Everything I Learned About Writing

                Writing is an influential language printed on paper that can unite people together through the beauty and essence of language and life experiences we can all relate to in one way or another. It constantly allows us to open our minds and take notice into new words and ideas. Throughout my schooling at St. Gregory I have learned that writing or reading for a homework assignment does not have to be a chore or a burden that is pushed to the side. Instead, I like to think of them, for myself, to be an opportunity to become aware of something about a person, event, or topic that I have never taken notice into before. Writing also triggers all the senses and reminds us of the past and gets us thinking about the future. My favorite style of writing is the kind that creates images of the simple beauties in nature and happy moments life can offer us that I can treasure and think back to when times are tough.

Everything I Learned About Writing

Writing is how an individual communicates. It allows you to convey a thought or feeling to someone you may not know, and this is a great responsibility. A good writer can change the mood, and outlook of every person who reads their work. This is a great power few realize. Although you have to recognize this responsibility, you cannot be concerned with every person who might read what you wrote. You should choose one person to write for, and focus on them. I write for myself. Writing is not about making others happy, or sad, or getting revenge. For me, writing is just about telling the truth, and trying to make sense of this chaotic whirlwind I call my life. This is how I cope with situations I cannot understand. I may have hurt some feelings, but I cannot concern myself with that. I have learned to be strong, and honest, and only produce work I can stand behind one hundred percent. I write to find peace of mind, and that is what is important. And that is what I learned about writing.

Chaviess

A Day of Days

With a mouthful of dirt I quickly got to my feet. The warm summer air created a haze that blurred my view of the ominous beehive in the distance. A swift glance over my shoulder revealed my companion toppling over the sinister log. “This looks like a good one,” Marcus remarked as he spit a rather large clump of dirt from his mouth. “Yeah, a painful one,” I replied. Do you see how many there are? I hope you remembered the band aids.” “Why the hell would I bring band aids you stupid kid,” shouted Marcus. “I don’t think they would be of any use to help with the stingers.” “Don’t call me stupid, you’re the one who is failing math,” I retaliated. Ten minutes later we rose from the ground covered in dirt and wiping blood from our noses and lips. In spite of this small struggle, no lasting anger remained between us.
Sweat and grime covered our bodies as we took sniping positions atop a large boulder overlooking the ancient oak tree. I set up ten pellets by my side and slid the first one into the barrel. “Okay so whatever happens, that queen bee must rest on the sole of either of ours shoes,” I said. I have been waiting for vengeance for the past two weeks ever since one stung me in the heel. “First let’s take care of this one,” said Marcus as he pinned a stray bee under his shoe. “Ready?” I asked. With a nod, Marcus and I carefully took aim as brothers in arms.

Noticing Cracks -

About a month ago
a small pebble hit the window of my car.
The damage began as a small knick,
no bigger than an ant.
Over the course of the month
that small knick grew.
So the once unnoticeable scratch
now resembled branches of a mesquite tree
Etched across my glass.
I now have to replace the whole window
or bear the cracks.

My brother, Riel, recently ran into an old friend,
Whom he has claimed to hate for three years now.
Riel told me about their great memories,
And admitted how he missed that old friend
But, when I suggested that he call him
He said he couldn’t,
The grudge had gone on for too long.
Be weary of holding grudges
And keeping disagreements alive,
They begin as small and stupid,
And if not addressed soon
They spread and slice through your life
Like the branches of a mesquite tree.
-Chaviess

Mimicry of "This Moment"

Mimicry of "This Moment"

Armory Park
At noon.

Things are getting ready
to happen
out of thin air.

Strings and woodwinds,
and a rolling xylophone.

But not yet.

First stubborn sticky pegs,
a shrill from the piccolo.

A baton slowly rises
and silence fills the room
this moment.

A downbeat,
and rosin flies from the twang of the string.
Rehearsal begins.


By Sarah Tatman

The Great War of Second Grade

Omar and I stood face to face, each holding our weapons of choice, and our respective armies behind us. I clutched my bow tightly in one hand and stroked the foam tipped arrow with the other. I watched him put his hand on the double barrel Nerf gun that slung across his waist. This was the calm before the storm, the standoff before the duel. If we were outside a bushel of tumbleweeds would have passed in front of us to set the tone of battle. Anything could shatter the fragile peace that hung between the two of us. A member of my army, which was also known as the spitting cobras, decided to strike a member of Omar’s Army, which was also known as the wolf’s claw, with his glow in the dark lightsabre. And so the Great War of Second Grade began.

Omar tackled my right hand man, Aamir, got on top of him and fired his double barrel Nerf gun point blank on his chest, causing Aamir to weep in defeat. I took out an arrow from the quill, slung back the string, and let the arrow whizz through the air where it met its mark; the nose of Omar’s best friend, Osama. He instantly doubled over, clenched his nose and cried for mommy. I quickly fired off my final two arrows and made two more babies wail. But before I could savor my 100% head shot accuracy, I felt my feet loose the ground, and my head hit the soft blue rug. Osama had tripped me, sat upon my chest, and now began to raise his plastic Samurai sword. As the sword began to accelerate towards me, I shut my eyes to brace for the blow. A second later I felt his weight lift off my body. I opened my eyes to see Osama in the same position I was in with Aamir sitting on top of him. I nodded a thank you to Aamir, and struggled to regain my footing, but once I did I knew the time had arrived.

Omar and I were on opposite sides of the “Big Blue Room,” but once our eyes met, the room shrunk, and the ultimate showdown of ultimate destiny had begun. I dropped my bow, unsheathed my Pirate sword, and sprinted towards him. He threw down his double barrel Nerf gun, pulled his Power Ranger dagger out of his sock, and stood waiting for me. We were just about find out the answer to the age old question: what happens when and unstoppable force meets and immovable object. The answer would have been epic, if our older brothers had not intervened.

Ahsan, my brother, tackled me before I reached my target, and Ahmed, Omar’s brother, slapped the dagger out of Omar’s hand and pushed him to the ground. Our brothers, both of whom were two years older than us, cackled at their superiority over us, and congratulated each other for averting a catastrophe.
Without a single word being exchanged between me and Omar we knew what to do. Omar and I called upon the spitting cobras, and the wolf’s claw to join forces and attack our older brothers. Me, Omar, and our collective posse came together to defeat a common enemy, and in doing so forged a friendship in the fires of battle.

"In the Night" mimicry of "This Moment" by Eavan Boland

A park.
At dusk.
No one will see the changes
About to unfold
The moon's light, the star's gleam
And the dog chasing his tail
But not yet.
One grassy patch is yellow
A new leaf emerges, one that noone's ever seen before
Helmets in hand
Young boys playfully skip to the field
Blanketed by the night's sky
The wind chills
Mountains vanish
Children age in the dark

"Three Little Birds": Mimicry of Mary Oliver's "Why I Wake Early"

Hello sun splash

Hello to you

Who wakes me up everyday

You lighten up my room and my house

You wake up everything

Including the mouse

Hello sun

You put the night away

Hello sun

You brighten up my day.

Tangled: Response to Sarah Tatman's Art

Our lives are all intertwined
with each others
and even with ourselves.
Some of us wear thorns on the outside
to defend from pain,
or more truly
to hide from the possibility
of imperfections.
We all have petals that we will lose,
that will take away from our outer beauty,
but we also have leaves that will reappear
and remind us
of our inner youth.
There is confusion, speed, and directionless direction
imbedded through our stems.
Our color can fade and rejuvenate with our emotions,
but despite it all,
the fear, the joy, the hate, the perplexities, and depravities
we are all beautiful
just like the rose that may prick our finger, and make us bleed,
only to remind us
we are alive.

Sonnet 1

Sonnet 1

Que tengo líneas mente de amor,
escrito por la mano hombroso.
Son algo que siempre da dolor?
Se puede los borrar tiempo paso?
There's something about a different stream of thought
that passes in a language not your own
that let's you seep in something you might not
absorb in just the company of your own.
Subconscious tells me I should let him know
our love is bound so inward in my brain
that as I let the other rhythms go
new ripples trace the force behind the pain.
Mañana cantaré la canción
Que sabe, junta mente y corazón.

-Rachel Rosenberg