Birds
By Megan Manchester
Homeschool and Spring Branch Academy

Birds come, birds go
They stay, they lay an egg or two
They hatch and they flew and flew
Then they’ll leave for a day or two
Then they mate and make more eggs
Until I find them on my bed
Or maybe on my head
Then I find they are on the trees
They hop, hop, hop and they don’t stop
Pulling out worms from the ground
I lounge around
I hum to the music
They say it’s like a toothpick
It’s sharp and not flat
It is like honey or sweets
I love the sound of it, whatever it is
A toothpick of honey or sweets

Amy Buck’s Chicken
by Miriam Harper-Brees
Homeschool

Amy Buck’s Chicken Cluck
Rode a horse to Bangorin Town
With Irate Bees
And Pesky Fleas
The End

The Sea
by Easton Osborne
Arnold Elementary

Schools of fish swimming around you.
Light reflecting from the sea to the sun.
Hearing water flowing left and right,
All day and all night
Before you can see all that, you have to jump
or dive
Feeling the water around you while hearing
swish, swish
Are you ready for this adventure?
I know I am!

Ballad of Thy Drums
by Maddy Valencia
Northwest Kidder Middle School

Crouched in the trenches
Of casualties of men
Preached the drums of a thousand arms
Ra pum Ra pum

Sweet syrup crimson
A remedy so arisen
Up up from under the daisies
He heard the trumpets sing

O’ familiar sound
So much like a one-man’s proud
Carronades’ his name
Ra pum Ra pum

Was once a sprawling ‘scape
Now an imbrued ruin
Once laid a man
Bearing all thine pride

“Thou shall not pass” and
“Thou shall not hear brass”
Thine ears weigh too much
Of the past of the war

Ra pum Ra pum
Thy drums no longer sung
Guilt washed with the tongue
The silk of the young

Trenches drenched with ichor
Lay thy ghosted sniper
He shall now carry the drums
For now, he is forever succumbed

I’m stuck in this room with no way to get out. I’m stuck in this room with fake moms and
fake doubts. I see kids leave with happy smiles, and I sit in the back corner with big frowns
and tears running down my eye. I wait long days and hours for someone to look in my eyes
and tell me how beautiful and intelligent I am. I wait and wait and wait, until…
My eyes are amazed with a sweet mom and dad grabbing my hand and taking me to a
loving house. I grow up strong and go right back to the same place and start someone
else’s life with me.

A mortician’s guide to burying your childhood.
By Alexis Hoover
Hanover-Horton High School

Let her die peacefully.
Don’t stuff her in the ground.
Take out each crayon IV individually,
Once more let her taste air of the summer playground

Dress her in her old outfit.
With those purple, sparkly jeans.
And pink top that suddenly doesn’t fit.
Maybe in that she’ll finally feel clean.

Put her in her old toy box,
With all her baby teeth.
If she wants she can wake and play with the blocks.
But she never will, she’ll forever stay asleep.

Don’t tell your Mother
Because she won’t understand.
She’ll say you’re not an adult but you were.
She just wants you to be a kid, and still hold your hand.

Choose a place in your old backyard,
Maybe next to where you used to play.
you can go back there and let down your guard,
But it won’t ever be the same.

Dig a hole using your favorite sandbox scoop,
Until your hands are blistered and bleeding.
Like when you tried so hard to tie your laces into loops.
So you could do the following and leading.

Invite your friends you used to play mermaids with,
Your tails were never plain.
You stopped talking may the 5th,
And you never talked again.

You realized you buried them too,
In this deep hole you dug.
Even though you stayed as they grew,
You try to forget them and shrug.

The dirt under your nails you’ll try to scrub away,
But all the scrubbing turns your childhood grey.
Accept that it’s grey and it always will be.
Try to move on to let these memories free.

Do not dig them back up no matter how loud they yell.
You’ll hear them across the country, but never prevail.
Do not listen, it hurts to bring them back.
Let them fade to white, to grey then to black.

The Forest
by Abigail French
Pioneers Homeschool Co-op

Wind rustling through the leaves,
Birds sing their wondrous songs,
Through the trees, the squirrels do weave,
Whimsical forest to all and none it belongs.

The running of deer,
The foraging of foxes,
The rabbits raise an ear,
Oh forest, where there live the animals and foxes.

In morn, the squirrels harvest there,
‘Possums sleeping in their dens,
At night the owls do stare,
The badgers going with their kin.

Oh forest, with such grace,
Oh forest, you are my favorite place.

The Comfort of Being Lost
By Silvia Baker
Western High School

I’d like to think
That lost doesn’t mean
Gone forever.

I’d like to think
Lost means
Leaving for a bit,

Exploring a new land,
Or sleeping for a long,
Long,

Time.
I’d like to think
Lost means

Goodbyes that say
See you later,
I love you.

I’d like to think
That lost
Will be like falling asleep in the car,

The voices of everyone who has ever been
Lost
Surrounding you.

I’d like to think
That lost doesn’t mean
Lost

At all.
I’d like to think that lost
Will be like waking up

And realizing that
Right here,
Right now,

You are utterly
And completely
Free,

Lost, in
The best
Way
Possible.

Forensic Psychology
By Aurora Birch
Hanover-Horton High School

Deep within the mind of a killer
Listen to every part of their story even the filler
What were they thinking at the start of the crime?
How do they feel now that they’re facing time?
Why did they do it? How did we get here?
Think about the victim knowing their time was here
Cleaning the mess
You think you know the rest
Driving to the house quieter than ever
Find the back door and pull on the lever
Asking the questions writing them down
How has this person been walking through town
Getting the answers telling the court
This time is getting short
Can they stand trial and face the judge
Or will they sit in this asylum and hold a grudge?

Spring’s Ballet
By Hanna Uphaus
Homeschool

Daffodil dancers, don yellow dresses
Softly aglow with golden caresses.
Now sway together and twirl in the breeze
With joyful bows to the leaves in the trees.
The whisper of wind a sweet melody plays
As you gracefully frolic in the sun’s rays.

Theater
By Stacia Manchester
Spring Branch Academy

Heart pounds. Quick Breathing
All your work leads up to this evening.

Blinding light. Knocking knees.
Confetti of duct tape under your feet.

Strangers surround you. Once they were friends.
But now they’re in costume. Old faces hidden.

Telling a story, you’re characters now.
Makeup and sweat adorn your stressed brow.

Telling a story takes more than one voice.
Seen and unseen, each part has a place.

Months of practice. Lines rehearsed.
Embody a thought. Give all you’re worth.

No longer an average American teenager,
You’re someone different. Someone bolder and braver.

You’re an actor with a story to tell.
A person with confidence. Live it out well.

Not just in the glamour and glitter and fame,
But in the ordinary, dull, and mundane.

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