This month’s poetry prompt for our writers is to write a poem that starts with one word and ends with the opposite. Like truth ends with lies or up ends with down and so on! The poem doesn’t need to rhyme and has a minimum of 4 lines. Be sure to check out what BUHS has to offer!
This month’s prompt for our creative writers is to write a story from the point of view of someone who can “see” how dangerous someone is with a number scale of 1-10 above their heads. An infant would be a one while a trained soldier would score a seven. Your character is a regular office worker and one day, they notice that the new reserved guy at work has a 10 above his head. The story’s minimum word count is 250 words. Please check out what BUHS’s writers have to offer!
Sorrow and despair
Can be expressed in its various hues
But sadness it is not limited to
Serenity also can come through
Waves crashing on the shore
Bear this color evermore
High alpine lakes in spring
Accent the peaks as sapphire bling
Polor bears lounging on a shaft of sunrise
So high up in the fair skys
Do ask you to surmise
What color do I speak of
Don’t use your eyes
I can remember everything that happened that day; everything was so normal. I remember waking up and lazing in bed for a few minutes, enjoying the warm slice of sunshine that peeked between my curtains. I remember stumbling about my room, my eyes slumberous and my mouth yawning. I took a shower, brushed my hair. Made some coffee. I didn’t have to go to work until ten, so I put on a jacket and took a walk down to the nearby cafe to get breakfast.
I remember the March morning air being so sharp and crisp that I immediately became more aware, and my remaining sleepiness from earlier slipped away. I remember looking around my neighborhood, admiring the signs of spring and the evidence of winter coexisting; small, icy piles of snow crested the sidewalk, but I saw a few trees blooming in my neighbors’ yards.
The cafe was roughly a block and a half from my apartment, and as I neared it, I noticed that Ms. M’s blue bike was lying up against the brick side of the establishment. I rolled my eyes. I liked Ms. M well enough, but she was just so political. Everytime I bumped into her, I had to hear all about “Donald Trump this” and “Donald Trump that” and “we need universal healthcare” and “if we had a Democrat for president, none of this would be happening!” I’m not a very political person. I vote, of course, but I don’t care for politics when it’s not the season. Most of the time, politics are just dull and uninteresting to me.
I passed Ms. M’s bike (which had a shiny new DNC sticker stuck to the basket of the bike), took a deep breath, and entered the cafe. The cafe was cozy, with warm red brick walls, a dark wood countertop at the register, and circular tables and plush benches that dotted the floor. The walls were covered in the artwork of local painters and photographers, and twinkling string lights ran across the ceiling. The buzzing sound of chit-chat drew me to realize that there were more patrons in the cafe than normal, and they were all huddled around a table near the front counter. Most of them were neighbors, and from their backs I guessed they were Debby Berkshire, Good Ol’ Joe Baker, Hector Santana, and Beverley Rex and her wife, Crystal.
As I stepped forward, a head sprouted out of the middle of the huddle. It was Ms. M. “Pascal! I was on Twitter this morning,” oh no, “and I was looking at Donald’s latest tweet,” great, “and THIS is what I saw!”
I sighed and walked over to the table. Ms. M held her cellphone out toward me, and, with much resignation, I looked at the screen.
“What do you think?!” Ms. M cried.
“Hold on, I haven’t even read it yet,” I said. I stared down at the blue screen, which displayed the latest tweet from Donald Trump.
Just want to apologize for calling NY Times “failing.” #apologize #sorry #POTUS
“Weird isn’t it?” Ms. M pulled her phone back towards herself, and stared at the screen with one eyebrow cocked. “And there’s more.”
Crystal turned toward me, her own phone in hand. “Check it out, Pascal.”
I took Crystal’s phone and began to scroll through Donald Trump’s Twitter feed.
Most of the tweets were simple, pleasant messages:
Good morning! I hope everyone has a great day! #goodmorning #sunshine
But then the tweets became…abnormal. Their content wasn’t strange, but coming from Donald Trump, they certainly were…different.
Took a hike this morning. America has such beautiful trees! The most beautiful trees I’ve ever seen! Thankful for National Parks protecting America’s beautiful landscapes. #onewiththetrees #letsbuildatreehouse #national parks #grateful
I wasn’t incredibly familiar with Donald Trump’s Twitter account, but I was aware that his tweets were often controversial. These new tweets were different from the samples that Ms. M usually shoved into my face whenever I ran into her. I scrolled through the next few tweets, and came across a few more abnormal ones.
2017 was one of the hottest years on record. Sad. America – and Republicans like myself – can do more to slow global warming. Recycle! #climatechange #globalwarming #sorryididntbelievescientists #lol #recycle
“Hmm. I thought Trump didn’t believe in climate change,” I said. I could have been wrong, but then again, I wasn’t familiar with the political beliefs of most politicians, and only had a vague idea of what Donald Trump’s opinions were.
“He doesn’t believe in climate change!” gasped Ms. M, “something’s up! Keep reading, Pascal! It goes from weird to weirder!”
I continued reading. The tweets were strange – some of them were unusual because they contained polite, pleasant language, but others were completely off the wall. Even with my limited knowledge of Trump, I knew he sounded like a completely different person.
My new years resolution? Better represent not just the GOP but the American people regardless of political party. Whats yours? #newyearnewme #new year vibes #GOP
And their weirdness kept progressing…
Feminists? In MY country?! Love it #womensrightsarehumanrights #5050 #feminism #feminist
I was about to announce my perplexity about the tweets, when Ms. M let out a squeak. “He’s live tweeting! He’s live tweeting!”
Suddenly, Crystal ripped the phone from my hand and all heads turned to their phones. “What did he say?” I cried; I tried leaning over the table to catch what was on Ms. M’s phone.
“‘Hey, I’ve been doing some thinking.’ That’s the first one, but there’s more!” Ms. M slid her phone onto the middle of the table so we could both read the tweets.
There’s so much hate #why can’t we love each other
I honestly want to take a warm bath rn, but like, I don’t know I went thru this thing last night. #anxietyattack #existentialcrisis #omg
I know i said my resolution was to be a better leader but like…
… I’m tired and i just want everyone to love each other but sometimes I don’t even feel like I can love
“Oh my god,” said Debby Berkshire. “It’s getting so juicy.”
I’m sorry to all my fans, but I need to take a break #apology #fans
I need to start all over. #newstart #tired #sorry
I’m getting a new job somewhere else (location won’t be disclosed, I need to be alone). I’ll be back in June #break #president #barista
I want to bring happiness to many people with my new job. I just need time to think
“Is that all?” asked Hector Santana after reading the last tweet. It seemed that the live tweeting had come to an end.
“Yes, looks like that’s it.” replied Ms. M. She sat back into her seat with a dazed look in her eyes. “What does it all mean?” Her brow was crinkled with confusion. “What does it mean?”
I didn’t know what the rest of the of the group was thinking, but I could tell that Ms. M was immensely confused. We leaned over the phones in silence, taking in all the tweets.
From behind us, at the counter, someone cleared their throat. “Excuse me?”
Upon hearing the voice, my eyes bulged – I looked again at Ms. M, whose jaw was slack. There’s no way. Is it…? I stared at Ms. M, the intensified confusion on her face reflecting my own. I slowly turned toward the counter, scanning for who had spoken, only to find my absurd prediction proven. It was him. It was Donald Trump, behind the counter.
He looked different, younger and almost angelic. His skin was so clear it was almost glowing, and his eyes were sparkling. He was wearing a white apron and one of his hands was resting on the register. “Hello? Would you guys like anything to drink or eat today?” he asked.
Ms. M let out a stifled cry, Hector Santana made a small choking noise in the back of his throat, and the rest of us just stared. Donald Trump continued talking.
“Our special today is minestrone, but we also have French onion soup, and both come with a side salad.”
I wanted to say something, but I didn’t know what. Should I order breakfast? Should I ask when he started working at the cafe? Should I mention the tweets? I didn’t know what to do, and even if I had known what to say, I couldn’t have said anything anyways. My mouth, my tongue, my vocal chords wouldn’t work – this must be the new job he tweeted about. I was in shock.
“As for something to drink,” said Donald Trump, “we have plenty of teas and…”
– he gestured to the bags of coffee beans on the counter –
Dark and Cold
Hidden yet bold
A blanket to cover the light
and begin the night
It’s beneath your bed
and in your head
anywhere you go
it will follow
James Mcdevor was far from the nicest student in Mormont High. Some could say he was even the bully, the classic teenager that pulled a wedgie on one of the freshmen every once in a while. But that would be a large understatement to explain the attitude of Juvenile James and his friends.
The young man was demeaning and heartless, never knowing the limit to his actions and frankly, not caring. Most avoided him, afraid of his tall and lengthy figure that shadowed every hallway he walked down. With his group of minions behind him, James was nearly unstoppable.
Well, that was until the day after Valentine’s Day, when the young man stole a plate of Cookies from one of his fat classmates. Amy was her name, a girl considered to be one of the sweetest in the school despite the demeaning comments she received for her weight.
“Stop your complaining Amy” James sneered “you already have enough fat on those bones”
As the poor girl cried, James took two large bites of a sugar cookie and promptly began to shove the rest in his backpack.
“You didn’t-didn’t” Amy stuttered
James opened his smooth to reply with a snarky remark but his voice seemed to lodge in his throat, his heady clouding with something strangely light.
“What was in that cookie?!” James stammered as he stumbled towards a desk to sit down. His hands latched onto his forehead, an unheeding pressure growing at the base of his skull.
“Sugar, eggs-“ Amy began to ramble as James nearly fell sideways.
Her voice became more distant every moment that passed until he could only hear the fear underneath her breath. Do I scare her this much? James could not help but wonder. He tried to shake the feeling of guilt away, but with his head pounding and heart beating alarmingly fast, James could not help his brain that turned every which way.
“I-I have to go” He managed to say, grabbing his backpack and stumbling towards the doorway.
Every step after was hesitant as if James had a sudden impulse to turn back and return Amy’s cookies. He tried to wash away the feeling that grew every moment that passed but no matter how much he pushed the guilt away, it kept returning, demanding to be felt.
James Managed to find the bathroom and throw himself towards the sink before his strange impulses took over. Lapsing the water across his sweaty face, the young man ran his hands through his hair and stared at his reflection.
He knew something was strange the moment his eyes stared back at someone nearly unrecognizable. Sure he was still tall and lengthy, but his face no longer held that heir of coldness everyone felt when he walked by.
“You okay man?” A voice rose from the silence.
James turned around, wild eyes landing on a shorter boy. “Fine. What about you?” He blurted before second thoughts could stop him.
“I’m good yeah-“ he paused as recognition washed across his features “you’re James? Right?”
James only nodded, thoughts heavy with much more than the vexing boy behind him.
“Oh man-“ He began
“Jeremy” James cut in, jaw clenching “please leave”
Jeremy could not explain his shock and frankly, James could not either. How did he know his name?. Yet the shorter boy did not stick around to ask the moment James passed an intimidating glare in his direction.
When at last the lengthy boy was left in silence, he collapsed onto the bathroom floor, a strange pain erupting between each shoulder blade. It came to grow and grow until James nearly cried out from the sharpened agony. The feeling was unexplainable as if someone was stabbing his back from the inside out.
He twisted his arm and felt below the base of his neck, hands grasping something silken and feathered.
Before James could curse another pain shot through his back and sent him writhing on the ground once again. He was unsure of how long the laid their, twisting uncontrollably before managing to pull himself towards the bathroom sink.
He was not shocked to see his sickly pale skin and tired eyes, only left breathless from the two feathered wings attached to his back.
Amy was disappointed that James stole her cookies earlier that day. She had forgotten lunch and hoped to share some with her friend Nancy on their short break. But of course, that stupid and juvenile boy always managed to find a way to ruin her day.
She frankly was tired walking home now, not only because she had forgotten lunch but because the entire day had been a mix of snarky comments and insults. Thankfully James had disappeared for the remainder of her classes, saving her some time to actually enjoy herself. Yet she could only suspect her happiness would last so long.
She did wonder if the demeaning boy was okay after that abrupt scene in AP English. Something strange occurred when she made the cookies the night before but she doubted or rather hoped the effects would not be detrimental. Then again she would enjoy watching James cry every once in a while.
Amy’s thoughts continued to linger on these strange hopes and maybe one-day realities as she continued down the narrow sidewalk. Passing houses block by block, she at last arrived at her own, somewhat relieved that her day was done. But before she could step towards the walkway cutting through her yard, she paused.
Sitting on the steps near her door was no other than James Mcdevor, tall and strange as ever. She would not have been left so breathless if two white wings, long and feathered loomed over each of his shoulders.
Amy even tried to rub her eyes, wondering and hoping this was some figment of her imagination. But after several strange shakes of her head and fluttering of each eye, the sweet girl was left with the same picture. She thought about turning around and running the opposite direction, entirely puzzled of what she had witnessed. But the closer she looked, the more she came to see his face held no intention of hurt. He looked rather lost and desperate for someone or something.
“James?” Her voice barely a whisper as she took a few small steps forward.
He smiled unlike any other she had seen his lips draw before “Amy. How are you?”
Her eyebrows raised, steps faltering “you have wings”
His head arched backward “Oh yeah…those”
“How…” Her eyes grew wide “How is this even-“
He sighed “It’s a long story”
“Well…why are you here?”
He unzipped his backpack, pulling out a plastic container of sugar cookies.
“I brought back your cookies”
Valued at only 1 cent.
It’s reminiscent of warm autumn days, which lay in its base.
Its glittering is the deflector of destruction and the sign of a warrior.
Its sounds can be a deep bellow that rattles our ribs,
or the chimes of a song bird that itches our ears.
It tells the fables to old men, which are passed on again and again.
It can be beaten and hidden,
but regardless it impresses.
It’s redolent of determination, accompanied with rich hints of earth.
All valued at 1 cent.
Some think of it as sad
Some it makes glad
And yet almost anywhere you gaze
Be it in the distance or somewhere through the sun’s rays
It’s there almost watching in a sense
Yet still friendly and calming
Often people think of the fun involved
Others think of the gloom
Some just think of the ocean
Bright, yet dark
Powerful, yet deadly
It’s not only a sight, but a feeling
The emotion of love, but also anger
Some of us push it away, while others constantly need it
But no matter how much we try to escape it
It’s in hearts of children
And the roses given to us by a lover
It’s in the bully and the bullied
It’s in the son, and the father who beats his son
But it’s also in the very substance that keeps our heart beating
It keeps us alive;
We need it.