Calf Pasture

I am eight, and my family

Is on the pier at
The beach. I see the swells

Of Long Island Sound, the

Seagulls emerging from air

And land and sea in a raucous

Chorus. I smell the air wafting

From the cold seawater, and the

Distinctive must of the pier’s old

Weatherbeaten wood. My dad is

Pointing out the islands, and

Grandma is correcting him with

Kind amusement and telling us

Of her own adventures at

Different beaches, in different

Times. And her white glasses

Mimic her white hair as she

Laughs, her purple-weined hand

Clutching a cane, and I

Smile now, in the remembering,

Even though she won’t swim

With us ever again.

Tuesday

Tuesday evening, around 5:45 pm:

I’m screwing up.

No, really; you don’t understand how bad this is.

My brain is about to implode, collapse in on itself like

One of those fancy chocolates from a box someone gave you on a holiday--

That one chocolate that you expect to have a hard center

But instead smashes under slight pressure,

Saccharine filling oozing out in pain and defeat,

The fragile shell surrounding my volatile psyche breaking apart

Into splinters of cocoa butter and shriveled efforts curling up into the fetal position.

I’m waiting for this to be over.

My voice teacher told me the other day,

“Keep the energy spinning, let it vibrate.”

Well, my energy right now is spinning

Like the engine of my mother’s car,

Eating itself to death because of a cap left carelessly unscrewed--

My energy is dying, along with most of my desire to do anything but what is required from me

But I can’t even do That much,

So all my self-sabotaging thoughts converge on me,

Circling me like we’re about to start some cheesy tango

In an overdramatic, nationally televised dance competition

And they intend to dance me till these fingers hurt,

Till the pressure building up in my temples explodes and my

Thoughts and fears drip down all over long black stage curtains and fellow musicians,

The ones who know what they’re doing,

The ones who have no reason to feel scrutinized or embarrassed or ashamed.

I want to reach higher levels of musical ability, but how can I do that when

Exhaustion and frustration butter the rungs of the ladder going up to the little control panel where I turn on the “mental processing” switch?

My fingers and my brain have ceased communications,

Old friends who suddenly stop talking over some trivial disagreement

And cannot seem to resolve their tiff until years later when it’s too late to matter anymore.

I can no longer sing through my fingers;

They cannot speak intelligently, with all their information locked away

In a coat closet corner of my brain.

They do not traverse the black hills and ivory valleys like the frequent fliers they are;

These travellers somehow develop vertigo,

And I have little to no control over where they decide to wander off to in their

Drunken, unthinking stupor.

The mental haze settles in the back of my eyes,

Rendering them next to useless in trying to read or fake the next tricky chord changes.

What is wrong with me? Why didn’t I do this

Yesterday, last weekend, ages ago?

I’m a disappointment to myself,

To the people around me who thought we would sound better but

Aren’t sure why we don’t.

My prior arrogance embarrasses me, makes me regretful.

I just need to get through this moment, and the next two hours of moments like this one.

Maybe just once,

I’ll play something decently enough

So I don’t stay completely grim for the whole rehearsal.

But then I just have to rely on muscle memory and luck.

I just need to pull myself through the swamp reeds

To the promised land of water and shelter on the other side of the river.

Death Wings

Death Wings

She lay in bed,
Her face pale as the sickness seized her body.

And the wings beat against the wind.

The feverish tremors left her body crying out:
Save me.

Black wings,
Dark as night
Crusted over with dried blood.

Tears rolled down the faces that surrounded the woman
Hopeless, distant.

The eternity of heaven and hell
Vacant and silent,
Except for the steady repercussion of the midnight wings.

They all knew it was the end.
The crow called defiantly, betraying his hiding place
In the large weeping willow.

He carries death on his shoulders
She closes her eyes,
Her whimpering silenced.

Her daughter wails,
The faces fall.

And the wings beat against the wind.
His next victim's death inevitable.

1:21

Clouds glow soft pink, dark blue
There is light, but no moon can be seen
A strange sort of half-light
that darkens upon further scrutiny.

You know the moon is full
But it hides behind a cluster of clouds
deigning to be silent and furtive in the dead of night.

And then what is the moon?
Only a rock
a reflection of light that is not its own.

The girl I'll always love

Sitting in my lap is all hope as we know it
For this little one shall be the one to be proud of
She’ll get high honors all through her years
In the highest classes all among her peers.

Here is the girl that will be accepted to Harvard
But unlike others will go somewhere else
She is the one who will be athletic and cool
A popular girl
Sweeter than any have seen.

Here is the girl sitting in my lap
A cute little darling
That puts up with my crap
She is the one who I’ll favor forever
She is beloved little sister.

CWP- Bela vs. Bri

Hey this is Madeleine
okay, i know this isn't all completely nice. but this is a thing im doing for english. please make comments on whether or not i forgot something, i said something wrong, if this is an A worthy memoir. please remind me 2 of wat everyone looked like on the first day, becuase i can only remember bri's outfit. please, anything with the bri and madeleine drama. bela, read the last paragraph cause i aded more. Maria, Gina, im desperate!!!!!!!!!!!

I walk into this huge room with lots of tables and chairs lined up neatly. About 5 rows high and about fifteen chairs to a table, it looked like the ideal place to scare someone new to this like me. I walked in with this boy Quinn, he seemed quiet compared to everyone else, but I don’t really think either of us knew what to expect. Behind a huge wall reveals about five other people, and old lady who would end up leading us, a strict woman named Justine, and a really nice and relaxed looking man, named Jeff who also would also be in charge. I sit down and wait, watching groups of kids who know each other squeal with excitement, while other kids like me wait.

My brown hair with a lot of golden highlights is pulled back into a ponytail. My flip flops are digging into my toes and my blue eyes are alert, but a little relaxed from being so anxious but even more nervous. I am wearing my favorite blue tee-shirt and blue jean Bermuda shorts. My head is pounding from anticipation as I wait.

Around the corner comes Charlotte and even though we weren’t friends, I was just so happy to see someone I know. She sits next to me and I look around the room. This girl, with blonde hair and a flowery blue colored spaghetti strap shirt, slowly turns towards me and I mouth, “Hi……” She slowly gets up and walks towards me. She sits down next to me and that started our friendship. Slowly as the day progressed, Charlotte, Bri, and I walk towards a table. Close behind us is Kenzie, Caitlin, and Maria and Gina. This was the beginning of a very close group. Caitlin a sophomore, and Maria and Gina who were freshman, sat with the other high schoolers but they talked with us more. Brianne, Charlotte and me started to sit together every day. We sat at the same table at lunch, my table for in that huge room, and the back right row of computers in the computer lab. We were having fun sharing what we knew about writing.

On the third day, we were split into groups. I was with a few girls I didn’t really know but Kenzie was in my group. Brianne, she introduced me to this really nice girl, Bela, who was in her group. The extent of our first conversation was “Hi”…… “Hi” “Hi!” “Hi” “Hhhhhiiiiiii.” As you can see, I didn’t really think that we would be close, I mean those hi’s were kind of awkward. But the next day, she was sitting next to me, her on my right and Bri on my left. Charlotte and Kenzie were always a few seats over. But that also started a huge drama.

Day after day I would wait for Bela if she didn’t have enough candy and needed to buy more, or if she needed to get something. I didn’t mind it and I mean sometimes I was late too. But Brianne, she got so annoyed. There wouldn’t be enough seats in the computer lab for all of us. So instead of splitting up, Bela and I would sit together somewhere else. I had written a poem about Brianne, about her, and the poem said, “Wardrobe is adorable, sometimes stronger than her.” This embodied what she was like. When I first saw her, I thought she was going to be a little rude and very snooty, but she was really just quiet and extremely insecure. I learned this and wrote this seemingly harmless line in her poem. Then someone who was anonymous decided to point out the fact that I thought her clothes made a bolder statement than she did. For like 3 straight days, everyone in the back row on the right of the computer lab, they just kept writing all these things. The thing is, they knew it was true. I apologized though and she forgave me.

That didn’t mean the drama was over though. When Bela and I continued to be extremely close friends, Brianne got even more jealous. She started hitting me, pushing and just saying rude things that eventually made me just not want to be near her. So after a while, Brianne stopped sitting with us, she moved to a different area, she talked with other people and we just started to try and forget her.

On the last few days, Bri started talking to us again. I guess we didn’t want to end it badly, or at least as badly. Bela and I told her it was us who prank called her and things were semi-normal with Bri again.I mean, I still disliked her and so did Bella, but we figured maybe we should be nicer, include her a little, a mean we didn’t need to be best friends, only tolerant of each other. We ended the two week session of the Connecticut Writing Project hugging and laughing and already missing one another. Bela, Noodle and I knew we would keep in touch with hour long phone calls and sleepovers every month, but we were still just sad to end an amazing 2 weeks that felt like four. We will all probably do this again next year, and we probably will all try to stay in the same session, but there isn’t anyone saying, I will be there next year.

Waiting

Standing in the cool October breeze
in her jeans and t-shirt,
she waits impatiently on the broken, sandy asphalt,
next to a woman in shabby clothes,
for the muffled purr of the ferry engine.

Wandering past the abandoned boat,
an old fisherman sits between the timbers,
slowly creaking in the incoming tide.
She walks out onto the ferry dock,
carefully missing the crooked nails.

She leans over the 4th post, covered with faded initials,
and looks into the murky bay-water
only lit by the old kerosene lamp for the ferry drivers.

Among the bait-fish a dark shadow rises to the surface
like that one dark thought that creeps forward at the worst times.
Razor-edged fins and tail appear,
and she shudders and backs away from this three-foot monster.

Getting her bearings, she hangs on tight
and leans her face closer to the water,
to that disgusting, despicable creature:
a shark.

Loathing it more every second,
she sits on the dock and continue to watch.
she wants to look away from this creature
that she hates, but doesn’t fully understand.

The dirty old fisherman that hangs by the dock,
The woman sitting on the street corner,
We watch and loathe them.

Why do we hate them? Yes, the shark bothers,
The fisherman curses, and
The woman begs,

Maybe because they get in the way of our schedule.
Maybe because it’s too much to care.

The ferry finally slides into the dock,
and the shark disappears into the deep,
along with her caring thoughts.

She gets on the ferry
and sits on the wet wooden bench,
slowly edging away from the old fisherman.

What Can Be Said

What can be said
To make it all better
To help the whole world
To not be self-centered.

What can be said
To make it all right
To Silence the cries
To wipe away their tears.

What can be said
To show lives some mercy
To reassure the scared
To make sure that the pleas are answered.

What can be said
To make it all right
To help the whole world
To silence the cries.

Everyone

Everyone’s different,
Yet all are the same.
Unsure of one thing,
Sure of the next.

Everyone’s strong,
Yet all are weak
Judging one,
Defending the next

Everyone has power,
Yet all do wrong,
ordering around one
then being ordered next.

Everyone’s different,
Yet all are the same,
What people realize,
Is we can stop this.

My Problem

Why is it every time I talk,
It’s little bit too loud
And people always tell me,
Let’s play the quiet game,
Don’t lose

Why is it I speak too fast,
And my whistle is so loud.
When people ignore me,
I keep talking, unaware.

Why is it I laugh so loud,
And can be so clumsy.
If I laugh at myself too,
Am I laughing with them?

Why am I not in charge,
of what comes out of my mouth,
talking before thinking,
instead of the other way around

Why am I this way,
Does it make sense?
Please read this to yourself,
Because I’ve probably read too fast.

Splash

First, a wink of color

Then, a splash of pink

Next, a hint of yellow, purple, orange, green,

While I sit next to the window,

Each splash of color

Drips

Drips

Drips

And the sky turns to blue

Followed by a slew of green

Coloring trees

Grass, plants

Next comes the fading

The sky splashes colors of its own

In purples

Oranges

Reds

Pinks

And everything settles

it is washed over with gray

The first time

The first time I thought I was in love was magical
The first time my heart beat a little harder
The first time I was really excited
The first time I thought this could go somewhere

My thoughts rushed to that hint of blue
The heat that comes from him after he’s been out
I didn’t think it could be this perfect
The connection we made
The nights out
Even those in and the waiting was not a problem
With a voice that could sing any song

I’ll never forget him
I’ll never forget how he made me feel
When I just had to get away
The one who took me to a different place
So I could escape all that I was feeling

The first time that I actually felt something
The first time that someone had a place inside my heart
The same place I shared in his
The first time I laid eyes on my first car.

Intimidate

Sometimes it can be difficult

Even overwhelming

To watch a cursor

Travel across a blank page

Even if you are in control

It has a mind of its own

A destiny

A fate

That you eventually

May tap in to.

Be that as it may

The intimidation overwhelms you

Helpless

Alone

And at the same time

The cursor is not

Just a cursor.

It is simply an icon

Representative of a life

A life that can be full and enriching

Or a life that could be sad, blank, hollow, and empty.

Synesthesia

First a wink of color,
Then, a song floats through the air.
I heard a the blue notes of a clarinet,
And it brought me to despair,
As a burst of red sounding horns
Brought forth a glowing grin,
While violins take the harmony,
As my grandfather sips his gin.
But that is how the genre, jazz,
Floats in color to my ear.
When my grandfather and I sit and listen,
It is amazing to hear.

Veronika

So independent,
It drives us crazy,
Acting so old,
I feel lazy.

Nice to anyone you meet,
You talk out loud
You will defeat
You will stand strong for us to see

You may seem different,
But that’s okay,
Your awkwardness and your independence
Stand strong for the world to see,
And stop messing with Flippy.

Friends

Friends
By Brianne
A reference for help
Friends
Someone always there for you
Friends
People to express yourself to
Friends
Someone that’s makes you feel comfortable
Friends

The new girl

The new girl
By Brianne

So shy and quiet
Not a word to say
Just sat in her seat
The whole day

Didn’t say a word
Till she met me
Then she talked
“finally” I thought.

So loud she was,
But oh so nice
The new girl
She was called
The new girl.

Neverending

Friendship
May betray you
Love
May hurt you
Hope
May leave you
Trust
May forget you
Neverending
A loss of life

Could You Be Any Bird I'd Like?

I watch you ready for death
With not a single tear shed
Could you be a bird, any bird I’d like?
I wish you were a Phoenix
With all my heart and soul
For if you were
I’d take care of you forever
Now please,
I don’t want anything else
I just wished you were a Phoenix
For now you never move
You became paler and I realized
This wish won’t come true because it already failed

New York, New York

Big, Juicy, Sweet, Apple
I say not
Sure it is fun but the
People around you…
Strangers
Some in Plastic Bags
Some in Fancy Fur
Some in Rags,
Some in Gowns
Big, Juicy, Sweet, Apple
Concrete/Silk
Rich/Poor
The Big Apple
New York City