Poems from 1st Hour
Roseau High School, Sophomore Class
By Tristan Anderson
The grass brings me back
Allows to remember.
My old house, playing on days
Before church, not worrying
About the future.Swinging
With my sisters, a time
Long gone. To push our red
Mower around, arms aching.
Maybe too far, onto a sapling.
Old tires so meticulously stacked
Under plywood, playing for
Hours among the trees.
My cousins, visiting, turning
Into a permanent stay. The
Fun we had then, now
Realized to be the
Result of a bad situation.
The Bitter Cold
By Aiden Braun
The bitter cold
Always there and not
Three years ago I felt it.
The cold that scraps into bones.
I was new to the Northern Star
From where I came was the Lone Star.
Mostly cold all year long.
No more deadly heat.
How I wish for heat.
The is always here.
It never leaves.
Now into my bones, never to leave.
By Peter VandeWege
The morning breaks. It’s a new day.
I roll over in my bed and turn off my alarm.
My feet touch the cold floor and twitch.
I look for my slippers. The dog has them.
As I pull the sheets away the
Cool air flows around my warm drowsy body.
I saunter my way to the bathroom for water
Then back to get changed.
As I pull on my socks I remember the
Soreness of my body from the day prior.
The stairs creak as I make my way
Downstairs for breakfast.
Eggs and toast are on my plate.
I look around. Dad is gone to work already.
I finish eating and I brush my teeth.
As I come downstairs again I look at my dog.
She is curled up with my slipper.
I walk over and pat her on her head.
My backpack is ready and filled.
My lunch is clipped to the side.
I put it on and walk out the door
Back to school.
By Ben Olson
The field seem so endless,
To the eye, peaceful.
Turn around and gaze
The friendly town.
See the people sleep in their homes
So peaceful yet cold to the feeling.
Watch the river flow so gloomy
How the soothing sounds make peace.
Watch the fish hop in the ditch,
Relax while you stare at the fair.
All the colors from the flashing rides
On a July night. Wait with your tickets
Get to a ride, hand the tickets over
For them to get ripped.
But don’t blink, for summer is brief,
Summer is swift.
A Familiar Woods
By Candance Omdahl
A familiar woods, albeit small
Where hours were shared with willing company.
Clumsily fumbling up branching trees
Which held more wisdom than our eyes may ever witness.
Carefully avoiding the reaching tendrils of poison ivy
Wish to temporarily mar our skin.
Collecting frail twigs left to wilt. Stacking them
So that in our minds blazed a living fire.