Dear Class, There is no greater gift than the gift of being in your presence-
the opportunity to be a sculptor who has the privilege to share
your futures. To be an artist who has a part in painting your future.
To be a musician who can offer inspiration and encourage you to
continue to grow. To be a historian who can record your
accomplishments. To be a poet that can capture the essence of your
beauty and love in words that will inspire future students to dream
and meet success. I will always hold a special place in my heart for
you. There is no greater gift than the gift of your presence.
Sincerely,
Mrs. Holley
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Katie Bowden
Life
Life is a roller coaster;
It has ups and downs,
And loop-d-loops.
But by the end,
It was fun.
Unless of course,
You hate roller coasters.

I chose my original poem “Life” to
dedicate to Natalie. I’m dedicating it to
her because we both know the ups and
downs of life. She knows the loop-d-
loops of life. I know that she’ll help me
when I need it. I know that she can
relate to it in her own way. She can
also interpret it in her own way. I think
that the last two lines will make her
laugh.

Megan Britt
Think of the Day
Lets all be happy.
Just take off the day.
No more making it snappy,
We will have time to think of what to say.
I will be the happiest thing under the sun.
Just to play all day for laughs,
With all of the work already done.
No books, no forms, no maths.
A simple life full of glee,
Like there is no such thing as time.
Well that’s the life for me.
Relaxing in the wind like a chime.
This day will only be one.
For our happiness can never be undone.

My original poem “Think of the Day” was my
favorite one to write. The other poems were darker
with deeper meanings, while this one was
lighthearted and happy. Since it is happy I am
dedicating this poem to Amanda Sledge. She is
always happy and seems like the type of person to
really think about the day. Also since she is very in
touch with God, I’m sure she understands how to
enjoy each day. When I think of Amanda I also
think of her smiling, which relates to a happy day.
My goal is to enjoy each day and not take it for
granted. I’m sure if I were to ask anyone how to
live a better life Amanda would be one of the first
people I’d ask.

Gavin Brundidge
“The Game of Soccer”
There he goes for his opponents goal.
He dribbles through each player.
He’s on a roll.
He takes the shot and curves it by.
The keeper dives for it far and high.
The goalie misses it the balls in the net.
There’s a moment of silence and no regrets
The winners jump for joy that win was a must
Opponents heads tilt down low they leave in disgust
A player’s life fulfilled is playing world class
To be playing all year long on the rich green grass
Play with heart, that’s the real
answer of how to play the true game of
soccer

I dedicate this sample of “The Game of Soccer” to Javier
Hernandez and Matthew Hendren because we all play soccer
together outside of school. Other than in the classroom, we all come
together to play a game we all adore and love. To play this game with
friends, just makes it ten times better. Even though I am on a different
team than them, we still scrimmage each other and have a great time.

Mallory Cheek
"The Weight of a World"
The weight of a world lies in my hands
Each rustle like the words of a person
It brings excitement to find the perfect one
That captures my attention
They keep my attention during lectures
And create another world for me
To disappear and forget reality
Even for just a moment
The weight of a world lies in my hands
Each rustle like the words of a person
The crunch of new bindings
Like the gates opening to another world

I sit and hear nothing
Except the clang of knight’s armor
The crinkling of leaves under shoes
Even when others talk to me
The weight of a world lies in my hands
Each rustle like the words of a person
And I read on to find a magical story
Because it is one of the best things to do
I am dedicating “The Weight of a World” to Amanda. This poem is an
original work. I chose this work because it reminded of Amanda. The
poem is about reading a good book. It mentions becoming lost in the story
and enjoying the book immensely. It reminds me of Amanda because she
loves to read. There are many books she has talked about that were
interesting and different. I created it without anyone particular in mind,
but it could describe any person who enjoys reading.

Rose Cunningham
"Forbidden"
They can love another,
But they can not love the same.
Why shouldn’t they love?
What makes them so wrong?
God does not judge anyone.
So why must one judge?
They have no power,
Over others, but yet, they-
They are forbidden.


Hannah Easley
"A Book"
There is no frigate like a book
To take us lands away,
Nor any coursers like a page
of prancing poetry.
This travers may the poorest take
Without oppress of toll;
How frugal is the chariot
That bears a human soul!

I chose to dedicate the poem, “A Book” by Emily
Dickinson to Katie Bowden because her and Emily
Dickinson seem to share a love for reading. Within
the poem, Dickinson uses a simile to compare
books to ships or vessels. By doing this, she is
trying to convey the idea the books can take you
nowhere else can. When you read a book, you
seem to be transferred into the story and taken
away from reality. I know that Katie really enjoys
reading and probably thinks and feels the same
way that Dickinson does about books and reading
in general.

Kelsey Ellis
"Until the End"
As I plunged into the ocean of uncertainty,
I suddenly saw a hand
It reached for me and grabbed me
And pulled me onto the sand
Who is this person,
that saved me from this stress?
Then I heard a voice say
Something that didn't make sense
Wait, I knew that voice from anywhere!
I knew it was my friend
She said “I would never let you sink,
I’ll be there ‘til the end.”

This poem is dedicated to Tatianna Thompson. We are very close
friends and I know she will always be there for me when I need her,
just like the friend in the poem. We both pick each other up when
we’re feeling down and playing volleyball together has helped with this.
This is why I dedicated my poem to Tatianna.

Hunter Ellis


Chase Faircloth


enter text here
Natalie Ferrell

enter text here

Sabrina Fink

enter text here

Matthew Hendren


Javier Hernandez


Carly Juarez
Letter to Mrs Holley:
Mrs Holley, I must Confess
I need to address
This silly notion
I can not make potions
and I can not write poems
Don’t worry, I know ‘em
Honest I'm not tellin’ a fib
Wait a second, I think I just did
Love Carly

This Poem from my Poetry Project is my favorite,
because every time I read over it, it makes me
laugh. When I wrote it, I had been sitting for at
least an hour and I could not write anything, so I
decided to write about not being able to write. This
poem reminds of Mrs. Holley. Not only because I
wrote it to her but also because it reminds me of
her class. Mrs. Holley gives me homework that
frustrates me but if I am pushed hard enough, I
can do it and learn from it. After finishing, it the
other two poems came easily to me.

Lorin Lesnicky


Samantha Matthews
“Missed Connections” by Sherman Alexie
Ballad at the Santa Barbara Airport
Descending, in our forty-seat airplane,
I saw an older man had parked his car
At the edge of the runway. He waved
At us, so I waved, but we were too far.
Apart to see each other, and he was not
Welcoming me anyway. Near the back
Of the plane, a woman, hair in a knot,
Clutching a tattered Vintage paperback,
Waved and smiled and hugged her seatmate.
“That’s my husband,” she said. “I haven’t seen
Him in ten years. It’s so great, it’s so great.”
She shook and wept; it was quite a scene--

A mystery--and I was hungry to know
Why a wife and husband had lived apart
For a decade. I wanted to ask, but no,
I decided to imagine the parts
They’d been playing: She was the Red Cross
Nurse who’d been kidnapped by militant
Rebels, then blindfolded and marched across
The border, but he’d remained diligent
For ten epic years, pressuring despots
And presidents, until the March dawn
When Australian tourists spotted
Her staggering across a Thai hotel lawn.
Starved and weak, she fell into their arms.
“I’ve been released,” she said. “I’ve been released.”
Traded for ammunition and small arms,
And treated for malnutrition and disease,

She was only now, six weeks after rescue,
Reuniting with her husband. She was first
Off the airplane--we all gave her the room--
And she, aching with a different thirst,
Burst through the security gates
And rushed into her husband’s embrace.
Later, after they had gone, as I waited
For my bags, I saw a friendly face--
A young woman who’d just witnessed
What I’d witnessed. I wiped away tears.
“ten years,” I said. “I’d die from the stress.”
“Oh, no,” she said. “It wasn’t ten years.
It was ten days.” Jesus, I had misheard
The old woman and created glory
Out of the ordinary. Just one word,
Misplaced, turned a true and brief story

Into a myth. And, yes, it was lovely
To see how the long-in-love can stay
In love. But who truly gets that lonely
After only ten days away?
I thought I had witnessed an epic--
A Santa Barbara elderly Odyssey--
But it was something more simplistic.
It was a love story, small and silly,
And this is cruel, but here’s my confession:
Depending on the weather or my mood,
I’ll repeat the myth because it’s more impressive
Than something as clear and bright as the truth.
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