Writing from Roseau

What we like.

The Warmth of my Mother’s Arms
By Charlene Grahn 

The warmth of my mother’s arms

As she embraces me

Makes me feel safe.

It gives me comfort

Knowing she’s close.

The warmth of my mother’s arms

Welcomes me home every day from school

And from long trips where I had to go without

The warmth of my mother’s arms.

She locks me in with her arms.

She locks me in with her love.

Any place can feel like home

With the warmth of my mother’s arms.


By Lee Campbell

Angel was her name, the name of my dog.

She was amazing. For a small dog she was quiet.

She was loyal—she never tried to run away.

She was the perfect Jack Russell terrier ever, I promise.


by Elijah Montana

Pound, boom, slow melody.

Grand climax, music dies.

Ears ringing, lyrics echoing.

Press play. Low hum. Pound, boom,

The melody starts again.


By Kelsey Senum

Digs up

Onions from the



By Danielle Sibilleau

One step and you

Hear the birds

The chirping and flying.

You hear the bus buzz.

Leaves whistle in the wind.

Your hair blows with the breeze

While you sit on the chair

With your feet in the cold

Shadowed grass, but

Sun shining on your face.

Outside is a place

With quiet and peace

As you lay there

The wind hitting the chimes

And the flowers.


y Brutus Grindahl

Carrying people in the car

Around town through the day

Running stoplights here and there

Stopping at our destinations.


By Seraphina Johnstun


Backing off, stepping down, until the dam breaks and fearlessness

Roars out from the heart

And engulfs the fear and

Verifies you can do

Everything you dream of.


By Chase Reed


Longboarding on a nice summer day

The smell f freshly cut grass

The taste of fresh air

Seeing all of the commotion of everyday life

Feeling the wheels roll over every little bump or smooth spt

No destination, just going with the flow

Stopping for an ice cream cone

Not a care in the world.


Life is a Drag
By Skyllar Schoening

Dream big for that

Reality can become

Actual if you

Give it a


Quit beating yourself

Up for being you, because

Everything you do in life an

Entertain anyone

No matter what

     The cost.


By Gabrielle Johnson

Understanding what freedom may be is hard

But if you ask me, singing is the key. When

You pick a song, you pick it for the beats.

When I pick a song, I pick it for the story.

Whether you are out on the streets or

Singing just for glory. You are able to be

Whoever, be wherever. Singing is

What keeps me sane.  So I would never

Complain while I’m singing. The things

I sing are ringing in my mind all the time.

Writing is a good sign of the singer I want to be.


By Troy Monkman

Out in the deer stand watching my breath

Turn to steam in the air as I wait for the

Sun to show me what’s outside. Finally

As the sun is slowly climbing over the

Treetops, I look across the field where

Trees once stood and see my prey, a tall

Buck slowly making his way across the field

I lift my gun and take aim. I slowly squeeze

The trigger then BOOM it goes off.


y Jon Hosaluk

Lifted high

Brown mud

Bart tires


Loud but


Dirty but


Covered with

Cold wet


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