the pianist- rikki (12)

Keys- The Pianist

The pianist walks towards his instrument, his mind abuzz; notes tumbling alongside his thoughts. Then, finally, he settles upon his perch. The pianist begins after one, subtle cough. His hands run on the smooth black and white staircase of the piano. Marvelously, a tune erupts. It caresses the audience’s ears with the unmatchable beauty of sound. The hands of the pianist continue their movement, sometimes jumping angrily and sometimes making small graceful hops on the glistening staircase of keys. The pianist’s feet come down on the golden pedals as if to add emphasis to the unspoken words of the music.
Then, as the beat slows and the music is almost finished, notes gloriously pronounce the end. The pianist stands and bows.

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hands of war – rikki (11)

D-day - Landing at Normandy

D-day - The Hands of War

The boat stopped, our stomachs churned, just like the waves in front of us

We ran, our legs beneath the tide, our guns clutched. We ran, our prayers hung in mid sentence. We ran.

They shot, their guns rattled, spewing empty cartridges like an active volcano. They shot, their shells thumping flinging dirt and blood from the ground. They shot.

We prayed knowing deep in our hearts that God was now out of the question- “Will we live?” We prayed even though we knew God could not hear us in this bloody racket. We prayed.

They tore our army as if we were worthless papers. They tore our flesh and will from our bodies with their never-ending cascade of metal. They tore.

We ran and prayed, knowing that we had been torn from the hands of hope and had been put into new hands.

We had run into the ruthless, unforgiving hands of war.

snow – rikki (10)

Frosted Grass

Frosted Grass

snow

falling

plummeting

like a free faller in the sky

weaving through the frost-bitten air

finally

settling

in the ice-crusted blades of grass

it dies

Winter – a poem – Rikki (9)

Winter Winds

Winter Winds

mist follows the swaying trees while rain trickles off the tiled rooftops

grass swishes in a field as if it were the sea

frost gives the air a chill as if it were a freezer

the clouds form a sweatshirt for the sky but the sun just hides away

A walk through the forest – rikki (9)

Sequoia Trees

Sequoia Trees

I walked along a gravel trail leading through the sequoia forest taking deep breaths of the fresh pine air.  My mom and dad followed me scanning the serene scene of wildlife.  My older brother watched a squirrel bound up a tree, stuffing his mouth with nuts.  A slight wind was blowing making the pine cones bombard the floor… tup, tup, tup

dadun – rikki (9)

Dadun at Silver Bell

DADUN!

He was a wonderful grandfather to me. His jokes were superior, his bonds were unbreakable, and his eyes were as warm as can be.

By Ankit Mukherjee – Dedicated to Asesh Dasgupta , the most loving grandfather one could have!

I have a grandfather – ronny

I have a grandfather.
His name is Asesh. Asesh Dasgupta.
He makes jokes. He likes dill pickles. He likes to sleep.

One day, he had a brain tumor. He went to the hospital.

I talked with him before the surgery, and played him some piano. He liked it. Then, he had the operation.

He was fine, after.
Then, one day, I find out

I had a grandfather.
His name was Asesh. Asesh Dasgupta.
He made jokes. He liked dill pickles. He liked to sleep. One day, he got to sleep forever.

I wonder if there are pickles in heaven.

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Soccer – Rikki

soccer ball

The whistle screams, the pentagons on the soccer ball blur like the player controlling it. Fans cheer on the side line shouting nasty remarks or flattering compliments. When somebody scores they slide on the ground yelling, “Yes”. The second half comes and goes and the final whistle ends the game.

A Spill of Ink – a poem by rikki (8)

A Spill of Ink

A spill of ink can go faster then a blink.
It slips and slides
and almost

G
 L
   I
    D
      E
       S

Across your ruined paper
You just sit there and frown
As your paper turns brown
CLINK! TINK!
“Oh nooo!” there goes another bottle of INK!!

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Blizzard – a poem by rikki (8)

Hailstorm

hail hits the roof of my house

it sounds like somebody is pounding on huge drums right on my roof

small diamonds trickle from the sky, piling up every second

the trees sway up and down, up and down, as if picking up flowers from the ground