The Creative Corner

Welcome to The Creative Corner!

Introduction:

Welcome to the creative corner! My name is Taylor DiFilippo, currently a freshman at Morgan. I am taking journalism and will be the one editing this page. I am an avid reader, (sometimes) a writer, and have an interest in art. Feel free to email some of your work, and I will put it up as soon as I can!

 

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 me at

taylor.difilippo@clintonpublic.net or staff@morganpawprint.com.

 

 

 

 

 

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My name is Claire Pease, a sophomore here at Morgan. I enjoy photography and I enjoy taking tons of different kinds of pictures! I got the camera I use now, a Canon Rebel EOS T6, last Christmas. I have bascially not put it down since I got it!

The following slideshow is a few of my favorite pictures I have taken recently, and in the past. I hope you enjoy the slideshow as much as I enjoy taking the pictures. Thank you!

 

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Mirrors  by Taylor DiFilippo

Looking at everyone else

is like looking into the pond

you see yourself staring back

but the image is all wrong

 

The nose is small,

the hair is different

the eyes have a different meaning behind them

a different purpose in front of them

 

We see little pieces of ourselves

scattered throughout the world

some in places, some in people

that we know from old times long gone

 

We try to see ourselves

to use things as mirrors

to face ourselves, find ourselves

in everything that we do

 

For isn’t that our purpose?

to know ourselves so true

that we no longer need the mirrors

to know what to do

 

To see someone else

you must look past the reflection

on the surface of the pond,

and look instead into its depths

teeming with wonder and life

pain and strife

 

a diffrent person looking at diffrent mirrors

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fullsizerHeather: 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 affullsizer-1ter 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 thfullsizer-2ere 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.   

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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.

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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.

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the
soft night was early summer,
the bright windows irreg-
ular patches of light.
she had avoided unnecessary conversation
all crowded
with stars
Night had come slowly
to erase the towers

 

 

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With someone better than me.
“I’m a murderer.
my lover.”
I killed
him!”
he killed your friend.
never
was my friend.
trembled with grief.
he wasn’t afraid
looking for a fight
restless and vicious,
always failing.

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Perhaps
Next year
There’s time enough For a moment
that would
be
long
and hope would
alter
thinking
of the sadness

 

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The thing was to get away.
boys of the night
Her name a really beautiful name.
sounds
too loud
lovers
had gone
even the stars
had been searching
for, him.
remember
the girl
see her make certain
she lived,
girls
have the strength

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For the knife made him as big as anyone
With it sharp signal
he ordered keep your
eyes on me

 

 

 

 

 

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This they need not answer, for
they had only to touch their pockets
with its
Winking lights
coming
from
the kitchen
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
her
with eyes filled with love.
Standing on her toes, Marla whirled
and kissed her hands at the sky and the distant tow-
ers.

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he felt so betrayed
a knife in his back
he trusted and loved,
raged
holding her wrist.
please,
He said nothing
take her home,
nothing
turned away
into the cold
anxious

 

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thousands
roamed the most frightening
thought
Nothing was safe
their enemy.
fell upon
Their victim
with minutes
destruction,
turned upon each other.
unsafe, people
lived
upon the
target

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When this happened
four nights running
he was warned not to cry out.
they had him
they pushed him
they had half-drowned him
They
pounded the table end

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as he left
no telling when he’ll get back
She struggled to free herself
He ain’t here
boys were
dangerous,
her voice low
Please don’t

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outrage must have been done by
“Renegades
and traitors
open the
door, throw the bomb.
clucked.
The guy
who took off
rumblers know
gentlemen.”
to buy both
a suitable gift
with oratorical flourishes that
make us better citizens and
without blind
ignorance.
Snowboy took a backward step
to the reach of night-
stick.
Moving quickly,
his right hand held
hard and painful grip,

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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
solemn black
forced breath
the fruitful river in the eye

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blood was flowing quicker now
the small ceramic dish
from the summer pomade
The liquid of life (God’s ink)
pain would come soon.
the
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.

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His dancing
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,
shining
and dripping
twist on her rope.

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In winter
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.

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the pink shell
the crenellations in the plastic
simple, humane, conscientious,
forgiving
playing a radio softly, singing along.
A beam of light from
the risen moon penetrated the window,
smudged fingerprints.

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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
he
always hit false notes,
she tried to sneak back inside
It was agony,

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Abbey: April 27th, 2017 is Poem in Your Pocket Day. Here are some students reading their poems.

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