I Don't Remember - Jake Thompson

I don’t remember
Severity, a cold December
Cold-spell, bombshell
Living a month of my life in a cold bitter hell
Thoughts are trickling through my mind
And I find in a six foot hole
Bodies are stacked a mile high
Now I can’t defy the reasons why
So many innocent people died
And why’d we steal innocence?
To cover up the evidence
F-bombs turned to A’s
My mind vague and grey
As my conscious slips through one ear and out the other
Now I remember what happened that December
Mushroom clouds
Screaming
Looking up and down
A whole city drowned by atomic destruction
Two whole cities deconstructed
Miles around deleted
Populations depleted
Now
Babies with mutations
Health complications
Quarantine
Can’t be seen
Some have no idea what this means
Now I remember,
It wasn’t December

Paper Shadows - Madeline Delaney

Warped reflections
of eyelashes,
of pupils,
and time calloused hearts
Stick to the bent heads of nails,
Catching the sugar in sap
Sweetness frozen to concave tin
While honey reads life as a bible
Pollen ink on petal parchment
Written by the worker bees
Returning from the hive of God
Where the drones die free of their sins
And the failing queen follows the current to salvation.

So now, in this theatre of war,
The Armageddon of souls,
I pray to paper shadows
And watch through the lens of inhibited vanity
As the sunlight taxes the touch of gold
Casting candied reflections
of eyelashes,
of pupils,
and time calloused hearts

Oil - Max Kinlund

If a painting is worth a thousand words,

Then I give a thousand apologies to all the poems I have spurned.

And I give a thousand thanks to all the inks of this earth.

I have squandered all the paintings of my mind,

Replaced by curly Q's and dotted I's,

But since the imagination is desperate to die,

It has puked up it's innards across these lines.

And despite my perfect eyes, I can not see.

Despite the perfect lines, I can not read.

I try and try. These symbols, what do they mean?

Even as I write them, I try and listen in;

To this beating in my chest,

To this hammer made of tin;

Screaming through my fingers,

Pounding out my soul,

Onto tree bark,

Onto paper,

Where it all just turns to mold.

Writing "why?" in my tears,

Scratching "Anger" in my blood.

I paint a thousand pictures a day,

Drawn out in ash and mud.

But the pounding never stops,

The ink just comes in floods,

And I'm left with an empty pen,

Writing ethereal words to be blown away by the wind.

Stolen by the zephyr of my empty canvas,

A single word picture of the things I miss.

You Can't Take It With You

Today Walden enjoyed the UVM department of theater's production of, You Can't Take It With You at The Kennedy Center. The play was written in 1936 by George S. Kaufman and Moss Hart. It ran 838 performances on Broadway and was given the Pulitzer Prize for Drama. You Can't Take It With You is based around a crazy but lovable family who believes that you shouldn't do anything unless it makes you happy.

The boys dress up for a Tuesday in the city.

North - Ivy Sienkiewycz

Through this lens I see the world in color.

His bold eyes stare back through to me.

"You don't belong this far north," his lips move.

Click.

"I don't belong this far north."

Color captured in black & white

warm brown eyes turn a cold shade of grey.

Click.

His red wool coat pasted in front of

orange, yellow, red, brown, foliage.

All translated in one two hundredth of a second

from life to grey scale.

Confirming that,

"I don't belong this far north.

Dirty with Heroin - Jake Thompson

A harp in his hand
Is he in a band?
As I stare at the curls on his chin
We wait for him to begin
Is he gay is he straight?
He listens to us debate
As we wait for him to begin
He sits in a refined position
But I still need to make a decision
Why is he so happy?
The glee on his face
Could enlighten the whole human race

Finally he began to pick
And something in my mind clicked
He loves to play
This explains it all
The smile on his face
And why he was happy
So he begins to play
His music filled with passion, beauty, and bliss
But I couldn’t dismiss the fact
He was happy
He finishes

The next day
The man we debated whether he was gay
Was found on the street
He had met his defeat
For his blood was as mud
Dirty with heroine
For drugs was his demon
And he wasn’t a heathen
He was far from it

As I reach my conclusion
It was no illusion
The music in my head
Was certainly not dead
But it full of passion, beauty, and bliss
Until he left our world
Due to heroins deadly kiss.

My emotions rendered
My soul i surrender
"Despite all my rage
I am still just a rat in a cage"

But its time to turn the page
As I listen to the band
I wish to hold anothers hand
But to dance will not change the fact
I'm still a rat in a cage

To go big or go home
On this im not alone
To give this dog a bone
Or to fake it
I am alone and will not make it

To give the dog the bone
To go big or go home

Little New York Bastard

Walden was very excited to have Dylan Raskin, the author of "Little New York Bastard," visit us in Monkton as he does very few public readings. Dylan gave us the chance to ask questions about his book, writing, the publishing world, and life in general. Dylan was excited to answer our questions, entertain us with stories, and help us consume our specialty, krispy kale.

5th Grade class visits Walden!

On October 2, Alison Dibica's 5th grade class from the Addison Elementary School spent the day at the Willowell Land with Walden students. The class got a tour of the garden and split up into four groups. Each group had a Walden student as a leader. The groups spent time at four different stations: tracking, shelter building, nature art, and fire making/story telling. The stations were run by Walden students. Everyone stopped for lunch in between stations and ate a great stew made out of veggies fresh from the garden. The Willowell Land is now scattered with shelters, bridges, and plenty of fairy houses. We hope the 5th grade students learned something from their experience at Walden and went away eager to share their knowledge with others.

910 Billion and Counting - Jake Thompson

910 billion and counting.
Machine guns mounting
Bullets screech and tear
Leaving bones of the wounded bare
As a ruthless zealot speeds down the street
Hundreds of innocent civilians meet they’re defeat
And who cares, we care
We care to stop the ruthless zealot running down the street
And to prevent civilians from meeting their defeat
To stop leaving bones of the wounded bare
To stop the bullets that screech and tear

Just for this one day, to some the idea seems queer
But for the violence just for one day, to just disappear

For violence is a disease
That doesn’t go with ease
For we need to act as one
For the damage to be undone

Hi, Baby. - Ivy Sienkiewycz

Hi, Baby.

This is just to tell you that I am stronger than the coffee in front of me.

I am stronger than dark roast

and you

you are sweet as dripping honey comb.

I can see the dark golden substance swimming in your eyes

and even when they close

a few stray drops manage to escape

sticking to cheeks

eyelashes

lips.

This is just to tell you that I am stronger than my reflection.

I am stronger than this glass mirror

and you

you are sweet as a kiss on the cheek.

I can see myself in your eyes

and even when they close

I can still feel my presence on your face

lingering on cheeks

eyelashes

lips.

Baby.

This is just to tell you

that you

you make me stronger.

Canoe Trip at Stillwater Reservoir

On Tuesday morning(9/22) Walden students set off on a three hour bus ride to Stillwater Reservoir in the Adirondacks. A little rain didn't set us back as we loaded up the ten canoes that we had rented. The group was split up into two smaller groups. Group one set off first en route to the other end of the reservoir, while group two only went half as far. Unfortunately from this point on I can only report on group one as I was not a part of groups two's adventures.

Day 1: We were supposed to camp at site #26 but instead we found a large beach close by which we claimed as our camp spot. After setting up tents and tarps, wood was collected for a fire and dinner was started. Dinner was a delicious mix of mac & cheese with hot dogs. As it grew darker we pimped the fire and told scary stories.

Day 2: The night before we figured out that we had the other groups hot dogs and they had our bread. So early in the morning Matt and Ephraim set out on a recon mission to trade hot dogs for bread. After we set out for a leisurely paddle up to where the reservoir turns into a river. On our way back the winds picked up and made it difficult for us to return. When we finally made it back we saw the other group coming up the reservoir. They stopped to talk to us which was not a smart choice on their part for soon after it began to down pour. As we huddled in our tents and kept fairly dry, group two was forced to paddle to their next camping spot in the heavy rain. Instead of breaking camp and finding a new spot to camp we decided to stay another night in the same place. The rain came and went all night. We happily ate pesto pasta for dinner and after sweated it all out in the sauna that we built.

Day 3: On the only sunny day we got an early start, packed up all of our gear and paddled into Big Burnt Lake and ate what ever snack and lunch food were left in the coolers. We then took a walk up to Salmon Lake. We arrived at our final campsite quite late and prepared to eat burritos for dinner when we realized that we didn't have any tortillas. Instead we had to mix up what ever was left in the coolers in a pot and call it good. Because everyone's tents were wet and sandy, everyone slept under the stars which were actually out. There were even a few shooting stars.

Day 4: We woke up to more clouds and dew covering our sleeping bags. It was 7 AM and everyone was packing up and eating their one entitled pop tart. By 7:30 we were on our way back to the bus. There was a slight drizzle but we had the wind to our backs and made it in good time. Free hot chocolate and coffee when we arrived. Everyone made it back in good condition and were happy to be on their way home.

Kate Greenstreet

On September 15 Kate Greenstreet, a published poet from New Jersey, stopped by the Willowell land in Monkton, VT to share her poetry and talk with the Walden students. She read poems from her chapbook, Learning the Language, and her new book, The Last 4 Things.

Welcome to the Walden blog!

Woohoo! Finally a place for everyone to be updated and informed of the happenings at Walden!

The temperature has begun to drop and the leaves are changing colors. Recently Walden students have begun to haul firewood, prepare the shelter for cold winter days, and prep garden beds for lots of garlic to come.

On Tuesday the 22 we will leave for our four day canoe trip at Still Water Reservoir(http://www.stillwaterreservoir.com/). Look for pictures when we return!