Patrick Wolfgang

AP English

8^th Wonder of the World

Apollo’s chariot begins to descend,

Signaling a long day that is soon to end.

The air once filled with strangers laughing,

Is now replaced by the tide crashing.

From scorching to refreshing does the Sun’s rays shift,

Lying in the powder, the cool sand I sift.

The golden chariot merges with the royal tide,

Splashing a spectrum of colors painting the sky.

Peace and serenity flow through my veins,

Like water in a gutter whenever it rains.

Gradients of pink and blue overhead,

I doze off in the sand; the world my bed.

I could lay here forever.

Kate Doughty

AP English

Friend

A small world; cut-off

From the sun-strewn, manicured land.

I duck under eves and enter

The hall where ageless giant stands;

Of solid trunk and ancient soul,

                                        Weathered skin scarred by lover's marks

Young hands meander over hide

Knots, letters, words, misshapen hearts.

Dappled light and heavy air

Richly Laced with earth and loam

A smooth shell of mottled green

Illuminates marks on an ancient tome.

Silence falls like bated breath

In a circle guarded from the sun.

This battered hulk, this ancient watcher

Has stood through all and less and none.

Noiseless, wary, cautions, caring

Careful not to make a sound,

Tiptoe through and carry upward

To where the sun shines around.

Grip comes easy; weightless

Along the marks of those before me

I hoist myself into the castle, the nest,

But am still surrounded by their story.

And one day, greet a friend

Only to devastatingly find

The doom, the death, the morbid X

The death-mark on his side.

That day I climbed and sat and waited

And woefully wished it were not so;

But fate has stolen him and left me

Bruised and smarting from the blow.

His encrypted bark now lies in mulch

And where he was is nothing more

But a brown circle in the midst of green

A gap that wasn't there before.

My world is now a smaller place

Its father defeated, left undone

Reduced to fuel and scraps and bits

Lost thoughts of an absent sun.

But they, and he,

Lie in my head; although he is no more

Now in the common grows fresh and green

What was starved of light before.

But under dappled sun and darker air

A lost part of me still resides

Attached, although now to loam and mulch

To him and his scarred hide.

And years pass, and children grow.

My thoughts meander now and then

To the solitude, peace, benevolence

Once shared between two friends.

And my thoughts wander back

to the records that they stole

And I like to think that at least one lover's heart

Remains, in spirit, whole.

Katie Goodrow 

AP English 

The Child Who Died

Sunlight warms my golden hair

As I run freely through the summer air.

Grass tickles the underside of my feet.

These memories of childhood are bittersweet.

Each day holds the spirit of a newborn baby

With no doubtful worries, or unsure maybes.

I leap into my mother’s arms,

Plunging into the never-ending depths of her heart,

Away from harm.

Friday nights were always simple.

POP! Goes the popcorn, and my sister reveals her dimples.

On the couch, my mother cuddles us up

Like a dog embracing her baby pups.

When I think of my first eight years,

I almost burst into tears,

Because eight years ago we moved,

Into a house and lifestyle of which I didn’t approve.

I’ve lived in this house for eight years.

While trudging through adolescence, I’ve accumulated many new fears.

Growing up is not what I thought it would be.

I wish I could go back to the days when my spirit was free.

Danielle Voke

AP English 

The Wild Wood Whispers

As the birch trees whisper to the proud prim Pines

The eyes awake to slick slim vines

And in through the thick thorns went she

Into a land lulling of fantasy

With the rise in the east a warrior was born

Bounding through the forests; forgotten and forlorn

Warmed by the sun and set in command

To the zenith she went on an outstretched hand

Into the sky she arose from her cell

Yet she trusted too quickly and to her kingdom she fell

Back down to the scribbled soldiers that made the way

Stoic and standing for no one would stay

And these silent salutations led her to be

By a brooding proud pond as big as the sea

And inside that chasm swam exotic fish

That lasted longer than her ownership wish

She left them to be free so that they would keep

Such small living secrets in waters so deep

A forgotten passenger idol to embark

Awaits its last sentence with a submissive remark

A mirage of many minstrels worn and frayed

Led her procession in a placid parade

Into a deceitful expanse itself worked

Where below such rapid rare rivers loosely lurked

They smirked and stayed sober awaiting some fate

Yet the sun was fleeting fast, the hour was late

So the queen denounced her title of all

And bounded back through reality as merely a young girl quite small

Victoria Sullivan

AP English 

Lucy

Lucy, you don’t look so good;

You’re missing tufts of hair.

The buttons that were once so crisp

Are hardly staying there.

Lucy, you don’t look the same;

Where has your color gone?

Fabrics that were bright and pink

Seem dull and dim and wrong.

Lucy, did you ever know

That you’re my only friend;

A teddy bear that cannot speak,

But a girl can just pretend.

Lucy, are you listening?

You haven’t said a word;

We’ve been talking here for hours now,

But my words remain unheard.

Lucy, you must think me mad

With that smile upon your face,

Sitting there with perfect ease

As you stare off into space.

Lucy, won’t you answer me!?

You leave me in such doubt

That I hardly shed a single tear

As I tear your stuffing out.