Station 1

Concert Picture

 

I’ve been to a lot of concerts before this one so it’s nothing new to me, but I can tell it’s going to be my favorite one yet.  I’m seeing my favorite band, Neck Deep, for the first time.  I’ve been listening to this band for years but I’ve never had the chance to see them live.  I love most of their songs and I really connect to their lyrics.  During the concert, me and my friend ended up being second row which was cool and I was happy about that.  The crowd was great, they were all helping each other and nothing went wrong the entire show.  My favorite part about any concert I go to is always seeing an entire roomful of people all having a good time.  We’re all sharing the same yet different experience at the same time.  Sometimes there are fans crying when a certain song comes on. I don’t know why they’re crying, maybe it’s because they love that song or that song makes them sad or that song is just special to them and they feel overwhelmed.  I just always thought it was amazing how people can be so connected to a band and their music and that they have the opportunity to experience their favorite songs live.

The Beautiful Ocean

The waves are gently skipping through the shore, greeting the sand with a warm hello.  The cozy sun is slowly fading away behind the horizon. Soon nighttime will appear from above covering the sky like a blanket. The sky is a soft red tone complementing the sun. The ocean is sprinkled with little crystals that glistens in the water. On the shore, there is a lonely wooden dock that seems lifeless like a dried up rose. The wood has been chipped away over the years. Next to the dock light bulbs are hanged up. That is the only thing that keeps the night going. I stand by the dock admiring the view. The sand tickles my feet, as I walk closer to the shore. The seagulls are scattering the beach like a pack of wolves. They scavenge for food as hyenas. The shells wash up on the shore, sleeping on the sand silently. The waves soothes the beach with its low melody. The day is finished closing the scene, and welcoming night as it takes the stage.

How he makes me feel

It felt like I couldn’t breathe but in a good way, as if his hazel green eyes closed the airways to my lungs but somehow, still gave me a breath of fresh air. I was almost sure I was having heart palpitations but it could have just been heartburn. I felt lightheaded and cloudy, his gleaming smile from ear to ear made me lose my train of thought. And my oh my, his laugh, smoother than an angel’s harp, soothing to the ear. He’s the one who wipes away the one tear streaming down my face, using the right sleeve of his favorite sports team sweatshirt.  His messy dirty blonde hair made you just want to run your fingers through it hours on end. His strong veiny arms wrapped around me like a blanket of warmth and felt like home. When he looks at me, I swear, it’s as if we’re the only two people on this earth. Everything else disappears, the beautifully colored trees, the birds roaming the skies, everything, All I see is him, and I’m overwhelmed with happiness. That’s how he makes me feel.

abstract to concrete – Jere Ringler

Balance

A timeworn pair of sunglasses half covered in sand that lay inconspicuously on a beach. They are old and there is nicks and scratches covering them. However, at one time these glasses were new and shiny and were worn by a captain of an inherited tuna fishing vessel. This captain was as new as a pair of shoes never worn and inexperienced and had bought the glasses so he looked more qualified. He thought he could prove that he had enough knowledge to be a great captain. However, on his first trip out to sea he ran into a storm. The waves were like mountains driven by winds that could rip his ship apart at any minute. He tried his best to control his ship that was bucking like a wild horse however he lost control and his ship broke like a bottle smashed on the floor. The captain struggled and fought in the salty water to swim and stay afloat but was futile against the swirling of waves. Then years after the wreck these sun glasses were a disturbing reminder from that fateful day. The glasses washed up from the unforgiving sea onto shore were people stroll by unassuming of the tragic story those weathered glasses could tell.

Concrete Imagery: Leah

Going up to Syracuse, New York every year is one of the most memorable memories I have from my childhood. Every time we went to Syracuse, we would go to Green Train bridge, a metal bridge which spans over a train track. At this bridge, there were ramps on both side of the bridge starting from the rocky and grainy parking lot connecting and leading up to one another that is separated from the actual tracks.  The bridge is surrounded by a fence that has rust taking over. As you walk up the ramps, you get higher and higher from the ground. Then once you get to the top, the bridge goes over the whole width of the old, dirty train tracks. As time goes by, we would just wait for the big, deathly machine to go underneath the green, old bridge. As they go underneath, the wind hits you in the face with a strong force that seems like you are in the middle of a hurricane. When we went this past winter, we looked out over the snowy tracks, holding onto the old, rusty pole.  When the train goes underneath you, you feel like you are invisible, because you would never think that you would be taller than this huge engine, transporter.  The only thing you hear is the big, deathly wheels riding against the rails. This is where my love for trains came from.

Vivid Imagery – Rachel Hungerford

The scene opens on a dimly lit bar. The sconces on the wall look like spheres of honey in the twilight. There’s a sax crooning on stage—but even those fluorescent beams are dim in this place’s atmosphere. It’s as though time has slowed in the midst of eveningfall.

There’s a girl—dark curls swept up, big pearl earrings, flashy diamond necklace—see her? No, not her, the other one. The one talking to the barkeep. Yeah, there you go. Go over there.

You stammer out a hello, and she spares you a sharp glance. “Put it on my tab,” you hear her say. She’s got a strong accent—Boston, maybe? What the heck’s she doing here, you think.

“What business?” she’s asking you. You’re still taking her in. Green eyes to match the emerald of her dress.

“Just wanted a dance,” you say, and you’re not even sure if that’s what you want.

She cocks an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Whatever,” she concedes. She takes your shoulder. You take her waist.

Her dress shimmers as you sway. The solo switches to the piano. “Who’s the band?” you ask.

Her eyes cut to the stage behind you. You’re sorry for the loss of her gaze. “Don’t know,” she grumbles. “You’re not much for conversation, are you?”

You’re a little stung. “Well, what do you want to talk about?”

She shrugs, a graceful little bounce of her shoulders. The lavender-tinted light plays with the hue of her skin. “Where’re you from?” she asks you.

“Right here,” you say.

She gives a harsh laugh. Your eyes cut to her red lips. “From the bar?”

Your hand tightens on her shoulder. “New York,” you grind out.

Her smile is knife-like. “Boston,” she replies, inclining her head in a way that’s just sarcastic enough to be self-deprecating.

So you were right in your first impression. “What are you doing here?”

The music crescendos into full big band, and she keeps her mouth shut for a while. Finally, when the song ends, she says, “I wanted a change of pace.”

“So you thought dancing and drinks would help?” you ask, quiet under the cracks of applause.

Her face contorts in disgust. It’s a little disturbing, to see something beautiful twisted. “Not much of drinks,” she murmurs, and then, stepping closer so that the toe of her shoe falls on yours, “and not much of dancing.”

She’s gone before you can reply, somehow disappeared into the haze of the bar, but it’s a beat or two before your breath comes back.

The scarlet of the EXIT sign is the only clear thing in this place, so you follow the clarity into the near-approaching night.

 

 

Concrete imagery- dream/nightmare Adin Martin

I wake in a grassy field with gently rolling ground, endless in every direction until it meets a blue sky on the horizon. I look up and see winged people in the air, people I know and love are soaring in the sky like birds, gracefully, purposefully. I leap to join them with my own wings that I suddenly have but my smile fades as I slowly glide back to the ground. The flecks of white in the sky seem to collect around me, a funnel beckoning me upward. I jump again, this time with a determined tilt to my jaw and a sharp angle to my wingtips, but once more awkwardly float down. I see individual faces now, my girlfriend, my closest school friends. They circle at the bottom of the cyclone of white and I reach for their grasping hands, pushing off the ground once more. Their hands reach my shoulders, but we seem like oil and water, their fingers slick against my skin and unable to find purchase. Once more I tumble down, this time the impact hurts. They circle faster, the effort twisting their faces into pain. They aren’t really flying now, but being pulled along in a current so that they dance like tangled marionettes. The questing cyclone of white pulls itself back off into the sky, my friends seemingly having forgotten me despite the protests of one or two. I sit down, and as soon as I relax, the grass around me fades, the life draining out of it in an emerald stream towards the sky. My wings fall off, two formless hunks of melting off-white that no longer belong to me and burn to my touch. I am cold, huddling up with my knees pressed against my face to try and preserve some vestige of warmth, of life. The now brown landscape seems a stark contrast to the pristine sky. The flock of people moves away across the heavens, and the sun goes with them. I sit, cold and alone until the darkness fades away into the ringing of my morning alarm.

Life is Beautiful By: Jen Sarro

 

 

It’s the little moments of fun and laughter with my adoring nieces

It’s the moments I spend dancing the time away

 

It’s the little things my parents do for me

It’s the pleasure I get from doing floral arrangements

It’s the legacy of my nana who is in a better place

It’s the funny and loving moments I have with my pets

 

It’s the lifelong friendships I have

 

It’s the moments when the music speaks to me

It’s the music artist who inspire me with their music

It’s my grandmoms precious possessions that remind me of her

It’s my mom’s tasty food that she makes

It’s my family that I love and care about

It’s the beach that I go to almost every summer

It’s my caring teachers who help me every day of the school year

It’s the little moments that make life worth while

“Life is Beautiful” By Diego Martinez

It’s a Saturday morning with my uncle

It’s camping on a weekend with your

friends and family

It’s a day on the beach with your best friend

It’s a relaxing hike up in the woods

It’s a good homemade meal from mom

It’s a game of soccer on a Sunday evening

It’s hot chocolate on a cold day

It’s a flower blooming on spring

It’s my grandfather’s antique clock

It’s my first painting

It’s Ice-cold water on a hot day

It’s having adventures with your friend

It’s correctly guessing something when you had no idea

It’s a collection of old paint brushes

It’s family gatherings on big holidays

It’s an organized bedroom

It’s mastering a new skill

It’s finishing other people’s sentence

It’s finding money you didn’t know you had

 

Life is Beautiful.

It’s my cabin in the woods
It’s a cross on a hill
It’s volley ball games
It’s fly fishing with dad
It’s a hammock in the grove
It’s digging in the dirt
It’s the stars in the sky
It’s grandmas french fries
It’s great grandpas bible
It’s bowfishing and old rickety boats
It’s explosions and guns and dynamite sticks
It’s BBQ Chicken
It’s frontier town and the beach
It’s eggs and bacon covered in cheese
It’s piles of wood
It’s what made me
It’s who I am
https://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/36/Hopetoun_falls.jpg&imgrefurl=https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nature&h=2048&w=3072&tbnid=OlqrKFapGVbfjM:&tbnh=133&tbnw=200&usg=__gp6h8YSGg46zLHPgk9pBLa6qj80=&vet=1&docid=zlPyDhWqicGhNM&itg=1&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjW1v3CjJHWAhVs4YMKHTXhCDcQ_B0IogEwEw