Welcome to The Creative Corner!
Heather: Let’s start off with the formalities, shall we? My name is Heather Vollhardt. I’m 15, and I am currently a sophomore here at The Morgan School. My friends describe me as a person who has a
balance of seriousness and humor. I’ve also been known to be very serious about my school work. I was absolutely ecstatic to be able to have my own page on The Morgan PawPrint. Writing has always been serious a passion of mine.
Abbey: My name is Abbey Norton. I am a senior and I am currently the leader of the Slam Poetry Club and an avid reader (sometimes writer). I write book reviews for the library and for the PawPrint. I will be helping Heather update this page.
About this page:
This page was created for every student to have a place to share their creative pieces. These creative pieces can range from photographs, poems, short stories and more. This page will be updated once every other week if school work isn’t too heavy. I plan to share my works along with those who are willing to send in their work. I want this to be a site where no one feels ashamed or embarrassed to show their work. So if you would like so send some of your works to this site please feel free to email us at firstname.lastname@example.org, email@example.com, or firstname.lastname@example.org.
Heather: So to start this new page, let me show you a short little piece that I wrote a little while back.
Many people seem to like me. Various people will say they like a different version of me. But I’m mostly known for the various hues that make up my personality, the brights and darks and everything in between.
Some days I’m vibrant, proud, and bubbly. I pour my heart and soul into every bit of work that I do. I start conversations with those I normally wouldn’t, and I treat everyone with kindness and respect. People say that on those days I’m like a puppy who just saw its owner after several hours of being home alone.
Other days I’m mellow, placid, and unique. I work endlessly to get things finished, I plan out my work and get things done. I speak calmly, converse with those who wish to be spoken to. On those days I like to compare myself to a simple tree swaying in the breeze, going with the flow, simply following the endless stream of life.
Then there are those rare days where I’m dull, murky and silent. I attempt at my best to work but find it hard to focus. I‘m quiet and seldom communicate unless I’ve been provoked; my mind at war with constant thoughts. I’m an aged stone in a meadow of magnificent flowers.
Heather: Hey, guys, I want to start this off by saying I’m sorry. I know I haven’t posted in awhile because I’ve had some family issues followed by a lot of schoolwork. I will be trying my hardest to start getting on a schedule of updating every week to every other week. I hope that school will be merciful and slow down a little bit to give me some time to write more. Besides all this, I managed to find some time and was able to write. I think I wrote this on a cloudy day because it’s a bit more somber than some of the other pieces. I promise when the sun decides to come out, my pieces will be brighter and more upbeat. These clouds really put a damper on my mood and I didn’t really appreciate it. Without further ado, I present this week’s piece.
The Waters That Are My Thoughts
The waters mellow and still
But no one sees below the surface
And undertow so strong and grown man would struggle
The waters, that’s what I like to call my thoughts
One minute it seems that all shall be fine
The water gently splashing ashore
Then the storms come
Violent waves destroy the once peaceful shore
A place of peace destroyed
Winds tear apart the innocent trees
Rain drowns the rocks that have seen one too many storms
A single word can change thoughts
Can change these waters
But it’s the worst when there is no movement
Silence strangles the air
Raindrops refuse to fall
The winds dead, as if they had been stolen by the sun
In these moments I don’t know what to do
The time when I’ve been hurt beyond the point of tears
I’ve been placed in a world of eerie silence and muted words
Sometimes I wish the waters would cease to exist
Would stop causing me to plunge into darkness, fear, anxiety
But I chose to let them be
Let them take my emotions in their grip
For what am I without the waters
The waters that are my thoughts.
Abbey: Slam Poetry Club has been creating blackout poetry. Blackout poetry is a form of poetry where a page of a book is taken and some words are blacked out, creating a new string of words. Here are some examples of the poetry made.
With someone better than me.
“I’m a murderer.
he killed your friend.
was my friend.
trembled with grief.
he wasn’t afraid
looking for a fight
restless and vicious,
The thing was to get away.
boys of the night
Her name a really beautiful name.
even the stars
had been searching
see her make certain
have the strength
This they need not answer, for
they had only to touch their pockets
She wanted so much to
stretch her arms and embrace the
moon and stars. Yesterday she had been sixteen and
her mother had kissed her many times as
with eyes filled with love.
Standing on her toes, Marla whirled
and kissed her hands at the sky and the distant tow-
roamed the most frightening
Nothing was safe
turned upon each other.
as he left
no telling when he’ll get back
She struggled to free herself
He ain’t here
her voice low
outrage must have been done by
door, throw the bomb.
who took off
to buy both
a suitable gift
with oratorical flourishes that
make us better citizens and
Snowboy took a backward step
to the reach of night-
his right hand held
hard and painful grip,
Take thy fair hour
A little more than kin and less than kind
the clouds still hang on you
I am too much in the sun
all that lives must die,
Passing through nature to eternity
my inky cloak
the fruitful river in the eye
blood was flowing quicker now
the small ceramic dish
from the summer pomade
The liquid of life (God’s ink)
pain would come soon.
serpent dancing its way across the
sun pearly with sweat,
greedy with lust
a foreign land uncharted and
untouched. No one to marvel at its beauty
a scarlet banner across my skin.
stronger than ever,
it was then we saw
the half-deflated balloons the two brown-
and-white husks of Bonnie’s saddle shoes
in a pink dress.
like a pinata.
her spindly legs
in their white confirmation stockings,
twist on her rope.
I heard him swallow, his throat dry
some sweetened wine on the bedside table.
wake the dead
it was light.
I was warm. But he was cold.
the pink shell
the crenellations in the plastic
simple, humane, conscientious,
playing a radio softly, singing along.
A beam of light from
the risen moon penetrated the window,
singleness of purpose,
her mythic mutability
amid the disaster oif his life.
the loves of his earlymanhood
were docile creatures
during the act of love
always hit false notes,
she tried to sneak back inside
It was agony,