Holly Zimmerman. Creative Writing. August 1st, 2014.

Table of Contents

1. Introduction.

2. Prose section cover.

3-6. Circular story- Rough Draft (Untitled)

7-11. Circular story- Revised (First Crush)

12-13. Character piece- Rough Draft (Struggles of a Soldier)

14-15. Character piece- Revised (Struggles of a Soldier)

16-17. Point of View Exercise- Rough Draft (Colin. Michael.)

18-20 Point of View Exercise- Revised (Fun in the Snow)

21-23 Unusual Setting Piece- First Draft (Crystal Grottoes

Caverns)

24-26 Setting Piece- Revision (Crystal Grottoes)

27 Poetry Cover

28 Moon Prose (The Moon)

29-30 Moon Poem- First Draft (Heavenly and Celestial)

31-33 Moon Poem- Revised (Heavenly and Celestial)

34 Moon Poem Haiku- Draft & Revision (Moon of Wonder)

35 Outside Poem #1- Draft (Land of Opportunity)

36-37 Outside Poem #1- Revision (Land of Opportunity)

38-39 Outside Poem #2- Draft (The Little Village)

40-41 Outside Poem #2- Revison (The Little Village)

42 Outside Poem #3- Draft & Revision (Zoo Full of Wonder)

43 Visual from Glimmer Train (Literature Journal)

44 Poems that I enjoyed or that inspired me.

45 End page.

Introduction

Welcome to my Creative Writing portfolio! Throughout my three weeks of poetry and

prose instruction, I have learned many helpful writing techniques, and further discovered my

own personal style and voice.

Prose

I have written and revised four different pieces for my prose section, each focusing on a

major aspect of fiction writing: Plot, Character, Point of View, and Setting. A big difference is

apparent in all my works between the first draft and revision, as I have worked hard to edit

according to feedback gathered from my peers at workshop. This course boosted my confidence

as a writer, by allowing me to discover and incorporate literary elements more frequently into my

pieces, and become more deliberate in all aspects of my writing. Also, I have enjoyed reading the

works of other great writers (some from previous YSP classes) and analyzing their craft, in order

to increase my own knowledge of plot structure, character development, etc… I am excited to

continue writing, and to use the skills I have acquired here in the future.

Poetry

Five different poems, with initial drafts and revisions, are included in this portfolio,

showcasing various rhyme schemes, poetic devices, and structures of poetry. I thoroughly

enjoyed the poetry section of the creative writing course, and felt eager every day to pull out my

laptop and begin a new poem. I learned new, helpful terms such as “Kill your darlings,” and

discovered what really makes a poem great through reading the works of others. My favorite

poem which we read during the course was “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.” By T.S.

Eliot. The use of language was phenomenal. I am eager to continue writing poetry. (Page 1)

(Page 2)

Untitled

By: Holly Zimmerman

Peter’s palms were sweaty. He shifted uneasily on the ground, hoping his folks didn’t

notice the unusual behavior. Something important was seizing his thoughts.

“So Peter,” he heard a familiar voice say. “What do you think?”

He looked up from his spot by the fireplace, trying to snap back into the conversation.

“I think…uh…” he began, trying to remember what his attention should have been fixed on.

It was upon detecting a slight twinkle to his right that the zone-out session came to an end.

“Wow! Grandma, the tree looks amazing!” He exclaimed.

Indeed, the Christmas tree was a splendid sight, filling the room with a warm glow that seemed

to exude contentment.

Every year, Peter and his father spent one day driving to and from their favorite tree farm,

spending a good while picking out and cutting down a tree. Even on this occasion however, Peter

had felt nervous. It wasn’t like him, but he had decided to take a risk, and the possible outcomes

continually flashed by in his mind.

Before winter break began, and the school still filled with reluctant students every

morning, Peter had met someone wonderful.

Her name, Claire, kept repeating in Peter’s mind; it came across in a sort of musical way,

as if she herself was a beautiful symphony. (Page 3)

One bitterly cold Monday morning, had suddenly become a frightening blizzard, keeping

students in school for three extra hours. Peter’s English class had been herded, along with the

rest of the sixth grade students into the cafeteria.

Peter had sat quietly by the cafeteria entrance, looking around at the various murals

adorning the walls, when a short, red-haired girl walked up to him.

“Hey, you’re Peter right?” She asked with urgency in her voice.

“That’s me.” Peter responded shortly.

“Well uh, I heard your dad was one of those snow plowing guys, so, he would know how

bad things are out there.”

“Yea, he would know. I could call him, if you want.”

She smiled.

“That would be great! I absolutely HAVE to be home by 6:00, or my mom will flip out!”

“Okay,” Peter said quickly. “Give me a sec.”

He phoned his dad, and arranged to give this new acquaintance a ride home, before

conditions got too dangerous.

“Sounds good. Okay. But- dad, could we give…uh…” Peter looked briefly at the girl.

“My name is Claire.”

“Could we give my friend Claire a ride home?”

His father agreed, and after a long drive through the accumulating snow, they dropped off

Claire at her looming red-brick home. She lived surprisingly close to Peter. (Page 4)

“Thank you for the ride!” She said cheerfully, and smiled at him.

He smiled shyly in return, giving a wave goodbye after she shut the door.

Two days had since passed, and Peter was waiting anxiously for a letter to arrive. He

decided that night, after giving Claire a ride, to ask her to the Winter Ball. This was all quickly

scrawled out on some blank paper, which he stuck in an envelope, addressed, and sent out the

next morning.

He did receive a letter two days later, but instead of the hoped for “yes,” he received what

he sent, finding that in his haste, he had not written the correct address.

Peter was in a state of panic. Claire had told him she would be leaving very soon for a

Christmas vacation, and it was too late to resend the letter. He racked his brain for some kind of

solution. Just thinking about delivering it in person made Peter shake with nervousness. Perhaps

he could leave it one her porch. It felt like a good idea to Peter, so he threw on a heavy coat and

some fur boots, ready for the small trek to Claire’s house.

The cold bit Peter’s exposed skin like a vicious piranha. He thought about how Claire

would react, and considered turning back more than once. But he trudged on, through the cold,

and through his own reservations.

When he reached Claire’s home, it was a disappointment to find the flagstones covered in

ice coated snow. He began to fold the letter in his hands, remembering some different paper

airplane designs a friend of his had shown him. He could fly it over!

It sounded good in theory, but Peter wasn’t known for his aim, and as soon as he threw it,

he realized it was headed straight for the bushes next to Claire’s porch. (Page 5)

Peter could think of nothing else but to attempt a rescue mission for his letter. Hanging

his head, Peter cautiously put a foot out onto the slick ice.

Bad idea.

He immediately lost control and face planted on Claire’s icy flagstones.

“Ouch!” He yelled.

The front door swung open, and there was Claire, in a comfortable looking sweater and

jeans, with a look of confusion on her face.

“Peter?! What in the??”

“Oh uh…hey Claire! I just left something by the bushes and uh…AH!”

Peter fell again trying to get up, and slid on the ice over to where Claire stood, giggling at

him.

“Peter, why don’t you take my hand and I’ll help you up. You could come inside and get

warm by the fire. You look frozen.”

He grabbed on to her hand and got up uneasily.

“Oh, and you were looking for this?”

She picked up the letter, and hesitated before handing it back to Peter.

“You’ll have to show me what this is too!” She exclaimed.

Oh gosh, thought Peter. He felt butterflies, but said in a calm voice, “Sure, the letter’s for

you anyway.” Peter handed it to her quickly as they went inside. His palms were sweaty. (Pg. 6)

First Crush

By: Holly Zimmerman

Peter’s palms were sweaty. He was staring at the family hearth, on the outside appearing

to be fascinated by the firewood; but his family could tell what he was preoccupied with: girls.

“So Peter,” his grandmother began, “What do you think?”

His eyes shot up, squinting as he focused, trying to snap back into the conversation.

“I think…uh…” he began, attempting to remember what his attention should have been

fixed on.

Making a quick scan of the family room, he took in all the details: a bright red candle

softly burning, the piano, recently polished, dark brown, with keys showing, and…

“Oh!” he suddenly exclaimed. “Grandma, the tree looks amazing!”

With a smile, Peter’s grandmother thanked him, and added,

“You and your father did a wonderful job picking out the right tree. Did you enjoy going

with him to Spike’s?”

Peter nodded, though in actual fact he had been completely embarrassed by his father that

day.

It was tradition to pick out the biggest, healthiest spruce at Spike’s tree farm, and Peter,

with his father, visited the small business just a few days prior. Peter was preoccupied then too,

so his father began filling in the silence, like he does, with random talking.

“Hey Pete, you thinking about that one girl?” (Page 7)

“What? No!” he quickly responded, with a look of incredulity.

“Okay okay, I was just curious. I thought you liked her.”

“I-” he began, but stopped abruptly.

They finished cutting down the tree in silence.

Of course, Peter couldn’t think about anything but this girl.

He kept repeating the musical name in his mind…Claire, Claire, picturing her long red

locks and sweet voice.

Peter had sat quietly by the cafeteria entrance, the day he met Claire. He was looking

around at the various murals adorning the walls, starting to admire their school mascot, (the

beaver) which he had once despised. His wandering chain of thought suddenly broke when he

caught sight of a girl running up to him.

“Hey, you’re Peter right?” she asked with urgency in her voice.

He gave a little nod.

“Well uh, I heard your dad was one of those snow plowing guys, so, he would know how

bad things are out there.”

“Yea, he would know. I could call him, if you want.”

She smiled.

“That would be great! If I’m not home by 3:00, my mom will flip out!”

“Okay,” Peter said quickly. “Give me a sec.” (Page 8)

He phoned his dad, and arranged to give this new acquaintance a ride home, before

conditions got too dangerous. Not much had been in the forecast for that Monday, but a sudden

front had moved in from the north, and was threatening to keep most students on the east coast in

school for long into the afternoon.

“Sounds good. Okay. But- dad, could we give…uh…” he looked briefly at the girl.

“My name is Claire.”

“Could we give my friend Claire a ride home?”

His father agreed, and after a long drive through the accumulating snow, they dropped off

Claire at her looming red-brick home. She lived surprisingly close to Peter.

“Thank you for the ride!” she said cheerfully, and smiled at him.

He smiled shyly in return, giving a wave goodbye after she shut the door.

He decided that night, after giving Claire a ride, to ask her to the Winter Ball. This was

all quickly scrawled out on some blank paper, which he stuck in an envelope, addressed, and sent

out the next morning. Two days had since passed, and Peter was waiting anxiously for a

response.

He did receive a letter, but instead of the hoped for “yes,” he received what he sent,

finding that in his haste, he had not written the correct address.

Peter paced up and down his small room. The ends of his fingernails were uneven, as he

had started chewing them in his anxious state. Claire had told him she would be leaving very

soon for a Christmas vacation, and it was too late to resend the letter. (Page 9)

He racked his brain for some kind of solution. Just thinking about delivering it in person

made Peter shake with nervousness. Perhaps he could leave it on her porch. With a determined

air, he threw on a heavy coat and some fur boots, ready for the small trek to Claire’s house.

The cold bit Peter’s exposed skin, threatening to give him frostbite. He thought about

how Claire would react, and considered turning back more than once. But he trudged on,

knowing he was just a few houses away.

When he reached Claire’s home, it was a disappointment to find the flagstones covered in

ice coated snow. Great. Another freaking obstacle, he thought, frustrated. How will I get the

letter over now?

He stood there a second, pondering, until it hit him.

He could fly it over!

Peter folded the letter up into a paper airplane, just a simple design a friend had once

shown him. He pulled his right arm back, squinted to see the few visible feet of Claire’s porch,

and threw.

It was a sad, sad scene. The paper airplane letter, so carefully folded to become as

aerodynamic as possible, had veered off course and landed in the bushes.

Peter could think of nothing else but to attempt a rescue mission for his letter. It couldn’t

just sit in her bushes for her to find randomly one day! Hanging his head, he cautiously put a foot

out onto the ice.

Bad idea.

He immediately lost control and face planted on Claire’s icy flagstones. (Page 10)

“Ouch!” he yelled.

The front door swung open, and there was Claire, in a comfortable looking sweater and

jeans, with a look of confusion on her face.

“Peter?! What in the?”

“Oh uh…hey Claire! I just left something by the bushes and uh…AH!”

Peter fell again trying to get up, and slid on the ice over to where Claire stood, giggling at

him.

“Why don’t you take my hand and I’ll help you up. You could come inside and get warm

by the fire.”

He grabbed on to her hand and got up uneasily.

“So uh, you left something in the bushes?”

Oh gosh, thought Peter. He felt butterflies as he told her,

“Yea, it’s a letter I had been trying to get to you. Here.”

Peter handed it to her quickly as they went inside. His palms were sweaty. (Page 11)

Struggles of a Soldier

By: Holly Zimmerman

I scream, opening my eyes wide, feeling the hot air irritate them. Must be another dream,

I realize suddenly, as I ease my death grip on the sheets. It wasn’t even the first one of the night.

I sigh, getting flashes of what had appeared in the nightmare. The explosion, and the

deafening blast that accompanied it, once again tormenting my consciousness. Luckily I saw no

familiar faces tonight; the dream had simply carried emotions of the past: intense fear, and

confusion. I remember the day well.

Cloud had covered the sky like a thick blanket, and the air was heavy with war. Now,

after days in the trenches, we understood. Thousands of us, insignificant pawns on an enormous

chess board of cold strategy. Nobody questioned the orders, nobody talked of the reasons why,

we simply knew that our lives had changed in this place, at this time.

I had lain out on my stomach, gun at the ready, keeping watch just over the top of the

dirt. It was getting on in the afternoon, and nothing much was expected to happen, yet we kept a

watch schedule as an extra precaution, even in these times.

It hit suddenly, the cannon blast. I was thrown through the air, launched back into the

other side of the trench as fire engulfed the post to my immediate right. A ringing began in my

ears; my eyes were glued shut and I clutched my right arm. There was an indescribable pain

throughout my body, as if I had been dipped in molten metal, and left with no way to cool. I

wanted to cool, to just become one of those wonderful statues of bronze memorializing some

fallen hero, or honoring some act of valor, but it never happened. (Page 12)

Looking around, I saw the vague outlines of others, injured or dead, in pain like me,

wondering what would happen next. Smoke sat in the air, surrounding us, and now, when I

dream, it obscures the scene just enough to leave only a dull sorrow.

I rub my eyes with my palms, shake my head to exit the memory, and look out the

window. There is a full moon out, and I can see clearly into the street outside my apartment.

Raindrops fall softly, puttering on the narrow sidewalks. A cat meows somewhere off in an

alleyway, perhaps searching for its next meal. Then a man hurriedly makes his way across the

street, looking all around him. I flinch, blink, and look down again. He has turned a corner,

leaving my mind once again troubled.

Was that…? I begin to think. No. No it couldn’t be.

I step away from my window, taking a final glance outside and think, what am I more

afraid of? What is out there, or what is in here? (Page 13)

Struggles of a Soldier (Page 14)

By: Holly Zimmerman

I scream, opening my eyes wide, feeling the hot air irritate them. Must be another

nightmare, I realize suddenly, as I ease my death grip on the sheets. Not even the first of tonight.

The date on my calendar, illuminated by the moonlight pouring through my window, is

August 1st, 1934. It was sixteen years ago…

I lift a tired hand to wipe the sweat from my forehead. Flashing back to the images that

appeared in the nightmare, I inhale sharply. The explosion, and the deafening blast that

accompanied it, once again torment my consciousness, leaving my reality distorted. Luckily I

saw no familiar faces tonight; the dream had simply carried emotions of the past: intense fear,

and confusion. I remember the day well.

Clouds had covered the sky like a thick grey blanket, and the air was heavy with war.

Now, after days in the trenches, we understood. Thousands of us, insignificant pawns on an

enormous chess board of cold strategy. Nobody questioned the orders, nobody talked of the

reasons why, we simply knew that our lives had changed in this place, at this time.

I was in prone position, laid out on my stomach with a Remington in hand, keeping watch

just over the top of the dirt. Afternoon was transitioning into night, and nothing much was

expected to happen. We always kept a watch schedule as an extra precaution though, even in

these times.

It hit suddenly, the cannon blast. I was thrown through the air, launched back into the

other side of the trench as fire engulfed the post to my right. I heard a beep, then a ringing in my

ears; my eyes were closed tight as I clutched my right arm. There was an intense pain in my ribs,

and along my right side, as if I had been dipped in molten metal and left with no way to cool. I

wanted to cool, to just become one of those magnificent statues of bronze memorializing some

fallen hero, or honoring some act of valor, but it never happened.

Blankly staring around the trench, I saw vague outlines of others, injured or dead, and in

pain like me, wondering what would happen next. Smoke hung in the air, surrounding and

shrouding us. Now, when I dream, it obscures the scene just enough to leave only a dull sorrow.

I hear a faint ring and gasp, frantically looking around my small bedroom. The TV’s

glow seeps in through my open door. Oh, I forgot to turn it off, I realize. Rubbing my eyes with

my palms, and shaking my head to exit the memory, I look out the window. There is a full moon

out, and I can see clearly into the street outside my apartment. Raindrops are falling softly,

puttering on the narrow sidewalks. A cat meows somewhere off in an alleyway, perhaps

searching for its next meal. Just an ordinary summer night. A man hurriedly makes his way

across the street, trying to conceal the obvious limp in his right leg. He looks all around him and

pulls the collar of his pea coat up to his chin, paranoid, trying to get somewhere fast. I flinch,

blink, and look down again. He had turned a corner, leaving my mind once again troubled.

Was that…? I begin to think. No… No it couldn’t be.

I take a step away from my window, glancing outside one last time before pulling the

shades down. Slowly climbing back into bed, I begin to ask myself a familiar question. What am

I more afraid of? What’s out there, or what’s in here? (Page 15)

Point of View Exercises

Holly Zimmerman

Colin

“Duck!” I shouted at Holly, hoping this time she’d react a little faster. But she didn’t. The

foam dart hit her forehead, then fell to the snow covered ground.

“Well, you’re down another life,” I told her, shaking my head. She whined and pouted in

response, complaining that “this game isn’t fair!” and “I only have one life left!” It was so

annoying. Besides, it was her choice to tag-along with me and Mike, and she should play by the

rules. I couldn’t risk getting in trouble with mom again though, so I said quickly,

“Maybe…I could let you use the bazooka.”

She looked up with bright eyes and asked “Really?!”

I nodded, handing over the revered Nerf toy. Let’s just hope she aims it better than she

can aim the gun I thought, frustrated.

Mike stepped out from his hiding place by the olive tree, calling over to where Holly and

I stood.

“C’mon guys let’s keep playing! I’m starting to get bored.”

So we resumed, and luckily Mike didn’t keep on playing rough. It was a fun night.

Michael

It was a pretty epic Nerf shot. If I had caught it in slow motion…aw man it would’ve

looked cool. Right in the middle of her forehead, and she didn’t even see it coming! (Page 16)

After my quick escape, I tried to peek through the leaves and catch a glimpse of the

aftermath. Holly was talking to Colin and gesturing around the spot I’d just vacated.

Shit, if she runs off all angry again…I thought suddenly. But she was smiling now, so I

guess Colin said something to keep her from tattling.

Oh, he gave her the bazooka. That’s why she’s all happy now.

Looking up at the sky, I could see that the sun had almost fully set, so I quickly revealed

my hiding spot to Colin and Holly, trying to get the game going again. It seemed to work, and I

began searching for another place to hide. It was going to be a fun sleepover. (Page 17)

Fun in the Snow

Holly Zimmerman

Colin

“Duck!” I shouted at Holly, hoping this time she’d react a little faster. But she didn’t. The

foam dart hit her forehead, then fell to the snow covered ground.

“Well, you’re down another life.” I told her, shaking my head. Of course she whined and

pouted in response.

“This game isn’t fair!” and “I only have one life left!” she yelled. It was so annoying. The

game wasn’t even new to her, we’d played it so many times before. It was her choice to tag-

along with me and Mike. If she wasn’t willing to get a snowball to the face a few times, or be

chased by Mike with his Nerf revolver, then she shouldn’t play. Simple as that. I couldn’t risk

getting in trouble with mom again though, so I said quickly,

“Maybe…I could let you use the bazooka.”

She looked up with bright eyes and asked “Really?!”

I nodded, handing over the Nerf toy. Let’s just hope she aims it better than she can aim

the gun I thought.

She smiled at me. It was amazing how quickly her mood could change.

I looked up briefly at the house, checking to see if the lights were on in the kitchen. Mom

wanted to make sure we weren’t being mean to Holly I guess, since she looked towards the

backyard periodically. (Page 18)

The light was off, and I turned back to Holly, quickly whispering, “Hey Hol, let’s go and

find a new hiding place ok?”

She gave a little determined nod, holding tight to her Nerf bazooka as we headed towards

the looming hedgerow, hoping this time we would be the ones to ambush Michael.

Michael

The retreat was as swift as the ambush had been. Michael quickly ran off after taking the

shot, being sure the foam dart would meet its target.

He always looked forward to these battles when he hung out with Colin, since Colin had

the most extensive collection of Nerf toys out of all of his friends. It was always either Michael

at Colin’s house, playing Nerf or throwing the football, or Colin at Michael’s house, playing

video games for hours before swimming in his pool.

They both had sisters, and they both had to deal with the “tagging-along” issue that

always seemed to pop up.

Michael always wondered, why does she have to follow us around everywhere?

He was frustrated, but also understood the attempts Colin made to be nice, through all the

bickering and fighting, tagging-along and whining.

He had retreated to a favorite hiding place of his, after taking Holly down a life with his

precisely aimed shot. He peered through the leaves of the tree he stood under, catching a glimpse

of Colin and Holly in the open, talking to each other. Holly made angry gestures, unnerving

Michael as he considered the possibility of her running off to tattle.

She suddenly smiled though, as Colin handed her the Nerf bazooka. (Page 19)

Well, thought Michael. Glad that’s settled.

Leaning back against a large branch of the tree weighed down by snow, Michael closed

his eyes and waited. He wanted to be sure Colin and Holly were at another hiding spot before

beginning his search again.

A few moments more, and then he opened his eyes, pushing off of his comfy branch

recliner. There was no sign of Colin or Holly.

Cautiously exiting his hideout, he made a scan of the backyard.

Nothing by the shed, and nothing in the trees, but…

There!

Just a tiny flash of color, the red of Colin’s shirt, but enough to reveal where the two had

headed.

Michael smirked, starting off in their direction. (Page 20)

Crystal Grottoes Caverns

Holly Zimmerman

The tour guide leaned up against the wall, breathing out with an effort, quickly glancing

at her watch. The glowing numbers and letters told her “5:25 p.m.” She looked up at the

stalactites, sighing in relief as she knew this tour was her last of the day.

Eager tourists had begun to gather around the cavern entrance, and the weary guide

concentrated on faking her best enthusiasm to match theirs. It was a fantastical place after all,

even if you had to be there for eight hours, five days a week. Once you’d memorized all the

nooks and crannies, learned the history, understood the science behind it, Crystal Grottoes

became more than just a pretty place to visit.

“Everyone here?” the guide called out, in a slightly subdued tone.

Her voice didn’t need a loud projection, the echo would eventually deliver her message to

the back of the group.

She made out nods in response by the dim lamplight.

Standing up a little straighter, she took a deep breath, smiled, and addressed her group.

“Hi everyone, my name is Maya and I will be your guide through Crystal Grottoes

today!”

With a wave of her hand, and a quick turn on her heel, she indicated the start of the

cavern walk. (Page 21)

There were gasps and exclamations bouncing off the walls as Maya lead them into the

first large chamber, where light danced on impressive stalactites and little streams whispered into

the vast space.

“As you can see, these icicle-like formations hanging above you can be found all

throughout the cavern.”

Maya gestured upwards, drawing the attention of the ones not already looking there, to

the tall cave ceiling.

“These are called stalactites. When water, mineralized with calcium carbonate, seeps into

the cave and drips from the ceiling, it leaved deposits of those miner-”

She stopped dead.

Something had moved. Something was moving.

One woman near the front of the group, looked down suddenly and said,

“The ground! It’s- it’s an earthquake!”

A deep rumble began, a shudder, as the cavern shook along with the earth beneath it.

There were piercing yelps and cries throughout the group, as people looked around

themselves, attempting to find a way out. Trying to find somewhere other than here.

It felt as though a bus had just started moving, requiring a concentrated effort to maintain

balance. Small rocks began to fall, and Maya had to yell now for anyone to hear her.

“Stay calm! We need to make our way back to the entrance! Everyone just-” (pg. 22)

Her voice was cut off by a loud crash, and before she could scan the cavern to find its

source, the lights cut off.

They were cast into darkness.

The ground had stopped shaking, and silence now seemed to be echoing.

Maya could hear a little running water, still calmly making its way through the cavern,

and the unique sound told her exactly where she was. She was grateful in this moment, that she

had spent so long and worked so hard memorizing all the cave’s secrets. She felt around her hard

hat, quickly locating the flashlight button and clicking it on.

A pile of rocks, stalactites, and limestone slabs, reached from floor to ceiling.

She could see the reflection of her hand in the limestone’s wet surface as she reached out

to the obstruction.

With an anxious breath, she called out,

“Hello?” (Page 23)

Crystal Grottoes

Holly Zimmerman

Leaning against the wall, I breathed out with an effort, quickly glancing at my watch. The

glowing numbers and letters told me 5:25 p.m. I looked up at the stalactites, sighing in relief as I

knew this tour was the last of my day.

Eager tourists had begun to gather around the cavern entrance, and I concentrated on

faking my best enthusiasm to match theirs, despite the exhaustion I felt. It was a fantastical place

after all, even if you had to be there for eight hours, five days a week. Once you’d memorized all

the nooks and crannies, learned the history, and understood the science behind it, Crystal

Grottoes became more than just a pretty place to visit.

“Everyone here?” I called out, in a hushed tone.

My voice didn’t need a loud projection; echoes would eventually deliver my message to

the back of my group.

She made out nods in response by a dim light, emanating from lamps along the cavern

walls.

Standing up a little straighter, taking a deep breath, I smiled, and addressed the group.

“Hi everyone, my name is Maya and I will be your guide through Crystal Grottoes

today!”

Waving my hand, and turning quickly on my heel, I indicated the start of the cavern

walk. (Page 24)

There were gasps and exclamations bouncing off the walls as I lead them into the first

large chamber, where light danced on impressive stalactites and little streams whispered into the

vast space.

“As you can see, these icicle-like formations hanging above you can be found all

throughout the cavern.”

I gestured upwards, drawing the attention of the ones not already looking there, to the tall

cave ceiling.

“These are called stalactites. When water, mineralized with calcium carbonate, seeps into

the cave and drips from the ceiling, it leaved deposits of those miner-”

I stopped dead.

Something moved. Something was moving.

Deep rumbling began, a shuddering, as the cavern shook along with the earth beneath it.

A collective gasp rose up from my tour group, as people panicked and looked frantically

about, trying to find the source of the movement.

“Stay calm! We need to make our way back to the entrance!” I called out, this time

projecting my voice out into the cave.

It felt like a bus had just started up, requiring an effort to keep balanced. Small rocks fell,

and I motioned urgently towards the crowd of people, making sure everyone was headed out in

the same direction.

Hearing a loud crash, I instinctually ducked to protect myself, continuing to move in a

hunched position. (Page 25)

I tried to scan the room to find the source of the crash, but at that moment, the lights

flickered, then went out completely.

The ground stopped shaking, and the last echoes of shudders and crashes dissipated.

Feeling around my hard hat, I quickly locating the flashlight button and clicked it on.

A pile of rocks, stalactites, and limestone slabs, reached from floor to ceiling.

I was alone. Separated and trapped.

I saw the reflection of my hand in the limestone’s wet surface as I reached out to touch

the obstruction.

With an anxious breath, I called out, “Hello?” (Page 26)

(Page 27)

Holly Zimmerman

14 July, 2014

The Moon

When nomads of an ancient time fixed their gaze on the moon, what were their thoughts?

Was it beautiful? An ominous presence –an angered god appearing in some divine form? Such

an enigmatic object is open to much interpretation. The truth of the moon –its origins, and its

own solitary journey through time and through space craft a gripping story of destruction and

creation. Looking up at the night sky…at the moon’s pearly aura, one cannot begin to fathom the

events of its conception. Now, after billions of years, the moon stands as a mesmerizing entity.

People from all ends of the earth see the same object, resonating on some level with them. In

ways, it connects us, and reminds us of the Earth’s violent past. Whether the moon lifts one’s

spirits, inspires, or simply lights up the night, it is always providing for those inhabitants of the

Earth, perhaps as a thanks for the events that created it. (Page 28)

Heavenly and Celestial

By: Holly Zimmerman

A moon accompanies this earth

Through its space-time journey,

And mesmerizes the wandering soul,

Adorning our jeweled night sky as an ornament.

All feel its power,

And all see its enigmatic glow.

Could it be called divine?

Beautiful?

Conceived amidst fire and destruction,

Our moon, our sentinel

Remains an object of fascination,

And reminds us of the violent past Earth endured.

(Page 29)

Third eye opened –

Gaze fixed –

All are captivated.

(Page 30)

Heavenly and Celestial

By: Holly Zimmerman

Moon accompanying Earth

through space-time.

mesmerizing the wandering soul,

adorning our jeweled night sky as an ornament.

All feel your power –

see your enigmatic glow.

Could you be called divine or beautiful?

Conceived amidst fire and destruction,

Our moon, our sentinel –

an object of fascination…

Brings back painful memories,

(Page 31)

of ancient Earth days –

The heat,

too much,

beckoning lava to the surface.

An ancient Earth

In blissful, universal solitude –

Sudden crash,

thrusting change

upon the world.

You, moon,

had no easy journey.

Little protection from the

weapons of the universe,

(Page 32)

as the asteroids and meteorites,

left you war-battered and bloody.

And on some nights,

we see that bloodshed

in your rusty tint.

Moon of wonder,

accompanied by Earth…

Seizing our attentions

as we occupy this once

violent planet.

Third eye opened –

Gaze fixed –

All are captivated.

(Page 33)

Moon of Wonder (First Draft)

By: Holly Zimmerman

Among the stars is

A moon of allure, mystique –

Opening our eyes.

Moon of Wonder (Revision)

By: Holly Zimmerman

Amongst our stars is

A moon of wonder, mystique –

Opening our eyes.

(Page 34)

Land of Opportunity

By: Holly Zimmerman

Fields of green

Flash upon my eye as I

Explore –

Taking in the little wonders…

I fill up the space

Of this beautiful expanse

With ghost trails,

Of memories I have experienced there.

And will experience –

Imagine,

The future days,

When I will walk, run, or sit,

And work,

Quietly admiring what surrounds me.

(Page 35)

Land of Opportunity

By: Holly Zimmerman

Fields of green

flash upon my eye as I

explore –

Taking in the little wonders…

an unknown bird,

trickling waters,

diagonal paths guiding

wanderers.

I fill up the space

of this beautiful expanse

with invisible trails,

only I can see,

showing the memories I have experienced there.

And will experience –

Imagine, (Page 36)

the future days,

when I will walk, or run, or sit

and work,

quietly admiring what surrounds me.

(Page 37)

The Little Village.

By: Holly Zimmerman

Tales of fantastical lands –

A gorgeous, itty bitty village!

With houses beneath hills.

Stories heard in youth,

before wise wanderers,

went to wander again.

One could but imagine

the scene

of the Shire.

Landscape like a bumpy blanket,

spread out across expanses of earth.

And homes exuding warmth,

and happiness.

(Page 38)

By the reflected light of

stained glass,

and the rich designs

on wooden furniture.

Grasses singing in the breeze.

Hobbits laughing as they tease

one another,

in playful jest.

Ah,

how one envies

the life of a Hobbit.

(Page 39)

The Little Village.

By: Holly Zimmerman

“Do you remember the Shire, Mr. Frodo? It'll be spring soon. And the orchards will be in blossom. And

the birds will be nesting in the hazel thicket.”

-Samwise Gamgee (Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King)

Tales of fantastical lands –

A gorgeous, itty bitty village!

With houses beneath hills.

Like a hidden paradise

within the danger filled

middle-earth.

Stories heard in youth,

before wise wanderers,

went to wander again.

One could but imagine

the scene

of the Shire. (Page 40)

Landscape like a bumpy blanket,

spread out across expanses of earth.

And homes exuding warmth,

and happiness.

By the reflected light of

stained glass,

and the rich designs

on wooden furniture.

Grasses singing in the breeze.

Hobbits laughing as they tease

one another,

in playful jest.

Ah,

how one envies

the life of a Hobbit.

(Page 41)

Zoo Full of Wonder (Draft)

By: Holly Zimmerman

One, two, three wild birds!

And more around the corner –

Zoo full of wonder.

A Day at the Zoo (Revision)

By: Holly Zimmerman

One, two, three wild birds!

And more around the corner –

A day at the zoo.

(Page 42)

(Page 43)

Favorites and inspirational Poems

“I wandered Lonely as a Cloud” –William Wordsworth

“The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” –T.S. Eliot

“Ode to Salt” – Pablo Neruda

“A Letter to the Media” –Dameon Reid

“A Dream Within a Dream” –Edgar Allan Poe

“We Real Cool” –Gwendolyn Brooks

“Facing It” –Yusef Komunyakaa

“A Time to Talk” –Robert Frost

“Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” –Robert Frost

(Page 44)