An Ode To My Pencil

My brownish-yellow pencil,

dances across

the page.

Words blossoming

 from it’s sharp stone tip.

My pencil,

a mirror

of my adoration ,

of poems,

of writing,

of literature.

Pencil in hand,

attacking assignments

 is less tedious.

Pencil in hand

creativity flows,

like a facet without a handle

to hinder it.

With my pencil

in hand,

great battles are won,

a lover’s heart splits,

new evils enter this world,

perfect worlds are invaded,

a girl finds love.

Oh,

my pencil,

with your chewed eraser holder,

you remind me

 of frustration,

your pink eraser,

once crisp and neat,a worn down stub

of corrected mistakes.

You are so little,

in this world of greatness,

yet you,are the enabler,

of poets,

 of authors

 of play writes

of tragedy

 of mayhem

 of suffering

 of love at first sight

of diabolical schemes to rule the world

of one small child’s dream.

oh, pencil,

sweet pencil

 you are so much more

 than that sliver of wood,

with a thin stone in the middle,

 used for marks,

 and yet,

 that’s all you’re credited for.

 

esmeralda

“Esmeralda,” whispered Steph as she strolled through the woods. How she wished she had a more exciting name; Stephanie was so stiff, and formal. Suddenly she was beaned in the head with a flying acorn. She heard a shrill giggle and a rustling in the trees. Against her better judgment, she followed. Eventually Steph came to a clearing where a small huckleberry bush stood in the very middle. Sticking her head in she saw a queer creature; it was about a foot tall and looked strangely like the girl that went missing fifty years ago. Although she had the most bizarre features she was still strangely enchanting. The tiny girl stuck out one slender had and said,

“My name is Stella, are you ready for an adventure?!”

“ Oh yes!!” breathed Steph and grasped Stella’s hand firmly. Then shrieked as she was sucked down a vortex of swirling autumn colors… 

love

Though the dimly lit, cozy room gave the aura of comfort and contentment, the smoky air was akin to the deathly silence after a devastating storm. The merry fire snapped loudly making the occupants of the room jump. A girl, about fifteen, whose face was streaked with dirt and tears, was slumped in a squashy armchair. She stared in a depressed trance at the dancing flames. Jana was a beautiful raven-haired girl with shocking blue eyes, rimmed red from tears. A lad, humble in nature, was also in the room, standing-­-still in his blood-splattered battle armor--awkwardly in the light of the fire. Jana was the first to break the silence.

She suddenly demanded of the startled boy, “Sam, how can you stand it?”

“Stand what? You mean being alone? It’s not so bad, after a while,” replied Sam. The young woman stood and walked over to him.

 “Why are you still in your armor? Did you forget you had it on?” she inquired, curious as ever.

“Oh, yeah. Shock I guess. I just lost the last person I could relate to as a friend,” he muttered; looking down at his filthy attire, then suddenly he fell to his knees. “Hey Jana, are you okay?!” Jana had collapsed in a quivering heap on the softly carpeted floor.

“I’m sorry,” sobbed the hysterical girl, tears streaming down her face. “My parents, and my brother, even my horse and dog were killed. And then you had to be so…so mature about the only person you had left. I’m just glad I didn’t lose you too.” Jana continued to weep for barely a moment before she realized what she had said. She looked up blushing furiously and saw Sam was grinning sheepishly through a crimson face of his own, and he whispered that he knew that they would get to be more than just friends. 

They sat on the carpet in a comfortable silence for a moment, while the fire spat and sizzled in the magnificent stone fireplace. Jana’s head was still rested on Sam’s shoulder as he started to stroke her hair.

“There, are you okay now?” murmured Sam as he lifted her away by the shoulders. Jana took a deep breath and nodded. 

“Then let’s go.”

The pair staggered up and departed, arms still around each other, into the still night; leaving the fire to sputter out, alone in the darkness of the lonely room.   

janasilver

I am peace

I am war

I am a warrior princess

I am Janasilver

            “Can I quit now?” I whine. Yes I realize that I sound like a brat, but after four hours of writing praise poems about yourself, you would too.

            “No. Every descendent of Melifence of Jewls has been prophetic. You may not quit until you have prophesized. And I notice you called your self  ‘ warrior’ princess. You cannot be a warrior there is no such thing as a female warrior,” said the grumpiest, bossiest, most annoying tutor in the history of grumpy, bossy, and annoying tutors.

            “Okay,” I said, “How’s this,” I quickly scrawled on my parchment and stuck it in his bitter face.

             Frankford

            Tutor

            2,200

            Dies of being run through with a sword by princess Janasilver

“AAAAA, well it’s very…er… creative? However-

             “ What,” I demanded,  “ I could get hung for murder? well, nobody has to know do they?