Color Me Thankful
Haley Grace Hall, Grade 6
Casual conversations
Optimistic Octobers
Light-hearted laughter
Ornate Ornaments
Red Robins
Massive Meals
Extra Eggnog
Tolerable Thunderstorms
Hearty Hugs
Appetizing Apple Tarts
Next door Neighbors
Kindhearted Kindred
Faithful Friends
Unforgettable USA
Long-lasting Leftovers
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
A Thanksgiving to Remember
Students Publish Here welcomes another young writer. Taylor Dunkley has written a lovely poem about the first Thanksgiving. Notice her use of sensory images and alliteration, key elements of good poetry.First Feast
Sleek black braids sway in the wind.
Dark brown eyes stare intensely at strange ships.
Booming voices bargain with pale blue-eyed people.
Dark brown eyes stare intensely at strange ships.
Booming voices bargain with pale blue-eyed people.
Coarse, calloused hands clutch crude tools,
As prosperous plantings sprout.
Strong muscular men stalk wild turkey.
As prosperous plantings sprout.
Strong muscular men stalk wild turkey.
Moccasin-covered feet dance
Gleefully with friends
At the first Thanksgiving feast.
Gleefully with friends
At the first Thanksgiving feast.
- Taylor Dunkley, Grade 5
Saturday, November 22, 2008
C.S. Lewis' Impressions of Billy Graham
In an interview conducted with C. S. Lewis in 1963 at Cambridge University, Lewis was asked what he thought of "Billy Graham asking people to come to a point of decision regarding the Christian life?" Here is Lewis' reply:
"I had the pleasure of meeting Billy Graham once. We had dinner together during his visit to Cambridge University in 1955, while he was conducting a mission to students. I thought he was a very modest and a very sensible man, and I liked him very much indeed.
In a civilization like ours, I feel that everyone has to come to terms with the claims of Jesus Christ upon his life, or else be guilty of inattention or of evading the question. In the Soviet Union it is different. Many people living in Russia today have never had to consider the claims of Christ because they have never heard of those claims.
In the same way, we who live in English-speaking countries have never been forced to consider the claims, let us say, of Hinduism. But in our Western civilization we are obligated both morally and intellectually to come to grips with Jesus Christ; if we refuse to do so we are guilty of being bad philosophers and bad thinkers."
Source: C. S. Lewis God in the Dock: Essays on Theology and Ethics, p. 265.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Welcome, Hannah Peshek!
Students Publish Here welcomes another new writer, Hannah Peshek, in grade 5. Reflecting on how a young Indian girl might have felt about White Europeans, having never seen one, Hannah has written the following poem about that first encounter.
First Encounter
Hannah Peshek
Sleek black hair shines
and bright feathers flutter.
Dark brown eyes dart back and forth,
suddenly transfixed
by this first encounter.
Muffled feet, agile legs,
creep along the meadow.
Slim bodies sink low as
mysterious newcomers draw closer,
with blonde hair bouncing, blue eyes surveying.
Pressing closer to the ground,
searching their minds,
for stories of strange pale people,
the Indians struggle with fear…
What tribe could this be?
First Encounter
Hannah Peshek
Sleek black hair shines
and bright feathers flutter.
Dark brown eyes dart back and forth,
suddenly transfixed
by this first encounter.
Muffled feet, agile legs,
creep along the meadow.
Slim bodies sink low as
mysterious newcomers draw closer,
with blonde hair bouncing, blue eyes surveying.
Pressing closer to the ground,
searching their minds,
for stories of strange pale people,
the Indians struggle with fear…
What tribe could this be?
Monday, November 17, 2008
Welcome, Sarah Cline!
The following historical fiction was written by Sarah Cline, a fifth grader. This piece is based on the story of John Howland, a Mayflower pilgrim who fell overboard during a storm and managed to be saved.
Mary's Adventure
Sarah Cline
The boat of the Mayflower rocked, making Mary Anja sway. However, she tried very hard to resist the urge to kneel down on the floor and throw up, for she was holding her five-month-old sister. Besides, she knew if she did throw up, her mother would not spare her another meal, and she needed her strength. She remembered the day she had boarded the ship with her mother, father, and younger sister. Then, it had looked small. Now, it looked miniscule.
The rocking became steadily worse and rain began to pelt the deck above. The boat tilted once more. Mary sighed and sat down on a crowded bench, for she knew she would fall and drop her sister if she did not. She bit her lip, wanting to cry out in pain, for the bench she was sitting on was splintered, uneven and profusely painful to sit on. Yet she dared not complain, for children were meant to be seen and not heard, and if she yelled she would wake her sister, then be spanked soundly by her father. So she suffered quietly. A man walked by her and she wrinkled her nose. He smelled like a combination of sweat, feces and ground in dirt. Truthfully, Mary didn’t smell much better, since there was know way to bath on the boat. Then, Mary’s sister woke. She blinked up at Mary sleepily, then, seeing she was safe in familiar arms, and since she was used to the horrid smell and the rocking, she closed her eyes and attempted to fall back asleep.
Suddenly, Mary saw her mother struggling against the swaying boat and the many people to get to Mary. Mary stood up, only to be pushed hack onto the seat by a particularly rough wave. When her mother reached her, she took the baby from her.
“I’ll feed her. You sit here and try your best not to complain or make trouble.” Then her mother hurried away.
Soon after, a man passed her, complaining loudly about being cramped down in the hold for so long. She didn’t remember his name, for the journey was new and she was still learning all the names, but the one thing she did know was this man was extremely ungrateful. She was so angered by this that she made a ghastly face at him. He didn’t see, which probably was a good thing.
The truth was, Mary was slightly jealous that he could complain, for she could do nothing of the sort. Mary looked down at her feet, and felt ashamed of herself for being so rude. When she looked up again, the same man who had complained was walking up the deck stairs. Mary wondered, “What is he doing, going on the deck in a storm like this! I guess I’ll have to discover that myself.” So she got up and walked up the stairs, trying not to attract undo attention. She knew it was too crowded for anyone to see, hear, or even care what she was doing, but she couldn’t help looking every which way whenever she heard a strange noise. Even her own footsteps sounded loud to her.
Before she climbed the last step, she peeked around the corner. She squinted through the rain. The cold, hard rain pelted Mary’s face with extreme force. A bolt of lightning flashed in the distance, illuminating the same man who had climbed the stairs. How he could stand such weather, Mary never knew. Suddenly, the boat tipped so violently that Mary collapsed. She wasn’t the only one, for she heard a loud and pained scream. Her eardrums nearly burst!
She scrambled up, looking for the source of the noise, but from the little that she could see through the rain, there was no one except her. Though Mary strained her eyes, she still saw no one. The boat swayed once more, making Mary drop to her knees.
“Help! HELP ME!” cried a voice that sounded small and distant through the rain and crashing waves. Mary looked around desperately, but could see not a single soul. Just then, a group of men came running. Mary shrank into the shadows, crouching down and trying not to be hurdled around like a ping-pong ball.
“John! Is that you?” cried one of the men. “Speak, John!”
“John…. John….” Mary thought. Oh yes, I remember him. When father was introducing me, he was that smudgy, bored looking fellow. What was his name? John, uh… John Howland. Mary was whooshed back to reality when she heard a muffled cry.
“I’m here! Here, you fool! GET ME OUT! HELP ME!”
Mary’s eyes widened with fear as she watched the men thunder across the deck to where the terrified voice was heard. Mary waited with baited breath as the many men attempted to pull poor John aboard.
Finally, after many minutes that seemed like hours, the soaked, scraggly, half-alive John was dragged on the deck. All the men held him up, steadied him, and then let go of him, to see if he could stand on his own. For a second, John just stood there, starring blankly at nothing in particular. Then he dropped to his knees, looked up into the heavens above and began to shake. He uttered five words. “The Lord bless my soul!”
As the men helped John to his feet, Mary crept down the deck stairs to go tell her mother her newest and most thrilling adventure yet.
Mary's Adventure
Sarah Cline
The boat of the Mayflower rocked, making Mary Anja sway. However, she tried very hard to resist the urge to kneel down on the floor and throw up, for she was holding her five-month-old sister. Besides, she knew if she did throw up, her mother would not spare her another meal, and she needed her strength. She remembered the day she had boarded the ship with her mother, father, and younger sister. Then, it had looked small. Now, it looked miniscule.
The rocking became steadily worse and rain began to pelt the deck above. The boat tilted once more. Mary sighed and sat down on a crowded bench, for she knew she would fall and drop her sister if she did not. She bit her lip, wanting to cry out in pain, for the bench she was sitting on was splintered, uneven and profusely painful to sit on. Yet she dared not complain, for children were meant to be seen and not heard, and if she yelled she would wake her sister, then be spanked soundly by her father. So she suffered quietly. A man walked by her and she wrinkled her nose. He smelled like a combination of sweat, feces and ground in dirt. Truthfully, Mary didn’t smell much better, since there was know way to bath on the boat. Then, Mary’s sister woke. She blinked up at Mary sleepily, then, seeing she was safe in familiar arms, and since she was used to the horrid smell and the rocking, she closed her eyes and attempted to fall back asleep.
Suddenly, Mary saw her mother struggling against the swaying boat and the many people to get to Mary. Mary stood up, only to be pushed hack onto the seat by a particularly rough wave. When her mother reached her, she took the baby from her.
“I’ll feed her. You sit here and try your best not to complain or make trouble.” Then her mother hurried away.
Soon after, a man passed her, complaining loudly about being cramped down in the hold for so long. She didn’t remember his name, for the journey was new and she was still learning all the names, but the one thing she did know was this man was extremely ungrateful. She was so angered by this that she made a ghastly face at him. He didn’t see, which probably was a good thing.
The truth was, Mary was slightly jealous that he could complain, for she could do nothing of the sort. Mary looked down at her feet, and felt ashamed of herself for being so rude. When she looked up again, the same man who had complained was walking up the deck stairs. Mary wondered, “What is he doing, going on the deck in a storm like this! I guess I’ll have to discover that myself.” So she got up and walked up the stairs, trying not to attract undo attention. She knew it was too crowded for anyone to see, hear, or even care what she was doing, but she couldn’t help looking every which way whenever she heard a strange noise. Even her own footsteps sounded loud to her.
Before she climbed the last step, she peeked around the corner. She squinted through the rain. The cold, hard rain pelted Mary’s face with extreme force. A bolt of lightning flashed in the distance, illuminating the same man who had climbed the stairs. How he could stand such weather, Mary never knew. Suddenly, the boat tipped so violently that Mary collapsed. She wasn’t the only one, for she heard a loud and pained scream. Her eardrums nearly burst!
She scrambled up, looking for the source of the noise, but from the little that she could see through the rain, there was no one except her. Though Mary strained her eyes, she still saw no one. The boat swayed once more, making Mary drop to her knees.
“Help! HELP ME!” cried a voice that sounded small and distant through the rain and crashing waves. Mary looked around desperately, but could see not a single soul. Just then, a group of men came running. Mary shrank into the shadows, crouching down and trying not to be hurdled around like a ping-pong ball.
“John! Is that you?” cried one of the men. “Speak, John!”
“John…. John….” Mary thought. Oh yes, I remember him. When father was introducing me, he was that smudgy, bored looking fellow. What was his name? John, uh… John Howland. Mary was whooshed back to reality when she heard a muffled cry.
“I’m here! Here, you fool! GET ME OUT! HELP ME!”
Mary’s eyes widened with fear as she watched the men thunder across the deck to where the terrified voice was heard. Mary waited with baited breath as the many men attempted to pull poor John aboard.
Finally, after many minutes that seemed like hours, the soaked, scraggly, half-alive John was dragged on the deck. All the men held him up, steadied him, and then let go of him, to see if he could stand on his own. For a second, John just stood there, starring blankly at nothing in particular. Then he dropped to his knees, looked up into the heavens above and began to shake. He uttered five words. “The Lord bless my soul!”
As the men helped John to his feet, Mary crept down the deck stairs to go tell her mother her newest and most thrilling adventure yet.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Ed Pacht: The Writing on the Wall
Belshazzar's Wall
an acrostic
Many men making merry,
Eating freely of the substance of the land
Never giving thought to their Creator
Even offering insult to their God
Money flowing oh-so-freely
Every pleasure is with passion sought
No god worshiped but great Mammon
Endless blasphemies in them abound
Those who worship at that altar
Each pursuing his own right
Killing there their unborn children
Ending lives almost begun
Living thus in phony freedom
Unless they shall now mend their ways
Prostrate lying at the feet of God
His hand shall come to rest upon them
And they shall know the cost of sin
Repent, He says, amend your ways
Seek forgiveness at the Cross
In sorrow come to seek His joy
Now and evermore. Amen.
- Ed Pacht
October 11, 2008
an acrostic
Many men making merry,
Eating freely of the substance of the land
Never giving thought to their Creator
Even offering insult to their God
Money flowing oh-so-freely
Every pleasure is with passion sought
No god worshiped but great Mammon
Endless blasphemies in them abound
Those who worship at that altar
Each pursuing his own right
Killing there their unborn children
Ending lives almost begun
Living thus in phony freedom
Unless they shall now mend their ways
Prostrate lying at the feet of God
His hand shall come to rest upon them
And they shall know the cost of sin
Repent, He says, amend your ways
Seek forgiveness at the Cross
In sorrow come to seek His joy
Now and evermore. Amen.
- Ed Pacht
October 11, 2008
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Attention, Young Writers!
Patrick Henry College Young Writers Short Story Contest
If you love to write and are between the ages of twelve and eighteen, Patrick Henry College's first writing contest, "A Call to Pens," is for you.
Students between the ages of twelve and fifteen will create stories exploring the "Pursuit of Purpose."
Participants in the second division, ages sixteen to eighteen, will pen fiction with the theme, "Joy in Pain."
The College will award several cash prizes to the top writers nationwide. The entry deadline is November 30, 2008, with winners to be announced early January 2009.
PHC Provost, author, and cultural commentator Dr. Gene Edward Veith will serve as one of the judges for the competition, which is organized by the student-run Community Involvement Commission. All proceeds will be donated to the “Finish the Foundation” building fund for the completion of the Barbara Hodel Student Center. For more information and competition rules, please visit www.phc.edu/acalltopens.php.
If you love to write and are between the ages of twelve and eighteen, Patrick Henry College's first writing contest, "A Call to Pens," is for you.
Students between the ages of twelve and fifteen will create stories exploring the "Pursuit of Purpose."
Participants in the second division, ages sixteen to eighteen, will pen fiction with the theme, "Joy in Pain."
The College will award several cash prizes to the top writers nationwide. The entry deadline is November 30, 2008, with winners to be announced early January 2009.
PHC Provost, author, and cultural commentator Dr. Gene Edward Veith will serve as one of the judges for the competition, which is organized by the student-run Community Involvement Commission. All proceeds will be donated to the “Finish the Foundation” building fund for the completion of the Barbara Hodel Student Center. For more information and competition rules, please visit www.phc.edu/acalltopens.php.
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