Opus

Summarizing Sixth Grade
by Lizy Flagg

I was told to write about
The glorious Sixth Grade,
From the studying
And the tests,
to the Memorial Day Parade
From the House Days
And the textbooks,
To the POWs and mysteries,
From old african kingdoms
To the Nile River, Please!
From volleyball to soccer,
Geometry and sketching,
From dulcimers and drumsticks,
To algebra and painting,
From the great King Henry’s castle,
To the stunning world of Pipin,
From the reading
To the writing,
And back to reading yet again.
This year will always be
An everlasting memory,
But summers finally here,
No school until next year!

Ocean Shore
by Dan Nguyen

Waves roll and hush the shore
Singing and whispering its ancient lore

The sun hovers lightly in the air
Painting the sky red everywhere

The wind whistles over the rocks
Reaching the birds that camp on the docks

Ode to my Hockey Skates
by Becca Gilmore

We make a good pair!
You are as fast as lightening,
slipping down the frozen water.

Me in my pads,
helmet, gloves, jersey, and socks.
You with your blade, boot, and laces,
indents, black marks, and scrapes on the sides.

I find a path
for you.
You go
through the icy path,
whizzing through the defense men.

You get on your edges,
I lean with you,
We go together on the tight turns,
throughout the ice.

I can trust you to come to a stop
quickly and rapidly.
We might flutter snow in the goalies eyes
just for fun.

How do you
stay so
stable and sharp?
How do you
make me
get so low?
How do you
put deep and slick divots
in the ice?
Some things we just might not know.

I do not know how
I do not fall,
but yes
I do fly with you down the ice.

It is not long
before good fun hours go by
and
I throw you in my bag
cause it is time to go home.

I do not know
what I would do,
without you,
my
hockey skates.
We do make a good pair!

Captive Mustang
by Joanna Beer

A jet black Thoroughbred
Paws at the ground
With ears back,
While circling the paddock,
And neighing nervously.
A man with crooked teeth
With beady eyes
Hair, matted and scraggly
Jeans, moldy and torn
With a whip in hand,
Approaches the horse.
He grabs a double bit and,
Clips it onto the halter.
Phantom, sensing danger, rears up,
And neighs, warning the town,
But the old hermit grabs him,
Then yanks him out of the paddock.
In the distance,
Open plains stretch
And mustangs roam
Free.
Phantom struggles,
But the hermit whips him.
Ignoring the searing pain,
He yanks back.
He rears up
And the leather breaks.
The bit falls into the man’s hands
The harness flies off his head
And Phantom bolts
To where the open plains stretch
To where the mustangs roam
Finally
Now free,
Now home.

Read!
by Zoe Jacobson

I’m falling through space
I’m falling through time
the words flow through me
every letter
every rhyme
I devour the words as they dance on my tongue
leaving tingling suspicions
of pages left to come
I fly with Dickinson, Alcott, and Dahl
anticipating battles, bickering, and many a brawl

I fall through colors
blue, black and pink
hard to tell this was created by ink