Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought, and the thought has found words. Robert Frost

CONGRATULATIONS to the winners of the fourth annual Seven Bridge Writers’ Collaborative Student Poetry Contest!

Thank you to this year’s judge, James Nicola, and to the staff at Mary Rowlandson Elementary, Luther Burbank Middle and Nashoba Regional High Schools and to the staff at the Thayer Memorial Library for their partnerships and help with the contest. Also, thank you to the Lancaster Cultural Council because  “this program is supported in part by a grant from the Lancaster Cultural Council, a local agency which is supported by the Massachusetts Cultural Council, a state agency.”

All student poems are on display at the Thayer Memorial Library through the end of National Poetry month. The community is invited to hear the winning poems read at the Poetry Open Mic on Friday, April 27th, at 6:30 PM at the MRE/LBMS auditorium located at 103 Hollywood Drive, Lancaster, MA.





Fall is cold; fall is fun.

Fall has leaves and trees and buds.

Fall is at time to jump in leaves.

Fall is a time for pumpkin seeds.

Fall is also Halloween.

Ghouls and ghosts and goblins are seen.

Winer is cold; winter is fun.

Winter is a time for snowmen to be built.

Winter is also a time for skiing trails.

Winter is when you see snow hare tails.

Spring is when things start to grow. Say, “Good-bye,” to all that snow.

Spring is when things start to turn green.

Spring is when deer must be seen.

Summer is hot; summer is exciting.

Summer is a great time to begin hiking.

Summers is also a time to start biking.

These are all the seasons we love,

As we watch the stars and moon above.

            Benjamin Shepard, grade 3





Avalanches of dreams,

Falling out of your mind.

Avalanches of knowledge,

Falling on your brain.

Avalanches of school,

Falling out of your head.

Avalanches of voices,

Coming from upstairs.

Sierra Nesman, grade 4







sometimes as bright

as the sun

other times as dark

as space

you never know

how it will turn out.

Marina Terra, grade 4



Writing a Poem

Writing a poem

Is like dressing up on Halloween.

Dressing up as whatever you want

Is like writing about

Whatever you would like

So, you decide!

It’s your choice,

Not mine.

Derek Braddock, grade 4



My Mother

My mother is

As caring as a dove

Flapping its wings

Being very patient

Waiting to see


Kira Novak, grade 4



A Book

A book

Is like a hobby.

You have to choose

The one

That’s just right

For you.

Derek Braddock, grade 4




My Wings

My wings of hope

Are a tranquil,

Blue and purple.

And my wings of joy,

A vibrant green and yellow.

My wings of sadness,

Would be

The blue-gray color

Of a stormy ocean.

And my wings of anger,

A fiery orange and red.

My wings of wonder

Are a mysterious,



And my wings of sleepiness,

A relaxing

Dark, dark blue.

And finally,

My wings of curiosity:

They are

Every color,

A moving splatter

Of tie-dye.

These are the wings

That keep on beating,

That carry me on

Through all my days.

Alyssa Poch, grade 5



A Thousand Stars

The stars Twinkle and Shine. I look into your

Eyes, golden, yet black, and see the same.

A universe so bright, it blinds me.

You’re heart, Huge as a thousand suns.

But I do not care about looks, nor

Your attitude. All I care about is your

Love, and that is worth a thousand stars.

Noelle Chandley, grade 5



Never Forget

Never forget that you are loved.

That somebody will always have a shoulder just for you to cry on.

It will always be only for you.

To you, it might be invisible.

But still, many people see it.

Even if you don’t, remember that it is still, and always, there.

Look around you.

Aren’t you surrounded by people you love?

And who love you?

Admit it, you’re loved.

Maybe some even secretly love you.

Even if seem like they don’t.

But they do.

You are not lonely.

You have the best of friends to support and cherish you.

They love and respect you.

They will always have a hug waiting for you.

They will always have a kind word for you to listen to.


They promise.

Ella Hanyaloglu, grade 5




The Eraser

Smooth and

always forgiving you

for the mistakes

on your paper as it

decorates your page

with left over shavings.

Always sharing, never selfish,

helping you out until it’s

just a stump and has

nothing left to give.

Kaedyn Cova, grade 6




Some things are hidden

Deeper than we know

And farther than we go

Some things are buried deep

And covered up


Not heard

Not gone

No one looks

Because no one knows

No one sees

Because no one shows

Do some things stay buried forever?

It’s always there

Always waiting

Yet always hiding

Will someone ever see?

That beautiful piece of you and me

Natalie Vivanco, grade 6



The Devil

I hear his footsteps bang

against the linoleum floor, as

I dive to the bathroom closet.

I’m too late, he catches me,

his small arms latching around

my body as I go down with a sound

that is something like a mix of a scream

and booming laughter.

Gianna Poulin, grade 6



My House Plant

My house plant,

with shiny leaves and rich soil,

never gets the water it needs.

When I expect it to turn brown and die,

it stands tall in its pot

and keeps growing bigger.

Olivia Harper, grade 6



Don’t Cry

The teddy bear’s

soft inside

is squeezed,

as a little girl

weeps into its soft brown fur.

Paula Michel, grade 6




Holding onto Fall

As I stroll down my road

the familiar crisp breeze

blows gentle sunshine on my face.

The leaves in front of me dance in the wind

as a chilly gust blows by.

Besides the wind,

the only other sound

is the fragile crunch

of the lifeless amber leaves

beneath my feet, that

once were the leaves

on the colorful branches

during the breathtaking foliage.

My cold nose sniffles

the fragrance of a marshmallow fire,

apple pie baking, and

the original fall scent of

cinnamon, pumpkin, and cloves.

Before you know it

the air will be brisk

like a leaf frozen against a stone.

The ground will be ice

like a skating rink.

And the trees will be as empty

as skeletons against the night sky.

So, cherish the fall moments

you have while the forests are

bright, the sky is azure, and the

daylight can hold onto the sky a little longer.

Mariah Reisner, grade 7




Life is like an icy road, slippery; sometimes you

fall but you have to get up and keep going.

Life is like a snowy ridge, beautiful but dangerous.

Life is like a lemon, bitter on its own but with sugar and water you can make lemonade.

Life is like the lottery: unpredictable.

Life is like a puma; prowl than pounce.

Life is like roads; it nudges you in one direction but sometimes it’s not the right direction for you.

And finally, life is too short

Rylan King, grade 7



The Steady March of Time

Can it stand the test of time?

I’ve always wondered, what is the test of time?

For historians, it’s the longevity of a nation.

For engineers, it’s the soundness of the framework.

For theologians, it’s if an idea has flourished and grown.


can anything really beat time?

Nations will crumble,

buildings will deteriorate,

and ideas will fade into myth and legend.

Still, time marches on.

Not deterred by our futile attempts to slow it down.

Sometimes, I wish I could go about my life untouched by time,

unperturbed by the cycle of life.

But, what kind of life would that be?

Time makes us want to make the most of each day.

Because we know one will be our last.

And, in the end, nothing can stop the steady march of time–

as it charges on to infinity.

Jonathan Castner, grade 7



Orchards of Memories

My brother, my parents and I are strolling in,

tracking through the mud, dressed in fifty layers–

with the big apple bag.

We entered through the orchard gates.

Swiftly moving from one tree to the next,

filling our bag,

making it more and more abundant.

The apples hug to the branches

as we do to our parents.

Tepid apple cider in one hand,

paired with a cinnamon straw.

Warm cider donut in the other,

making my fingers sticky and leaving a sugary scent lingering behind…

We’re like apples in bunches–

leaning on each other.

I ascend on a wobbly, metal ladder,

into the branches,

crisp to the touch.

There is the perfect apple to retrieve.

Now that I can barely pick up my apple bag,

it’s probably time to go.

At home, biting into the tasty treat,

I taste the memories.

Nina Salvatelli, grade 7



Pringles Predicament

Buying the Pringles®.

Opening the can.

Eating the food.

Of Pringles®, I am a fan.

Salt shrouds my tongue.

I’m eating the snack.

But little did I know,

the Pringles® bite back.

My hand cramped inside,

I do not feel the chips.

Just some air and dust

at my fingertips.

I have not yet finished,

and to my very eyes,

the Pringles® lie there,

not even disguised.

I know I can’t reach,

so, the can, I attempt to tilt.

I try to stop the avalanche,

but the Pringles® have now spilt.

I’m engulfed in crumbs,

my mom is aflame.

There’s nothing I can do,

I run away, in shame.

Mom hunting me down

I am now a’ hidin’.

I’ll take this to my grave.

Pringles® cans must be widened.

Garrett LaPosta, grade 7



Opening a Book

Opening a book is like entering a new world.

The crinkling page’s soft echo,

becoming the new birds and wind

that fills the still, silent air.

Or the familiar aroma of aged,

inky paper,


yet comforting.

The words on the page being brought to life,



Springing from the page and burrowing into my mind.

A book is escape.

From the world we know,

Into one of imagination.









Owen Donelle, grade 7





Do you remember your smile?

It was like the morning sun just breaking the horizon,

as everyone stops and stares at the beauty of the sky

your joy enlightening the world.

And do you remember how it felt to laugh?

Not a restrained chuckle or sarcastic snort,

a real laugh.

The type that makes your stomach hurt but not in a bad way.

How that laughter spread like a forest fire until the whole room was bursting with bliss.

You don’t,

Do you?

Maybe those days have been forgotten,

lost among the waves in the crashing sea of your mind.

Maybe something is stopping you

from reminiscing in those memories.

I see the hesitation in your eyes when your lips turn upward,

as if someone is whispering in you ear.

A threat.

A promise.

Without your happiness

the sun never rises.

My heart snaps in two for the sadness on your cheeks

and you stare at the floor

as if it is the only thing there.


Take off the mask.

Stop listening to voices.

Bring back the light.

Let me see you spirited.

Please, wash the regret from your tired eyes.



Margot Sonia, grade 8



Ode to KitKat

You, my precious KitKat.

Your red, silky wrapping,

like a christmas present,

hides your beautiful brown skin.

I enter a drug store

finding that you are



for me to find you.

I grab you gently in my hand

and place you down lightly

on the cold counter.

I twitch seeing the clerk touch you,

but you’re fine.

I take you quickly and begin my walk,

placing you in my pocket

like a baby in a blanket

to protect you from the foolish world.

We enter your new home.

We sit and I pull you out slowly.

I smell the warm milky chocolate

as I crack you from your cover.

I feel ‘KitKat’ across your body of two.

I break you apart from your other half.

I take a bite with a loud crunch of one,


and soft.

It reveals your white wafer soul inside.


I finish,

thinking of how life would be without you.

The world would be in sorrow without your sugary,

sweet rush of two.

I think of how grateful I am to have you

and I wonder

of the next time we will meet


Kathryn Perreault, grade 8



I Think

The part of my day that I look forward to,

Is going to bed.

I lay there thinking of scenarios in my head.

I think of comebacks and responses

To the immature students.

I think of clever excuses

For my bad grades.

I think of all the insightful comments that I’ve received,

But I don’t always use them.

And I don’t know why,

Nor do I change,

So, I think of something else.

Allison Routhier, grade 8



Wasted Time


it’s a precious thing

so why do we waste it?

We only have so much

Until we go to another place,

For most,

A better place.

But on earth

Time is limited

Yet we squander it.

We spend our time

Sitting around,

Watching flashing lights,

And listening to blaring sound.

Time is limited

Why we spend our time

How we do,

I don’t know,

Do you?

Nicholas LeBlanc, grade 8




It’s Tiring Being Me

it’s tiring being me

my body likes to thrash around

and my voice never stops

only ever getting louder

my eyes like to drown my face

with salty wet tears

my brain takes me out of place

and drops me into my fears

it’s tiring being me

overloaded with self-inflicted responsibilities

and straining myself to hide my injuries

my arm gets sore from holding a mask

but if i drop it

it will crack

it’s tiring being me

my mouth runs a mile a minute

never once taking time to breathe

i try and hide what’s underneath

but my filter is broken

and let’s my secrets through

it’s tiring being me

no matter what i tell people

they still can’t seem to see

how goddamn tiring

it is to be me

it’s tiring being me

my head is on fire

but i’m called a liar

it’s tiring being me

it’s the product of misery

it’s tiring being me

Elena Naze, grade 11     



My Actual Favorite Thing Ever

My actual

Favorite thing ever

Is seeing the

little wrinkles beside your eyes

When you smile.

Nothing makes me feel

As warm and fuzzy inside

As hearing the tinkle of your laugh

And seeing those

Amazing perfect

Little wrinkles.

Kelly Riddle, grade 11



In the Morning

Out the door, in the morning,

The Jack Frost air coldly gnaws at my cheek.

Along with every step, a crunch of snow,

Man, I could go for a hot potato.

Out the door, in the morning,

The sweet scent of flowers blooming,

Along with birds chirping, and colors burst,

Almost as if it was all reversed.

Out the door, in the morning,

The blazing sunshine hits my face,

Along with sandy seashores, and sweltering hot,

You will find me swimming, more often than not.

Out the door, in the morning,

The cool crisp air chips at the leaves,

Along with pinecones, turkeys, and pumpkin spice,

Yum apple pie, I will take a slice.

Eli Jack Schomp, Grade 9