XPI Student Showcase
Welcome to Xpress Plugged In, our new online gallery of student expressions. Please follow the submission instructions CAREFULLY. New work will be posted every Monday.
-- Nancy Green, editor of XPI
Selections for the Week of 7/18/2011
Dragon, watercolor, salt and marker
Kamden Doud, first grade, Christ the King Catholic School, Tampa
SunFlower Private School,
Gulfport
I'm Talking Scary
I'm talking scary.
I'm talking evil.
I'm talking terrifying,
gross, creepy.
I'm talking spooky, ghostly,
startling, blood-curdling.
I'm talking horrible, spine-chilling,
hairy, disturbing, unnerving.
I'm talking scary.
Ben Pridemore, third grade
Fog
Fog is as white as sheep.
It quietly grazes in one place,
Then moves on to another.
Grant Hatch, fourth grade
Blizzard
I am the blizzard going
through the quiet town
as my cold chills spread.
I climb up the backs of people's spines,
up into their bodies,
making their lungs freeze.
My ice makes the ground
very slippery and hard to walk on.
I love to watch the freezing people!
Oh, I am so glad,
for I am the blizzard!
Karina Gonthier, fourth grade
Crabby at the Beach, crayons on Bristol paper
Cheri Lotfi, sixth grade, Indian Rocks Christian School, Largo
Admiral Farragut Academy,
St. Petersburg
Picture Perfect
Their mouths express nothing
Their eyes disapprove
Her hair is pulled back loosely
While his jumps off his head
They are my parents
Our old house stands behind them
Painting a picture-perfect scene
The cream-colored walls
Accent their looks
of disapproval and pain
His right hand clutches his pitchfork
His glasses magnify the look in his eyes
My mother horrified
Their pain hurts
But I cannot apologize.
Miriam Cone, eighth grade
Making my Metaphor
Just one metaphor, I can do this.
Now, let's get started ... the small giant liked to play the viola.
No, no, no ... How about the black bar stool bought a bit of bacon?
Wait, that makes no sense ... I've got it--the painting spoke to me.
Aha! The fox wore socks.
Great Scott, I've got ... nothing.
This poem just threw a curve ball, dang, it's still wrong.
My mind is a battlefield of creativity.
Too bad I'm terrible at making metaphors.
Greg Luber, eighth grade
A Vivid Perspective
A dream is a symphony of thoughts;
Vivid images, these pieces cannot be bought.
A language which mouths in melodies;
An undefined story, pieced together in perfect harmony.
A blank conscience, implores for color and perspective;
A dream, but a mystery, unsolved by the greatest detective.
Dawn opens my eyes, a memory kept;
A brilliant playwright, I refuse to forget.
Gray Oates, ninth grade
Thundercloud Thoughts
A world where inanimate meets animate
Where you can reunite with friends of the past
A place where learning how to fly comes easily
Where you make the rules and control what happens next
A place with a mood like a rolling thundercloud
Where no matter how old you are,
the adventures and mystery always keeps you guessing
A world where you wish you could live forever
Where the adventures never end and are always memories to you
Alexa Smith, ninth grade
The Reality of Dreams
Drifting away into the unknown
wobbling on the brink of insanity
There are no borders to this zone
just endless miles of vanity
There is no limit to what you may see
just a limit on what you may conceive
There is no limit to what you may be
just a limit on what you may perceive
You will leave by dawn
with a thirst for more
Your curtains are drawn
and reality seems a bore
T.C. Tenaglia, ninth grade
Timeless Cover
Does a fluffy white blanket
fly to the ground like a weightless leaf?
Or can a fluffy white blanket
drape over the Great Barrier Reef?
Can a fluffy white blanket
make you fall into a sleepless daze?
Or will the crinkles trap you
in an endless white maze?
Will a fluffy white blanket
leave you deserted in a lifeless destination?
Maybe a fluffy white blanket will
sprout your imagination.
Mitchell Linder, ninth grade
The Initiative for Life
I won't stop until the job is done
Not until the night is through
I have seized your chances of being the better one
Don't come to me with nothing to do
So pack your bags
And move on with your life
Your mind goes in zigzags
And it causes too much strife
So don't come running to me
When all else fails
Because according to the sea
You can't have a boat that won't set sail
So take it by the Helm
And let your life guide you and be your realm
Allie Vulgamore, ninth grade
Osprey's catch, pencil
Tien Weber, ninth grade, St. Petersburg High School
St. Paul's School,
Clearwater
The Sea
Home to many creatures, tomb to many sailors.
Loved by many, feared by many.
In some cases, polluted and battered,
its spirit shattered.
But, in most cases, it's a haven,
a place of joy, a place of freedom.
Nothing is as diverse as she.
With sting rays, sharks and fish,
It can only be, the sea.
Jake Gabay, eighth grade
Defriending
Brutus killed Ceasar
Sickness took Alexander
Nathuram Godese shot Ghandi
John Wilkes Booth murdered Abe Lincoln
Someone sniped JFK
Mark David Chapman ended John Lennon
Mystery stole Charles Lindbergh Jr.
I simply clicked "remove friend"
Logan Ryan, seventh grade
A Letter of Apology
I'm sorry
you put her before me
I'm sorry
for what i chose not to see
I'm sorry
that i got you involved
I'm sorry
that this can't be resolved
I'm sorry
i was stabbed in the back
I'm sorry
for the wisdom you lack
I'm sorry
that this is the end
I'm sorry
i called you my friend
But i'm not sorry
for what i did
Because
i
did
nothing
Caroline Chowdhury, eighth grade
Waterfall
waterfall crashing down on the rocks reflecting the sunlight a multitude of miniature rainbows
river rushing between the mountains shining under the sun a year of rain
canyon splitting majestic mountains exposing colorful rocks and caves a valley of beauty
snow resting on the rocks twinkling in the sun's rays a blanket of white
Evan Miller, eighth grade
Air
Feels no pain
Yet moans with the wind
Moans for freedom
Yet it has all the freedom in the world
Speaks no words
Yet speaks life
Speaks life into some
But only the ones looking for it
Always flying over
Over me
Mocking me
With its flight
Jake Bartles, eighth grade
Morning
The molten, hot light slowly peeks through,
Pushing its way through the world of cotton,
Bridging the world of darkness to the world of light,
Warm,
Glowing,
Sweet,
Slowly levitating above the spanning ocean.
Light,
Light that brings hope every morning
Amy Skicewicz, eighth grade
Alien
On this planet
There are creatures
That live their lives based on others' expectations
Rather than their own ideas and feelings.
The small ones blindly follow the bigger ones
Who teach them not to think or feel
Or correct anyone bigger than them.
They crave approval and acceptance
So much that they fake who they are and what they believe.
I would want to live here.
Jackson Marquardt, eighth grade
A Simple Stone
July's dazzling sunlight glistened
As it softly caressed the water
The glassy surface broken into tiny ripples
By a little boy with a small stone
Circles grew ring by ring
And then faded
Until the next stone was tossed
A young girl watched in awe
Of the summer miracle
Her eyes sparkling with wonder
They laughed and played
Until the yellow sun touched the water
Like a stone
Leaving ripples of color in the sky
They ran home hand in hand
As the sun
Fell to the bottom of the pond
Like a stone
The perfect ending to the perfect day
Margaret E. Chapman, eighth grade
Writer's Block
Swirling thoughts
no voice
Fumbling questions
no answers
Tumbling seas
no tranquility
Endless problems
no solutions
Ominous skies
no clearing
Gloomy feelings
no comfort
Blank page
no poem
Caroline Beck, eighth grade
My Thumbprint
My thumbprint allows me
To be who I want to be
Endless circles and curves
A portrait of myself on my finger
Constant reminder to just be me
I am unique and special
My thumbprint will never change
There is no other design exactly the same
My print upon the earth tells all
Madison Jones, seventh grade
The Nine-tailed Fox
It happened again, I'm afraid to report
I snapped in the most regrettable of ways
He won and I lost, his will is too strong
That cruel voice cut the ever-so-fragile thread that is my sanity
No words can describe the heartache I possess
For this beast of a man drove my hand to irrevocable deeds of sin
When his order and his alone caused my quiet nature to lash upon the soul of my sister!
Oh how I howled with delight, my mind was not my own!
Please, tormentor, spare me... for I am too weak to go on.
Gina Atkins, eighth grade
Nightmare
Roll my eyeballs
Blanche and breathe
Deep breaths, in and out
In and out
Block him out
Don't let him win
Hold back tears
Bite back screaming
Clench my fists, curl and relax
Curl and relax
Fighting a fight I cannot win
Moot points seem rubbed smooth
Running seems futile and retaliation will get me killed
Beaten within an inch of my life
I hold on
And whisper it'll be over soon
So when I open my eyes maybe he'll be gone
Only a nightmare, day in and day out
Day in and day out
My nightmare come to life
Gina Atkins, eighth grade
Hands
The long-fingered hands
Make a stretch on the piano,
Or the guitar.
Those big hands
That dribble or shoot a basketball
With care and finesse.
Those soft, smooth, young hands
That can be athletic,
Or musical when need be.
The olive-skinned hands
With well-kept nails.
The hands of an intelligent, quick writer
Reflecting on his experiences.
The hands are refined and strong,
But gentle and nimble
The hands that comfort me
When I am hurt.
Delaney Abood, eighth grade
A Winding Path
A long winding path,
I could go straight, to find out
What lies at the end
Or I could go back
To the land I know and love,
To my safety net
Curiosity,
It is flowing through my veins,
Like a wild, river
Charlotte Samson, eighth grade
Trees
They stand tall
Protecting and providing.
They stand straight
After a long storm
They are rooted
Knowing exactly where they stand.
They are alive
Always growing
They are inspiring
Affecting others with their grace.
A tree
A tree is what I hope to be
Protecting, providing
Rooted
Alive and growing
Inspiring
I want to be like
A tree.
Rachel Evans, eighth grade
Thumbprint
My own, my only
my absolutely,
positively,
100%
unique
thumbprint!
Worn away from holding a pencil
Throwing a ball
Pressing a button
Whirls, circles, waves, lines.
All tell their own little story.
Long and sturdy
Strong from many many thumb-wars won.
My thumb is so different from all the others.
Out of billions of other thumbs,
this pattern comes down to only one.
Mine.
Aidan McAllister, seventh grade
Backyard Chores, acrylic on canvas
Cheri Lotfi, sixth grade, Indian Rocks Christian School, Largo