Not Just for Kids

Chickens are born

White, cold, Easter morning

Feathery baby chicks


Throughout the day

Wondering what the chicken wire's for

Smooth and bumpy

Kind of gumpy

-Chris, Matt, Matt, Michael, and MaryBeth from the Summit School's Poetry Club


White, cold, smooth egg

Inside gooey, like Gak

Red, yellow, blue


Wild bird eggs

See it in salad

Good with bacon bits


No life without eggs

End of life

World taken over by trees.

-Kenny, Leigh, Rachel, and Cathy of the Summit School's Poetry Club




Runny like boogers

Slimy and smushy


Yellow baby chicks

Sleep in a nest


White like a sheep

Like milk

Cold and

Crackable Egg

-Adrian, Brian, Zack and Stacy from the Summit School's Poetry Club

January Rain

- a story told by Blanche Shane

It's a day off school, and I'm trapped inside. Cold splattering

raindrops tease me each time I look out the window. I can't believe this. This boring, boring January day.

I've been staring at the TV way too long. There's only so much Muppet Babies a kid can take. So I'll look out the window some more, or maybe read this b-HEY, WHAT'S THAT? I swear I thought I saw a wolf just now. There, by the edge of the trees. I'm serious. But I must be going crazy. Golden eyes staring back at me; but when I looked right at it, it was gone.

Guess the neighbors got a new dog or something. Funny how the wind's blowing so hard just now. If it had been a wolf, anyway, my day would have been a little more exci-THERE IT IS AGAIN. There's no mistaking it. Everything is moving, blowing, bending in the wind. And the wolf just stands there. What does it want here? How can it be here? How can it be so huge? And - oh geez - why am I so COLD?

It's not only this chill going up and down my spine. It's not my imagination either this time. My whole house is gone. Disappeared or something. Great. Me and the woods and a huge grey wolf. A cold gross January day to die.

The wolf sits down. So it doesn't seem to want to eat me up right away, anyhow. Maybe I'll try to get away. I'll just take off in this direction by myself. I can find a road - maybe ask for help.

Gosh, these woods go on and on. I don't remember this at all.

I'm walking through mist and trees and rain. It's like a dream, only not like a dream because I am so cold and wet.

I feel the wolf's eyes watching me. A hawk screams overhead. Snow is beginning to fall. It sticks to my hair like dog hair on a new black shirt. Come to think of it, snow sticks to my shirt, too. It's not coming down that hard, but it is blinding. It is covering me like a soft white blanket and I seem to have become snow. I've disappeared.

It's something I've always wondered about - how it would feel to just float and dance on the wind. I feel so magical, blowing around like this.

I see the wolf running, bounding through the new piles of soft snow everywhere. The wolf is dancing and floating too.

Suddenly everything is clear. I was never going to be a wolf's dinner, after all. And now I am floating. I am drifting. I am whirling in wind. I am - waking up in a puddle of drool on my boring, boring grey cold January couch.

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Volume VI Number 3
January 22-28, 1998
New Bay Times

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