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Creative Writing Showcase: Odes to NHS

Poems by students in Nutley High School's Creative Writing class.



Room 201

Room 201 with your
scissors, inks and paints to pour,
an artist’s nursery.
A place for creative minds with
uncreative hands,
youngsters learn of color, line, value, shape, space and texture.
From concrete foundations you draw creative potential.


Clean hands are holding ballpoint pens,
pages lay underneath with sketchy lines.
Unshapely masses sit in the kiln,
all come out in shattered piles.
With each project students explore
mediums and styles like giddy fools.


Room 201 with your
sacred artifacts of expression,
a haven of imagination that knows no repression.
A place for creative minds with
creative hands,
artists learn of unity, balance, proportion, perspective, emphasis and movement.
From passionate hearts you draw works of art.


Painted hands are holding oil brushes,
canvases lay underneath with illustrious strokes.
Uncanny forms sit in molds
all come out in with life life-like folds.
With each project artists begin
unseen worlds are given reality.


Room 201, where artists are born and raised.
A quote taped on your window read,
“The man who has no imagination has no wings”.
You brought out our imagination and helped us spread our wings.
With our brushes, our paints, our canvases,
we create art as artists of Room 201.


-Michael Al-Zouibi



An Ode to the Hallways

Eerie monotoned walls
Hallways that spiral endlessly
Streaks of sunlight smears color to each and every corner
Steps that stutter by every crook, every bend, every nook
These are the pathways of my high school.


Lively chatter and whispered murmurs glaze the sea of students
The active buzz of traffic is somewhat mollifying, somewhat occupying
Snippets of unique conversations to each its own
There’s always something to listen to, something to look at
If not, then your mind will wanders in the halls


But remember to pour focus into each step
The hallway isn’t the place for stalling
My initial strides were always doubted with the intention of misdirection
Finding my way through the Labyrinth with the lights off


Flecks of anxiety trace each heartbeat, each step beat
But now I’m on my third year walking these pathways
They’ve become familiar, a second nature
I know where I’m suppose to go
But more often than not I let my thoughts walk faster than my feet


Mind is sprinting until it can’t breathe, until it's heaving
Soul is rough breathing, hallway is squeezing


You almost ran into someone


Mind on walking, no time for stalling
Know where you’re supposed to go, remember where you’re supposed to be
No time for dreaming, keep on weaving
Quick, faster. The people behind you are waiting, stop complicating
The hallways aren’t for slow talk, for slow walk


The hallway is for connecting strangers together
For breaths that coexist but never touch
For curious eyes to graze, to get lost in translation
It is the cord that is connected by judgement, by association


Look up, different people will pass by


New people that you didn’t even know attended
Each stranger, an opportunity to be befriended
Keep your head down in the hallways and you’ll just miss the wallflowers.


-Lucy Le



An Ode to the Stage

An elevated weathered wooden floor
That is greeted on either end by a black, wooden door.
Caressed by curtains on either side
Whose single purpose is to divide.


A crown of light fixtures on top
That illuminate the wooden floor before the curtains drop.
Blue tape highlights specific spots
A corner of the stage that each person a lots.


But upon this weathered wooden floor
Many stories can miraculously unfold that we can all explore.
Oh! The tales of new and old, of true or fantasy, of illusion versus reality
Come to life upon this simple, weathered wooden floor, oh so gallantly.


Or if it were to house assemblies of truth (without a strife)
That instead recount the play of life.
A moral or virtue to be gained by the end of each speech or presentation
That uplifts the onlooker into high spirits of hope and determination.


You see, a stage is not just planks of weathered wood that was rounded up by those who are strong,
They are wooden planks that’ve been weathered down by each dance, each word, or song
That the performer of life has put on for all to see and adore.
These acts are all songs of praise to the culture that lives deep within this weathered wooden floor.


-Abigail Lopez



An Ode to the Hall of Fame

Dusty old photos
Yet this is what I adore
Who cares about a Hall of Fame?
On a wall, just some old names
Sports here, sports there
This hall is a joke, I swear
They’re put here because of a game?
Some will find it a bore


Oh, the Hall
With every high ranked person inside
Leap, leap, leap
Your opportunity has been put to sleep
Like a museum, there should be no disrespect With all our strength, we must protect
The glory of the hall, we must keep
We stand, never to divide


Some things never change
Legends stand here, tall and proud
Always the same
Here in the Hall of Fame
Boys will be boys
Yet they see us as toys
They play their games
Chant their names, say it loud!


Pure perfection
Every school has one of a kind
There have been many before
Your opportunity is an open door
Ignored every day
Under appreciated, I would say
People come and go, there will be more
Simply put; legends rest here, you will find


What a tremendous honor
Once you’re set in the Hall
Seeing your past, close the gate
Look ahead, you’ve set your fate
Go on, take you bow, it’s you they’re here for
After all, this is your final encore
Before long, all that will be left is your name plate
In here, your memory is never to fall


-Desiree Vigilante