Poetry Essay/Prose/Book Reviews Short Story

Dramatic Script
A Masterpiece of Murder

Concert Review
Nothing out of SYNC about the NSYNC Concert

The world that seemed so hopeful,
now just makes me mad.
Everything annoys me,
I've never felt this bad.
The truth shall set you free they say...
but you have proved them wrong today.

9th grade
About the Author: Sophie Wright is a grade nine student in Ontario. She enjoys music and talking to friends.
Untitled Poem

Inside their minds' anger quickens.
To the beat of their pulse, breathing becomes faster.
In seconds rage has broken from its restraints.
Down with the gloves, and off with the helmets.
Throughout their faces' red streams over.
Outside of thinking, under masks of anger, their fists begin to fly.
Down eachs' chin drips blood from their lips.
To the ice they fall, interrupted by refs.
Away from each other they are pulled.
Throughout the crowd the roar diminishes.
Off the bench the players come suddenly!
A brawl breaks out and the roar of the crowd fuels your emotions as you watch in anticipation

9th grade
Eau Claire, Wisconsin, United States
I'm a freshman at Memorial High. I wrote this poem to describe an experience of mine during a hockey game. I hope I captured the energy and emotions for the reader to enjoy. In the future I plan to write even more to this awesome site.
"Open your Eyes"

Open your eyes,
And know the truth.

Don't let their
Lies deceive you.

They are after
You and me.

They want
Our life.

Prepare to fall
Back asleep.

Open your eyes,
And see the truth.

Don't let them
Recapture you.

We will
Rescue you.
11th grade
Gainesville, Florida, USA
I have been writing poetry for about eight months now,
and people say my poems are great. the one i posted
is on of my favorite. Now don't ask what it means because
I don't even know.
A Simple Choice

If life left you in darkness,
And stole your soul,
Would you react in anger,
Or choose to be left in the cold?

If a stranger offered a warm embrace,
Would you shrug it off,
Or take it with grace?

If your best friend died in a terrible storm,
Would you live life to the fullest and try to go on?

There are many choices in life today,
So make them wisely,
And do not betray.
7th grade
About the author of *A Simple Choice*

My name is Britt C and I'm 13 years old.
This was my first ever written piece of literature, which I wrote in August 2000. I was inspired to begin writing poetry by my best friend. This poem basically reflects on all the questions that go through my mind as I live each day.
Hope to see you all again soon!
A Story in the Key of S

Stealth, slipping, silent, secret through the room
filled with such simple, sterile folk.
Some stoic figure stands,
straight above it all.
Oblivious, someone sneaks as sandpaper
against the skin between
the startled guests.
Seconds ago they signaled
but suddenly they stagger at
a stark sight
Set your minds
somewhere sacred,
sit, strive to solemnity.
Some serpent of sickness
slithers securely among you.
Sabotaging the sanctity of soul,
so seen in so small a quantity
seeking to shift style,
and send you some place
you shouldn't go.
Seldom have such,
sharing souls,
stood strong against the siege.
A similar situation
is what I see here.
Softly we must swing back,
to distract its searing eyes.
Then swiftly
we strike
silencing its sinful message.
Hamilton, Ontario, Canada
About the author of A Story in the Key of S

I'm what I like to call a confused philosopher. I write poetry stories and songs about the world, life, and politics. My writings have been called "weird" and that's the way I like it.
I hope you enjoy.


I love how your fingers
Can reach deep into my soul
When you play your guitar
And you sing with your eyes
I could sit here forever
Just listening to you
And getting entangled
In the strings that you strum
And the webs that you spin
With the words that you sing
Wishing that you could stop for a while
To run your fingers over my smile
So I can taste the bittersweet sadness
That's so carefully written on them
And you'll hold my heart in your hands
Like you always do
Like you always will...
10th grade
Pleasant Tuesday

"You know what today is, right?" asked Jaime looking up from her hamburger at Burger Shack.
"Of course I do," replied Mark, the loving boyfriend. "Today is Tuesday. A sunny and altogether pleasant Tuesday, I might add."
"No, silly. I'm asking if you know what today is?"
"I gather you have a short-term memory loss problem?"
Jaime smiled. "Ok. Here's a clue: Today is July 16th."
"Oh my god. How could I have been so stupid--so blind? Today is July 16th--a sunny and altogether pleasant Tuesday."
Jaime forced a laugh. "You don't know do you?"
"Nope, sorry," replied Mark.
"Today is my birthday. You know the day I was born. Happens once a year."
Mark sat there silently.
"I'm so sorry, honey. I completely forgot. You know I've been crammin' for the SAT's lately. I barely have the time to enjoy a burger with you. I know it's--"
"I can't believe you! You forgot. You actually forgot. For the last three years every July 16th has been my birthday. And now, on my 18th birthday, the birthday that officially makes me an adult, you forget." Jaime's eyes were slowly welling up as the reality of the situation sunk in.
"My god. I'm so sorry." Mark slowly walked over to the seat next to the one Jaime was occupying and put his arm around her.
"Get off me! I don't want to see you, let alone have you touch me." All the faces inhabiting the restaurant were now fixated on the couple.
Jaime crumpled the paper used to contain her hamburger and threw it at Mark. She then left the restaurant in a hurry and didn't once look back.
"Miss Charles?"
Jaime turned around and wiped the tears from her eyes. "Yes? Can I help you?" The man's nameplate pinned to his left shoulder read CHRIS L. ROBERTSON. Other than that, Jaime knew nothing about this man.
"Actually you can. If you would kindly follow me, please."
"What's going on?" asked Jaime hurriedly. "I most certainly will not follow you. Are you nuts?"
Mark suddenly appeared from the metal side door of Burger Shack and walked over to Jaime and Chris. "Just do what he says, Jaime. Please." There was fear in Mark's voice. Each syllable was uttered slowly, almost reluctantly.
Leading the way, Chris escorted Jaime and Mark around to the back of the restaurant where a black Lincoln limousine waited by the curb. Jaime was relieved but nonetheless confused.
Chris opened the rear door. "Go ahead in, Miss Charles."
Not knowing what else to do Jaime climbed into the limousine. The plush leather seat conformed to her body and she immediately sank in. Mark went around to the other side and sat next to her. Chris Robertson took to the driver's seat and the limousine moved forward.
"I don't know what's going on," Jaime said.
"Don't worry. Everything's fine." Mark reassured her.  
Several moments later the limousine parked perpendicular to a very familiar driveway--Jaime's driveway. Positioned in her driveway was a brand-new, thoroughly waxed and cleaned, yellow Ford Mustang GT Convertible.
"Whose car is this?" Jaime asked suspiciously.
"Haven't the slightest idea," said Mark without even the slightest trace of conviction.
The limousine stopped and the driver got out and opened the door for the lady. "Miss, the keys to your car," he said dangling a pair of keys in front of her eyes. The key chain read FORD.
Chris waved and said goodbye and the limousine peeled off into the street and sped away.
Jaime stared at the keys in disbelief. A wide smile appeared on her face. She was now the speechless one. 
"Jaime. Do you actually think I forgot your birthday? I hope you know me better than that. Not only did I not forget your birthday, but with the help of your parents, I bought you a new car. Now take me for a test-drive."
"How did you--"
"Don't worry about any of that. Take me for a test-drive."
Jaime leaned in and kissed Mark. The pain and sadness she experienced just moments ago was now replaced by love. And her smile was growing wider by the second. 
The alarm was deactivated by the pressing of the remote on one of the two car keys and the two lovebirds went inside. In the car, Jaime said, "You know Mark your absolutely right. Today is July 16th--a sunny and altogether pleasant Tuesday."

9th grade
The author of Pleasant Tuesday is 14 years old and lives in Ft. Lauderdale, FL. He is currently writing a novel entitled, The Immortal Desire.
The Walk

My feet have taken over
I have lost all control of myself
I walk down a dark and lonely street without fear
As I walk my eye and ears become open to my every surroundings
The sounds I hear are frightening
The sound of screeching tires and a collision of some sort
Crying, and screaming ring out an open window
Then a glass breaks and all is quiet
My heart ached for this person
In fear of hearing more I ran
I found myself gasping for air so I stopped in a park
There I see a drunk, homeless man sleeping on the bench beside me
As I continued to walk the dog droppings increased the stench of this park
I see someone getting beaten on the other side
Two lovers or who once were in love end their relationship in bitterness
I screamed and cried in fear, then turned and started home
There was complete silence going back, a silence I enjoyed
For now I could gather my thoughts
I walked passed the house of the girl I loved
All the lights were out, I wondered if she was asleep
If she was dreaming of warmer days than this for it was very cold out
I finally reached my front porch and realized something
I locked myself in my house for so long, and lived in a fantasy world
Only to have this walk bring me back to reality
A reality that is so frightening
A reality we all suffer together
A reality, a world in which hurt, pain, depression, and misfortune do exist
Everywhere our feet may take us, as we walk this journey called LIFE.

12th grade
Brooklyn, New York
For Those Who Can't

                 For those who can't
                 Make it alone.
                 I give you
                 My shoulder to lean on.

                 For those who don't
                 Believe in themselves,
                 I give you
                 Me to believe in you.

                 For those who have
                 An empty heart,
                 I give you
                 My love and care.

                 There is one thing
                 That they can do.
                 They can keep
                 Their dreams alive.

                 And because of people
                 Like you and me...
                    THEY CAN!!!
(dedicated to the special Olympics athletes of Michigan)

7th grade
Alba, Michigan
About the author of For Those Who Can't...
My name is Anna.  I am 13 and live in a small town in Northern Lower Michigan.  I have a sister named Ashley(10)  and two loving parents.  I have 3 dogs(Rocky, Carmen, and Buddy) and a cat named Gorge.  I go to Alba Public School and am in the 7th grade.
Alone At Your Throne

When Nothing is Left,
And Nothings Been Gained
Who is the Thief?
Who can I Blame?

Is It Those That Left Me
When I Tried To Confide?
Or is it Her That Loved Me,
Her That LIED!


Alone, I am Crying.

Alone At Your Throne

10th grade
Madison, WI, USA

Happiness. I crave happiness. I believe that it is the single most elusive emotion that man can have. For the past seven years I have sought it. Before that I was too naive to know that a present from my father meant to buy my love was not happiness. It was at the age of ten that I began to realize such things. It was then that I began to feel that life was far different from my childhood misconceptions of it. This is my story, my search for happiness. It contains my thoughts, my theories and me.

Watertown, Wisconsin it is a small town. Not more than 30,000 people live there. It is nicely situated between Madison and Milwaukee. The summers aren't too hot and the winters are cold enough that it doesn't bother you after awhile. I moved here when I was seven. For three years I thought things were good. My life was set. I would go to the Lutheran schools until I was ready for college. Then I would be accepted into a prestigious school, graduate, get another degree and begin a profession. At the age of 25 I would marry and begin my family. All was to be well. But it wasn't. For one, the Earth can be a very evil place. Good does not prevail. My five years in Wisconsin were not all bad, they were educational. I began to learn that not all people meet the ideals that my child's mind had assumed were commonplace to all. I began to realize that not everyone was equal. It's a nice idea, to think that all men are equal but it just isn't true. We aren't equal, and I thank God for !
that. Memories remain from Watertown, memories. I did not become me until after I left; I simply began the journey there.
Rock music. That's what it's all about. I can't think of anything more fulfilling than distorted guitars and a man singing his life out. It blows my mind. We all know how men are, bottled up emotions. We don't show it. But in music it all comes out. It is beauty in the midst of the chaos. That is my life. Chaos is what I see everywhere around me. But there is also beauty in it. Beauty is the one reason I continue as I am. If I did not have beauty to look to, what would I have? So it was rock music that I turned to, Z104 and Laser 103, my roots were established.

Pleasanton, California is where I was defined. The definition of me from Pleasanton has continued to this day. My roots were solidified in the Bay Area. It was Scott Erickson. He was my mentor. I don't know why he did it, it makes no sense at all. By nature he would not associate with me. A preacher's kid, goes to church, thinks drugs are bad, my old self. But he befriended me. He taught me. Christians are hypocrites and you will never change my mind. I abhor the church. I hate the term "Christian", and yet I brand myself by it. I believe in God. I believe in the Bible. I also believe I don't need anyone to interpret it for me, I don't need anyone to tell me anything, and I don't need fellowship with people so shallow minded and stupid as the majority of the church-goers I have encountered over my lifetime. I may have been raised by my parents, but I was molded by Scott. Not in the sense that he controlled me. But that it was through him that I formed my beliefs about life.

So how is happiness found? Beauty. Surround yourself with beauty. What is beauty? Beauty is undefined. Beauty is the quality of a woman that makes my heart skip and my head swirl. Beauty is the outpour of emotion in music. Beauty is free thought. Beauty is art. Beauty is whatever gives you the fleeting feeling of contentment in a world that would deny you it. Happiness is beauty.

11th grade
Temple, TX USA
I was told today in school I should write a book. I'm primarily a songwriter, but tonight I couldn't make anything fit
as lyrics, so I wrote this. Hope you like it.
Fire is Anger

Fire is Anger
The fire blazed in their eyes
melting anything in sight.
Consuming anything that can burn.
Look at the way the fire turns towards
the east with a flick of the wind.
Unpredictable and amazingly hot.
Red, orange, and yellow flames engulf
millions of trees as if their appetite was never satisfied.
Anger is as deadly as fire.
It is an uncontrollable rage.
Anger is Fire.

11th grade
St. Louis, Mo.
I am currently writing my sixth book and have completed 117 poems thus far. I am a writer who hopes to be successfully
published and have the dream that all teens like me will succeed.

The snow crunches
The cold air is biting me
I cant breathe
I can't think
Someone is behind me
It's all a dream
Or is it?
Tears rush down my face
One by one they fall
The rain is coming down to fast for me to handle
I want to say I am sorry
or at least say goodbye
But I am paralyzed in fear
What will come next?
I can't breathe, I can't think, I can't move, I can't speak
You the reason I live
Also the reason I will die
And I can't decide where to put the past
It's all a dream
Or is it?
Did you hear me?
I can't move
Please help me

7th grade
High School Through Radio

For every one there comes a day,
 when you look in the mirror, and to yourself you say:
Which way in life should I be going,
everyone thinks I should be knowing.
So your shake your head as you walk away,
 the question unanswered, as you face another day.
When Talkin about my generation,
I'll tell you there's a lot of different groups in this high-school nation.
 But we all get By with a little help from our friends, and someone to care.
though Jack and Dianes are far to rare
 Injustices make it hard not to slip, as we test our moral hold,
so we plant our feet, and stand our ground, and Keep on Rockin' in the free world. Elementary school  innocence-- not so far gone,
I wonder why some kids have gone so wrong.
 Having sex and doing dope,
 they're flame is choking, and they're losing hope.
  You can't sit around and expect it to pay,
 you've got to Get up stand up and Go your own way.
 You've got to pick a direction, one you chose,
 the harder you try, the less you lose.
 It's all there in black and white,
I've got a plan, I'll make it right.
 But then you realize, with much dismay,
 that everything's in shades of gray.
  The harder you try to find the truth,
 the more it's distorted, though clearer to us youth.
Some day soon we'll start to ponder,
What on earth's this spell we're under,
We've made the grade, and still we wonder,
Who, the hell we are.
9th grade
Trusted You

To think I trusted you.
You said you were my friend.
Why did I believe you?
Finally it has come to an end.
Selfishness has taken over.
Your not the same as before.
Looking at you makes me angry.
Being your friend is like fighting a war.
But now I feel different.
Dare I say happier?
Will this feeling fade away.
After time apart.
Will I want to be your friend.
Time will tell where we stand
To think I trusted you.
8th grade
Hey My name is Meghan, and I'm in eight grade. This poem was pretty much about me ending my friendship with someone.
One Entity

The sky was clear, and the wind whispered our names
We were no longer two, but one
One soul.
One entity.
I will never forget that day.
We touched only briefly.
Our hands brushed past each other and touched our souls.
We touched honestly, as if for the first time.
I looked back and caught the mutual apprehension in your eyes.

Others warned me of your tainted love,
But my mind was sabotaged, and I carelessly fell into your arms.
I stumbled, and could not regain my step.
I found myself lost in the euphoria of love.

You. You were so beautiful, and you gave yourself to me selflessly.
Your honesty was constant and uncompromising.
You rendered me senseless and incoherent.
You've touched me in ways I never would have let you, had I been fully aware.

I crept in your soul meekly; I was frightened by your beauty.
I'm sorry. Forgive me love.
I had not known true beauty until you.
I love the way you look at me, like I've been discovered for the first time.
And last night when you held me, my heart crashed into yours.
For at that moment we were one soul.
One entity.

Your laughter reminded me of home.
If you ever leave, please don't take away your laughter.
Your laughter is central to my existence.
I live inside the music of your words.
You have rendered me vulnerable, and helpless, dependent on you.

You tore me apart, and then put me back together
With your pieces intermingling with mine.
It's funny; I seem to fit better with you than I did with myself.
You complete me,
God, how cliché.
But love is a walking cliché and I'm its poster child.

You've changed my life forever
You my one miracle, my fallen angel.
How many times have you saved me from my self-destructive ways?
Far too many.
This is my love song to you.
My love has leaked into this ink, forever altering us both.

I unfold before you, as vulnerable as the day I was born.
Scared to death, but loving every minute.
I will bury you inside me and hide you, my angel, from the unforgiving world.
You will be mine, I will be yours.
And we will be one soul.
One entity.
11th grade
Cola/SC, US
I am a Junior at RNH

I believe that if society was not as condescending
Certain ideals would not matter anymore,
And human kind would be happier,
Instead of analyzing others
By their physical attributes,
Constantly peering into the mirror,
Considering the things viewed
On the surface,
Not looking deep enough within
To see the true child behind the face,
The child who feels the knife
Of society's stereotypes
Slicing slowly
Through her heart,
Who feels the persecution
And disapproving glances
From others
Judging her by the fact
She is viewed
By society
As being too immature
To have legitimate opinions,
Not realizing
That all she needs is a spark
To ignite the flame under her
And turn it into a raging fire,
And all the while,
She struggles from the strain,
 From the stress,
Of the self-inflicted illness
Brought on by society's words.

9th grade
Mississauga, Ontario, Canada
 I've always loved writing, and i want to write as a career.  I began diving into poetry about a year ago, and i have many poetry books in the works.  I often write about personal things i am going through, which sometimes makes it hard for others to relate to my work.  Yet, i hope you enjoy my poems, even if you find them a tad confusing!
Ender's Shadow

Like its acclaimed predecessor, Ender's Shadow comes out on top.  This is a compelling science fiction novel that focuses on one of Ender Wiggin's (the best student to ever come about at battle school) crew members.  The crew that took him to the top to beat the buggers in the final battle.  This story emphasizes on a kid, Bean, who is the littlest kid to ever join battle school.  A story of a boy who didn't grow up in your normal house he lived on the street surviving the best he could. This is a story of a boy who faced death in the face and wouldn't give in with out a fight.  Nevertheless, most of all this is a story of a boy who wouldn't quit until he became the best.
9th grade
Eau Claire, WI, US
Hi my name is Ryan. I'm 15 years old at Memorial High School.  My favorite subject is English were i have the best teacher Mr. Poss
Midnight Vulture
  God's wind rustled the leaves. Clouds hovered over the tree line. I added my own sound affects in my head, maybe a dog's bark in the background or the rhythmic on and off chirps of grasshoppers. The stars like torches seen on clear nights now peered ominously through the holes in the clouds. My hand pressed up against the window, and let off. An indentation was left and dribbles of water carried it away. I cloaked myself with a wool jacket, for I knew outside would be cold.
  I journeyed through one door, a second, and then to where the steps started. The one I called Milo peered up with a hidden friendliness. He could not show facial expression. I pat him on the head, and in return he wagged his tail.
  A slow ascent aided by the handrail led me to a door. I knelt and tied my strides. The wind grew stronger, as well as the rustling of the leaves, God's leaves.
  I pushed the door open, and came to a short hallway. Floor to ceiling windows led the way to the final exit. A gentle pull exposed me to the world at night. The outside I saw before stayed the same. Though the moon could be seen now. A flock of geese squawked overhead. They wished to leave this cold land. Unlike me.
 I took out a cigarette and placed it between my lips. I used a spark of flame to light it. I closed my eyes and saw the blackness lighten as I inhaled. The cig-er-ette spread out and touched all of my body. I dreamt of grandiose spires jutting from cathedrals, and suddle villages that lay in lush mountain coves. I kept on dreaming.
 A goose's squawk revived me and brought me back into place. The clouds were moving faster. Faster than before. A thought of eternity crossed my mind with the ever faster moving clouds. They would keep on moving when I died. Maybe even faster than now. This used to frighten me.
  After contemplating how long eternity was, my cigarette had reached its end. The thought of villages and cathedrals drifted away with the drop of the cigarette. Now, the air I exhaled was no longer tainted with smoke. I was not sad with this. I heard one more goose call, as if it were saying, "bye."
 I pushed the door open which led me to the hallway I knew all to well would greet me. I made my way through it, and back to my house's entrance. I ever so gently pushed it so as to not wake anyone. I untied my strides and laid them by the row of shoes that were already there. I took one step into the bathroom, closing the door behind me.
 I was pit up against the gazing mirror. The sense of eternity strolled through my mind again. A great man once said that if you looked at yourself long enough that you'd disappear. Maybe that was just Narcissus's tale. For myself, nights like these help ease the thought of eternity. Though I did feel myself begin to disappear, and be no more. As this awareness heightened, my heart pulsed harder. Black began to tingle over me. I couldn't let it happen. So like I smoked a cigarette, I inhaled. The blackness fled. I shook my head, and a sigh of relief came over me. The light fleeted from the room as I flipped the switch. I grabbed my chest, and descended down the steps of a promising tomorrow.
9th grade
Muskegon, MI, USA
I am Vincent. I am much obliged that you read my story
Sanitize My Sadness

Putrid edges blurred within the liquid textures
of fallen tears that refused to dry upon
burning cheeks
as they drip-dripped down to the faded carpet,

Breathed-in stale air filled with the heavy scent of death,
Dirty , yet disinfected  - it melts down my throat,
Cascading to the pit of my stomach-

I feel sick.

Emotions solidified and frozen
I creep through gaudy hallways,
Footsteps echo into the hollowed rooms,
Bed fragile bodies lie
Waiting to die,
to rot upon crisp sheets as saline enters and
snakes through worn veins,

I tried too hard to be strong
muscles worn
soul worn,
I collapse within myself,
Gorged my very ignorance to replace with
The frigid clink of metal empathy,

(Disconnect my eyes to believe everything is fine)

Frustration evaporated in the heat of uttered words,
And I sense the calm of dwindling sorrows,
Lean upon the satisfaction that life will go on
And I can begin to build my strength back up again.

9th grade
Topeka, Ks
This poem is about my grandma being in the hospital and about the effect that the hospital atmosphere has on me.
Pain and Sorrow

Today is the last day I'll spend on this earth
Its hard to believe 14 years after birth
A guard came up to my friends and I
He said they could live but I had to die
I was confused and I didn't understand
he said, "Oh well." and put an X on my hand
I started to cry and my friends did too
he turned to them and their fear grew
They stopped instantly and avoided his eyes
he said, "She has until tomorrow start saying your good byes"
He had a smug smile on his skinny face
he walked with pride at quite a slow pace
I swelled up with anger and started to shout
My parents came by and asked what it was about
I told them the truth they thought I was lying
They said it was cruel to play jokes about dying
My friends backed me up and said it was true
They said they were sorry and I said I was too
They had 2 daughters until the Nazis arrived
They took her away but I was happy to be alive
Now they would loose me after coming so far
Its not fair its just the way things are
I never dreamed it would be like this
everything around me I know I will miss
My parents are sad 'cause I'm going to die tomorrow
I feel their pain and they feel my sorrow

9th grade
 I'm 14 and I've been writing for as long as I can remember. This specific piece is based of the Jews who were put in concentration camps. The parents not wanting to believe that their daughter had to die symbolizes the rest of the world not wanting to believe. This is one of my best poems. One of my poems is published and another one won 4th prize in the Mass science poetry contest.

A corpse,
Lifeless in the road.
It's had it's last breath,
Fought it's last war.
Mangled and torn,
No one wants to help,
But only stare.
It's last silent thought,
As everyone stood in awe,
"So, this is America?"
Faceless with no identification,
Just another body in the road.
11th grade
Sarasota, Fl, USA
About the author of "Defeated". Sarah enjoys writing short stories, and poetry. . .and aspires to someday be a motion picture producer.

She sits in a corner,
Jocks passed,
Gothic's passed,
Prep girls passed,
Geeks passed,
Punks passed,
All in their own cliques,
Where they belong,
But she remains alone,
In her little world,
The only place she belongs,
As the observer.
8th grade
I'm from Malaysia and I'm 14.
this is my first poetry .
Sunrise, Sun Death

As the sun goes over the distant hills, I know the one will be out, the one that kills.
He'll wake up soon from his coffin and cave, go out and make some lonely girl his slave.
Out of his coffin, crumbling cave, he creeps wanting his victims to be off and asleep.
I get out of my bed and see a black bat, blinking I see he's petting my cat.
Away from my bed I am in a stir, starring at him while my cat tenderly purrs.
Coming toward me he touches my shirt, it felt kind of nice though I thought it would hurt.
Kissing my neck I become kind of dazed, his eyes were caring, sad and somewhat crazed.
We fall to my bed and there's a pinch in my neck, I see some blood but it's only a speck.
Coming alive I grab stake knowing in my mind his heart would break.
Ramming it in his chest he does not bleed, ending his terror on people he does feed.
"Thank you," he says as he turns into dust, "Thank you for being the one that I could trust.  Be happy you didn't let me kill you like others in a dream.  I got tired of seeing blood flow like a stream."
"Welcome," I said as light shown through, miraculously from the dust arises something new.
He looks the same as the one before, but appears nicer like evil's there no more.
He kisses my forehead and goes to the sun, his smile was plain but it danced with fun.
Running from my room down to the street, he swayed in golden rays and looked kind of sweet.
I turn from the window to start my day, then heard a cry not so gay.
From him smoke arose and he cried out in pain, flames arouse from him and he became quite insane.
Turns out he was still in his evil empire, turns out all he could be was a deep dark vampire.

12th grade
Pittsburgh, PA
About the author of Sunrise, Sun death

I like to write poems and books that everyone can enjoy.  Not just the literary geniuses.
High School

Somewhere between the procrastination,
the homework,
the instant messages,
the friendships,
the nasty cafeteria food,
And the calls to each other complaining about crushes.
Somewhere between the phone calls to old friends,
the "I miss you's",
the "I love you's",
the "What are we doing tonight's",
and all of the changing and growing.
Somewhere between the classes,
the skipping classes,
the studying for tests,
the pretending to study for tests,
and the downright not studying for tests,
I forgot.
I forgot what high school is all about,
what it meant to cry,
that pretending to be happy doesn't make you happy,
and pretending to be smart doesn't make you smart.
I forgot that you can't just forget the past in fear
of the future,
that you can't control falling in love
and that you can't make yourself fall in love.
I learned that I can love,
that it's okay to mess up,
it's okay to ask for help,
and it's ok to feel like crap.
I learned that it's ok to whine all day to your
I learned that sometimes the thins you want most,
you just can't have.
I learned that sometimes the things we want to forget
are the things which we most need to talk about.
I learned that letters from friends are the most
important thing
and that sending cards to your friends makes you feel
I learned that the greatest thing about high school
isn't the parties, the drinking or the hook-ups.
It's the friendships, which means taking chances.
But, basically, I just learned that my friends both
old and new are the most important people to me in the
And without them, I wouldn't be who I am today.
So this is a thank you to all of my friends for always
being there.
I love you.
9th grade
Milwaukee, WI, USA
Meant for me

An equal to me
In everyway
Yet someone i can worship
Night and day

Someone to talk to
Someone to kiss
Someone to spend days with
Someone to miss

To have this man
I can only dream
For each one I've met
Is not what they seem

Some have lied
Some have cheated
Some were shy
Some conceited

Of all my encounters
I'm never disappointed
And I continue to look
For the one anointed

The one man
Destined to be
The only man
Meant for me
9th grade
New Zealand
Hi, I'm a 14 year old girl called Abbie. This is my first time to every submit any of my poems to Teenlit. I hope you enjoyed reading this. My hobbies are basketball, tennis, soccer etc. I love my sports and writing hopefully one day it can become a profession. See ya! :)
Today it is here. I sense it more than ever. The tide has broken through the sky
and I fear that my heart will drown. My peace has spoken of your demise, I tear through
the trenches of humanity searching for your soul. The time has come for me to lay
entirely transposed through space and time. The horrid dream of your hand passing
through mine frightens my entire being for it is in you that I exist and without you that
my world stops. My heart has stopped.
         I hate you with my entire being. It is great that my mind has exploded because my
pain has disappointed. I'm done now. I will let go. My soul slides away into the heart of
darkness. I feel dead.

Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o'clock in the morning.

         The hatred of incalculable time. The reason that proceeds throughout the absence
of time. An undesired peace within my heart. These are the creatures that plague my soul.
Escape through the door of dreaded dismay, that there is never anything within here. This
puzzles me: how could a Lord so great and so grand not see the abhorrent injustice? My
piercing peace will not be stay silent. It continues backwards and forwards committing
itself to a lost cause. But now it all ends, and becomes. The feeling has changed, just like
yours, indifference to the nature of man and the identity crisis that plagues our people.
        Shining in the souls of sacrilegious saints, drunk with power and passion,
poisoned with the tragedy of life. Still it remains and becomes. Eternally exploded in the
sky, troubled minds, sacrificed spirits all for the greater good, a society as useless and
ruthless as my own existence. Several years may pass but the emotion remains, rage
uncaptured, unstoppable, a pain apparently unreal, for it means nothing to no one but me.
So here it is twenty-two seconds of intense pain, sheering through the clouds. In Heaven
the explosion will kill God, but will not defeat Him. Though they may try they are highly
incapable of any remorse or solemnity. Immorality is in myself because my time here is
as useless as my broken heart. Wasted time, faded mind, undermined through this kind.
She may be dying and that frightens me. That she will perish without life. If only Mr.
Eliot was wrong.
         Faith in the struggle to find faith. So here I am after sixteen seconds of hatred
unchanged from the beginning. I have missed nothing but my own consistency. This love
has become hate. Why, is it me or is my entirety unfamiliar to recognize my troubled mind?

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.
12th grade
Calgary, Alberta, Canada
I Am.

I am the cuts on  your knee,
The splatters of mud on up your leg,
The ripped jeans that cloth your bony body,
The black eye that makes you look tough although you are not,

I am the scarlet drops of blood you taste in you mouth,
The disheveled hair that hangs over your face,
The dirt under your fingernails,
The piercing in your tongue,

I am the baggy clothes you wear to hide your bony body,
The rock music that pounds deep within your speakers and pulses deep within your soul,
The skateboard by your side,
The worn and smelly sneakers on your feet,

I am the outcast not accepted by society,
The rebel who stands out but always alone,
The snarl given by a denouncing humanity,
The pride in being original,

I am the pain your feel when you go home at night,
The harsh words screamed in your mind,
The resentment felt towards you,
The tortures o being who you are,

I Am A Punk.
10th grade
Who Am I

Staring into the mirror we see what the world sees.
And in that reflection we are meant to show all that we are,
And all that we want to become.
It is the never ending question,
Changing from second to second,
Because we are changing from minute to minute
With that fast paced, jungle of a world:
Who Am I?

I am the sea of cement that came up so fast to cover my head and knock the wind out of my sails.
The crinkle crumple of paper on the plastic mattress as the bruised and bleeding knees moved side to side to swing the small body to a standing position.
The antiseptic smell and overbearing nurse who said, "Look what you've done, now,"
Before the sea overtook me again.

I am the red cheeks and nervous giggle at the new school.
That carried over into conversation
And gave me 3 new friends;
3 best friends that multiplied into dozens of best friends,
And thousands of memories.
I am the monotone words echoed through the hallways in praise,
Springing into a spiraling circle.
Seemingly off the television in an attempt to be
A black and white sitcom of weird occurrences.

I am the incoherent words traced on paper,
Wrapped in red red red and bound together
To produce an A on an English assignment,
Which would later grow into a common feat.
Because words became the master of the mind
And imaginary worlds became my favorite place to be.

I am the baggy jeans worn in 80 degree weather with the long hair pulled back, tight.
I am the green, blue and yellow balloons filled with sticky white cream
Waiting in the white plastic bag with the boys' names written on each in black ink.
Splattering, splashing everywhere; an icky, gooey mess.
I am the excited squeals as I am thrown into the pool by those boys,
For pulling such a dastardly prank.

I am the blue green water that shimmers beneath the golden sunlight
And reveals another world to my wide eyes.
A universe full of treasures and new friends,
Waiting to be discovered and discussed.
Starfish and tropical colors floating past
Urchins and sand dollars that feel like wet leather in my tanned hand.
I am 2 young girls who once played dress up but now scour the beach in search of guys and fun adventures;
And the comfortable silence between those girls.
Embarking on a journey to various vacation spots,
That won't soon end,
I am the smiles they share with quiet insight
As they realize suddenly
How lucky they are to be there.

I am the adoration in the tiny smile as she looks up into the shadowed face of the adolescent pitcher.
I am the blonde fluff and Yoda ears of the small boy,
The baby red bat and white whiffle ball in hand, waiting to play pickle in the alley
And the chest of baseballs in his basement room, autographed or simply found.
I am the skulking 12 year old that declares she was dragged to the baseball games, when in reality she wanted to be nowhere else.
I am the fear of an overprotective older brother and his overprotective friends,
Or the birthday sign on the freshman locker that shouted in yellow highlighter, "You may be 15, but I am still smarter!"
I am the hot summer days spent in the dark basement playing Star Wars,
And the white nylon nets which captured so many tiny lizard friends.
I am the hours spent in the living room listening to "high school survival stories"
As well as the hours of travel by car or by plane to be wherever her idol was.
I am the loud bass, bumping the car as he drove my friends and I around,
The glares, stares and advice sought after she sees so many awards and opportunities given to that now grown man.
I am the younger sister, beaming with pride.

I am the memories of times passed;
The smiles and giggly little girl laughter,
As she flies the red and green kite on the soft white sand with her Papa.
I am the melting red pastel with hints of black in the etched lines,
Capturing the scene of a child playing on the beach
Made by the knotted hands, aged with intelligence and tenderness.
I am the hot glue and small portions of splintering wood somehow pieced together to form a castle for her dolls.
I am also the heartache that tells my story of how the water just won't be wet enough to swim in now that he's not in Siesta Key anymore.

I am the anger at the world
For the pain she's seen.
The hateful words and empty bitterness after fights,
The feeling of abandonment when the car rides turned silent,
The afternoon that she found out her father was so sick with something the doctors should have seen so long ago.
I am the frustration at everything she cannot change
And the tears cried in the afternoon sunlight
Or beside an angry reflection that she just can't understand.
I am the crashing realization that 3 to 5 years isn't that long of a time,
And the hope that one day the curse will end.
And all of those that she loves will be healthy,
Including her own unique mind.

I am the stars twinkling like silver sprinkles on a chocolate cookie
Seen from the picture window in her little room,
Or from the beach.
With eyes overflowing with hope,
With a heart overzealous for the unending mystery there
I am the hot tub at Sea Club V beneath that bursting purple sky.
Little children huddle together there,
And laugh and talk of things that don't really matter to anyone.
I am the innocence that responds to "I'm going to marry Eminem,"
With "Really? Which color?"

I am the friends met;
Monkey Girl with the smile that lit up any room or any rainy day.
Bumping to Tim McGraw in her maxed out red Jeep Cherokee,
Three hours on a tile floor, spilling out the secrets kept so long inside,
Hitting on guys from Capitol High who we couldn't have cared less about.
I am the picture of  a cowgirl, goth and Britney Spears on Halloween at 15 years old,
The steaming bowls of pasta left over from the "28 Servings Fiasco."
Hours were spent in the makeshift hot tub aka laundry sink
Talking and scrubbing away the layers of pastel marker which pronounced love for certain boys on legs and arms and backs.
I am the air hockey table that brought friendly competition and the karaoke machine that brought so much entertainment,
And the after hours of New Years 1999, laughing about midnight in the car.
I am the elbow of Laura that started the whole episode with fetishes and fantasies,
The pink that followed her from the soccer field to her bedroom,
I am the Elmo obsession which later led to a new religion,
And the night of romance at the Space Needle with our boyfriends and birthday celebrations.
I am the dusty old couches that listened to so much laughter, watching The Goonies with her older brother and his "way cool" friends: Ruth, Baby Ruth! Hey, you guys!
I am the friend I trusted with so much for so long.

I am the scrawny little boy who ended up being a girl:
Cornball because of her geeky nature who called her buddy Chameleon.
The two crazy kids whose nutty nicknames led to so many years of sisterly bonding.
Birthdays at Greenlake with the hot lifeguard that always appeared,
The boyfriends she met through me and my 'perfect' matchmaking,
I am the random walks to Albertson's for hair dye and the dozens of hours spent in dressing rooms finding the perfect outfit for prom.
My life reflects the all star rappers, shouting out the windows, "Can I get a.SboobS!"
Or the zesty tang of cherry coke and jalapeno chips at 1 in the morning.
I am the drive-thru coffee shop and the exasperated shout, "Do you want to go to Starbucks or Fred Meyer?!"
The chocolate cake fights and the late night discussions in Romantic Room,
The hours of laughter shared over stupid inside jokes:
"Elmooo.Don't hand ME a bottle of sauce.Smile if you'll sleep with me.We're Svedish tourists ya!.Hey, hey we're the monkees.Buttercup Boy and Plunger Lips.How big is your beaker? NEW DRIVER, NEW DRIVER! Mikko, line 346!!!"
I am the places of work, bringing free bagels, ice cream and scrumptious mud pies.
The blue recliner that always doubled as a bed,
And the golden Honda that held our piercing car screams when we were stressed out.
The bus rides to Northgate that seemed to take forever but now with cars seem to take milliseconds.
I am the hours spent at various boy's houses, being the "best" best friend!
The neon pink silly string from the night with the boys that stuck to the sidewalk like bubble gum before that life changing dance,
The QFC fireplace where night after night at around 12 o'clock we appear to buy soda and snacks,
I am the tears that would make her house waterfront property had someone saved them.
My image reflects the wall of boys that watched over us as we slept and the hours of fighting over the corner and pillows for our heads.
I am the back row of Northgate Theater and all our games of Truth or Dare with our group of boys;
Cat fights and Queen of the Bed challenges that kept us laughing months after Megan had been kicked off because I always seemed to win.
Or the late night calls to various DJ's to harass them into conversation and free stuff.
I am the random dates and places where so much time was spent:
Bumbershoot..Northgate.Downtown.University Village...Bell Square.
And the shoulder always there to lean on and the ears always open to listen to fallen tears.
I am the best friend.The sister..That kept me sane.

I am the dove gray Benzie that has its own song;
The girl with the smile that can melt anyone's heart.
I am the goodness that she radiates and spreads to everyone she comes in contact with.
I am Little Lindsey who everyone thinks is such a sweet angel,
But who I know too well to see that anymore.
The ice cream and fry runs when someone's upset,
The beans and cones left over from the wild night after the valentines dance,
Alive and kicking with all of our inside jokes:
"Vader, as in Darth?.L-Dub.BOOM!.Do you rememba?!.Dike Access Road.Sean Patrick loves you.SMILE!.FIFE MILTON ROCKS."It".Jack Ball.Did they go to the zoo? Supposebly.SPEED HUMPS."
Oh and of course Madigan Hospital and Nisqually.
The Dairy Queen drive-thru that almost collapsed on our heads as the ground shook beneath us,
Or the can of juicy silly string that covered my jacket and the windows of his car; I am also the $1.50 that paid for the car wash that everyone participated in.
Memories flash of the Save the Last Dance CD that almost got us killed.
I am the glittery make up and leather pants of Tolo 2000 that we starved ourselves to fit into,
The parking ticket left on the windshield in the cold December above the stub on the dashboard.
I am the Sweet November and late night veg outs at Bret's with Hocus Pocus,
The drives to Tacoma and Portland and the day spent with an old friend at Point Defiance watching the "white" belugas do their tricks,
I am the Carmel Machiatos and parking attendant boys whose night we completed.
I am the $$$ spent on birthday parties;
The assorted shapes and colors of birthday balloons that we used an "air pump" to blow up,
The hours of decorating and the hours of shopping for the perfect VCR.
The curse that followed me around for 2 months that Lindsey always tried to help me figure out.
I am the creative photo collages meant to make her laugh in times of need.
I am the anger at those who have hurt one of my best friends and the anger at myself for having corrupted her;
I am the wonder at how she can stay so good after all the pain she has endured.
And we are always trying to "get out of this town.get out of this place.get out of SEATTLE."

I am the 5 year old that stole my heart and the boy who became my best friend.
The one whom I shared my fears with, and my hopes, too.
The gentle hand that always wiped away my tears, trying to make me smile at the same time.
I am the year of dances and our wacky sense of fashion that made us cheerleaders and WWF wrestlers-or was it Solid Gold Dancers?
I am the hours of laying in his room and feeling safe in his arms,
The dozens of rented movies and random drives to Dick's or Rosita's,
The blood rushing to my head as I am flipped upside down and turned around above a cement carpet.
I am the hours spent at Twilight Bowling on Friday afternoons, entertaining each other with stupid impressions,
Or the purple tweezers, plucking away, and the psychedelic nail polish that covered his pretty little toes during his Night of Beauty with the girls.
The nights of summer spent at the Outdoor Movies or Carkeek Park and watching the sun set on our high school love.
I am his sister's apartment, housing all of us in our youthful indulgence and watching as the quiet whispers erupted into boisterous resilience,
Or the sweetness of the chocolate shakes and saltiness of the fries at his job at the Piper Creek Café.
I am the only chaperone small enough to be everywhere we went, Hocus, the luckiest black cat around!
And the squeals of excitement as an arm collapsed around my back and spun me around to surprise me with the Mulan video at Oaktree Cinemas,
Or the bitter cold surrounding his feet as he'd walk me to my car every night to say goodbye.
The decorated living room filled with all of my friends and thoughtful birthday gifts that told me how much he thought of my kooky personality.
The kismets made and then.sometimes.broken;
And the hours spent thumb wrestling, fighting for the championship title.
I am the times spent in the hallway at school, leaning against each other or holding hands,
The phone calls that lasted for hours never saying anything but always ending up somewhere.
I am his 14 year old gold fish, Reddy, who is sticking around to see our wedding,
And his rambunctious dog, Bonzai, who always got 2 cookies from me and 1 from everyone else.
The fountain with the stars twinkling above and the Movie Move ending in the first declaration of how much we cared about each other.
I am the nervous scream at the haunted house on Halloween that was too much for me to handle but that he kept me safe through,
The smell of his cologne as we said goodbye, sitting side by side, listening to the humming silence and staring at the blue TV screen.
The saline tears that covered his face as I walked out crying, "I just can't do it anymore,"
I am the pumpkin carving contest in his kitchen the he lost with a face and I won with his cat,
The warmth I felt with his family, talking about daily life and current events,
I am the hours spent sitting on that wooden chair together, building our 'dream house' on The Sims.
The innocence that faded away and his trust in me to do no wrong.
The comfort I felt when watching TV or doing homework on his couch.
And the day spent at the zoo like old times, remembering how good it used to feel to be the Bret-and-Caitlin package.
I am the best friend I could have ever asked for when I look back on our time together;
The electric shivers that overtook my spine when we were close,
And the interlocking fingers, clasped in friendship and in more.foreshadowing our future.

I am the good old days of recess injuries and uniforms,
The dream of writing ,
The tomboy phase still holding on,
The Gulf of Mexico,
And my older brother.
I am my Papa, a man who I grew to love and admire through one visit a year,
And the friends made and then lost.for whatever reason.
I am the bitterness of bad times,
Mixed with the sweetness of the good.
I am the history that I've created by living each day to its fullest,
By changing minute to minute,
Watching as each second passed.
So now, I may understand the answer to that age old question of:
"Who Am I?"
By looking back
And reflecting on that reflection
That I seem to see.

11th grade
Seattle, Washington
About the author of "Who Am I"...This poem was actually a Creative Writing project for school...But once I got started, I couldn't stop. It may not say everything that I am, but it says most of it. If I can encourage one thing, I'd encourage people to write an "I Am" poem; these were supposed to be based on the "Song of Myself" by Whitman. It may not be nearly as good as his but...Well, it's my own. It's "who i am."
Untitled Poem 3

She looks at the sky
The stars shining brightly amidst the black sky
She travels back to her teenage years
How she had wasted the fun of it
She was never a people-person
Only a loner
Nobody ever cared for her
Not even her family
They were more obsessed with Alison
The daughter who had everything
The sister she despised
She recalls how she got involved
With alcohol and drugs
And waking up one night
To find herself lying on a hospital bed
And Janice
How he helped her pull through
Janice, the blind girl next to her
Who showed her the meaning of life
Janice, who left her three years later
And told her to never give up
To cherish life and hold it precious.

10th grade

Free is a bird soaring
high in the sky.

Free is a spirit
after you die.

Free are dreams
asleep or awake.

Free is me
and is not yours to take.
10th grade
Pond Gap, WV
About the author of Free

I am 15 years old, a sophmore at Riverside High School.
I love to write poetry and hope to become a writer someday.
                    Your Eyes

    Lying in your arms
    I gaze into your soft green eyes
    So much like my own but yet so different
    Pulling us together from the depths of our soul
       and pushing our entwined spirits apart by
       our own earthly flesh
    Secrets, covered thoughts, and mysteries lie
       behind those intriguing eyes
    Beckoning me to follow
    Falling  into those eyes I become lost in a
       world of surreal happiness
    Moments that I treasure and thank God for
       engulf me
    Push me to realize feelings hidden behind
       untrust, disbelief, and hurt
    Ones I can't grasp a true concept of or fully
    Intense feelings I'm not able to bring myself to say
    Je amour vous
    In any language it still has the same cherished
       wonderful, meaning
    I love you
8th grade
Blakely, Ga.
I believe that writing is a wonderful way to vent feelings, express thoughts, or create your own world.
I try to always write from my heart and, therefore, each piece contains a special piece of me.
Purity I: The Beginning

She looks at the sky
The stars shining brightly amidst the black sky
She travels back to her teenage years
How she had wasted the fun of it
She was never a people-person
Only a loner
Nobody ever cared for her
Not even her family
They were more obsessed with Alison
The daughter who had everything
The sister she despised
She recalls how she got involved
With alcohol and drugs
And waking up one night
To find herself lying on a hospital bed
And Janice
How he helped her pull through
Janice, the blind girl next to her
Who showed her the meaning of life
Janice, who left her three years later
And told her to never give up
To cherish life and hold it precious.
10th grade
Broken World, Broken Brothers

We are friends
We are brothers
Always there for one another
In a world of so many broken hearts
And we manage to join the crowd.......

And grow apart
7th grade
Miami, Florida
Hey wussup my name is Jarad aka JAG and I'm a 7th grader. I live in Miami, Florida. I am a fashion model for Tommy Hilfiger, Polo, Nautica, GAP, Old Navy, Sean John, and Guess. I love having fun and especially writing poetry.




Edmund Rosling, a wealthy Englishman


Lucy, a maid

Liza, a maid


Alice Russell, a quick-tempered doctor

James Wallace, a conservative malpractice lawyer

Lily Wallace, his demure wife

Elizabeth Kingsley, a slightly insane "mysterious" lady

Edward Golding, an unscrupulous reporter

Neville Croner, a well-respected judge




Mr. Rosling’s English mansion, sometime in the 1940s

scene one


(AT RISE: Two MAIDS and a COOK are busy in the kitchen preparing for a dinner party. The dining room is visible upstage (the MAIDS could be setting the table). MR. ROSLING paces anxiously back and forth. The NARRATOR is poised downstage left, oversize script and pencil in hand.)






(exaggerated sigh; she has heard the instructions several times already)

Yes, yes, I know. Cyanide in his soup, rat poison in his wine.




And do be kind to the guests.




Where shall I hide the revolver, sir?



(slightly annoyed at having to explain again)

The right-hand pocket of my raccoon coat, hanging in the vestibule near the terrace doors – and don’t forget to attach the silencer. I don’t want to end up in jail, you know. Ned’s the only one meant to come out worse at the end.



(to LUCY while sharpening an imposing carving knife)

Poor Mr. Golding!

(with relish)

I’ll wager five quid he won’t last five minutes inside this ‘ouse.




You never know. He just might live after all.




Not if I have any say in it.

(brandishes carving knife)




As you can see, the wealthy Mr. Rosling is planning a dinner party for several…err…guests.

(checks her watch)

Why don’t we head for the hall? Everybody’s due to arrive shortly, and it says right here in this script that they’re to be greeted at the door.

(crosses to stage right in front of first-act curtain while the scene is changed to the hall)


scene two


(AT RISE: The hall of Rosling’s mansion is prepared for the arrival of several guests. Nobody is in sight. A doorbell rings.)




Well, here we are in the hall, and I do believe I hear the first guest.


(ROSLING enters and opens the door for DOCTOR RUSSELL, an outspoken doctor in her early thirties. He neglects to close it.)




Why hello, Doctor Russell.




Alice, please.




Certainly. How’ve you been, Alice?




Fine, thank you.


Not as busy as I used to be. But I’ve still got some loyal patients.

(composed again)

Missed my train because I was caught up in a case.




That’s all right. Nobody else has even arrived yet.




Who else has been invited?



(counts on his fingers)

Well, you’re one, Mr. Croner’s two, Miss Kingsley’s three, Mr. Golding’s four…



(unpleasant look on her face)

Golding? Edward Golding?




The very one. The Wallaces make five and six, and I’m the seventh.


(ROSLING turns and realizes the WALLACES have entered through the open door. He is a very conservative malpractice lawyer in his fifties; she is a demure housewife slightly younger.)




Somebody mention my name?




Why yes, I did. Good evening, James, Lilly.

(closes door behind the WALLACES)




Good evening.



(with obvious dislike)

Good evening, James.




You know each other?




We’ve met.



(under her breath)

In court!


(A knock is heard. MR. ROSLING opens the door to MISS KINGSLEY, his dead wife’s oldest sister. She puts all her effort into attempts to be mysterious, with the combined affect of appearing slightly insane. She speaks with a strange, foreign "accent" and dresses very oddly.)




Welcome, Elizabeth.

(to the OTHERS)

This is Miss Kingsley.


(The OTHERS greet her.)




I must inform you that Kingsley is not my real name, but an alias. I prefer to keep my true surname a secret.


(MR. ROSLING rolls his eyes; he’s used to her.)




Well, we can stay here and watch the introductions. We can follow the party into the dining room. Or, (my personal favorite) we can follow Doctor Russell on her little "excursion." Let’s be off.

(crosses to Stage Left in front of the first-act curtain while the scene changes to the kitchen.)


scene three


(AT RISE: The kitchen again, but with obvious changes reflecting the passage of time. All plates, utensils, and bowls are in the dining room, and the chopping blocks are clean. Several dishes are being kept warm in the oven. Importantly, several bottles of wine are chilling in ice buckets on the counter. The COOK is busy at the stove and does not notice DR. RUSSELL.)



(whispers to herself)

Good, there’s only the cook to worry about. If I can arrange some reason for her to leave the room, I’ll have a chance to find something to use against Ned Golding. Let’s see…

(to the COOK)

Excuse me, could I trouble you to bring me some Aspirin and a glass of water? I’ve got a positively awful headache.




Certainly, miss.

(COOK exits, grumbling about doing a maid’s work.)



(after a furtive glance to make sure she’s alone)

Now’s my chance for revenge on that sneaking, lying reporter! Nearly cost me my practice, printing slander about a slight mistake I made with poor Cornelia Walters! My own mother believed it. I’ll show him. But how? A carving knife? I’m no surgeon. A noose? I’d lose the struggle to fit it ‘round his neck. Besides, I’d never find such a thing in this house. Hmmm…there’s always poison. Easily obtainable, and I’d be untraceable.

(RUSELL rummages through cupboards, muttering to herself. She finds what she is looking for, rat poison, and walks over to the wine and picks up the bottle-opener.)

All I’ve got to do is put a few drops in the brandy and Golding’s as good as gone!

(RUSSELL opens the bottle and is poised on the edge of pouring the rat poison into the bottle, when the COOK enters. RUSSELL quickly dumps the poison in and searches frantically for a place to hide the bottle before settling on the rubbish bag at the side of the sink. She quickly recaps the bottle and turns to face the COOK, who has not seen what she has done.)




Admiring our wines?




Y-y-yes. You have quite a collection.




Here’s your pill, miss, and a glass of water like you asked.



(having forgotten all about her request)

Oh yes, my medicine. Thank you.


(RUSSELL takes the pill and the water from the COOK and swallows the medicine, then hands the dirty glass back to the COOK.)


I’d better go before the other guests start to miss me.


(RUSSELL exits. The COOK puts the glass in the sink and returns to her business.)




Other guests? Oh no, I’ve missed my cue again! The director will have my skin for this. I’m done. Ruined! Oh, the tragedy! Oh, the –

(calm again)

Wait a minute, wrong script! Now the Doctor Russell has finished her business in the kitchen, we will be much more amused if we join the dinner table. We certainly can’t stay here forever. We’ve got things to do, places to go, murders to witness – hopefully, not mine.


scene four


(AT RISE: The dining room, with the kitchen visible in the background. The GUESTS are all seated around the dinner table, which is set for a formal dinner. They have been waiting for DOCTOR RUSSELL for some time. The MAIDS are in attendance.)




Must we start? I really think we ought to wait for Dr. Russell. She should be at the table presently.




Maybe she is engaged in something secret and mysterious.



(humoring her)

Well, I suppose…




Perhaps she got lost on the way to the dining room.




Quite right.

(to LIZA)

Could you please locate Doctor Russell for me? She’s the lady wearing the blue dress.




Directly, sir.


(LIZA begins to exit, but is interrupted by RUSSELL’S arrival.)




Oh here you are, Alice. We were starting to wonder what happened.




I just got a little lost, that’s all. Everyone’s arrived?




Yes. We were just waiting for you to start eating.




I’m truly sorry. But since I’m here now, let’s eat. I for one am famished.


(The two MAIDS fetch trays with bowls of soup and vegetables from the Kitchen and begin serving.)




Oh, Ned, I’d almost forgotten. You don’t care for onion soup, do you?




No, I can’t say I do. One sip, and I’ve got hives all over my face.




I thought I’d remembered something of the sort from the last time we dined together. I had the cook prepare a separate bowl of tomato soup just for you.


(ROSLING snaps his finger, and LUCY brings out a bowl of tomato soup.)




Why, thank you! How considerate.



(with an ominous undertone)




(spoons some soup, sniffs it, and sets it down for an aside)

It’s hard to enjoy this soup the way it smells. What did the cook do, poison it?


(Golding pretends to sip the soup. When he does not die, ROSLING looks strangely at him.)




Are you feeling all right, Ned?




Why, sure! Never felt better.



(under her breath, to her husband)




(whispered, to his wife, and accompanied by a look)

Don’t you worry; I’ll soon fix that!



(having overheard the WALLACES)

There seems to be a theme here… (pause) I say we move ahead to see if too many cooks do indeed spoil the stew.

(to GUESTS, who are unaware of her presence)

Isn’t it about time for the main course?


(Both MAIDS immediately clear the soup bowls and vegetable plates. Then LUCY brings in dishes with gourmet food while LIZA serves wine. DR. RUSSELL notices that MR. GOLDING passes on brandy.)




Aren’t you going to have some brandy?




Well, I had planned to wait until desert, but I suppose I might indulge now.


(LIZA approaches GOLDING and serves him brandy. GOLDING is raising the glass to his mouth when he collapses from a heart attack. EVERYBODY gathers round the soon-dead man.)



(to RUSSELL, unnerved)

You’re a doctor, aren’t you? Do something!




Excuse me, please.


(EVERYBODY moves away slightly to allow RUSSELL to examine GOLDING. She checks his pulse and listens for breathing.)




Is he…?




Yes, from a myocardial infarction.


(MRS. WALLACE, feeling faint from the awful sight, leans against her husband, who sits her down in an empty seat and returns to the action.)




A what?




A heart attack.




Are you certain?




Of course I’m certain. I’m a doctor. I know these things.



(softly, so only RUSSELL can hear)

It wouldn’t be the first time you made a mistake.




(whispers to WALLACE)

The jury’s ruling was inconclusive.


I can assure you, Edward Golding died of completely natural cause.



(nervous, thinks he’s been suspected)

Well of course, why wouldn’t he?



(nervous, thinks ROSLING suspects him)

What’s that supposed to mean?




A simple question, of course.




My dear lady, murder is no simple question!




I have encountered stranger things in stranger lands. The secrets I could tell…(begins muttering incoherently)


(CRONER rolls his eyes.)




…And why is it you think first of murder?




Rosling’s the one who asked the question. If you’d only think logically, you’d see. Death is either natural, murder, or suicide. It wasn’t suicide, so that leaves only natural cause and murder.




But Doctor Russell said it was a heart attack. Besides, why would anyone want to murder Mr. Golding?




I can think of a few reasons.




Me, too.


(CRONER and MR. WALLACE look at each other. There is an understanding between them.)




It would be such a mysterious act.




Well, my motives would be no mystery.



(getting up to join her husband, nervous to admit herself)

I suppose I could conjure up a cause or two.




I see there is a common thread between us besides my acquaintance with each of you. I suppose it was unlikely I’d be the only one with murderous thoughts toward the (with scorn) man.




But according to this (scornful) doctor here, Ned died of natural cause.




That’s right, a heart attack.




Well then so much the better. We didn’t have to bloody our hands, and we won’t have to evade prosecution. We do have to dispose of the body…

(to LIZA)

Would you kindly place a telephone call to the hospital and tell them we have a man who just died of a heart attack?




I’ll place it immediately, sir.


(LIZA exits to the Study to place the call while the OTHERS talk among themselves. She returns shortly.)




They said they’d be out in a quarter of an ‘our.




Let’s wait in the Hall. The absence of a dead body on the floor there will be a great improvement.


(EVERYONE except the NARRATOR exits to the Hall, leaving her alone with GOLDING’S body.)




What? No murder? I don’t understand! Surely one of them could have killed him before he died? They nearly always do! It’s so boring this way. There’s supposed to be a murder. There must be a murder.

(leafs through script)

Aha! I’ve found it! There is a murder.

(change of countenance)

Wait a minute, that name looks familiar…


(A "director" planted in the audience "shoots" the NARRATOR, who falls down off the stage dead.)




11th grade
Berkley, MI
About the author of A Masterpiece of Murder:
Miriam is a junior at Berkley High School.  She enjoys piano, reading (especially Harry Potter), figure skating, and track (go 3200m runners!).  She is also involved in United Synagogue Youth.

You brightened the world when you rose into the sky
And you left it in darkness when you disappeared into the horizon
You spread light throughout the world with your love
And made it dusky when you departed
When you rose from the east millions cheered
And when you set in the west millions shed tears

You gave refuge to the homeless
And let them dwell in your heart
You gave love to the poor little orphans
And in your soul gave them a part

Even though you're not here I know this is not the end
The sun sets but it rises again
Winter comes but it is followed by spring
Rain falls but the sun comes out again

Even though you're not here you live on in our hearts
The memory of your smile will never fade
The giving will never be forgotten
While going astray to the right path you'll lead
For you our hearts will always bleed.
7th grade
Faded As your name Suggests

I couldn't believe we were talking again

But I said I wouldn't give up

I told you simply stopping here

Wasn't nearly enough.

I didn't know what to say

I sat there and I cried

The least you could have done
Was let me know you were alive.

You dropped out of my life
Faded out as your name suggests
I thought things were different
I thought you were the best.

I cried, I stopped, I cried again
I had the reoccurring thought
That this was the end

I said I love you
You said it too
But with all the other things you said
I'm reluctant to believe you.                
11th grade
Greenfield Mass
About the author of Faded As your name Suggests. Im a Greenfield high school junior. The name of this poem may seem odd but the person its about was nicknamed Fade.
*The Girl Inside of Me*

You look at her
And see a girl in her perfect world.

But don't believe
That's all there is to see.

You look at her
Never seeing the insecurity.

Don't think she takes it all for granted
She's aware of all she has.

You look at her
Seeing the perfect girl.

Wearing makeup and nice clothes
And smiling through a million tears.

I look at her, in the mirror
And see the girl that hides herself inside of me.
8th grade
West Des Moines, IA

Does it matter that your head is sewn
And I'm obviously not your better known?
You my love, is the devil's own
Why do you hate me to be alone?

To see me suffer in a chaotic portal
and staked through the heart like an immortal?
You have made the nails from the crosses
and put my head through your losses
I drag with me my retaliation
And I scream for your procrastination.

Stay, please, and watch me melt...
into the shape of your proclain dolls.
What do you want from me?
Is it my dreams, my limbs, my everything?
I'm not ready to leave, and not ready to die!
grasping you head and ripping the stitches
If only I could lift it, lift you from my fantasy.

The ideas are scattering
I'm loosing control
mindless mutterings, killing my soul
I'm in a black hole
because my heart you stole!
and I'm loosing parole, so please, Nicole...

Just let me go...


9th grade
Toronto, Ontario, Canada
I am a 15 year old that wishes to get published one day... writing's a passion but not what I want to do forever. Note: Will be a brain surgion. *stitches* More of my writing exists on mydeardiary.com under the name of Cryptic.
The big cover up

        It was a warm, spring sunny day, and Matt O'Malley was sitting on a park bench, enjoying his morning coffee. Around him children were running, laughing and playing. He watched the people walking by on Parkview Avenue. He liked watching people. It made him feel peaceful and happy. It was one of the reasons he made it a routine to go to the park and drink his morning coffee.
        "What an excellent way to start a day," Matt sighed aloud.
       Suddenly he saw a man walking briskly towards Paradise Mall. He held a small black bag in his hands and had the look of a desperate man. He was looking over his shoulder every few seconds. Matt saw why. Two guys in black suits wearing sunglasses rounded the corner directly behind him. They reminded Matt of Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones from the movie Men in Black.
       "Um, excuse me Sir, do you have the time?" said a little voice beside Matt.
       "Huh?" said Matt startled.
       "Do you have the time?" asked a little girl of ten, timidly.
       "10 o'clock," said Matt and got up from the bench. The little girl ran back to her friends and Matt saw the man was closer to the mall now and the two guys in black suits were still following him. Hmm, let's see what they are up to, thought Matt, and started walking towards the mall, throwing the empty coffee cup in a garbage bin on the way.
       Matt had always been a great fan of mysteries. Even when he was in high school, his friends had called him the 'mystery man' because he was always seen with a mystery paperback. Now a mystery was taking place right in front of his eyes. He couldn't resist.
       The man was almost at the mall now. The two men in black were now running, knowing that they could never find their man once he went inside the mall. Matt increased his pace. The man suddenly turned around and saw the men in black running towards him. With a few quick steps he darted inside the mall.
       Matt saw the two men in black disappearing into the mall and quickly followed them. Inside he couldn't find any of the mystery men, so he decided they'd left. He was walking by the men's washroom and suddenly someone grabbed his arm from behind. Matt turned and saw that it was the first man. He was middle aged and had stubble all over his face that announced he hadn't shaved for some time.
      "Listen, I don't have much time. I saw you following the government agents." said the man. Was it that obvious, Matt thought, deflated.
       ".I didn't do anything wrong but I discovered something I wasn't supposed to find out, so they are trying to kill me. Here, take this," said the man and shoved the small black back he was carrying into Matt's empty hands.
       "Whoa, hold on. I can't take this."
       "Listen, please. The government agents don't know you and there's no way they could know you have this bag. I want you to send the parcel inside to a TV station."
       "Now, wait a minute," Matt started to protest, but the man was looking at something behind Matt's back and his face showed panic.
       "Please, send it to a TV station," said the mystery man and quickly disappeared into the crowd while Matt turned to look at what had scared the man. It was the two government agents in black suits.
    Matt stood still and wondered if they had seen him with their man, but they walked by without a second glance.
    "We lost him. I told you we should have taken him out on the street," one of them said.
     Matt shuddered, thinking what they would do to him if he got caught with the black bag he was carrying. He didn't want to hear what else they were saying. He quickly walked out the mall and didn't look back until he got home.
     "Ah, home sweet home," he said aloud and sank into the sofa. He opened the black bag and saw that it contained a parcel and a small notebook. He wondered what was inside the parcel and decided to open it before sending it to a TV station as the man had asked. He opened the parcel and found a videotape labeled Lunar landing: 1969. Matt had seen the footage of lunar landing before in 1969. Hmm, this must be some secret tape named Lunar Landing to make it discreet, he thought. But when he put the tape in the VCR he found that it was indeed the footage of lunar landing in 1969. But the footage was processed and Matt saw some of the scenes, such as the fluttering flag and footprints, were highlighted in red boxes. What's so scary about this? It's just the footage of lunar landing, thought Matt, what could this tape possibly contain that the government agents want? Then he remembered the notebook. He opened the notebook and saw that only the front page had any writing in it and!
 the rest of the pages were blank. But he couldn't make out the writing. It was chicken scratch.
     Aww, I can't even read the stupid handwriting, how am I going to find out why those government agents were after the poor man, thought Matt in frustration. He went back to the notebook and after some hard concentration he was able to make out a few words. It read, "Lunar landing.hoax.flag fluttering.no air.moon.conspiracy." At first it didn't really make any sense to Matt. Then he suddenly remembered the fluttering of flag in the footage and then looked at the writing. How could a flag flutter in an atmosphere free moon? thought Matt, my God, but it can't be. But it is, Matt's mind insisted. Oh, man it was all a big, fat conspiracy. We didn't go the moon! It was all faked.
    Matt put the tape back into the parcel, and got up to walk to the post office, anger written all over his face. He opened the front door and what he saw made his heart skip a beat. Two grim faces wearing sunglasses were staring back at him.
Hamilton, ON, Canada
About the author of "The big cover up"
I am an OAC student. All the writings I have done in the past were for school work. I am currently taking a writers craft course and this has opened my eyes to the joy of writing. I used to hate writing, but now I am starting to like writing.