Beach Recycle

by Lauraine Alberetti Lombara

Debris tossed up on the shore after a summer Nor'easter lies bleaching in the sun. The
flotsam and jetsam of pieces of wood of varying size and shape twisted within strands of
seaweed are among the more interesting.

Driftwood is appealing with its colorations of gray, white and silver, alone or in combinations. Nature recycles her castoffs as I fill my arms with a few samples of eye-catching beauty. Perhaps I will lay them along the end table next to a plant, or leave them on the floor in the house or out on the deck alongside the found natural sponge and some of my stone collection. It's my idea of decorating - easy enough to do, personal and quite affordable.

I feel if we look to our bounty of nature with its inherent wonder and beauty, we may recycle what we find gratis in our midst rather than in stores filled with manufactured objects which we buy, quickly tire and then dispose indiscriminately.

Our lives, like nature, are precious beautiful and rare. Let us not waste either.

Back to School

by Beth Alexander Walsh

     

      I was going through the Sunday paper in August and came across all the back to school ads and I laughed. Out loud. LOL! This was the first time in 22 years that my husband and I did not have to help prepare for someone to go back to school.

     There were no pens, paper, notebooks and ink to buy. We did not have to inventory whether last year’s XL dorm sheets, towels and shower caddy were in serviceable condition. There were no trips to try on shoes and jeans or buying socks and underwear in bulk because, let’s face it, doing laundry in college is usually an act of desperation. There were no cleaning products to buy (not that they always got used) or stacks of paper products and snacks to last until Thanksgiving. We did not purchase toiletries, which is just a cute word for the two-page list brought to CVS that is the equivalent of a car payment at checkout.

     There were no boxes stacked in the living room weeks before the big moving day. We did not have to play Tetris with said boxes to properly load the car, with hopes of still being able to use our rearview mirror and then deciding the side mirrors were just fine. We also did not have to silently pray while driving a car packed to the gunwales, that the fourth- floor dorm room had an elevator in the building to move the mini fridge into its new home. There was no flurry of trips from the car to the room and then unpacking as much as our student would allow. (Parents need not linger).

     None of that happened this year. 

    

     That doesn’t mean that we have not enjoyed the 22 years of back to school adventures. Our memories, helped along with a parcel of photographs are all intact. There was the first backpack bought for our oldest daughter in the shape of a turtle to take her papers home from preschool. The next year our middle daughter got her own backpack, eager to follow her in her sister’s footsteps. Finally, four years later their baby brother made his way to preschool rendering our house silent for a few hours every morning. There were back to school haircuts, braids and bows, and new shoes kept in boxes until that very first day.  Homework and book reports turned into term papers, finals and SAT’s. Some of those years contained soccer balls and cleats while others incorporated musical instruments and Model UN trips.

      It was busy, exhausting, hopeful, enraging, exhilarating, tear-filled, and joyful. Sometimes those emotions happened all in one day. Every year brought the same cycle, yet every year brought change and a new level of independence for our children. Parenthood is not for the faint of heart because parenting always comes from the heart…and our hearts have been very full.

     Speaking of independence, my husband and I are celebrating ours. Labor Day Weekend now has a whole new meaning for us!

And Time Passed

by Gail Balentine

When I was a child I loved horses and I wanted to write about that,

      But there was school and games and things to do, and time passed.

When I grew older, life was a kaleidoscope of opportunities, and I wanted to write about that,

      But everything was a rush, there was so much to experience and learn, and time passed.

Being a young wife and new mother was challenging and I wanted to write about that,

     But I was so busy keeping up with the kids, work and house, and time passed.

During middle age, work was more demanding, family health issues were almost overwhelming, the kids left for college and to set up their own lives and I wanted to write about that,

      But at the end of each day it seemed there was no energy left, and time passed.

Now I am retired and writing both fiction and non-fiction. I would also love to write memoirs, to share with my children exactly how I felt and what I thought as life’s events occurred. I want to write about that,

      But I have no place to go to find that information, except memories that are fading and blurring. I’m sad that I did not take just a few minutes out of my days to capture thoughts and feelings about the precious people and events that have made up my life, before time passed.

Winter Street Writers

Creative Writing Workshop

Thursday, October 12th

6:30-8:30 p.m.

Beverly Public Library/Sohier Room

This workshop is free, 

limited to 12 participants and registration is required. 

To register, please email Liz Ciampa at erc7@comcast.net.

Are you looking for a place and time for creative writing practice? In this free workshop, participants will explore the art and craft of writing. We will use unique creative writing prompts to keep that pen moving. Writers are encouraged to bring an original short piece (1-2 pages) for workshopping and feedback.

 Water and light snacks provided.

2nd Place

Middle School-Shore Country Day School

Grade 8

The Star Charts

by Sarah Kennedy

The charts on heavy paper

made into stories by words unknown

The lines scratched on ancient walls,

to inspire, and to mystify

On the deck over the cruel sea,

they lit the way for progress

And the gash of stars that swept a path

were for so many a way home

So who are we to fathom

the depths of what they show?

They are our ally, always watching

and our most enigmatic mystery

For what do we know of lights in the sky? 

3rd Place

Middle School-Waring School

Grade 8

Middle

by Cole Cunningham

Flowers stay bright forever,

At least I think.

And that grey rat gnawing at my head

Stays there, at least I think.

I can only tell by the stink of his stained teeth.

I can’t get flowers out of my head.

I guess the grey rat enjoys that.

The Netherlands is probably full of grey rats.

Still, my mouth is turning to a windmill.

And my neck, topsoil.

Among all this, I’m just fine.

Nothing worries me, at least I think.

My head grows long stems,

And becomes laced with red and orange.

Thorny roses, and biting tulips.

Grey rats flock to me.

And people skate on the dikes in my head.

2nd Place

High School-The Clark School

Grade 11

Fireflies

by Elayna Sturm

You poured a shot of night into your glass.

Let it stand on the coffee table outside

before you drank it, to see

if it would attract any fireflies,

and so it did.

All allured by the promise

of a sweet summer night,

only to drown

in the flat sky of March.

3rd Place

High School-North Shore Recovery High School

Grade 12

The Last Time We Were Together

by Ashley Freda

I was twelve years old, in Hershey Park

with my dad and Kayla

Kayla wanted me to go on this rollercoaster, the Loopdy-Loop

I didn’t want to

I was scared

I asked her if it went upside down

She promised it didn’t

As soon as we were strapped in

She told me, “We’re going upside down, loser!”

I ended up liking it

That was the last time I left New England

The last time we were together

The last time we were a family

Bats

by Griffin Wells

First Place

Middle School-Waring School

Grade 8

We looked at bats today.

Some guy with coins and each little star

sleeping and fishing by the lake by his forehead

taught us about them.

He had hand puppets that he was good at talking to

(they had been friends for a while, I could tell).

And he was supposed to let us try them out but I saw

the fear in his eyes when talking to anyone but his puppets.

Nonetheless, all five of them were seized.

Now it was raining by the lake

and there were too many catfish,

so the stars decided to pack up their apples and rods

and leave.

He glanced at the line of seedlings in little Styrofoam cups.

I decided to talk to him, pointing to one of the bats in his books,

but someone tapped their watch

and it was raining, hard. Droplets the size of my thumb.

He called for his bats,

pocketed them protectively

                                                               and left, storming.