Getting it down on paper

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This month's Xpressions fairly leaps off the page with its vibrant art and dazzling imagery.

Find the deep ocean stream, endless to a place beyond places. Feel the pressure of the basketball star shooting to win the game. Hear the long deep ring of a clock tower echoing through the town.

For information on how to be published in Xpressions, look below. And one final note: Some students published today submitted their work at the end of last school year or during summer break, so the age and grade when the work was created appears in the credit.

- Nancy Green, Xpressions editor

Kaseem Binkley, 14, eighth grade, Riviera Middle School, St. Petersburg

Brittany Pitts, 15, ninth grade, Gibbs High, St. Petersburg

Andy Fullerton, 8, second grade, St. Paul's School, Clearwater

Amanda Burrows, 9, fourth grade, Pasadena Fundamental Elementary, St. Petersburg. Title: Looking for Nemo

Eryn Rowe, 7, second grade, Safety Harbor Elementary

the paintbrush

dip it into the ocean

colors the world azure

fades

becomes the crayon

clutched in the hands of a child

creates a tinted rainbow

abandoned on the floor

diminishes

into a pencil

the writer's soul mate

thought reaches the indelible canvas of time

sharpened until

its existence

only lead

smudged into the

life lines of the journalist

develops into a story

unveiled to the eyes of the people

evolves

into the paintbrush.

- Natalie Jabbar, 16, 11th grade, Berkeley Preparatory School, Tampa

The golf invaders invaded every golf course.

They ate the people.

They broke the clubs.

They played catch with the golf carts.

They smashed the golf balls and holes.

That's what happened to golf!

- Adrian Jack Kant, 7, second grade, Shorecrest Preparatory School, St. Petersburg

Eyes so dark they send a chill down the spine of my soul,

Filled with an everlasting power of danger,

But they are beautiful.

Like a deep ocean stream, endless to a place beyond places

They are seductive, drawing me closer and closer

They hover over me as I lie in my bed,

They're in my dreams while I sleep.

They follow me down the road when I walk

They call out to me in whispers of the wind

When my back is turned they touch me

Maybe it's me

Those haunting eyes aren't really there

It's all a figment of my imagination, yes.

But then again I see those eyes.

Those dark dangerous eyes.

I'm so confused.

Fiction or fact, I don't know

Dream or reality, I wish I were sure.

This cruel uncertainty is far more than I can take,

But I am strong and I will not fall.

- Teaira Margue Haynes, 14, eighth grade, Dowdell Middle, Tampa

O Hushed The October Morning WindThe leaves have longed to fall

Tomorrow's wind shall be their flight

As seasons go the wind shall flow eastward so

The birds north of the forest call

Wondering when we shall haul

All the waving oaks to save

A blanket for the winter frost to come

Burning colors of ruby and gold

Filling the dark dim walls with a warm glow

Creating a scent of forest green pine trees

Memories of October seasons years gone by

New life appears, life continues, one day at a time.

- Lauren Hogan, 11, fifth grade, Berkeley Preparatory School, Tampa

Fog and mist

Drearily floating about.

Huge lakes of gray

As far as

The eye can see.

Rain forever falling

Onto the cool

Highland ground.

Spirits of great heroes

Drifting through

Castles

And ruins,

Searching for their

Permanent resting place.

I can feel

A red lion

Roaring through my body,

Filling me with

Courage

And honor.

Scottish blood

Flows through my veins,

And forever it will.

Some things can

Be taken from me,

But not my heritage.

- Ian MacPherson, 11, fifth grade, Orchard Hill Elementary, Skillman, N.J.

Three sonnets from Anne Giles's eighth-grade students at Tampa Preparatory School:

Two friends, both different in personality,

In classrooms spend their young lives.

From learning to grow in Kindergarten actuality,

Into the Eighth grade scene where each thrives.

Watching new friends come and old friends go

They unite with a bond, which is stronger than sisters.

Burning like a candle, they won't succumb to strong blows.

They face head on challenges they wish to seek

Knowing well their time together brings a close

Neither mentions what will happen at the end of that week

When they must separate moving on into high school woes.

Now with heavy hearts they must contend

To live and learn without the other friend.

- Katherine Buchman, 14

The pen stirs when thoughts explode

As punches are thrown in a fight

Insidious grieving down an unknown road

With this, I journey to write

Innumerable deliberations sweep the fun,

Crippling all my thoughts.

Perceptions are turning grossly numb

Words are all I've got

Fingers throb with intense repent,

Ideas erupt in my mind.

Struggling to break free from lament

Paralyzing anguish can rhyme

Bloodied after contention, coherence outweighing strife

A paradigm for the future: there are no winners in life

- Julie White, 14

Quarreling and full of rage, my brother slams the door

I screech and yell and stomp my feet

and argue with the boy I should adore

Over and over again words of fury we repeat

My mother stands distressed, a frown upon her face

Her soft hands rest carefully on her curvy hips

She wonders when she will ever solve this case

Two children, nice as can be, with hateful words upon their cherry red lips

Smirking and insolent, my brother does appear

I say more cruel gibberish, I utter more angry talk

I expect him to mock me back, but down his pinkish face rolls a shiny tear

My heart begins to crumble; I feel just pain and shock

I call out words of apology, that I'm sorry, and I swear it's true

But my brother does not smile and I know not what to do

- Ariana Weisz, 13

Six poems by Chet Allen Mahoney, 11, sixth grade, Martin Luther King Middle School, Berkeley, Calif.

I am the shadow

I live while my human sleeps

I slink around at night

I meet other shadows

We do what our humans did

Because we missed out

While we slept

The town is overrun

And we run it

For it is our time,

The Shadows' Time.

Looks like: the night, long and unforgiving.

Smells like: wet grass in your face.

Feels like: velvet in your hands.

Sounds like: a snake hissing in the dark.

Tastes like: lightly cooked tofu.

Looks like: a bright and smiling face.

Smells like: poppies in the morning, freshly opened.

Feels like: a gulp of hot cocoa hitting your stomach.

Sounds like: the pages of a book being turned.

Tastes like: a warm slab of chocolate.

Have you heard the sound of forest green?

A winter wind whipping through the trees.

A massive oak splintering as it hits the ground.

An aluminum soda can being smashed by an enormous foot.

That is the sound of forest green.

Have you heard the sound of grass green?

A glass cup shattering noisily on the ground.

The clickety-clack of a plastic computer keyboard.

A frog croaking clamorously in the dark.

That is the sound of grass green.

Have you heard the sound of blue green?

The skittering sound a spring makes when it hits the ground.

An ancient clock being wound with a tarnished brass key.

Empty wine glasses clinking together in a toast.

That is the sound of blue green.

The ocean, as the sun glints off its wavy surface

A plane flying noisily overhead

A newly minted coin, gleaming in the grass

The scales of a fish, drifting past a log

Dew on my lawn in the early morning.

The trunk of a tree as it curves this way and that

Wooden fan blades rotating over my head

Clumps of Spanish moss dangling from the tree branches

The skin of a lizard as it zooms by me

An unpolished cabinet standing silently in the corner.

I am the volcano

I sit, disguised as a mountain.

I wait,

I wait for the earth to shudder,

Then, I explode.

I gush lava that turns into rock

As it slides down my sides.

I spew deadly gases.

Hikers flee in terror,

For I, the almighty volcano,

Have awoken.

I am imaginative.

I am a newborn kitten, wondering and guessing what this strange new world is.

I am a thinker.

I am the scientist, always questioning why, when, and how.

I am intelligent.

I am Einstein on a roll.

I am aware.

I am the egret, always heedful of what is happening.

I am a swimmer.

I am a catfish, zipping along the ocean floor.

I am youthful.

I am the mouse, forever energetic.

I am untidy.

I am the pack rat, collecting junk and making a mess.

I am friendly.

I am the rescue dog, helping people buried by an avalanche.

But I am NOT an idiot.

Three poems by Wiley Burke Buchanan, 11, sixth grade, Martin Luther King Middle School,Berkeley, Calif.

I am inquisitive.

I am the scientist questioning everything.

I am gentle.

I am the breeze whistling through the brush.

I am a creative thinker.

I am the subconscious mind dreaming away.

I am hard working.

I am a busy leaf cutter ant harvesting leaves.

I am agile.

I am the swift cougar on the prowl.

I am loyal.

I am a devoted Seeing Eye dog.

But I am NOT tidy.

Have you heard the sound of jet black?

Water sizzling off a scorching pan.

The humming and clicking whir of a VCR.

The steely rumble of a steam engine.

That's the sound of jet black.

Have you heard the sound of ebony?

The rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock.

The hollow ring of a lead pipe being hit with a rock.

The melodious sound of an antique piano.

That's the sound of ebony.

Have you heard the sound of licorice?

The savage growling of a voracious black bear.

A rusty cauldron brimming with boiling water.

The long deep ring of a clock tower echoing through the town.

That's the sound of licorice.

Small things are beautiful

The lizard sunning himself on a motionless leaf.

The chirping cricket forever hidden in a bush.

The hummingbird hovering effortlessly over a flower.

The perfect undamaged shell basking in the tide.

A glittering skyscraper rising above the noise of the traffic.

A lone polar bear steadily trekking through the seemingly endless tundra.

The full moon peering through the haze.

The graceful manta ray gliding on the current.

Here's the rest of today's Xpress