Shadow- Benjamin Moore 2117-30

By: Sarah Maria Jerjen

Dull, dark and dangerous is what the world looks like

from above.

The eerie loneliness pervading

our hearts and souls.

Believe me.

For I have experienced this

first 

hand.

A wisp,

just a shadow

is what life is

really.

A shadow 

being chased

by the darkness

of the clouds.

The same clouds

that darken our

hearts. 

A shadow, 

hiding from the thunder

not even knowing how beautiful

the rain 

can be.

A shadow,

seeking the light

instead of running for the stars

that hold our past, and foresee

our future.

A shadow,

running to the sun,

in search of help,

when no one is there

to support.

A shadow,

oblivious to the wonders of the world

hidden by the darkness that we have to climb through 

to reach our goals.

A shadow

in search of light

like a mosquito on a 

sweltering summer night.

A shadow,

who’s destiny is the wonders

unknown by us humans,

instead of the known

that we have lived with for as long as I can remember.

Nobody knows

or wonders

what happens to a lost shadow.

They remain forgotten.

Forever.

You’re just

a shadow forever.

Until one day,

the clouds catch up. 

Then you disappear,

and remain forgotten

Unless, you run to the stars,

where your shadow might be smaller,

but will last

Forever. 

Where I am from

I am from the tree house perched in between the first and second branch of the tall oak tree,

from exploring the darkest of the woods on spooky nights.

I am from the red swing

(squeaky

when you went to high). 

I am from the tree planted 

at my birth,

whose leaves turned gold in fall, and all fell within one day.

I am from the hollywood swing that rocked me to sleep on summer nights,

from grandma and her ripe apple pie on a crisp winter evening.

I am from the musent’s 

and the don’ts, 

from ¨Our father who are in heaven¨ 

and from two other prayers 

that I can’t remember.

I am from long talks about family on christmas eve with cousin Rachel,

and from trick or treating on Halloween.

From falling asleep watching the sun rise 

and from chocolate milk after playing in the snow.

From Mamis chocolate cake on birthdays 

and her apple sauce on christmas.
I am from carousels and cotton-candy on on carneval,
from coke and mentors in the back yard with Henry,
and from Burger patties and french fries in summer with Zoester.

I am from moving away, 

and from coming back.

I am from the overalls I wore in winter, 

from the worn out jeans I wore in summer.

I am from ¨stars and stripes forever¨ in the summer, 

and from frost bites in the winter.

From the ¨keep in touche¨s and the ¨don’t forget me¨s. 

I am from living my dreams. 


Middle Mindz

No dreamer is ever too small; no dream is ever too big.

Description:
Everyone dreams...and if you don't, well then you don't really seem normal. Everyone has goals they want to achieve in life. All great things done until now starts with a dream. Some of our dreams come true, and others shatter. It hurts to see them break like glass before our eyes, but it is part of life. When one of them comes true, it is one of the best moments in ones life. So here are some poems about all different kinds of poems.

Synopsis:
Here are some dreams. Some shattered, and some having come true.

Poetry:

Dream Variations by Langston Hughes
Dreams by Langston Hughes
A Dream Deferred by Langston Hughes
Dream Keeper by Langston Hughes
I, Too Sing America by Langston Hughes
Bedside by William Oslen
Devotion by Robert Frost
Dream Song 1 by John Berryman
I Have A Dream Martin Luther King
A Dream Within A Dream by Edgar Allen Poe

Try not to blame, but try to understand, and try to learn from it.

Trayvon Martin, a 17-year old black american citizen was shot while wearing a dark hoodie on his way home from the super market. Zimmerman, the shooter defends himself, by saying he was doing it for self defense, because he thought the boy looked suspicious. Obviously though, Zimmerman called the police who told him not to shoot the boy, after having seen Trayvon in the street. 

So the first question: How can prejudice lead to injustice? Isn’t the the real question how can prejudice not lead to injustice? My parents always taught us to walk in someones shoes before judging. I must say, this changed my life. If you do this, you get to see what another persons life might be like. I guess it’s the same thing if you want to shoot a person. Personally, I really have not been in this situation, but I think this would apply for this case too. Think before you shoot. 

Individuals, should try to fight against cases like this, with all they have. Many individuals have already started this. Dozens of people have already gathered, clad in hoodies as a protest to give Mr. Zimmerman a trial. As a country, this has not really changed anything. Post racism has been going around the country for as long as anyone can remember. This is sad; a country and individuals should do something about it. 

Having a father that is a lawyer, and a judge as a mother, my brother and I were raised to have an open mind, trying to accept everyone for who they are. For both of us, this has made life a lot easier. My grandparents raised my parents the same way. My two grandfathers both fought in the world war, and few in my family were killed during the war. Grandpa always stayed strong though. He told me the most bloody and saddest stories, but in the end, he always told me: ¨Try not to blame, but try to understand, and try to learn from it.¨ 

He also always told me, that if you don’t know anything about something, it’s not your subject to judge. 

So this little boy was walking, and Mr. Zimmerman found it suspicious. Nothing did he know though, about how Trayvon went to get candy for his little brother. George Zimmerman knew nothing about the candy part, and judged, and obviously learned nothing from the civil war. 

This kind of goes into sterotype even. Black boy + hoodie = danger is what Zimmerman must have thought. And that is why he shot him. Sterotyping is so unfair. Me as somewhat of a tomboy, I experience gender stero type a lot. For example, I wanted to join the football team, but the coach would not let me, because I was not a boy. It took half a year of convincing. For colored people, it has taken more than 60 years to convince us whites of their race. 

letter to zach

Tiburon, August 15th 1980

Dear Zach,

Remember when we first met in the sweltering Tiburon heat? Remember how we celebrated your 15th Birthday together? Remember May? Remember August? Remember how much trouble i got us all into?

I still to this day feel bad about how I got you apprehended, arraigned and shackled. I never meant to. I swear. May’s death. Also my fault. Some times, I lie under the oak tree in our backyard, watching the stars at night, and I remember those days. It seems like May lies next to me then, giggling her happy laugh, her pigtails bouncing wildly around her head. I miss her even though I didn’t know her that well. Do you think she would ever be able to forgive me for what I did? Then remember Augusts death? She looked so emaciate in the end. I caused so many mournful calamities in my short life; the August one was not my fault though. Lets move to the more happy events.

Our story. Remember? It was published, and is now a best seller. It seemed imminent then, that we would get married after that, but time elapsed, and we did a bunch of important things before that. You going to law school. You becoming a lawyer, and having your first case. Us going to visit T.J. You and your people being assimilated into society. You interrogating me to marry you. I think that was the happiest day of my life yet. I love you Zach. Then our little girl. Amy. Our small innocent little girl. Her birth, her first tooth, her first time walking, her first day of school... It all seems so long ago. 

We might have had a few dissensions about a few things, but I always loved you. Time has elapsed, and it doesn't hurt that much anymore remembering. I will always have that hole in my chest, that will ache for my mother, May and August. Thank you Zach for making my life the way it is today. Thank you for  making it less bizarre. I couldn't have done it without you. You lionized me. You were meticulous to all my problems. You have made the bumpy road my life is build on more flat and smooth. I love you Zach, and that is why I want you to have the happiest birthday ever. 

Let our story live on,

Love you,

Lilly 

Try not to blame, but try to understand, and try to learn from it.

The problem we all live with, painted by Norman Perceval Rockwell is most likely the most significant painting for African-American History. It was painted in 1964, to call awareness to how evil the world was/is. 

The painting shows a scene in the South of the U.S, during the 60’s. In it, the little six year old black girl Ruby Bridges is walking to school with her notebook, a ruler, tow pens, and a book. She’s not walking alone though. She is walking in-between four Deputy U.S. Marshals. Two walking in front of her, and two walking behind her. The side walk they walk on, leads them along a wall spray painted with the words ¨KKK¨ and ¨Nigger¨. A tomato lies at the foot of one of the Marshals, that has splashed against the wall, probably nearly hitting the girl. She looks like none of this is bothering her though, her eyes are fixed straight ahead, as she takes long strides in her little white shoes and her pressed white dress to catch up with the Deputies in front of her so the ones behind her can catch up. 

First thing you think when you look at the painting, is ¨Oh good, looks like Martin Luther King Jr’s dream came true. Little black girls, and little black boys can finally join hands with little white boys and little white girls, and walk on the same side walk together¨ Then you look at the painting more closely, and you see whats actually going on. The white guy is her bodyguard, protecting her from the evil surrounding her. You see the tomato on the floor and the tomato stains on the wall. The Deputy U.S. Marshal name tags that the guys walking with her are wearing, the dirt on the and the road, and the mean words on the wall. Then reality hits. Little black boys, and little black girls don’t hold the hands of little white boys and little white girls to sing together yet. Little black children have to be brought to school with bodyguards so they can safely arrive at a white school, so they can be taught in a room by themselves because no one wants to be in her class room. It hurts. It hurts to see how mean the world can be, and how life can change path suddenly to your surprise, and leave you standing alone and hurt.

Norman Perceval Rockwell painted this painting to call attention to the unfairness of life. To call attention to how the blacks had to suffer. To call attention to the scared and the hurt. It is important for us to try to understand the hurt, evil and hatred we have caused, but we must try to forget and move on. But, we are never to forget the scares we have left behind. We must move on remembering the life’s that it has cost us to reach the point that we are at now. We must keep walking down the road called life with the memories, and the intention to change things. And like my grandfather had already always said: Try not to blame, but try to understand, and try to learn from it.

The painting is originally painted on a canvas, with oil paint. The colors are dull, but still full of life. Every stroke of the brush seems to be painted by the hand of hope and loss. The painting is painted, so that you can not see the heads of the Marshals, or the crowd throwing tomatoes, as it is painted from his/her point of view.

Dear Diary. SAVE ME!

Dear Diary,

Let me depict what life is right now:

We embarked upon the boat about three hours ago, and now we are sailing into the sun set. A reddish, pinkish, yellowish haze has fixed itself in front of us, and the giant fire ball is dipping into the sea, painting the dark blue, almost black water, a faint pinkish red. It might seem like a serene scene to you, but every time I think about what we are doing tomorrow, I begin to shiver, and my palms grow sweaty. Sometimes I even think about talking my mates into mutiny, so we can just turn home. But then again. I need the money. Isabella needs the money, and our little baby Maria needs the money to.  

I have an inkling, that the other pirates are lackadaisical, and won’t help me when the big moment comes. I feel like I am the only one thats actually audacious here on this boat. The others need the money too, so I don’t get why they would leave this to me.

If we are on track, we should find cruise ship tomorrow morning at about 3:00 p.m. tomorrow. It should have a profusion of jewelry, money, jewels. We are not planning to pilfer. We are planning on taking confiscate every single dime on that boat! We must make a conscientious and prudent plan for this though.

What we are planning on right now is that we will steer our boat so we will be heading right for the boat. We will keep heading for it, even if they try to turn away. This will rankle them, and they will start yelling over their professional and expensive loudspeakers that we should turn away. Thats the time that we will steer into the wind, and we will all jump of the bow, so that it looks like we are falling off. We will scream for help, and the curies ship will hopefully let a rope down or something so we can survive. Thats when we will strike. 

God. Just thinking about it scares me. I have to go to bed. I’m scared dear diary. The slovenly bed looks inviting, even with the sheets have torn. I must go to bed. Please look out for my dear Isabella and my baby Maria. I miss them so much. Let me find peace, until I will do tis horrible sin. Dear god. please don’t rebuke me for this. I need the money. I don’t know what else to do. I have tried to bring money home but I can’t. I tried my best. 

I will lull myself to sleep, as we head into the now pitch black sky, and then into the brightness again as the fireball will begin to rise out of the ocean again, until we will reach the luxury that will look before us. 

Good night dear diary,

Eduardo