Featured Stories

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Robert Gray poetry selections

Students of Nadene Adams share creative works

Jumping the Waves

3 . . . 2 . . . 1! And we're off.

Charging forward, ignoring the painful chill that crawls up our feet. And is washed off by the first wave of water

tickling at our toes.

The second wave is like a gentle kick in the shins.

The third, clinging to our waists, is harmless.

Then the shoulder wave tells us it's time to go back.

We fall on the beach, itching, wet, stinging, and laughing.

No wonder we come back every year!

- Nate Dowling

Barbecue Chicken

The plump chicken tumbles on to the roaring grill, It begins to sing as it sizzles and crackles, Creating a peaceful harmony.

A tasty smell of teriyaki fills the air, Moving with the mercy of the breeze, As it tickles under my nose.

Sunlight glints off the dull silver metal, As fresh sauce is poured, On to the helpless chicken below.

I can feel its crispy skin burn on my touch, The juicy meat scorch my taste-buds, How I long for that moment.

My dad comes out with an empty plate, Carefully plucking the legs off the grill, One by one, he paces them on the platter.

We sit at the table, The smell of scrumptious chicken fills my nose, Making my tummy let off a low growl.

I snatch the largest leg off the mound, Feeling the sauce drip on my closed fingers, Burning my hand on contact.

I rip the skin off the leg and place it on my plate, Always saving the best part for last, I sink my teeth into the juicy meat.

My mouth explodes with flavor, Zesty teriyaki overloads my taste buds, Bringing a warm feeling to my body.

The feeling in my stomach roars with triumph. Willingly letting in the leg of chicken, Giving it lodging for the night.

The chicken is off the bone, but it's not yet done, My teeth search every corner of the leg, Looking for more chicken in every crack.

I set the leg down, the tender chicken is gone, My hand automatically picks up the crusty skin, Then tosses it into my tatter-trap.

The skin lets off a fine tangy smokey flavor, Crunching on every bite, It dances as I swallow.

The chicken is gone, The skin is gone, But my tummy is full.

~ Crunchy, Juicy, Zesty ~

- Quinn Van Horne

The Summer of Death

Sitting quietly on a fluffed up pillow, Reading cat books to you.

I did not realize what I had, Until that day.

Watching your weak leg twitch, Drool dripping down your muzzle.

Eyes stone cold with fear, For when you closed them,

You would not open them.

Ever.

Again.

The shock struck me like a lightning bolt, Electrocuting me

Enough to burn down a forest, The thunderstorm still rumbles on.

You had taken a part of me, And now I fight to get it back.

- Elle Bremmer