
The broad barren chest stands out, like a breast plate
His beak, a sharp spear ready for battle, quick as fate
The black around his eyes, a tight mask
And his head, a crested helmet
Proudly he stands, gazing at the battlefield
His decision made to go, none can make him yield
Full of visions of glory and war
He rushes off
His choice, his heart, hard as stone
He will fight until he's nothing but bones
Snowy white flowers grew where he'd perched
Little lemon buds grew from within
Vanilla petals extended out, a loving mother's embracing arms
Petals fell in the breeze, tears of a mother
Who couldn't bear to let her child go
Lightly a breeze swayed the tree, a mother rocking her child
The branches reached to embrace the bird
Perhaps for the last time
She longed for her child to stay
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