Everything Will Be Okay
By Mrs. DiFalco’s English 8-1
I know that everything will be okay
but because of the virus, I am only able to sit at home.
Most of my days look the same.
I’m constantly washing hands,
trying to stay out of public.
I felt in my gut
that it would become something
much larger and more dangerous
than originally expected.
These past few weeks, our lives and values
Have been changing each day.
When I go outside for walks
(making sure to keep social distancing)
it feels like the world is empty,
and I know it’s not
but everybody
has been affected by it,
and I can see it in the people I know
and in the people I don’t.
I feel worried about the community
as we go through changes and fears
that we have never faced before,
but we have to believe and have faith.
Trying to find the good is difficult, but I guess the good is
people having some time to themselves, time with family, time for getting more sleep.
Time to bake and draw and cook and read.
Gratitude for family and friends,
for people all over the country trying to contain the virus and keep us safe.
I’m thankful for the wonderful family I have
because without them I don’t know what I would do at this time.
We know that everything will be okay
and living through this could change our way of thinking for the better,
teaching us lessons like:
Faith will lead us out of darkness.
*This is a found poem that represents all 17 voices of Mrs. DiFalco’s English 8-1 class.
The Colorful Leaf
By Philip I. ’26
In the summer
How pretty I am
But so hard to see
No one can.
How I wish
To show my colors
While sitting in a tree
Up high and tall.
Waiting for the wind
To swoosh-swoosh
And knock me out
To the bottom floor.
My colors have died,
My prettiness gone,
And now the winter has come,
Life needs to start again.
Rusty Rain
By Philip I. ’26
Fun, but lonely
Sad, and annoying
Board games, indoors
All so baloney
Rain that drip-draps
And mud that split splats.
All that’s in me has been wrecked,
Wrecked by a big black wrecking ball.
No more Catch
No more basketball
No more playing
All so boring
As staring at nothing.
The Tree Out the Window
By Philip I. ’26
The tree
Full of wild animals
Who drink tea
The tree out the window
The one that shines
Like a blinking red star.
The holes
One for each
Each family of animals
About a million
But only a dozen
Each can be seen from miles away
The branches
Each one has different
Shapes and sizes
Some are dirty
Some are sparkling clean
Some are average like an average human.
The leaves
The ones that
Are beautiful
Red, orange, green
Uh, too tired to say more
But after the showcase is over
Their life is over.
The tree out the window
The leaves
The branches
The holes
The tree
All make that tree a unique tree.
The Smell of Pasta
By Philip I. ’26
The smell of pasta
Wakes me every day
And every night
The smell of pasta
Makes me jive
The tomato
All steamy and red
Waiting to be squeezed
Its red blood dripping like a vampire’s mouth.
The garlic
Takes me to the kitchen
Weaving it smell
Through the air
To the tiny crack of my door.
The parmesan
Sitting patiently
Waiting to be dumped by me
Gulped all down
And one crumble remaining.
The tomato
The garlic
The parmesan
All combined together
Makes pasta as sweet as ever.
The Big Mac
By Philip I. ’26
The big mac
All so fun to use
During free time and work
Going beep beep once in a while
I like to hear it chiming
Like the biggest bell of all time
I like to feel it buzzing
Like the biggest queen bee.
Times of happiness
Times of sadness
All of them stored
In one tiny microchip.
Parts of you rage
While others are ecstatic
Losing or winning
Depends on your skill.
All so fun to use
Hear it in the morning
Hear it at night
And sending me off to school.
One-Way Up
By Philip I. ’26
I go up
Up to the highest peak
Up to the acme
Up to Mount Everest
But never go down
Not to the bottom floor
Not to the ocean
Not to the underground mines
When people see me
On the long curvy path
And about to be
The king of the world
I fall
Fall into the deep
The big fat monster’s belly
I stau
But when I’m saved
I run
Run to the freedom
Of the big yellow sun.
Son to Dog
By Philip I. ’26
Times have been drool
Drool from an old stinky dog
Times have been isolated
Isolated like the great plains
Luck has neem dead
Dead like a rotten egg
Life has been in the sewer
All locked and never to come out
But with you on my side
I’m the mighty beast
Like the tattered ugly duckling
Who turns into a gorgeous swan
And I see that yesterday
Was terrible
But today is not
And the best days of my life are yet to come.
A Quilt Past Its Time
By Abigail N. ’26
I sat, carefully mending
Clothes and cloth heaped at my side,
When I caught a glimmer of blue
Buried amongst old sorrows and joys.
Carefully I drew out
That which had caught my attention –
Ah, yes.
I remember.
The patches dull now, fluff and feathers leaking,
Beat up, parts worn, sanded smooth by time.
Ever plush, though threadbare, seams relinquishing
Their iron fisted grips to wearily wipe their brows.
Each square of color outlined,
Though some damaged,
With embroidery.
But
What caught my attention the most:
Color popped from the edges, daring me to look;
Perfect, undamaged and bold.
Gingerly I inserted my needle and thread and
Kept sewing.
Dirt on The Drawer
By Fiona P. ’26
Opening up the aged
Cherry wood chest
Of my grandfather’s
Where did it come from, I ask
New York, in the forties
Or even aboard the tight, odorous ship
The rolling hills of the emerald isle
Before the journey
Clothes and memories
Here are held
Memories of the white, clean, hospital room
Of the crinkled, departing face
Of my grandfather, gone
Perhaps one day,
The burden will be lifted
Till then, with each opening
I remember.
The weight on my shoulders
As I threw in the dirt
The weight on my hands
As I opened the drawer.
Three Haikus
Rani B. ’27
All the great workers
Doing everything they can
To help us survive
We cannot leave the house
We are completely stressed
And equally scared
This is horrible
This is unpredictable
But humans are strong
Would He Come?
By Aran B. ’25
“He would not come” — John Steinbeck
The dire situation
Needs someone important to have a fixation
Would he come?
No, he would not come.
Then we shall go!
In silence we move ourselves
To him
Will he help?
Maybe he shall help!
No, apparently, he will not help!
Why does he not help?
Why does he not come?
Is it hate?
Is it laziness?
Or is it something else?
A deeper hate that runs deep in both of our bloodlines
That puncture in our skins will leave a scar that lasts forever
A reminder of the added layer of terror that shall forever engulf myself
Slight darkness persists in me as my meaningless life begins to fade away…
Going, going…..
… Gone ….
An Ode to Winter
Juno Y. ’26
The snow begins to fall,
In small, delicate flurries.
The snow begins to fall,
Icicles dripping from the trees.
The snow begins to fall,
Covering the ground in white.
The snow begins to fall,
Reflecting a brilliant light.
The snow begins to fall,
Each snowflake’s beauty rare.
The snow begins to fall,
Winter is in the air.