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PHOTO OF THE WEEK:

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THIS WEEK’S PROMPT:

Photo of the week by Alex Benevento of Essex High School.

Photo of the week by Alex Benevento of Essex High School.

General Poetry

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Streamers

By Jessica Beliveau
Grade 7, Albert D. Lawton Intermediate School

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You would think that streamers are too weak to give you paper cuts.

At any other party, you would be right.

The limo that drops you off hardly has anywhere to go.

Brick barriers narrow the street, unnecessarily.

As you walk to the door, past the fluttering streamers, one cuts your finger.

A hostile streamer? What sort of party is this?

You put it down to bad luck and ring the doorbell.

It hurts, because you accidentally used the finger that had been cut.

Blood stains the once-immaculate white button.

The wind howls, but you don’t hear it for long.

As you are ushered in, the sounds of music and chatter block out the whispering breeze.

The hallway, lined with velvet carpets and expensive paintings, darkens along the hallway.

The doors open in, and you enter the main room.

It is a dance; colorful lights and overwhelming music assault your senses.

You notice a lack of refreshments and glance back at the door.

It is closed, hidden in shadow.

It was your choice to come, so why do you feel trapped?

Your attention is turned to the dancers.

Two large, separate masses of people mill about.

Within each, some are dancing, others talking.

The edge of the floor, the shadows, seem the safest place as you pick which group to join.

One is loud, the other is louder.

Neither seems quite benevolent.

That’s when you wonder who invited you to this party.

You realize that no one did.

The door back out seems like the best option, so you approach it.

You reach the wall and run your hands over it, feeling for the handle.

You can’t see anything, and though you feel the seam of the door, there isn’t a handle.

Turning back, you notice people are laughing and pointing.

They are looking at you.

Apparently, the shadows aren’t enough to hide your shame.

You scream at them, and wish that you had listened to the streamers.

You wish you had listened to the breeze.

Listened to the bricks.

To your blood.

To the rain.

And you dream of a place other than the

white mansion on the brick alley.

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http://youngwritersproject.org/node/94236

Bonne Nuit

By Leah Kelleher
Grade 9, Essex High School

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Sometimes sitting in silence,

Drifting in,

Out of a silhouette

All I can hear are

Choked sobs,

And excessive never minds.

Each of the two

Kinds of pain.

One moment,

Clear,

Followed

By foggy chaos.

The next,

Slow,

Needles embedding my conscience.

A disappearing love,

A blooming indifference,

And I realize my true angel of

Death,

Sitting at the coffee corner.

I dare forget.

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http://youngwritersproject.org/node/93051