Jamie's Blog Post

Unlocked 

In Springdale, MI, privacy wasn’t too much  of a custom. Not at least after we got our new mayor. The new Mayor Locklin made it so that we had to share our business with other people. He thinks that he’s doing good for doing it but he’s not. The new law that he established was the law of entry. The law of entry is when basically anyone can go into anyone’s things and even houses. He says that our area is too safe for locked door on houses, like we live the U.S., not Dubai. Today I in class, I was sitting next to this kid that I’m not very fond of. Said kid was trying to pick a fight with me, I did not wish to do such thing, I did try to say something that would make him stop. But no he decides to go in my bag and get my journal. That was very embarrassing and I really stop carrying it around. But now I can’t even do anything about it because he allowed to take my stuff because of law so the teacher just sits there. The kid doesn’t feel worried about me doing anything because he knows that I don’t value the rules of Mayor Locklin, I’m better than that. I would say that most people in Springdale agree with me, mostly it’s just the criminals and bullies that act on this law. Locklin and group of people think that this law will show the other county’s how much more safer we are by basically making room for more illegal activity to take place.

Erin's Blog Post

Erin Kang

“rumor”

they say that

a galaxy of endless

stars and planets

live in her eyes

when you stare at them

you get lost

and can’t find your way back out

they say that

her extravagant hair crashes like the waves

that come up on the shore

and it has an aroma

of the salty sea

when you smell it

you get lost

and can’t find your way back out

they say that

her skin is made

of silky rose petals

and is as smooth as honey

when you feel it

you get lost

and can’t find your way back out

i wouldn’t know

if any of this were true

because she is just a rumor

Claudia's Blog Post

Faces plumb with grief. Struggling to restrain the turmoil inside. Bowed heads hiding shameless tears of loss. Broken faces. Bruised inside. Mourning. 

The faces of those who felt empty, knowing the one they loved so dearly would now only exist in their memories and inside the silver casket before them. 

Funerals. 

Anthea had always hated funerals. Ever since she was young, she had been to a plethora of somber funerals for those she once knew. First, for her great grandfather, when she was at the ripe age of 6, mostly confused, surrounded by the mourning. She had barely even knew him.

When she was 11, she attended funerals for her father and mother.

The concept of death was still new to her, it’s shocking permanence.

Her hazel eyes were wet with tears, her hand grasping her older brother’s like it were a lifeboat.

But now, she didn’t know what to feel.

Sitting defeatedly at the pew looking around to see the handful of faces spread across. One...two...three...four people. Four people altogether in the lines of seats.

Their faces were the same as hers. Confused. Indifferent. Numb. Her aunt, her brother and his girlfriend. 

Four people.

A bit disappointing. 

Especially when you were presumably the one in the casket.

Sanae's Blog Post

                                                       The Spirits Among Us 

      Sanae Young

           All homes are not as they appear. The air was crisp and thick like freshly made fudge. As we rode through our new neighborhood in Boston Massachusetts, with wide eyes and open minds the house came into view. Approaching the house, I soon realized that there will be lots of new memories made in the years to come. And then I saw it!

        I practically leapt out of the car and bolted to my brand-new front door and through my back door to my new yard. I stopped dead in my tracks, the air went from crisp and cool to foggy, thick and sad. I could almost hear the trees gasping for water. Gazing around the yard, my eye falls on a broken down, ragged pink and white child’s bike. I turn to ask my parents about the bike, it is obvious that they are on the phone and unpacking with no thought to where I am, or what I am doing. Once again, they don’t see me as if I am a ghost in their lives.

      As my head lifted, there was a rickety, thorny brownish wood fence at the back of the yard. I was drawn toward the fence, and as I drew my hand along the top of it splinters slipped into the palm of my hand feeling like my hand was paralyzed. When the fog cleared suddenly there was an old bald man wearing a ripped green flannel shirt and torn maroon pants with a dirty face walking toward me. He moans and whispers his concern through a plethora of questions about where Jamie has gone. I explained that there is no Jamie living here, my name is Katherine.

       The old man cried out, “ the house has bad spirits you need to leave the home immediately”. I relayed to the gray man that there are no bad spirits in this house as I became apprehensive of what the man was going to do or say next. Suddenly, the old bald broken human that was once standing in front of me was floating in the air completely iridescent. I could not believe my eyes, I was in utter disbelief.      

       Then I awoke from my slumber out of breath jumping out of my covers. Just as my eyes focused I realized that I was in the comfort of my bed. I slowly stepped out of my bed and looked around my room. Everything looks normal but I decide to walk down stairs just to make sure. While I walk down the freshly painted steps I see my mom packing boxes. Baffled, I quickly gazed over the downstairs of my house waiting for an explanation. Abruptly I stop. All I see is the glimpse of a pink and white child’s bike. All homes are not as they appear.

Melanie's Blog Post

I was not born and raised in the Philadelphia region. A few years ago, my family and I relocated here. To say that we have loved living here is an understatement; the breadth and depth of cultural,  educational, healthcare and gastronomical offerings are well beyond what we could possibly have imagined. But most importantly, the diversity and warmth of its citizens renders the “City of Brotherly Love” the best place to live on the planet.

With all its strengths, however, Philadelphia is not perfect. Too many of its citizens lack the financial, educational and other resources to extricate themselves from the vicious cycle of poverty and access and augment Philadelphia’s incredible offerings. From what I have read, without intervention, this situation is not likely to improve very much because Philadelphia is not attracting as many large companies or growing its tax base as much as are other large cities. It seems that engaging people like myself to help improve the living conditions and resources for  Philadelphia’s poor and appeal to young adults and businesses to relocate here will be pivotal in elevating Philadelphia.

Jamie's Blog Post

Refugees

by Jamie Gibson

Home.

Sitting by a cackling fire, talking to your family.

A place that is yours.

A place to stay safe.

Safety that everyone has.

Or do they?

Think.

For a second, for a minute.

About being in a position.

About endangering yourself.

You either flee or risk it all.

Would you want this to be you?

America.

Home of the brave, land of the free.

Accepting of race.

Accepting of religion.

Scared of ‘problems’ that refugees may cause.

Does that sound brave to you?

Carlyne's Blog Post

City Sounds 

By Carlyne McGurk 

liquid gold leaves a trail 

from the wooden window panes 

to the ivory bedside. 

as the afternoon gives away,

tinting the cream room 

a shade of honey happiness.

the lilac pink sky 

fades into a tangerine 

as the yellow sinking sun 

dips his head beneath the sunken earth.

leaving way for his silver sister to 

peak her head over 

the sleeping French Quarter. 

music dances through 

the indigo sky,

slipping in through the walls.

sounds of the city 

slowly fall into a sleep.