James Lick 2012 Winners

THANK YOU to all the students from James Lick Middle School who entered the Friends of Noe Valley WORD WEEK writing contest. And CONGRATULATIONS to the selected prize winners!

Love Blah, Blah, Blah
by Jacky Carrillo

Love is like pizza.
You add every topping
trying to make your customer happy.
They dislike it
like the smell of a hard rotten egg.
You feel like trash.
Love is like a dream
that turns into a nightmare.
You see everything in the color pink
and you love it.
Then everything turns black
and scary
then you can never remember how good you felt
before the “dream.”
Love is like a rollercoaster,
you feel excited on the way up
and terrified on the way back down
even though you think you have the guts
to go through anything.
Love is like a soda.
You open the can.
It’s full of fizz and it’s delicious.
After some time
it tastes plain (like water).
Remember,
it isn’t a game.
It’s destiny.
Love can be amazing
depending on who you share it with.

The Master of Mystery and Terror
by Mireya Perez

I remember that about two years ago, I discovered Edgar Allan Poe. It all started when I was walking from Cesar Chavez Elementary School to 826 Valencia, my after school program. Usually it would take ten minutes but that day it took half a millennium because my brother was walking slower than usual. The sky filled by thousands of lights suddenly changed to dark clouds making it impossible to see.

As soon as I got there, still consumed by the darkness, I greeted the head of Adel Rootstein, which was hidden in a secret drawer. Adel fit in perfectly with her surroundings, all the darkness and mystery that lay in the pirate store. I then was partnered up with a new tutor named Van. That gave me a few butterflies in the stomach because I didn’t really know him. After the easiest homework on earth was finished, we went to the book section where he grabbed a book meant for ninth graders. The book was titled “Tales of Mystery and Terror” by Edgar Allan Poe, who I’d never heard of.

The book was the size of an ant, containing four stories. Van read the first story, “The Tell-Tale Heart” which after finishing it I was completely fascinated with because it was exactly the thing I had been searching for without really knowing it. “Did you like the story?” he asked the moment he closed the book. “I think it’s great for a day filled with darkness, and right after saying hello to a head” I responded, still intrigued by the story. I truly felt amazed that someone could capture so much inn just a few words.

Last year as soon as I went to the school library fro the first time I asked Mr. Melton the librarian if there were any books by Edgar Allan Poe, which he responded by giving me a book the size of ten dictionaries, having every thing he had ever written ranging from his childhood, novice poems, to his renown poems that have left people talking for decades.

I am now according to my sixth grade teacher, a monomaniac. The poem that has always enchanted me is and will always be “Annabel Lee” because people usually think of him as a dark person but he’s more than that. He can be romantic, capturing your heart, but not that mushy stuff but death and how that makes someone who loved that person feel. It is truly inspiring and will easily leave you flabbergasted, there are just no words that will be able to describe the sensation that you feel. He will never change in my opinion and will always be “The Master of Mystery and Terror.”

A Story
by Xochitl Gonzalez

Dad it’s time to put you on the spot….
I love you, but you don’t love me as much as I do.
I tried to make you happy but you always seemed to be mad at me.
I have always searched for you,
I have felt like the adult and you acted like the child.
I hate you, I often said to myself.
I felt like I was your latest fashion of clothes that you wore for a quick moment just to show me off here and there.

I have always felt like you didn’t care about me, and now that you have your “new baby boy,” I really feel like you have forgotten about me completely. I hope you’re happy with your new family. I hate you.

You hate my mother and for what? She is someone you should appreciate because she hasn’t asked you for a dime to raise me. I still remember when you missed my 12th and 13th birthdays, and recently you asked me be there for your b-day — why should I when you weren’t there for mine or for me.

I remember when you crushed my dreams and said I would never have such a big house like the ones near my old school at PHS and told me that I will never be a famous singer or great dancer when I grow up. You also told me that if I were ever lucky enough I would just graduate high school.

You call me your “Brown Barbie” but I really fell like a useless rag doll. I hate you! I haven’t seen you since August and no, not my birthday, but for your mother’s, my “grandmother’s” birthday. I hate it when you lie, and lie, and lie to me. What do you take me for — a dummy? I’m no fool, I know I’m just a splinter on your finger that you want to get out of your hands.

You say you are working but you have no money to pay up for child support. What I hear from the other side of the phone is you puffing away. All you’re really doing is smoking weed. I’m not that dumb as you think I am. You say you are poor but yet my two year old brother rocks Jordans and I wait on my old gifts and on you and still get nothing.

I will never forgive you for all the pain you gave me. Sometimes, I cry in my sleep, even have nightmares because I dream when the FEDS came to your house……… you know what I’m talking about! I was worried that I would lose you and would never see you but, I already feel that way and you’re not even locked up in jail.

I hate it when my mom says she will send me to live with you for a whole month. In my mind I say hell no. I know it’s not my mom’s fault you are absent in my life. It’s your choice! You haven’t grown up and worried about being a responsible father.

Children’s Story
by Brysa Quintero

We were all born
to be something
Born to achieve dream
and believe in something
When you’re a kid
everything is great
The real world is your
play house and you
believe
Everything you hear
We grow up and want to
be little again
want to be kids
again
We want to
be childish … again!
I never thought
of it until now
since I’m older
since I’m bigger
since I can’t imagine
without being told to
grow up I live it
I need it I want
I love it it’s the melody
that puts me to sleep
I know everyone thinks of it like I do … wasn’t it
beautiful when you believed in everything

Piano In An Insane Asylum
by Zach Sovereign

I am meant to write dreams into empty space
Not to be
played
by slobber ridden
sweaty slimey hands.
Sometimes heads.
Heaven
Was what my sounds used to be
Used to have
Ivory keys
to a different world
full of music.
Used to be a black stallion
With a mane white as snow.
Rearing
till broken
Here
Used to be
Used too much
By the wrong hands
Hearts. Once
I was
Touched deep down on the shiny surface
By wrinkled hands
That shivered
Not with age
But with power
And that power was sung
Woven into breathtaking shows of splendor!
I sung
Once.
Then I was
Sat on
crushed
By a butt
My keys smushed
Along with my spirit.
It’s hard to be a piano in an insane asylum.

The Museum
by Ella Griffith

I blink awake, my neon green letters the only bright thing in the now-closed museum. I stare down the aisle, wondering if today there would be another poor fool who didn’t want to go to the museum and so fell asleep in the corner and is now trapped in the building. That happened yesterday, some old bald guy whose snores cut through the usually quiet sound of the artful night.

But there are no snores tonight, only silence and the soft hum of the paintings and exhibits who preen over themselves in the night, chatting with one another discussing the events of the day.

Modern Couch talks about how exciting it was to have her creator come and talk about her meaning, but how she feels he really just doesn’t get her. American Nude Series complains about how another group of immature middle school kids that came began to giggle and screech at her exposed breast, some even having the nerve to dare one another to touch her. And Figure On A Porch wonders if she will ever be able to turn around to see that handsome new video exhibit that everyone has been talking about. I chuckle at that last comment, feeling slightly superior to all of them. You see, I am the museum’s oldest exhibit, but no one really pays that much attention to me. Only in times of great emergencies am I given much credit as being one of the most important creations. I was given a position at the top of the museum, where all can see me.

Sometimes it’s lonely, being so high up. As other younger and fancier paintings complain of being touched and having their oil canvas ruined, I ache to be accidentally touched, to feel the slight brush of human finger tips as they stare at me with a look of complete mesmeration and awe. The most contact I get is if I short out, or to be wiped of dust.

As far as definitions go, I am probably the least fit to be called what others may consider “art.” But maybe not. The green electric pixels of my insides took a lot of thought and preparation. I am hung at an angle so that you can see me, but also I think because you have to really turn this way and that to see my true meaning, even you can just look another way to find others of my kind, that may be easier to read. Many of my kin are hung in some of the most prestigious art museums in the world, seen and recognized as an international symbol of safety and, in my opinion, art.

I am the EXIT sign.

The Firey Bird Family
by Diana Avelino

My family is a
Bird
My dad keps us flying
Through a storm

My two little brothers are the feet
keep us walking
When there is glass on
The floor

My sister is the beak that is always
Talking about how
Cute boys are

I am the head
Because I keep
Them thinking

My mom is the skin
Of the bird because
She is always
Protecting us from bacteria
My family is a big
Bird

 

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