Poetry by Kyah Eichholz

Run

Everything felt overexposed.
The wind bit and scratched him
in his sound starved ears.
Discomforts were drowned in relief
to be free.

The moon burned his eyes,
laughed with unbridled euphoria.
A semblance of stealth broke his cracked lips,
causing them to bleed.
He was going home.



Bird Song

He woke to bird song.
After months of clanks and rattles, then
complete silence, he blinked open.
Golden light was soft,
not at all like the frozen
moon of the night before.

Birds not men woke him.
The forest floor-
                rich soil damp with dew,
                sweet decaying leaves,
                moss on his bare feet.
Every vein took in rough bark.

He no longer flits through the pitch of trees,
here in the safety of the canopy.




The House

Overgrown weeds had long since conquered,
waved like flags in their superiority.
White picket fence now sagged outward.
Wild grass.
The path barely visible, each stone an island
in the green.
One rusty hinge rocked in that same breeze.
House rotted and fallen.
Windows bared
visible the broken soul.
Forgotten, in despair.
One neglected soul lit a candle,
reminding all there was still some life.

Poetry by Hafsa B.

We Love Young, Die Old

Together music has brought

Us to last centuries

Love is a strong force

It can manage to bring

One of each to last

We might laugh and cry

But we are still together

From Day till Night

Salvador Dali

What might be out there?

Want to see for myself...

Am I scared too?

Been here long, forever?

If I go... will I be back here

In this box painting?

This has been my home since

My time began, but oh well!

I have been here too long

Pere Borrel Del Caso

Colors of yet so many dreams

The  warmth of orange reminds of her warm kiss

Mother words that sets the night so deep

Having her wide arms around you

Make every second reliable

You never want her to let go

Knowing she will soon

Remembering the sweet voice

Of your mother

Nicole Miz

Poem by Thomas Maye

Migrant Mother

Dorothea Lange

Reaction: Hopelessness and despair mother's perspective

A mother's love is strong

But a mother's struggle is stronger

Wrinkles etched into a withered face

Clothing tattered like corn that used to be

Skin grimy and dirty like the dusty gust of time

Her hope has been lost in the storm

And she children have given up looking for it

Poems by Alyssa Cabral

It was too late,

the wave had already hit me.

I thought it was over-

and I was right.

my life was over,

but not completely.

not dead;

paralyzed.

not happy;

but alive.

constant flashbacks,

nightmares,

memories.

I wanted it all to stop.

I wanted to forget.

But I couldn't.

What happened that day,

was a part of me forever.

Water- absent.

left no captain a ship that will not sail,

alone with no crew, repairing what once was

nailing down floorboards; raising the sails

sweeping, painting maintaining all necessities

dozing off occasionally,

but only up to a continuous dream

of realizing what he turned out to be.

This ship is haunted.

no one knows what truly happened that night,

 and the secret remains hidden

not a single soul dares to enter the shipwreck's surroundings,

for fear of the famous ghost captain,

protecting what was once and still is his.




This accident had a purpose.
it was not planned,
nor expected.
but it happened.
she just fell.
I saw her laying there -
on the roof of my boat.
my boat is not right under the bridge,
it has always been further out.
how could see fall so far?
that's when we all knew,
she didn't fall,
she jumped.

Welcome to the Scribbler

Welcome to the Scribbler, previously Spork, the Hudson High School Art and Literary Magazine has moved to a new blog, and a new look. You can still e-mail Carol Hobbs any submissions that you may have at chobbs@hudson.k12.ma.us, or you can hand deliver than to her room F105, you can even place them in her mail box in the main office. You can also e-mail our editorial staff with any questions or submissions you may have at sporkhhs@gmail.com or email our editor in chief at jmclean776@gmail.com, there will also still be the submission box in the Hudson High School Library at the main desk.
We will also be placing all submissions on this website. If you go to the Spork blog you will just see a post directing you to come here (there is a link provided!) also you may have noticed that all submissions that were published on Spork have been transferred over to the Scribbler's blog.
Scribbler will be slowly going as a publication such as a monthly book review written by an editorial member once a month (this should be seen as early as January.)

Falling Somewhere

By Sarah Ellis

I know I’m falling somewhere

But where?

Maybe down a rabbit hole?

…

Or have I really been standing on solid ground?

No, I’m going somewhere

Am I spiraling out of control?

Who knows?

But I’ll be there someday

I don’t know where yet.

But I will when I get there.

Then I’ll be home.

Bimini Sunset

By Susan Bryant

The trees sway with bliss

The ocean crashes, so clear

Paradise this is

Waking up to this

Sky of rainbow colors rise

Red and orange burst

The sound puts you to sleep

Awakes you for another

Day in vacation life