0kay, I found this story awhile ago. I think I wrote it when I was about 9 or 10. I just felt I had to share it with you guys. I didn't really edit it because there isn't much I can change without it losing some of what I feel makes it interesting to read.

Not the Brightest Person in the World

Clare

One day, while Rachel was riding her bike, she saw a car behind her, so she went over to the side of the road to let it pass. But the car slowed down, as though it were waiting for her to continue, so she kept riding. The car followed her all the way home.

As the car was leaving, whoever was in the car rolled downt he window and dropped something out. As soon as the car was out of sight, Rachel ran over and picked up the piece of paper that had been dropped.

She unfolded the paper and read the message. It said:

Go to the new bench in Grayson Park.

So Rachel went.

There, on the bench, was another piece of paper. On that piece of paper was a strange picture. It was and eagle on a rock inside a tent. At first Rachel was puzzled by the picture, but then she realized that it probably meant for her to go to Eagle Rock Camp. After all, the first message had told her to go somewhere, so why shouldn't this one?

But since it was late,she decided to wait until the next day.

The next morning she went to Eagle Rock. As soon as she stepped through the gates, she suddenly felt strong arms grab her. She tried to scream but a hand clamped over her mouth. Then everything blacked out.

When Rachel woke up, she couldn't move, and there was a gag over her mouth.

She guessed that the people in the car had lured her here to capture her. But why?

Two men in dark suits and sunglasses came in and turned on the light. As soon as they entered, Rachel went,"Mmm! Mmm!" Then one of the men took off the gag, and she said,"Why am I here?"

The other man laughed and said, "You aren't the brightest person in the world, are you?

"Well, I go to school!" Rachel said angrily.

"I mean you have no common sense. We work for the local nuthouse. We watch everybody, and if they are nutty enough, we leave notes. If they are stupid enough to follow them, we put them in the nuthouse."

"Well, I still don't get it!" replied Rachel. "I'm not a nut!"

"Yes, you are. What about that time you hit a ball over the fence in softball and you ran home -- literally?"

"Well, that was my first year!"

"No, it wasn't. It was your fifth year. We've been watching you."

"Oh well," grumbled Rachel,"I guess I'll go with you. I mean, I won't have to go to school anymore."

So they went. and the men continued their job, while Rachel lived in the nuthouse.

The End

Another poem

I'll post what I read at our last meeting for the benefit of those who did not appear.

Ohio Sunset

A campground
in the middle of a corn field.
My world is blue from light
coming through the tent.
Collected dew runs down
my arm with a touch.

The campground is coming to life.

A fat man is chopping kindling,
his rhythm like a giant sloth woodpecker,
power lines that cut through the grounds
crackle like a million bees moving at light speed,
a locomotive whistles under the horizon,
songbirds everywhere.

The children in the next lot stayed up late.
They are stirring, exploring
while their parents sleep off their Busch beer.
The kids are dirty, laughing, squealing
in different stages of dress.

I watch the unwashed munchkins
walk down to the pond.
They chase a small gaggle of ducks
while laughing and laughing and laughing
until their hungover father tells them
to shut their traps.

Just a thought

I make no bones to being a poet with anything but average talent but we was talking about revising once and I have revised this thing at least a dozen times. I even changed a few words as I was transcribing it just now. I can't stress revising enough, it's what turns a good idea into a great poem or story.

One more thing

If you are posting a poem here try and transcribe it rather than cutting and pasting it. I think as you type it in you will find words you want to add and subtract and line breaks you will want to change.

There is a new crisis relating to writing going on in CMS.

As most of you probably know, there is a writing test that each 4th, 7th and 10th grader must take. It is quite poissbly the most awful, counter-productive test known to man. Previously, I and many others quitly suffered through this mostosity. It didn't have much impact on our grade and it was easier to just write some BS than to do anything about it. Until now.

This year, the 10th grade wrting test counts for 25% of the students' final english grades. This is so amazingly absurd that I almost think it must be a hoax. My problem is not so much the large possiblity of getting a bad grade (grading writing is sucha subjective thing) but that this shows that they are putting a large amount of stock in this test. Half of me wants to rise up, protest, change things.

Th other half says there's no way it will make a difference.

And around the U.S. thousands more potential writers were discouraged and squashed in their prime. Out from the wreckage march the mindles drones our socirty prizes so highly.

Sorry for the melodama. This makes me very angry.

Clare

Quick post, I just wanted to say I'm sorry I wasn't at the meeting. I took a nap after school and overslept. I could have come late but I was very, very grumpy and by the end of the meeting someone would've been dead. It made me sad. I was looking forward to this meeting. Oh well, there's always next time!

Disappearing poem?

Where did Grace's last poem go? Why have we been denied?

Argh...criticize away. Even you, Leah!
WARNING: This was writen for Lang. Arts class, and also was written INSIDE the classroom. On demand. I just thought it sounded kinda cool.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Ode to Clovers

In spring the small green plants unfold,
filling the air with sweet scents.
They force their way out, wild and bold,
they grow, they grow, they grow,
soaking in kind sunlight,
taking in the water sprinkled onto the soil
for the flowers.
I crouch beside the patch
and pluck a few,
soon to be tied into a necklace.
Now I rifle through them,
searching for that special little
four leafed one.
Round white flowers
sprout up beside the leafy green plants,
and bees swarm to them.
Clover honey will soon be made
while I sit,
inhaling fresh green scents,
in a sea of my favorite color.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Sooooo...I did get two compliments on it. One was the teacher, who I think felt compelled to write "beautiful" on every paper, but the other one was more impressive. A kind of friend of mine, who sits on the other side of the room, so I was almost positive she hadn't even heard it, said that she thought it was really pretty.

To be exact, I have two favorite colors, blue and green. Original, I know. I have to be the only person on this whole planet whose favorite colors are green and blue.

I really do love clover. They might be my favorite scent in the world, and they're so pretty, the flowers and the plants. I also like how wild they are. They don't need to be cared for, they're strong enough to live independently.

I don't think I mentioned enough about the white flowers, and the second sentence goes on maybe a bit too long. Do you guys think it's okay?

Read at your own peril. This was written by an unexperienced twelve year old who is better at prose. Actually, it was technically written by an eleven year old....Oh, and it's free verse.

Clear blue sky,
dark grey clouds,
vaulting happiness reaches so high,
low black heavens.
Meaningless meanings,
yet sweet and bright.
Meaningful meaningless,
great and no light.
Sun-kissed dancing ,
twisting of words,
honest and brutal,
but not quite cruel.
Not one but two-
what to choose.
Plunging and deep
or carefully mended, but not shallow.
Care for each other or
fend for yourself;
pipe dream or else
an eternal truth.

Okay, I'm no good at poetry. So constructive criticism, please...I need it. Still not good at this. I think I need to lengthen it, too.

EDIT: Oops, sorry. Accidentally deleted it. I'm still not entirely comfortable with this site. Now I have to post it again....

Hello, hello. This is a poem I wrote. It's about this guy I know at school, only the relationship I have with him is a bit odd. You can kinda get it from the poem I think.

His tough guy demeanor breaks only a little.
"I just wish one person in my family had
some decency."

We talk, exchanging sarcastic retorts,
witty comments, comparing our woes;
emotional baggage.

I watch him walking away,
trenchcoat blowing in the wind, wishing
I understood him.

We, two lost souls on paths beginning
to diverge, both through seemingly
impenetrable briars.

Digging deeper into our sarcastic retorts,
witty comments, he says he lives for
the humor.

For him it is the only constant thing,
for me the most effective defense,
we are alone.

I, living inside the system, dying a little
each day. Biding time until my
freedom.

He, lashing out, laughing at rules,
the world holds no restraint --
until it does.

He'll come back for another day,
another round, matching wits, until
he disappears.

I do not know what happened
this time. I do not know if he's
returning.

Yeah...I'm not gonna bore you with all the details of the odd relationship unless you ask.

Also, I demand comments and constructive criticism! CONSTRUCTIVE CRTICISM!!! We don't really have much of a chance to do that at the meetings. However, with this we have a chance to and we are bloody well going to take it.

Clare

Note: Edited to incorporate some of Ed's suggestion, possibly not like he meant it, but I like it!

Howdy

I see one person has joined. I guess I'll put up some content just to get to get the ball rolling.

I wrote this back in December. Just a little childhood memory.

Strangers, X and Y

Kids we don't know
in the pines
atop the tall bank
next to the road.

Summer kids.
City kids.

We're being stalked by strangers
because my brother said
a swear word to them
as we rode away
from the corner store.

They didn't have faces then
they are more obscure now.

I remember a girl being with them,
pretty.

A charge out of the woods
ferocious pedaling
a hand grabs the seat
of my bike.
We are away.

Terrified, relieved, then jubilant
my brother lets go of the handlebars
turns around and gives them the finger.

He says another swear word.

This is only a test

Really.