Wanted in Rome Junior: Fibs and falls, love and loss

This is a small collection of work from the 9th grade Creative Writing class at St Stephen's School in Rome. Among the pieces in this sampling is a prose poem, a syllabic work based on the Fibonacci sequence, and several ekphrastic pieces. The work reveals the students' passionate commitment to writing, as well as a great deal of heart and soul, according to Moira Egan, the Creative Writing teacher at St Stephen's.

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Auditorium at St Stephen's School. Photo Mario Ventura.

Valentina Verzelli

Persepolis

(after Persepolis, the Story of a Childhood by Marjane Satrapi)

Leave! Leave!” shouted grandma,

as the police approached.


I lit up another Camel,


and in the swirling smoke,

memories of home. Origins

denied, loving a fool,

committing new sins,


not going to school.


Liberté” carved on rock,


during my stay in Paris,


while the bomb explodes on the block,

back home in far Persepolis.

Angelica La Rosa

The Broken Soul

Hope you're well now, man on the street.

He lay on the ground,

His bare feet rested rigidly

They were barely yet bluntly

Blended to the chaos of the road

Rubbing in sore pain

Approaching the cold

Parched, street pavement.

But was he dead?

His eyes were closed

Yet the same images throbbed in his head

Coming to torment him

They repeated over and over

Leaving him, cut in the soul

Sobbing in the heart.

His nails endorsed deep pain

His lucent smiles,

His cheerful positivism and hope

Had passed away

Abhorred by endless days of rain.

She lay in the car

Hands on her knees

Unmoved and still

But was she ill?

Her head was detached

And the man's thoughts

And hers, overlapped

Was it an accident or an attack?

But he was on the ground

Everyone looked at him

Yet he made no sound

His position was stoic

Yet the quivering of his hands

Was out of terror, not cold

There was nothing to hide, it was all too bold

The tremor of his emotions

Let out all his notions

His ideas met no conclusion

There was contempt in his smiling

It wasn't just an illusion.

But he wouldn't move,

He would not raise his arms for aid

He'd stay on the street

Perishing, afraid.

Eveline Mol

The Golden Hour

I wish you a lifetime of moments too beautiful to capture on film”

-Taylor Swift

Pink, yellow, orange. The trees kiss the sky. The crimson geraniums complement the forest-green tops of the pines. Silhouettes, golden light, metal birds. The sparrows sing their nightly song, which seems to call out to their partner: “Darling, I haven’t met you yet, but the day when I will shall be the happiest day of my life. Tonight I must spend another night without your warmth, another night without your presence, another night without you. The thought alone should haunt me, but I find comfort in the fact that tomorrow is a new day, a new opportunity to find you, for every day I have ever lived, will mean nothing until I meet you.” Their song is soothing, but so gentle that recordings can’t reproduce it. The sky is so magical, yet so overwhelming that even a professional photographer can’t capture it. The moment is free, I can’t imprison it in a screen. These are the moments I live for, the ones that can’t be saved by the camera, nor comprehended by the mind. They can only stay in the heart.

St Stephen's School. Photo Liana Miuccio.
St Stephen's School. Photo Liana Miuccio.

Tommaso Rabitti

A Midsummer Night

Curling, little gentle tubes

Of water, splashing calmly on the sand

Erasing a kid’s stick-drawn man

Glistening in the moonlight are

The cars, covered in dust and wind-blown sand

Releasing one long day’s heat on the dry land

Dreaming of long lost home, I am

Staring into darkness and bewildering space

Being mocked by life in a midsummer night

Cristina Rizzo

Icarus

Oh father,

I know I should’ve listened to you,

But it’s too late.

And I’m frightened.

Now,

As I struggle to breathe

As a fish brawls to dive back in the water,

Tell me father:

As my throbs succumb to the depths of the ocean,

Will the wind still thrust against the ships’ veils?

Will it still fold the sea?

Will the cattle keep rummaging to empty hills

And the shepherd still slant on his coarse cane?

Will the water keep biting the stone cliffs?

And father,

Will your wax lead you on?

But mostly,

Will I vanish

As unseen,

As disregarded

As a pebble, kicked into the towering grass?

Landscape with the Fall of Icarus by Pieter Bruegel.

Chiara Codazzi

Drowning in Love

Why didn’t you tell me what love could do

I’m drowning now, drowning in love.

I can’t hear anyone, just an immense silence

I am surrounded by tranquility in this vivid world

Please tell me that this is normal,

I only hear birds singing

I only smell the perfume of flowers,

Like scarlet roses,

Pallid jasmines,

And periwinkle violets.

Tell me that this is all right

I feel like I’m suspended in the air

I’m flying through the clouds

Which are illuminated by the warm coral colors of the sunset,

And the filthy air surrounds me like an hug.

Why is love so complicated?

Tell me, please

I don’t know whether this is reality or not,

Because now I’m drowning in love.

Nicolò Anserini

Fibbing

Of

sin

I am

going to

speak, that dreadful thing

that subtly hisses in your ear;

Its woeful voice subdues the hearts of the bravest men,

It ensnares and blunts all senses,

Bewitching the mind,

deceiving

it with

faulty

glee.

Filippo Calcagni

The Quality of Life

Death is the thing that scares us the most

but what are we mortally afraid of?

We could treat it with a bit of humanity

why not with a bit of dignity

our just with a touch of humor.

Death may not be the enemy

because it is not the real fiend

although indifference should be what

we constantly have to fight,

our mission as human beings

is not to prevent death

but to improve the quality of life

of who we love.

The only way, to defeat death

is to cure not the disease

but the person, and the outcome

will be life.

Inspired by the movie Patch Adams