It takes more than a wish
to catch a fish
you take the hook
you add the bait
you concentrate
and then you wait
you wait you wait
but not a bite
the fish don’t have
an appetite
so tell them what
good bait you’ve got
and how your bait
can hit the spot
this works a whole
lot better than
a wish
if you really
want to catch
a fish
I would always wish to catch a fish every time I went fishing with my father, sometimes it would and other times it would not. I think its just luck.
I prefer
warm fur,
a perfect fire
to lie beside,
a cozy lap
where I can nap,
an empty chair
when she’s not there.
I want heat
on my feet
on my nose
on my hide.
No cat I remember
dislikes December
inside.
I remember how I would beg my mom for a cute little cat, but sadly, I never got one but if I do get one, I know now what they like.
april is a dog’s dream
the soft grass is growing
the sweet breeze is blowing
the air all full of singing feels just right
so no excuses now
we’re going to the park
to chase and charge and chew
and I will make you see
what spring is all about
it reminded me how I use to take my dog to the park and he would nibble on the newly sprouted buds, and how he would occasionally chase a bee or a butterfly before he either ate it or gave up and played with a stick.
by : Elizabeth zabala
(using our favorite lines)
Ok but why did I put my uniform on at 3am
maybe it was cuz of all of BTS sounding holy
or maybe because I got scared of a lump of shadow
next to my bed
it was probably just my mountain of blankets
I want my apple boy here for mortal support
but he’s stuck on his butt
By Kenn Nesbitt
Inside my lunch
to my surprise
a perfect heart-shaped
love note lies.
The outside says,
“Will you be mine?”
and, “Will you be
my valentine?”
I take it out
and wonder who
would want to tell me
“I love you.”
Perhaps a girl
who’s much too shy
to hand it to me
eye to eye.
Or maybe it
was sweetly penned
in private by
a secret friend
Who found my lunchbox
sitting by
and slid the note in
on the sly.
Oh, I’d be thrilled
if it were Jo,
the cute one in
the second row.
Or could it be
from Jennifer?
Has she found out
I’m sweet on her?
My mind’s abuzz,
my shoulders tense.
I need no more
of this suspense.
My stomach lurching
in my throat,
I open up
my little note.
Then wham! as if
it were a bomb,
inside it reads,
“I love you—Mom.”
I found this cute and I would remember receiving these notes from my mom thinking it was my 3rd grade crush and then realizing he’ll probably never like me, but then I would soon forget and enjoy the candy my mom happily bought for me.
by: Elizabeth zabala
1.
I have a brown silky cover
cleaned by tender hands
and loved by many
2.
I shouldn’t be able to fly
due to my size
yet here I am
bringing life
ANSWERS
1.beans
2.bees
My doggy ate my essay.
He picked up all my mail.
He cleaned my dirty closet
and dusted with his tail.
He straightened out my posters
and swept my wooden floor.
My parents almost fainted
when he fixed my bedroom door.
I did not try to stop him.
He made my windows shine.
My room looked like a palace,
and my dresser smelled like pine.
He fluffed up every pillow.
He folded all my clothes.
He even cleaned my fish tank
with a toothbrush and a hose.
I thought it was amazing
to see him use a broom.
I’m glad he ate my essay
on “How to Clean My Room.”
I just find this cute and how childish it is. It also takes me back to when I used this excuse with my teachers when I didn’t complete a homework. oh the look they gave me, I only did it once cuz I found out this excuse is pretty sus.
by: elizabeth zabala
water droplets hold on for life
enjoying their time
before the sun arise
and they vaporize
William Carlos Williams
I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox
and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast
Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold
my thinking: I find this cute and reminds me when I take my brothers food when we were younger.
It has never been so easy to cry
openly or to acknowledge children.
Never before could I walk directly
to the center of an island city
feeling the automatism of millions
drawing one pious breath, shouldering
the sunset, holding it up in the oily
tree-line a while longer. Years ago,
I was never sad enough and nothing
but a hotel that I could tear to pieces
and reconstruct inside a shoebox
felt like home. My parents died. Their miserable
possessions washed up in other hotels,
dioramas of the febrile romantic.
I take my first lover, already
gray at her temples and more reticent
than shy, more tacit than admiring,
to the bus stop by the Jewish Museum.
We wait in the dark a long time.
She does not kiss me. She hurries
up out of the oily street onto the humming,
fluorescent podium of the last bus
where I see her a last time, not waving
to me, not lovable, erect in the freedom
we traduced years ago in our first kiss.
Never deny the power of withdrawal.
Never doubt that thought and time make things small.
Never refuse the easy exit line or prescribed
uncomprehending gesture. At childhood’s end,
none can tell happiness from buoyancy.
None of it made any difference—
the patricides, the hotels ill-constructed,
the inconstant starlight of drugs and rebellion.
We are no more complicated
than our great-grandparents who dreaded
the hotel life. Like them, we seek the refuge
of warm days in January, a piety
whose compulsion is to survive according
to explicit laws no young woman adores
or young man follows with darling hunger.
My analysis : he didn’t mention the warm days in January until the end, but I do wonder what did he just went through…a break up? losing feelings for someone ? or was he just expressing what he felt during the time with her which remined him of his dead parents ?
Caught in a lie 