THE WRITTEN WORD: YOUNG WRITERS WEAVE ARTISTIC EXPRESSION

Words. Strung together they can form poems, essays and stories -- word pictures that are every bit as colorful and unique as paintings in an art gallery.

The Southeast Missouri Writing Achievements Awards program at Southeast Missouri State University annually offers up some of the best writing of elementary and high school students.

Six area students were among 27 winners of the 14th annual Writing Achievement Awards.

They are Rahul Kamath, an 11th grader at Cape Girardeau Central High School; Gail Heuschober, a seventh grader at St. Vincent de Paul School in Cape Girardeau; Michael Bricknell, fifth grader at Jackson North Elementary School in Fruitland; Andy Seabaugh and Josh Zinner, ninth graders at R.O. Hawkins Junior High School at Jackson, and Matt VanGennip, fifth grader at Leopold Elementary School.

The winning writers were among 453 students in grades 4-12 from 101 Southeast Missouri and St. Louis area schools who competed in the contest last month. First place and honorable mentions were awarded.

Seabaugh, who won first place for his poem about a leaf, said he enjoys writing everything from poetry to short stories.

"I just like communicating my ideas to other people," he said.

Zinner won honorable mention for an essay recalling the times he used to dig for bones in the woods behind his home.

"Really, it honestly was the only thing I could remember from my childhood," said Zinner, who likes to write letters to his uncles on the Internet.

Kamath won honorable mention for his essay about volunteering one summer at an institution for terminally ill cancer patients in Cleveland.

"I tried to have some humanity," he said.

Heuschober won honorable mention for a poem about her relationship with her sister.

Heuschober said she enjoys all types of writing. "But I really personally like poetry the best.

"I think it shows a really cool way to express beliefs or feelings," she said.

VanGennip's work of fiction about a special key took first place. "I just had a dream and put it together and I thought it made a good story," he said.

Bricknell won honorable mention for an essay about the voyage of the Mayflower, based on family history.

"It is just fun," he said of writing.

THE KEY

by Matt VanGennip

5th grade

It started out to be a nice day. The sun was shining through the leaves on the trees. The leaves were waving gently in the breeze.

It was recess. I was playing kickball. When we started to pick teams, no one picked me. I joined the red team anyway, but no one seem to care or notice. When it was my turn to kick the ball, I kicked it straight down the middle. Everyone looked surprised. I ran to first, but no one threw the ball at me. As I rounded third and headed for home, they just threw the ball back to the pitcher. I made a home run and no one cared? I couldn't believe it!

The bell rang and we started lining up to go inside. When I got to my desk, my books were all out on my desk with my glasses lying on top. I wondered who cleaned out my desk and why. It wasn't that messy. Nobody spoke to me all afternoon. I thought it was strange that the teacher didn't call on me when I raised my hand, and this time I even knew the answers!

When the bell rang to go home, my mother wasn't there to pick me up. I decided to walk down the long, winding dirt road to my grandparents' house. I walked along kicking up dust thinking about what a weird day it had been. When I came to the bridge that crossed the small stream, I sat down while I threw rocks in the water. As I sat there throwing rocks at my reflection, another face appeared beside mine in the water. I looked around, but there was no one there. I looked in the water again and the face was gone. I looked up and a large white eagle swooped down at me. I ducked and when I looked up again, there was an angel standing beside me. She was barefooted wearing a long white robe. Her wings were made of silky white feathers that touched the ground. She had red hair down to her shoulders in curls. She looked light as a feather. I jumped up. The angel said to me, "Don't be afraid, I come in peace." I felt so stunned, I didn't know what to say or do. The angel said, "You have been taken from your life too soon; you were in a car crash two days ago. You were not supposed to die. This should explain your strange day at school. No one could see you or hear you." I stared at the angel. I thought to myself, this is really weird!

The angel said, "I have been sent to give you this special key. This key will be your constant reminder that your angel is watching over you. Keep it with you always." The angel handed me the golden key. As I reached for it, I realized that my mouth was still hanging open. I started to speak, but no words would come out. I took the key from the angel. I was amazed at how bright and shiny it was. It was about three inches long, very heavy, and seemed to glow. As I held the key a warm, safe feeling came over me.

I was about to ask the angel what I was supposed to do with the key and how I was supposed to get back to my life, if I really was dead, but before I could say anything, I found myself rolling over in my own bed. I sat up rubbing my eyes. Wow, what a dream! It seemed so real! I heard my mom calling, telling me it was time to get up and get ready for school. I got up and started getting ready. I picked up my dirty clothes from yesterday off of my bedroom floor and went down the hall to put them down the laundry chute. As I started to drop my jeans down the chute, I noticed I had left something heavy in my jeans pocket. I reached in, thinking I'd pull out my old pocket knife. Instead, I pulled out a bright, shiny, golden key, and a warm, safe feeling came over me.

Leopold R-3 School

Leopold, MO

Mrs. Kathy Nanney, teacher

AUTUMN'S CHILD

by Andy Seabaugh

9th grade

A leaf, autumn's child,

Lifts her face

to a dying sun.

Waiting for a whisper

of winter's wind,

A journey to make,

to the frozen, hard ground.

A leaf, like a

joyous child,

Holds its red-gold face

to the autumn sun,

Waiting for a journey

on the icy winter wind.

Leaf of the ash,

like burnished gold,

Shiny doubloon,

Against a blue autumn sky.

Spiraling, spinning,

To dance, to die.

R.O. Hawkins Junior High

Jackson, Mo.

Mrs. Christine Becker, teacher

ROOM 42

by Rahul Kamath

11th grade

"This is a total, absolute waste of time," I thought, trapped inside my uncle's car. I had only been at my cousin Mahanth's house for two days, and already my uncle had taken it upon himself to recruit us as volunteers to work at a local institution for terminally ill cancer patients. Of course, all the curses I concocted in my mind were not allowed to pervade the car's silence. God only knows what my uncle would have thought of me.

"Hey, are you sure we have to go through with this?" I whimpered to Mahanth. "This is really a ridiculous waste of. . ." I cut myself short because Mahanth's blank look reminded me of our previous conversation in which he declared adamantly that there was no way out of this situation.

When we finally arrived at our destination, I was astonished that the building did not look like I had imagined. It was not a towering white monolith that dwarfed the adjacent buildings, nor did it have a voluminous parking lot and a window-riddled facade, which were trademark hospital features. Instead, it was a small, two-story brick Victorian building with a small rose garden that appeared meticulously tended to. Miniature religious figures lined the cobblestone pathway to the door.

Mahanth and I exchanged concerned looks regarding the events that were about to occur. We entered to find an elderly secretary, looking up from the typewriter on her desk and exclaiming in a high-pitched screech, "You must be our new volunteers!"

"Volunteers, indeed," I thought. Feigning a smile, I mumbled, "Yes."

"Come with me, men," she said, walking down a long corridor and into a small room with pink wallpaper. A young woman rose from her paperwork and introduced herself.

"Hello, I'm Sister Mary," she welcomed. "I want to thank you both for volunteering. You know, it's not often we have volunteers as young as you two." Handing us each a blue smock, she instructed us to put them on. "Rahul, you'll be working in room 42. Mahanth, you'll be..."I left the room before I could hear her finish.

I stepped into room 42 where a middle-aged man with John Lennon glasses and a brown Fu Manchu beard was standing over a bed. I waited until he was finished tending the patient before talking to him. He apparently sensed my presence because he glanced up at me stoically.

"Hi," I managed to stutter nervously. "I'm Rahul. . .the new volunteer."

"Uh-huh," he muttered, still concentrating on his patient.

"Uh-huh. That's a pretty indifferent phrase to say to a new volunteer!" I thought. "I'm sorry. I didn't catch your name," I said.

"Does it really matter to you?" he asked. It became obvious to me that he had had countless experiences with forced volunteers who really had no intrinsic desire to be there.

After a period of extended silence, I decided to break the ice by asking what I would be doing.

"Well, you're going to help care for the patients. You'll shave them, brush their teeth for them, feed them. A lot of them are too weak to even. . ." I didn't even pay attention to the rest of what he said. I wasn't expecting to hear this kind of stuff. I thought the extent of my work would be delivering medicine, linens, and things like that.

Clearing the thoughts from my mind, I asked, "Okay, when do I start?"

"Now." He thrust a plate of unidentifiable material into my hands. "This is Pete, and he' s ready for you to feed him." Extremely underweight and in his mid fifties, Pete looked up, nodding his head slowly as if attempting some sort of makeshift handshake. I smiled and started to feed Pete when he struck up a conversation.

"You ever been to Yugoslavia? I came here from Yugoslavia with my wife and kids."

"Yeah?" I asked. For some reason, I wanted to hear his story about Yugoslavia. I didn't have to pry to find out his life story; he was more than eager to tell me. I soon discovered that he had been a refugee escaping from a country on the brink of civil war when he left. He kept on talking and talking. I guess I should have been tending to other patients, but I sat with Pete for two hours.

For the rest of my six-hour shift, I talked to some other patients, each as interesting as Pete. There was George, a former professional boxer; Ralph, Cleveland's former police chief; and Frank, the biggest Cleveland Indians fan I had ever met. Every time I walked into Frank's room, he would be reading the "Sports" section of the newspaper. Every day, he would ask me, "How 'bout those Indians?" and report to me everything that happened in their last game.

One day, I came to work, eager to do my daily rounds and talk to Pete and the others. I walked into room 42, but Pete wasn't there. At first, I thought he must have been transferred to another room. But, then it struck me. "I just talked to him two days ago!" I moaned to myself. I couldn't believe it. I edged out of the room, bewildered, and walked away slowly. Not knowing what to do, I went to Frank' s room.

"How 'bout those Indians?"

"Yeah, they're the greatest!" I declared as I reached for the shaving kit. I was performing the daily shaving routine when out of the blue, Frank looked into my eyes and said, "I want to thank you for spending time taking care of an old guy like me. I know there are other things you'd probably rather be doing."

It was then that I realized I had been mistaken earlier; these deeds I was performing were not going unrewarded. Here lay helpless, deteriorating men, former doctors, businessmen, lawyers, and soldiers, trusting and depending on me, an insignificant speck on the map of society. I decided then that I would no longer come to work grudgingly, wishing I were somewhere else. I would never again act as the indifferent employee who watched the clock, waiting to leave as soon as possible. I must have gone to work there only twenty-five days total, but I went happily although the number of people whom I knew from my initial visit became fewer and fewer each time I went back.

Cape Central High School

Cape Girardeau, MO

Ms. Terri Fisher, teacher

HARMONY

by Gail Heuschober

7th grade

My sister and I, we're nothing alike:

I take gymnastics; she rides her bike.

I'm a brunette with dark emerald eyes;

Her hair is golden, her eyes like the skies.

She has locks that are curly, but my mane lies straight.

She retreats to bed early, while I stay up late.

I resemble our dad; she favors our mother;

But I think like mom, and she's more like our brother.

She dresses for comfort; I'm into style,

She's very impatient, but I can wait awhile.

I'm rather quiet; she's usually hyper.

I never complain; she's often a griper.

She is the youngest, and I'm the middle child.

I'm very serious; she tends to be wild.

I'm better at spelling; she's stronger in math.

I always take showers; she soaks in a bath.

I seldom get sick; she's allergic to air.

She sometimes cheats at cards, but I'd rather play fair.

I treasure reading; she prefers T.V.

While I practice piano, she carols with glee.

My favorite food is pizza; she yearns for dessert.

I don't care for boys, she's -- well, she's a bit of a flirt.

I choose movies with vampires; she watches Shirley Temple.

I wear exotic earrings; hers are plain and simple.

Still, I'm Gail Rennee, and she's Jill Marie:

We share the same branch on our family tree.

Our lives have intertwined, placed by nature's fate.

So we harmonize our voices and love we cultivate.

I'd be completely lost without her, on Jill I can depend.

No matter where life leads us, she's forever my best friend.

We're distinct in many ways, on that we do agree,

But if you dare to come between us, Watch Out for my sister and me!

St. Vincent de Paul School

Cape Girardeau, MO

Mrs. JoAnn Debrock, teacher

A SPECIAL VOYAGE

by Michael Bricknell

5th grade

Prologue: My Grandfather Bricknell lives in New England outside Boston. He has traced our family history to six families on the Mayflower. Their last names were Chilton, Cooke, Howland, Rogers, Tilley, and Winslow. Today when we gather for a family reunion, the discussion always turns to the landing of that early ship and events which occurred on the famous voyage. After listening and pondering what I've heard, this is my version of that courageous trip.

* * *

My father was preparing for our departure from England. He packed clothes for mother, himself, and me. My mother packed the cooking utensils in the same trunk with the clothes. I asked why we were putting our clothes, Bible, and cooking gear in one trunk and why so few belongings? They replied, "We do not have enough room to store more than one trunk."

Later that night while I was getting ready for bed I thought, "So I am really leaving England!" I was so excited I could not go to sleep. I wanted to stay awake almost all night, but I could not keep my eyes open. I had a dream -- a bad dream about leaving England and going to this place called the New World. It was horrible! The ship was sinking very fast, and there were a lot of sharks circling our ship. All of a sudden a bright light flashed, and I awoke to see my mother by the open window. The light from the rising sun was shining in my face. I got out of bed and prepared to leave England. I was too excited to eat.

As we started down the path I could smell fresh bread and that reminded me that I had not eaten. My father was talking to a merchant about the food we were to take on our journey. So I asked my mother for something to eat. She gave me a small portion, and I was satisfied. While walking from the merchant store front to the bay where the ship was anchored, I could detect the salted harbor and hear the clamor of sea gulls.

When I saw the ship, I was ecstatic and downhearted at the same time. I had forgotten to say good-bye to my friends! After we boarded the ship, we stored our trunk in a very small space where the three of us were supposed to live for the next two or three months. That night I asked why we were leaving England. My father replied that King James was forcing us to worship his way, and we had different beliefs.

The next morning I was awakened by the rocking of the ship and complete silence except for a baby named Samuel Eaton, who was crying. His mother and my mother were best friends when they were young. I finally was able to doze again. But it was not long until I had to get up, because my parents arose. Children could never lie abed when their elders were awake.

This particular morning I heard someone call my name in a peculiar way. He was calling me "Revolved" instead of Resolved, which was my given name. Even though l was just ten years old, l still wondered why my family didn't baptize me with a more common name. However, I met an eleven-year-old girl with the name Remember Allerton, whose father was a tailor. Remember and I became best friends because we were living next to each other on the ship. The next week nothing exciting happened, but that was short-lived.

I just found out that my mother was going to have a baby. I hoped it would be a boy. She was in pain and had to stay in bed. Remember's mother took care of me for two weeks. I really missed my mother. During this time we had to prepare for a storm. I knew it was coming because of a poem my father had taught me, "Red sky in morning, sailors take warning"; another line was "Red sky at night, sailor's delight." The thunder sounded like exploding gun powder. Waves crashed against the side of the ship. Luckily there were no serious leaks. I was having second thoughts about becoming a sailor for life.

The storm increased my mother's pain. I had to stay with Remember and her parents two more days. Finally, my mother called to me, "Come and see your new brother, Peregrine." She appeared very pale, and my brother looked so tiny. That night there was much praying for a safe ending to our voyage and songs of praise for my newborn brother.

Soon the men were talking about creating just and equal laws for our arrival in the New World. They all planned to sign an agreement governing the new colony. Some people wondered if we would ever complete our journey.

At daybreak I was finally allowed to go on deck for fresh air. Everyone seemed joyful that a watcher had spotted land. All of a sudden we heard a scream and commotion. Someone had tripped over a big rope and fallen overboard into the fearsome ocean. Her heavy clothing made her sink quickly. This was the first person to die on the Mayflower. Everyone was sad after that event. I asked my father the woman's name. He said it was Dorothy May, wife of William Bradford, leader of our new colony. Several days later we had to pack all of our possessions back in our trunk in preparation to go ashore. For me it was a long wait before our turn came to board a smaller boat for the final journey to land. Once we hit solid ground our legs felt very wobbly. We had a lot of hard work ahead of us, but all were thankful to have survived the sea voyage and began to worship God as we desired.

North Elementary School

Jackson, Mo.

Mrs. Martha Short, teacher

THE LITTLE FOREST

by Joshua Zinner

9th grade

In the middle of the Badlands I would delicately unearth the finest dinosaur remains using the most precise methods and finest tools, having my assistant pack and catalogue each one. Okay, so it wasn't the Badlands, but the little half-acre grove of oak and maple trees behind my house was a playground for the soul, and like the soul, it held infinite possibilities. In that tiny space you could become anyone, no limits, no parents to say what you were doing was "silly" or "cute." This was a real refuge for the soul of any boy who had ever wanted to play a game where the best and only player was himself.

Going to this place of refuge was more difficult than opening a door, though when looked at that was really all I was doing. First, I had to ask mom if I could go out. This might not seem so significant to older people; however, I'm sure if they looked back on their childhood, they remember the precautions their mother took when she was trying to keep them safe. Asking my mom consisted of putting on long pants, getting OFF! sprayed into every nook and cranny of my body, and listening to a lecture on what not to do with any animals I found in the woods (the only rule here was don't bring them into the house).

After mom finally let me go, it was only a few short steps in the tall crabgrass to the fallen, rotten, lichen-covered trees that began the small woods. This was without a doubt the most beautiful part of the forest, the moss covering the logs in all the places that were not totally rotted through. It was here that I would dig for hours with my bare hands to unearth "dinosaur bones," probably cow bones, having my assistant, our family dog Hamlet, catalogue them and then send them off to be exhibited. To this day I can't tell you what our little black and brown dog did with those bones, but every time I'd dig, there would be more for him to take somewhere.

Inside, the little forest became endless uncharted jungle; the dead creeper vines that had fallen were countless snakes, slithering around me, looking for a weak spot on which to sink their slender, venomous fangs. The only way I could avoid dying at the hand of these slithery spawns of Satan was to get to the one place that the snakes couldn't reach, to the trees. Scrambling up the nearest tree I would always end up with some insignificant cuts, and if mom ever found out I probably never would have been allowed outside again. So there I'd sit for hours, leaves encompassing me, tree slowly swaying in the summer breeze, just looking around for other trees to hop to, or sometimes climbing up to the top and dropping whirlybirds, the seeds of maple trees that spin when they fall. When I felt the urge to climb down, I would slowly come from my perch until all I had underfoot was a soft bed of decaying leaves. Even on the ground the place didn't lose its entertainment value, with any number of animals to chase and catch. Sometimes trying to trap a butterfly could become an all-encompassing task. If I wasn't feeling like chasing any of the small creatures, then there was a creek that ran through the middle of the place. Here I could jump from one rock to the other, watching out for alligators and snakes that would slowly float by, or skip stones, one of my favorite things to do. Sometimes I could move all the stones from one end of the bank to the other, trying to get all the rocks to end up in the same place. When a rock looked especially good to skip, I'd put it in my pocket to keep in my room, and would usually lose it if I fell in.

Today, the little woods still stands behind the house we lived in, although someone removed the logs that used to stand like sentinels outside it, and every time we drive past it, it draws me near, like a sailor to his home port. Even though we have moved away I'll not soon forget all the games of tag the neighborhood kids used to play, and I can never forget the days when I dug up dinosaur bones outside the small forest.

R.O. Hawkins Junior High School

Jackson, MO

Mrs. Christine Becker, teacher