Show Case: Free Verse by Hannah M.

Hannah is a member of the Young Writer's Guild. In fact, she was at the very first meeting and has been one of the reasons we started this blog. Hannah is excited to share two of her poems here with us. Hannah is in grade 6.

What If

By Hannah M.

I was sitting there

In Grandma's chair

Rocking back and forth

When a vivid thought popped into my head:

What if ants took over the world?

What would happen then?

Would they make me their private slave?

Or worse, clean their dirty underwear?

What if they partnered up with monekeys?

Would they hold me captive?

Or bonk me on the head?

What if a UFO hit me

While it spiraled down earth?

What if a UFO bit me?

Would I die, or even worse?

What if on my way to school,

I tripped on a lady bug?

Would I cry?

Would I die?

I hope it doesn't happen.

What if while I was sleeping,

My hair crawled off my head?

Would it come back?

Or will I go BALD?!

What if I loose my favorite penny!

What if I get an F?

I hope my mother would forgive me!!

I am glad this is WHAT IF!

KITTENS

By Hannah M.

Oh soft little fluff ball,

I love you so much.

But how you cry and you whine.

With your ears straight up,

And your tail straight back

Your sad blue eyes in a daze.

You lap up your milk

And go on your way

To find a sunny window.

Hopping right up you claim your spot

Like a lion on the top of a mountain.

Then turning around and laying down

You gently fall to sleep.

A few hours pass and then you wake up,

Charged like a brand new battery.

You pounce and you play,

Chasing a mouse,

Pawing at a feather.

Oh, cute little kitten

I want you to stay,

Stay with me forever.

Well done Hannah! Thank you for sharing.

Prompt: Write about a leprechaun

We are, of course, preparing for St. Patrick's day here at the Young Writer's Guild. And a lovely time we have had of it, even if only a few of us were present. I am posting our responses to this prompt. Won't you post yours too?

Catherine P.

Ker-plunk, ker-plink, kur-plunk, the rain seemed to groan as I sloshed through the slippery mud to Gramp's. The weatherman predicted my St. Patty's day a sunny, bright day (a seemingly perfect start) but instead I got a gloomy day. Just perfect for leprechaun hunting. Perfect.

Gramp's old house was on the Dingle's Bluff, as the adults called it. Kids thought the shack was haunted, but I knew the truth. Leprechauns. Since I was two and Gramps told the story of the jolly old creatures, i had been entranced and antsy to find one. Anyway, I had all the clues:

1. In Gramp's garage you will find coins in random places. Seriously.

2. At night, when the harmless little trolls work, you could hear creaks and squeals late at night.

3. Brown rolls resembling tootsie rolls are scattered around his car. Yes, yes, I know.

4. Gramps also said his car was blue when he bought it. Now it is green. Then again, he's been losing it a little.

5. In the yard, you will not find a single 3 leaf clover. All have 4 petals.

For my quest to find a leprechaun, you also need a brilliant plan. Me and Gramps are having a sleepover in his old '58 Chevy truck. I was fairly worried about waking up with fake teeth on my chest or finding his hairy feet in my mouth but it was gonna be worth it.

Sam E.

A devoted cause. A never ending passion. That is what they have towards their treasure. But I was determined to find it and willing to drive a leprechaun off a cliff.

Which is what I did.

My family had been living in poverty and depression. Hey, not my fault my sister accidentally set fire to the grocery store. Anyway, so we were like driving down the highway and I was bored of looking out the window counting everything green. The field. The roadside signs. Punch bug. Leprechaun.

A leprechaun? I grabbed the wheel away from my dad and swerved through four lanes of traffic and through a fence.

A plastic bag.

Great! So I trashed my car and I broke traffic laws and a fence. Oh, and there was no "Pot 'o Gold" at the end of a rainbow that wasn't there. Could it get worse? yea.

Hanna M.

To be a wee one again.

"Me Gold! Its gone!" shouted Patrick McCleveland. "Patricia! Wake up! Some one stole me gold!"

"Well all be darn"said the exhausted Patricia, Patrick's wife. "Now isn't that too bad" she yawned and let her head sink back into the pillow.

"Uh, yer useless aren't ya" Patrick said. He stormed into little Patty's room and woke her up.

"Patty! me gold is missin. Someone stole it!"

"What?! You mean it isn't in the basement where ya hid it?"

"In the base... Oh. Yeah. Go to sleep Patty, I'll see ya in the mornin'"

Patrick went downstairs and what do you know, his gold was right where he left it.

Moral: Us old folks, we for things, ok!

Susan P.

Our yard was filled with clover, bees buzzing in pursuit of the nectar. My brother Timmy could find a four-leaf clover wherever he bent over to look.

Not me.

I could be on my hands and knees for close to an hour, going back and fourth across the lawn in my elusive search for that lucky charm. Not only did I never find one, I usually had war wounds to show for my effort. A scratch here, a bee sting there - even once dog poop ground into the knees of my pants.

It was on one such search that I heard a high tinny voice calling out my name.

"Tommy"

"Tommy"

"To the left. A little lower."

I searched around and saw nothing - looked toward the house, down the street, even looked skyward. The voice continued.

"Here. Here." it said growing slightly louder as I followed it. My fingers...

Heidi E.

We all know that the fairy folk never came across the sea. Why would they wish to leave the green swells of Wicklow or the sea air of Killarney? Could you just imagine how their faces would turn green when they were tossed upon that briney surf? And far to clever they are, to be trapped and hauled across, against their will.

Altogether stranger then, were the signs that great grandmother Siobhan saw about a year after she made the dreadful voyage. Her feet had barely time to dry and plant themselves firmly in this new rich soil when she started noticing strange things about the kitchen door. At first she dismissed them as her own forgetfulness, or perhaps the neighbor's cat about, but great grandmother wasn't one to ignore a mounting body of evidence. And although she wasn't superstitious she started to take precautions. A dish of cream on the stoop at night. A flaxen thread to tie back her hair. A cross of cold steel about her neck.

Now it's your turn!

Prompt: Write a limerick or nonsense poem

Happy (late) Birthday Dr. Seuss!

I seem to be a day late and a dollar short a lot lately. I had meant to have this post up for yesterday so we could join in the nation wide celebration of Dr. Seuss's silliness, but I was too busy making mischief as "thing 2" at our public library.

Better late than never?

I think my proudest, smuggest, educational moment was when I wrote my final exam in the capstone course of my college education --all in limerick. I congratulated myself on my cheekiness for the next two days until I ran into the teacher walking down the sidewalk with a friend. She turned to her friend and said "this is that student I was telling you about." My smug self-satisfaction evaporated like the thin film of perspiration that was forming on my brow, and the rest of the week was panted out in tense anticipation of my final grade.

Need I even mention I passed the class with flying colors? And these many years later, I remember non of the rhymes, but the lesson that sometimes a little silliness is just what the "Dr." ordered!

Your mission (should you choose to accept it) is to write a limerick or other nonsense poem. It can be about anything you choose; as limericks tend to have a reputation for naughtiness: please keep it family friendly. I will have to post my own poem in the comments section as, once again, I am running late.

Show Case: The Demon In Me by Brianna W.

Brianna is a member of the Young Writers Guild. She is in grade 7. She loves to write, and writes prolifically. Brianna submitted this piece to the local news paper's "Scary Story" contest and took first place! This contest was open to all students in middle school AND high school! Well done Brianna!

The Demon In Me

by Brianna W.

Fear. A twisted, devouring shadow. It lurks in the corners, cunningly waiting for the right moment. Waiting for the young child to hear a voice in the closet, or for curious children standing in front of a mirror in a dark bathroom. It waits, silently, deadly, and impatient. And yet, fear is inevitable. For everyone fears something. Fear is a quiet flame in every being's soul. It is the candle, whose flame goes out in a ghostly wind.

Fear is an everlasting fire, forever burning, forever destroying. It is the quiet, yet powerful voice on the wind, whispering your darkest fears that suddenly seem to be reality. It is the tree branch, tap tap tapping on your window. A foreboding sound of something yet to come.

But what does come? A sudden phase of screaming? Running? Hiding? Al that happens is that, once again, fear has gotten the best of you. Fear is an illusion, consuming the mind in the darkest things, a mental blackout. Fear is a demon. Cunningly luring you to trust him. He lets you follow him into the darkness, and inescapable midnight.

Fear is inside you. In your heart, in your soul. It is the scream that escapes your lips, the tremor running through your body. Fear is that unknown feeling in your gut, that devouring feeling of dread. Fear is a betrayer, a liar. Twisting reality into every being

's worst nightmare. For that is what fear is, a nightmare. A nightmare of the most horrifying kind.

Prompt: The SIX word memoir

I heard about this idea on NPR today, but unfortunately, I wasn't able to hear the whole story. Still I liked the idea, and I liked that it was a short writing project.

So, today's task (should you choose to accept it) is to write your own 6 word memoir.

I have two, depending on the day. (This might be exposing to much of my psyche, but here goes.)

For lonely days:

Unfortunately, I never quite fit in.

For the rest of the days:

Thankfully, I never quite fit in.

I suppose I could just combine the two:

Somehow, I never quite fit in.

How about you? You fit in here no matter what you write.

Prompt: Write about the meeting of an imagianry creature and an ordinary citizen

Well folks, I meant to start this blog out right, by posting the Young Writer's Guild writing with the first prompt. But guess what? None of them came yesterday! We are on our own today...

Here is my piece.

(shuffling, growing red, starting to sweat...)

I had heard stories about the Mill Pond Shark. Everyone had. And stories about the boogie man too. My brother was the one who had made them seem most real with his descriptions of teeth and scales and dead staring eyes. But I had stopped believing in them even before I stopped being afraid of the dark. Less plausible than the Loch Ness monster or Bigfoot. So that sunny afternoon when I first saw it with my own eyes I assumed I had fallen asleep on the park bench.

It was warm and bright and I was tired. I had just run up and down the hills behind the pond practicing for a track meet. I sat on the bench and stretched out my legs enjoying the spring sunshine and the afternoon warmth. The park at the pond was quiet. ...

Now it is your turn!

Evening at the Author's table

Long ago, my mother made up a game. It was designed to help my younger siblings have better table manners and it was called Evening At The Author's Table. We would set the table with all the best china and silverware. We would use our best manners and our most polite words. When dinner was over and cleaned up Mum would pass out paper and pencils, give us a writing prompt and set the timer.

And we would write.

When the time was up we would take turns reading our writing out loud.



Twenty years later.



I have children who love to write, long to write, need to write. This did not come from me. In an attempt to quench the thirst for writing I thought I would play Mum's game (sans dinner) at the middle school with other children too.

And they wrote. And were good!

But the strangest part was I wrote! Not a lot. Not great. Not even very good. But that wasn't the point. The point was to start writing. And that I did. And it was fun. Not only that, but I read my writing out loud! That was harder than the writing. Who would think that I would be terrified to read my story to a bunch of children who I have known since they started kindergarten?

It got even stranger: when the sweat had dried off my brow I felt empowered! That stunned me even more than the fear. I am addicted to empowerment. I have a tendancy to do again what rewarded me once. But I don't want to wait for the next Young Writer's Guild at the Middle School.

Will you play with me?

I will post a prompt and my 10 minutes worth of writing. (That is very brave of me.) Will you set your timer and write for 10 minutes too? Then you can post your writing in the comments section. It can be a story, a paragraph, a sentance, a list, a thought, several thoughts, a poem, a song, a tweet. Whatever comes out of your pen, or pencil, or keyboard, or phone. What you do with it is entirely up to you.