How I Would Paint Life

A never-ending road
A forever flowing river
you walk and walk.
You don’t look forward to the end
A big complex canvas
I would finish when I die.

How I Paint Loneliness

A dark cavernous place
no light to see by
a dark tight jail cell
no seeing the outside.

How I Would Paint Hope

A light in the distance
the warmth in the cold
the light that encourages
the new in the old.

How I Would Paint Thoughts

A never-ending ocean
as big as it is wide
you swim, lost but
feel completely safe
blocking everything that’s going on.

Chocolate

A multiuse pill
for anything going on
a small canvas filled
with happiness

How I Would Paint Poetry

A bowl of life
Filled with hate and hope and love.
A bowl where you pour all
your emotions out.

Zoe Stadler

Oh Great Hunter

Oh great hunter, the owl,
I ask you, who made you the symbol of wisdom?

Who had the knowledge to make you,
The silent terror of the night?
Who had the ability to combine terror and beauty?

Did he who made you think of the rodents?
Were the rodents made to feed you?

Which kitchen supplied the knives, your talons?
Which store dared to make your scissors, your beak?

Which child's toy did you take to make your head,
Its eyes watchful as the sun?

Why would anyone want to make a terror of the night,
A menace, a beauty, a devoted mother?

Your head is shaped like a mushroom,
Turning like flowers searching for sun,
Which garden was searched to make your face?

Oh owl, you're silent,
So I'll answer with silence,
Why won't you answer?

By Brianne Felsher
Grade 4, Highlands Elementary School
Cathy Barber, Poet Teacher

My New Street

On my street
Leaves are falling and
Turning into puddles.
The people on my
Street are always
Feeling down so when I
Ask them to play ball
They quietly say no
And shut the door
Slowly. I always
Eat a plum, apple or lemon or
Ice Cream. The
People on my street
Only eat bread, cold
Bread. If a big fire
Would happen they
Would slowly walk
Down the street to the fire
Station. That's my street.

Jennifer Lynne Shearer
Third Grade, Highlands Elementary School
Cathy Barber, Poet Teacher



Adventures

Does an adventurer think that
his adventures started as a baby
with his first step?
Reading a book is like crawling
through the pages.
Conflict and sadness have brought me to
the decision that everything's an adventure.
Even everyday life and going in a pool
for your first time are adventures when you're little.
Excitement of wonders.
When you explore in the forest
you see things that you've never
seen before.
I'm on vacation. I swim through
the water, see fish of all different colors.
I now call myself and adventurer,
a sailor, but maybe I always was one.

Highlands Elementary School Afterschool Poetry Class
Cathy Barber, Poet Teacher

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