Check out Hannah Millikin's wonderful new blog Center for Creativity.
This is a place where students can share what they create or design. Hannah is seeking poems, art work, photos of Lego creations, robots, or crafts executed by young people. She hopes that her new blog will be a place where others can show off their God-given talents.
Here are Hannah's poems at Students Publish Here:
Song of the Birds
A Star in the Lion Sky
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Sunday, February 13, 2011
John Nichols - The Silent Cold
The silent cold seeps through the seams
Of my taught, pale jacket,
The covering which holds my flame;
Yet the chill refuses to absolve its hold.
Its life-drinking kiss steals the breath;
Its wretched tendrils embrace the beating heart:
It draws us toward anger, hate, death, dying.
It tells us to cry, curse, rage, fear, cower, cringe.
And nothing can be done.
Who would stand against this cold? This chill?
This cold seeps through the senses.
It is black, unseen, yet all pervading.
Who could stand against this absolute?
This vast, vacant emptiness where nothing lives?
Can any fight it? Can any know when it strikes?
It tells us to shriek, to shirk, to sink, to sleep;
It wants us to shiver, to chatter, to huddle, to scream,
To sleep. To sleep. To sleep.
But we dare not dream.
Should we flee? Could we flee? Would we flee?
Will we consummate this unholy matrimony?
Will we consent to slip away into dreamless unrest
And submit to the frigid, killing bite of renunciation?
The hoarfrost wraps its withered hands about the heart,
Stifles its thumping rush, its vibrant vitality,
Slowly kills it, sucking, draining, choking, drowning,
Until a shriveled, barren husk hangs silent.
Not I, but we. Never I only we.
My shivering heart, now wrinkled, yet pale,
Is bruised, yet not broken, but lifeless.
The pallor of sable death has infected my
Jacket, my worn, warm covering. That chill
Has seeped into its fibers, diluting the warmth,
The heat, the fire, the life, the burning passion,
The all-consuming wrath, the rage, the revolution.
My insides rot and burn away, stirring new life
Within, yet without, the same.
But I am, at least, free.
Black, sable cold seeps through my jacket seams,
Burns away its passion, leaving it numb, senseless.
It calls us to cry, scream, despair, fragment.
It drives us to oneness, to tolerance, to crusade
Lady Hoarfrost bares her teeth in wanton pleasure,
Her wolf’s snarl malicious, seductive, chilling.
She beckons us to love, to fear, to protect, to kill,
To embrace the withered fingers of the cold,
To sleep. To sleep. TO SLEEP.
O, the horror of dreamless sleep!
Death.
Chill.
Frost.
Sleep.
We.
-- John Nichols
Of my taught, pale jacket,
The covering which holds my flame;
Yet the chill refuses to absolve its hold.
Its life-drinking kiss steals the breath;
Its wretched tendrils embrace the beating heart:
It draws us toward anger, hate, death, dying.
It tells us to cry, curse, rage, fear, cower, cringe.
And nothing can be done.
Who would stand against this cold? This chill?
This cold seeps through the senses.
It is black, unseen, yet all pervading.
Who could stand against this absolute?
This vast, vacant emptiness where nothing lives?
Can any fight it? Can any know when it strikes?
It tells us to shriek, to shirk, to sink, to sleep;
It wants us to shiver, to chatter, to huddle, to scream,
To sleep. To sleep. To sleep.
But we dare not dream.
Should we flee? Could we flee? Would we flee?
Will we consummate this unholy matrimony?
Will we consent to slip away into dreamless unrest
And submit to the frigid, killing bite of renunciation?
The hoarfrost wraps its withered hands about the heart,
Stifles its thumping rush, its vibrant vitality,
Slowly kills it, sucking, draining, choking, drowning,
Until a shriveled, barren husk hangs silent.
Not I, but we. Never I only we.
My shivering heart, now wrinkled, yet pale,
Is bruised, yet not broken, but lifeless.
The pallor of sable death has infected my
Jacket, my worn, warm covering. That chill
Has seeped into its fibers, diluting the warmth,
The heat, the fire, the life, the burning passion,
The all-consuming wrath, the rage, the revolution.
My insides rot and burn away, stirring new life
Within, yet without, the same.
But I am, at least, free.
Black, sable cold seeps through my jacket seams,
Burns away its passion, leaving it numb, senseless.
It calls us to cry, scream, despair, fragment.
It drives us to oneness, to tolerance, to crusade
Lady Hoarfrost bares her teeth in wanton pleasure,
Her wolf’s snarl malicious, seductive, chilling.
She beckons us to love, to fear, to protect, to kill,
To embrace the withered fingers of the cold,
To sleep. To sleep. TO SLEEP.
O, the horror of dreamless sleep!
Death.
Chill.
Frost.
Sleep.
We.
-- John Nichols
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
A Poem About Winning
The following poem was written by my MMI creative writing student, Curtis Surovy (grade 11). In this poem Curtis expresses different emotional dimensions to winning and how the most precious victories often are not won in public.
Trophy
Anger red pulses in his neck
as he channels into a single
glorious moment of recovery
all his losses.
Hoisting triumph,
he indulges success before
his enemy's gaping mind.
From anger to victory,
from glory to locker room
where coach rubs liniment
into his aching calves.
He hangs his head
not wanting the others to see
the tear.
Related reading: Curtis Surovy's letter to Wendell Berry; Finest Companions (poem about dog sledding)
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Key Considerations in Fiction Writing
Point of view: From whose perspective is the story being told? The main charcter? The unseen all-knowing narrator (the author)? Will there be more than one point of view and if so, how willyou handle these?
Characterization: Min characters are always better drawn when they have a foil – Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, etc.
Plotting: Know where you are going and how the story will end. What is the conflict and how will the character handle it? How will things get worse for him? How will you "thicken" the plot?
Dialog: Use the correct format. Each conversational thread should be set in a new paragraph. Is the conversation natural? Don't put sophisticated language in the mouths of simple country folk.
Symbol and Metaphor: Used to imply a deeper meaning to the story. Use lightly but effectively. A pair of gold earrings could symbolism the feminine principle, for example.
Word Economy: The best fiction writers edit their work after they have finished the story. This is when you shorten sentences and cut useless words. Think of how Ernest Hemingway used few words to maximum effect.
The Title: Let your title be the “working title” only. A better title will suggest itself by the time you get to the end of the story.
Characterization: Min characters are always better drawn when they have a foil – Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, etc.
Plotting: Know where you are going and how the story will end. What is the conflict and how will the character handle it? How will things get worse for him? How will you "thicken" the plot?
Dialog: Use the correct format. Each conversational thread should be set in a new paragraph. Is the conversation natural? Don't put sophisticated language in the mouths of simple country folk.
Symbol and Metaphor: Used to imply a deeper meaning to the story. Use lightly but effectively. A pair of gold earrings could symbolism the feminine principle, for example.
Word Economy: The best fiction writers edit their work after they have finished the story. This is when you shorten sentences and cut useless words. Think of how Ernest Hemingway used few words to maximum effect.
The Title: Let your title be the “working title” only. A better title will suggest itself by the time you get to the end of the story.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Composition Writing
We are going to work on skills related to composition development. Key elements include:
Many of the problems in the United States are directly related to illiteracy. Illiteracy is passed along by parents who cannot read so that a family may have several generations of non-readers. Research shows that two-thirds of students who cannot read proficiently by age nine will end up in jail or on welfare. The fourth grade is the watershed year.
Why are students not learning to read in elementary schools and what do you think can be done to improve the lives of the illiterate?
- An attention-grabbing opening paragraph that also focuses the piece
- Details that support your position or your main idea. Use historical events, data, discoveries, and/or experiences to provide supportive details.
- Good transition sentences so that one paragraph or one idea flows well into the next.
- A conclusion that summarizes key ideas and ties the composition together
- Good grammar, correct spelling and proper punctuation
Many of the problems in the United States are directly related to illiteracy. Illiteracy is passed along by parents who cannot read so that a family may have several generations of non-readers. Research shows that two-thirds of students who cannot read proficiently by age nine will end up in jail or on welfare. The fourth grade is the watershed year.
Why are students not learning to read in elementary schools and what do you think can be done to improve the lives of the illiterate?
Friday, January 21, 2011
On the Mount of the Lord it Shall be Provided
The LORD Will Provide
Chandler Hamby (Grade 6)
It all started when the Harrison family, which included Mom, Dad, Edward and Christy, decided to take a trip to their vacation home on a mountain that the family had decided to call “Mount Blessing.” Here they would explore, relax and pray. The family planned to camp for a couple days, during which they intended to explore more of the mountain, going from the bottom up.
After a week of preparation, they arrived and unpacked, eager to explore before dinner. Christy suggested this as the wild freedom of the mountain thrilled her. She loved to explore the enormous gorge near the middle of the mountain, which she had discovered while looking for wildlife.
Theirs was a large stone house, with a river across the trail road and animals on the mountain slopes. It was a very secluded place so they enjoyed peace and quiet all the time.
One afternoon, Christy and her brother set out to explore the mountain from the bottom up. Edward brought his leather pouch with a survival kit, including a rope and climbing gear. Although they were well equipped, he felt an odd sensation as he drove down the mountain, and left their car on the edge of the road.
“Let’s start climbing!” Christy exclaimed, eager to start the ascent.
“Hold on, little hiker, this will take a minute,” Dad replied. After a wait they finally put on their backpacks with half the food in Edward’s and the other in Dad’s while they did the same with the gear.
After several hours of hiking, the family encountered a river with a cascading waterfall. They decided to try to wade it, as the current, though strong, was not very deep. They managed to make it to the middle, when a sudden drop-off swept Christy off her feet and carried her downstream. Her terrified shriek brought the others to see her almost at the edge of the waterfall, and rapidly approaching its edge. “Christy!” yelled Edward, who had made it to the bank and ran after her.
Upon reaching the spot where she was holding on for dear life to a small branch stuck in the water, he dove in. But the force of his weight instantly snapped the branch, and in an instant they were swept right over the roaring water. For a split second they looked back at Mom and Dad, who were running as hard as they could, and mom crying and screaming. Then, with a roar they both were drug under and over the cliff. The yells coming from Edward and Christy were something their parents never forgot, and as they plunged down the waterfall Edward held Christy’s hand and prayed, “Dear LORD save us! please, if you do we will forever dedicate this mountain to you!”
At that very moment, spying a smaller cliff with a log hanging off it, he desperately threw himself out of the water onto it and gripping her hand, managed to pull Christy out as well. For a terrified moment they shuffled and crawled towards the bank, then fell onto it gasping for breath. Christy and Edward never cried, but only looked at each other and thanked the LORD for their miraculous escape. Then Edward looked up the waterfall from whence they had come, and saw that they had fallen over two hundred feet in less than five seconds. Christy recovered, and looking at Edward asked plaintively, “How do we get back up?”
“I don’t know,” Edward replied. “I guess we could try the climbing gear. If we can climb up the waterfall we can find the path and get back to the car. Let’s pray! The LORD will provide.” Edward was peaceful and confident, although he thought that the car probably would be gone.
“Well, we must try, this mountain is rocky, and we may be able to get back, if there is any hope we must try,” replied Christy with a trembling voice.
“All right, come on," Edward said, as he took off the climbing gear and put on the climbing hooks. He tied the rope around Christy's waist and looped it around his own, hooked the spikes in to the rock, and started the long, toilsome journey. It was a long, hard climb, but to while away some time, they tried to sing all the hymns they knew that mentioned mountains, one verse of each. After three hours their efforts were rewarded by being able to see through the mist of the fall, the top. They had gone about 150 feet, and just as they were beginning to have hope about getting back, they saw a huge, snarling mountain lion. It was climbing stealthily up to where they were.
“Christy,” Edward said very quietly, “Pull the pistol out of my survival kit.”
Christy did so.
“Now aim at its head and fire,” whispered Edward still very quietly.
Christy slowly raised the pistol, aimed, breathed a prayer and fired. Her hand was shaking badly and the first bullet missed. She again fired, this time hitting the lion's head. The roar it gave was so loud it almost made them fall, but as it with its last breath sprang, it fell and rolled off the cliff. Edward's face was gray.
“Thank the LORD, Christy! I did not know why I wanted to bring this kit, but the LORD must have prompted me to, because he knew what would happen. He has truly used this mountain to strengthen our faith in him!
As they climbed they were silent. Finally, after what seemed a decade, they pulled themselves over the edge, and saw the water fall. After some searching, and thanks to Edward’s compass, they found the path from hence they had come. They found the path almost as quickly and for some hours descended it. The car was not there, and for a moment the two children stared at the space it had occupied with blank expressions. Then, with simple, child-like faith began to pray.
“Dear LORD,” began Edward, “you have saved us from death, the waterfall, and the lion. You have used this mountain to strengthen our faith, and it has. Please, oh LORD, help us to find our parents! In the name of your Son. Amen.
“Amen!” solemnly repeated Christy.
Suddenly, they heard rustling and saw their parents. They called out to them: “Mom! Dad!” and ran into their arms.
After much praising God, they told the story to their parents. They listened in silent wonder as the children recounted how the LORD had saved them.
“Children, I've heard this and indeed the LORD helped you. Because of this, we will christen this mountain, ‘Providence,’ instead of Blessing, to forever remember what God has done.”
“Amen!” the family agreed.
So they hiked back, and arrived at the cabin as the light was waning.
After a week, they returned home and when people asked what mountain they visited, they smilingly replied, “Mount Providence.” And now you know why.
--End--
Chandler Hamby (Grade 6)
It all started when the Harrison family, which included Mom, Dad, Edward and Christy, decided to take a trip to their vacation home on a mountain that the family had decided to call “Mount Blessing.” Here they would explore, relax and pray. The family planned to camp for a couple days, during which they intended to explore more of the mountain, going from the bottom up.
After a week of preparation, they arrived and unpacked, eager to explore before dinner. Christy suggested this as the wild freedom of the mountain thrilled her. She loved to explore the enormous gorge near the middle of the mountain, which she had discovered while looking for wildlife.
Theirs was a large stone house, with a river across the trail road and animals on the mountain slopes. It was a very secluded place so they enjoyed peace and quiet all the time.
One afternoon, Christy and her brother set out to explore the mountain from the bottom up. Edward brought his leather pouch with a survival kit, including a rope and climbing gear. Although they were well equipped, he felt an odd sensation as he drove down the mountain, and left their car on the edge of the road.
“Let’s start climbing!” Christy exclaimed, eager to start the ascent.
“Hold on, little hiker, this will take a minute,” Dad replied. After a wait they finally put on their backpacks with half the food in Edward’s and the other in Dad’s while they did the same with the gear.
After several hours of hiking, the family encountered a river with a cascading waterfall. They decided to try to wade it, as the current, though strong, was not very deep. They managed to make it to the middle, when a sudden drop-off swept Christy off her feet and carried her downstream. Her terrified shriek brought the others to see her almost at the edge of the waterfall, and rapidly approaching its edge. “Christy!” yelled Edward, who had made it to the bank and ran after her.
Upon reaching the spot where she was holding on for dear life to a small branch stuck in the water, he dove in. But the force of his weight instantly snapped the branch, and in an instant they were swept right over the roaring water. For a split second they looked back at Mom and Dad, who were running as hard as they could, and mom crying and screaming. Then, with a roar they both were drug under and over the cliff. The yells coming from Edward and Christy were something their parents never forgot, and as they plunged down the waterfall Edward held Christy’s hand and prayed, “Dear LORD save us! please, if you do we will forever dedicate this mountain to you!”
At that very moment, spying a smaller cliff with a log hanging off it, he desperately threw himself out of the water onto it and gripping her hand, managed to pull Christy out as well. For a terrified moment they shuffled and crawled towards the bank, then fell onto it gasping for breath. Christy and Edward never cried, but only looked at each other and thanked the LORD for their miraculous escape. Then Edward looked up the waterfall from whence they had come, and saw that they had fallen over two hundred feet in less than five seconds. Christy recovered, and looking at Edward asked plaintively, “How do we get back up?”
“I don’t know,” Edward replied. “I guess we could try the climbing gear. If we can climb up the waterfall we can find the path and get back to the car. Let’s pray! The LORD will provide.” Edward was peaceful and confident, although he thought that the car probably would be gone.
“Well, we must try, this mountain is rocky, and we may be able to get back, if there is any hope we must try,” replied Christy with a trembling voice.
“All right, come on," Edward said, as he took off the climbing gear and put on the climbing hooks. He tied the rope around Christy's waist and looped it around his own, hooked the spikes in to the rock, and started the long, toilsome journey. It was a long, hard climb, but to while away some time, they tried to sing all the hymns they knew that mentioned mountains, one verse of each. After three hours their efforts were rewarded by being able to see through the mist of the fall, the top. They had gone about 150 feet, and just as they were beginning to have hope about getting back, they saw a huge, snarling mountain lion. It was climbing stealthily up to where they were.
“Christy,” Edward said very quietly, “Pull the pistol out of my survival kit.”
Christy did so.
“Now aim at its head and fire,” whispered Edward still very quietly.
Christy slowly raised the pistol, aimed, breathed a prayer and fired. Her hand was shaking badly and the first bullet missed. She again fired, this time hitting the lion's head. The roar it gave was so loud it almost made them fall, but as it with its last breath sprang, it fell and rolled off the cliff. Edward's face was gray.
“Thank the LORD, Christy! I did not know why I wanted to bring this kit, but the LORD must have prompted me to, because he knew what would happen. He has truly used this mountain to strengthen our faith in him!
As they climbed they were silent. Finally, after what seemed a decade, they pulled themselves over the edge, and saw the water fall. After some searching, and thanks to Edward’s compass, they found the path from hence they had come. They found the path almost as quickly and for some hours descended it. The car was not there, and for a moment the two children stared at the space it had occupied with blank expressions. Then, with simple, child-like faith began to pray.
“Dear LORD,” began Edward, “you have saved us from death, the waterfall, and the lion. You have used this mountain to strengthen our faith, and it has. Please, oh LORD, help us to find our parents! In the name of your Son. Amen.
“Amen!” solemnly repeated Christy.
Suddenly, they heard rustling and saw their parents. They called out to them: “Mom! Dad!” and ran into their arms.
After much praising God, they told the story to their parents. They listened in silent wonder as the children recounted how the LORD had saved them.
“Children, I've heard this and indeed the LORD helped you. Because of this, we will christen this mountain, ‘Providence,’ instead of Blessing, to forever remember what God has done.”
“Amen!” the family agreed.
So they hiked back, and arrived at the cabin as the light was waning.
After a week, they returned home and when people asked what mountain they visited, they smilingly replied, “Mount Providence.” And now you know why.
--End--
Friday, January 14, 2011
A Poem about Memories
Remembering
There I lie in the cold sweet snow.
I hear a calming whisper.
It is the voice I used to know,
My mother’s gentle tone –
A memory.
Then, an inner warmth
Like my father’s touch
Reminds me of when he was near
But he is gone.
As I lie longer in the soft snow
Looking at the midnight sky
Thinking about the world,
The memories fade away
Like a fire turning to ashes
Like a picture fading in a frame.
The snow no longer feels sweet,
No longer a place for snow angels.
It feels cold.
--Jordan Romain (Grade 9)
There I lie in the cold sweet snow.
I hear a calming whisper.
It is the voice I used to know,
My mother’s gentle tone –
A memory.
Then, an inner warmth
Like my father’s touch
Reminds me of when he was near
But he is gone.
As I lie longer in the soft snow
Looking at the midnight sky
Thinking about the world,
The memories fade away
Like a fire turning to ashes
Like a picture fading in a frame.
The snow no longer feels sweet,
No longer a place for snow angels.
It feels cold.
--Jordan Romain (Grade 9)
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