the bird on fire

The Palm Valley School Student Blog

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A Power Outage

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By Mel N. Colley

 

We all experience

loss and

heartbreak,

which are so easily generated.

Many things

can be lost

that would shatter a heart:

 

A job

that was desperately needed,

in order to help a hospitalized mother;

 

A house

torn apart by a ravaging storm

that no one saw coming

and no one could stop;

 

A beloved pet

who was the only joy in

a lonely woman’s life;

 

A child

whose depression

a single mother failed to see;

 

A best friend

who went to the hospital for a stomach ache

when it was so much worse;

 

A father

who was killed

by a stray bullet from a distant gun;

 

 

And you,

who was the light of my life,

then the power went out.

 

Editor: Brennan Nick

Visne

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By Heywood U. Cuddleme

 

I don’t understand

why I miss you so much.

Maybe it was the

cuddles

that we would sneak

out of the view of

judging eyes.

Or the looks we would

give each other

almost as if

we could read each other’s

mind.

But then

suddenly

you started to

care.

Less

and

less.

Almost as if

you were bored?

But it couldn’t end like that though, could it?

Yes.

And you were too afraid to

admit it.

To me?

Or to yourself?

Both?

You shattered me.

A part of me will always

break

a little inside

when I think of you.

But I don’t wish to reverse time.

I don’t wish to go back

and fix what you broke.

I don’t want what we had.

I want someone who cares for me

even when I don’t.

Editor: Renée Vazquez

Vrae–A Poem

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By Anne

Have you ever woken up?

Have you ever slept?

Do you know what you want?

Do you mind regret?

Would you rather forget it all?

What would you have done?

If you could, would you do it again?

 

Editor: Bella Bier

Honorable Mention, 2018 PVS Poetry Competition

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The English Department, Publications Club, and Blog Class sponsored the second annual Poetry Competition in the Middle and Upper Schools. Reprinted here is the Honorable Mention, “Old,” by 8th-grader Jessica Denyer. All 12 finalists can be seen on the bulletin board in the Upper School Lobby.

Old

By Jessica Denyer

Old collectibles hold more memories than any eye.

See the unseen and hear the unheard.

Books have seen more tears than any shrink.

Paper has held words that have been thought to say but never were.

Crumpled, thrown, and used to wipe away the tears.

Rocking chairs have seen more sunsets from an old porch than the people who rest in them.

Stopwatches have seen more pocket lint and business meetings than the money discussed.

Coffee tables have seen more beer spilled on game days than the stadium itself.

The 1942 Chevrolet convertible lying on the lawn has heard more karaoke singing than any corner bar.

But now most of these items retire in attics of old homes

Or consignment stores that are like retirement homes for the unwanted objects

Or on dusty driveways waiting to be bought and go on the next adventure.

Some of these things now reside on dirt roads

Where the unwanted things go to die

Or a lawn where they may proudly rust and depart,

For old things don’t last forever but memories last a lifetime.

Winning poems compiled by Blog Editor Shelby Armor

3rd-Place Winner, 2018 PVS Poetry Competition

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The English Department, Publications Club, and Blog Class sponsored the second annual Poetry Competition in the Middle and Upper Schools. Poems went to Dr. Carr. She passed them on to Round #1 judges, a gallery of Humanities teachers, who culled the nearly 60 poetic entries down to 12. Then, those 12 finalists went to final judge Mr. Sarkis who decided upon a 1st place, 2nd, 3rd, and Honorable Mention. Reprinted here is the 3rd-place poem, “23,” by Junior Benjamin Snyder. Note: all 12 finalists can be seen on the bulletin board in the Upper School Lobby.

 

23

By Benjamin Snyder

 

1

 

2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7,

And then 8 comes in, and then 9,

Bumbling about, walks in, 10 strolls by

Cooly as it enters, 11 storms in

Angrily, though it’s unclear why, 12 is unrecognizable

As it enters, 13 tries

Not to be noticed,

Hugging the wall as it approaches, 15 misheard the receptionist,

And walked in early, 14, naturally, approaches

Confused and hesitant, 16 greatly appreciates

The opportunity,

But needs some more time before it decides

Whether or not to proceed, 17 sprints

Through,

And so does 18, thinking

It should, 19 took a wrong turn a couple of blocks ago

But should be here shortly and enter, 20 reluctantly walks

Through, 21 is just thrilled to be here

As it bounces in, 22 enters

From the back and thinks that it’s clever, and 23, seeing 22 leave, begins

To exit as well before it is called back to enter,

And is angered seeing 22 quietly gloating once it arrives.

 

And 24…

Is the most majestic thing that has ever entered…

But there’s no time to talk about that

 

Because it’s starting…

Right now.

 

And not a single one noticed 0 enter,

But it did,

Depending on your perspective.

Compiled by Editor Shelby Armor

2nd-Place Winner, 2018 PVS Poetry Competition

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The English Department, Publications Club, and Blog Class sponsored the second annual Poetry Competition in the Middle and Upper Schools. Poems went to Dr. Carr, fearless organizer and underwriter of prizes. She passed them on to Round #1 judges, a gallery of Humanities teachers, who culled the nearly 60 poetic entries down to 12. Then, those 12 finalists went to final judge Mr. Sarkis who decided upon a 1st place, 2nd, 3rd, and Honorable Mention. Reprinted here is the 2nd-place poem, “On the train ride . . .,” penned by sophomore Doreen Yuan. Note: all 12 finalists can be seen on the bulletin board in the Upper School Lobby.

 

On the train ride . . .

By Doreen Yuan

 

On the train ride of our love, if you want to get off before our time is over,

please don’t wake me up.

Let me sleep through it, and let me pretend not to know that you’re gone.

Winners compiled by Editor Shelby Armor

The Definition of Irony

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By Leo Milmet, reflections on the theme of love

 

“I don’t love you anymore. It’s not fun anymore.”

With that, she shot me down, and I died a little inside.

I’m dying of a broken heart, and I can’t sleep.

She ate my heart, and I’m watching Night of the Living Dead to keep my mind off her.

I’m eating a pint of chocolate ice cream. That was her favorite flavor.

I’m reading a poem called “Depression,” and watching The Grapes of Wrath, to keep my mind

off my depression.

Why the hell am I doing this?

I seem to love wallowing in my misery.

I try to hate her, but it seems I’ve never loved her more.

 

Editor: Bella Bier

The wolf and the sheep dog

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By Poet-Blogger Peter Kadel

 

Sheepdog: Young wolf, oh young wolf, you have a whole life in front of you,

the potential to defy expectations or the potential to meet them–to become a villain.

You and I are the same, walking the same path, but for some reason you see it differently.

Looking at the weak among us, I saw a chance to help, you saw a chance to hurt.

When we both became leaders in our community, I saw purpose, you saw power.

When we learned about tyrants and conquerors, I saw an enemy, you saw a role model.

When we both used our claws for the first time, I saw a tool, you saw… something else.

When the flock was attacked from the outside, we both saw an enemy.

When the flock was attacked from within, I saw an enemy, you saw an inspiration.

When the attacks became more common, we walked into the darkness together.

We both looked at the vulnerabilities; I saw a risk; you saw an opportunity.

At the end of the day we looked each other in the eye; I saw a friend; you saw an enemy.

 

Wolf: Sheepdog, the favorite son, pride of the pack, protector of the flock.

You’re a boy king; you’ve got it all ahead of you, and we both know it.

But I won’t let you take my birthright from me; the pack is mine; the flock is mine.

You believe that the weak should be coddled and sheltered; I believe they should be utilized.

You are given power and waste it on the undeserving; I take power and use it to stay strong.

You vilify the strong and the cunning; you refuse to learn from them. I won’t make that mistake.

You fear your claws; you see them as a danger. I see they are gifts, keys to power.

You fought by my side when the pack was attacked; we brought vengeance upon our enemies.

But when visionaries began to cull the weak, you froze; you could not see their righteous goal.

I thought you would finally understand when we walked into the darkness together.

You looked at the plan we had laid out, and you tried to ruin it all. You broke my heart.

I looked you in the eyes, and for the first time I saw you for what you are. A threat.

 

Editor: Leo Milmet

i hate myself

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By Leo Milmet

 

i hate myself.

i love Her.

Her beautiful sunshine hair.

Her angelic personality.

that beautiful laugh that tells its lucky viewers so much.  

my Sunshine. my Angel. i wish i could be Hers, too.

but do i love Her?

or am i simply craving love for myself,

knowing in my deep, dark heart that i do not love myself,

but that i hate myself.

my silly inferiority complex, always getting in the way of being good.

so forget all that.

I love myself.

“Why am I inferior,” I ask myself?

“No reason at all,” I answer.

I need that love. I have enough hate in my life already,

especially from her.

 

Editor: Bella Bier

1st-Place Winner, 2018 PVS Poetry Competition

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The English Department, Publications Club, and Blog Class sponsored the second annual Poetry Competition in the Middle and Upper Schools. Poems went to Dr. Carr, fearless organizer and underwriter of prizes. She passed them on to Round #1 judges, a gallery of Humanities teachers, who culled the nearly 60 poetic entries down to 12. Then, those 12 finalists went to final judge Mr. Sarkis who decided upon a 1st place, 2nd, 3rd, and Honorable Mention. Reprinted here is the winning poem, “Legacy,” penned by senior Peter Kadel. Note: all 12 finalists can be seen on the bulletin board in the Upper School Lobby.

Legacy

By Peter Kadel

 

Keep the campfire burning

Keep the campfire burning my friends; shelter this light that I have left for you.

My time with you is coming to an end, but I can still teach you a lesson before I leave.

Keep the campfire burning so I can remember where I come from as I make my way down the unmarked trail.

Gather round the fire and sing the songs I’ve taught you, but sing some new songs, too.

Tend to the fire as I have, but when the time comes, strike out on your own path as I am.

I’ll take a torch with me as I go up the mountain; I’ll use it to light the next campfire.

Watch the ridge above for the light I’ll leave behind; my fingerprints dancing across the mountain,

my legacy flickering in the night as I forge ahead into the inky darkness.

I have to walk this path alone, but solitude doesn’t suit me.

So promise you’ll visit. And I’ll do the same.

Winners compiled by Editor Shelby Armor