St. Thomas More Catholic Secondary School

This week’s Spectator Literacy Project was facilitated by Carol D’Alves.

Full School Name: St. Thomas More Catholic District School Board

School Information:

Principal: Susanna Fortino-Bozzo

Grades offered: Grade 9-12

1045 Upper Paradise Road

Hamilton, Ontario

Main Contact: Carol D’Alves

Phone: 905 388-3030, Ext. 322

ART GALLERY

Untitled on paper by Chantelle Johnson, Grade 12

Witch 1 and 2, Acrylic on paper by Justine Kicek, Grade 12

Venezia, Graphite on paper by Justine Kicek, Grade 12

ARTICLES

What is Love?

Elisa Noland Ruggiero, Grade 12

What is love?

Is it the gentle rain?

Does the gentle rain feel the ocean?

Does the ocean know its waves?

Do the waves know their path?

Does the path know its way?

Does the way twist and turn?

Do twists and turns climb up and down?

Do climbing and falling ever rest?

Does rest ever cease?

What is love?

Is it the gentle rain?

Winter’s Wake

Nicole Witkowski, Grade 12

Grey, smoky breath.

Out in winter’s grasp. Mystery.

Standing under the arch of two gnarled branches

With touching fingertips

To enter a mystical land

Where snow lies on the ground,

And silences the flap of a butterfly’s wings.

Living the Dream

Marina Stanidis, Grade 10

The definition of an athlete is one who is physically strong and excels in physical games, but there is much more to an athlete that makes them so extraordinary. What many people do not realize is that athletes are under more stress than the average student. There is always that constant weight on their shoulders, pushing them to their extremities, telling them that they should be doing more. Because an athlete is a tough job with no breaks in between. They must train hard, they must watch what they eat, they must excel academically, they must mentally prepare, they must take criticism and they must stay strong. Many student athletes put pressure on themselves because they know that they need to continue to outshine their competition and they feel that they only have a small amount of time to get where they want to be. Sometimes, reality sets in and they realize that they are only one person of many who is trying to make it big. It can be extremely frustrating and overwhelming. Then there comes the times where they feel like they should just throw the towel in and give up. But they never do. They have to keep in mind that every hardship that they have had to overcome, every injury, every bad game, every trip and fall, and every upset has shaped them into a better and stronger person. Athletes live for the thrill of the game, the rush of adrenaline, the burning sensation throughout their body, and for the chance to see the day when all their hard work has paid off and they are finally living the dream.

Summer Tranquility

Annie Dallicardillo, Grade 12

I push open the old cracked window. Stepping out, I immediately feel the warmth of the sun on my pale skin, feel the cool breeze upon my face. Summer! I lie my cool comforter against the scratchy surface, the sun reflecting into my eyes from the pool below. As I settle - placing my earphones in - I begin to relax; all thoughts and worries slipping out of my mind, floating away on the wind. Geese fly overhead, gracefully squawking. The familiar buzzing of a bee dances around my head, then disappears. I gingerly lie back as the smooth silky voice of Ella Fitzgerald seeps into my mind - into my soul. I am calm.

The Joy of Baking

Lindsay Esho

If I had known about the joys that came with baking, I would have started ages ago. Every recipe - from rich, moist cakes to double fudge brownies - is available at the click of a mouse. The mechanical hum of the printer sets me off on my journey; with a fresh sheet of instructions in my hand, I’m on the way to my latest creation. Laying out my ingredients on the cool, granite countertop, I take one last look at them before I turn them into what I have in mind: scrumptious peanut butter chocolate chip cookies. A plastic bowl sits, ready to take in the soft, cashmere feel of the flour. Add a dash of salt, a scoop of baking soda and the bowl is gently pushed aside - its contents waiting to be put to use. Spreading thick, creamy peanut butter on the bottom of another bowl, I speckle finely chopped finely chopped peanuts on top, like the outer layer of a Ferrero Rocher chocolate. Two fresh eggs are cracked and dipped, softly melted butter is tipped and crystal sugar poured into the bowl. Brown sugar, clumped together like wet sand, is grinded into the mixture, softened by a taste of vanilla extract. Handfuls of chocolate chunks are thrown into the mix. From here, everything is mashed together, becoming one batter. Dropping spoonfuls on crisp wax paper, they’re on their way to becoming soft, chewy cookies.

Pointe Au Baril Mornings

Steve Watts, Grade 12

Here we go again! I sit up on my half deflated air mattress, as if waking from a nightmare, to the antagonizing squawking of blue jays in the trees directly above my tent. Changing out of last night’s clothes, I notice they still reek of campfire smoke and bug spray. Stepping out of my overheated and mildewed tent, I brave myself to use the outhouse tap water and brush my teeth. Unfortunately, this year’s water seems worse - the rusty, sewage like water makes brushing your teeth with hairy centipede legs seem favourable. On my way out of the hard-boiled egg smelling hole-in-the-ground I fake a smile to the unlucky soul walking into it. The almost blinding glisten bouncing off the glassy lake steals my interest. Standing beside a lonesome windswept pine, I suddenly get a shiver from the cool sea-breeze, while it tussles my hair and blows sand in my face. While trying to wrangle with my hair, I can feel the effects of not being able to shower every day. On my way back to the campsite, I decide to walk along the beach, where a colossal blue heron is perched on the rocks, fishing diligently among the reeds. I glance at the landscape of Georgian Bay and again I shiver as I realize - I never want to leave Pointe Au Baril. The dirty, marshmallow buoys in the lake sway effortlessly on the glassy surface and put me in a trance. Back of our site I sit down at the weathered and chipped picnic table. Although I know every day will be like today, I am still trying to find excuses to return next year.

Sunrise to Sunset

Rachel Verboom, Grade 12

The golden rays of the sun emanate to tickle my arm with a subtle, yet passionate sensation. A blissful radiance! I embrace the luxury of agile fingers that can sweep the chartreuse blades of the pasture, dampened with the morning’s wet dew like a fresh flow of tears from heaven. A happy melody sung from my lips intertwines with a soothing zephyr from the east that dances across the meadow to paint my cheeks a shade of misty rose. With their blots of cyan tinges are the marshmallow clouds, playing a momentary game of hide-and-seek with those curious blue jays and the bright, yellow sun. The wind carries a sweet scent of nectar from the homes of the worker bees, and the waves bring a sharp smell of sea salt from the homes of all aquatic life; both sting my nose with an overbearing craving. I spy patterns of crimson blossoms amongst a field of green, in awe to see them bloom! “Hello World” they appear to screech, inferior little seashell-painted daisies wilt in their shadow; an exquisite scene that I can’t seem to get enough of. I imagine immersing myself in the basin of waves along the shoreline where the tide hikes always closer and further from my parched toes. Wheat coloured sand squishes between my delicate toes and I inch forward like the hesitant hummingbird to the honeysuckle allowing the clear water to lap up to my knees. I gaze at the twilight, contrasted with the sunset’s pretty coral hues and I am dazzled. I convince myself that this is not a reverie as I bask in nature’s tight embrace.

An Invitation

Laura Grond, Grade 12

Upon my unforeseen arrival at the mouth of a shaded path, the trees in their green goodness wave their leafy hands as the breeze passes by, tugging at my sleeve. The wind’s soft whisper says, “Come along,” and brings with it the smell of earth and its metals, of trees and their bark, and of leaves and their juices. I am drawn. I begin to walk the corridor of lush nature, overgrown; a tunnel of life. The ground beneath my feet is not sponge and not dust, but a brown mat, decorated with dead foliage, smooth. The mystic shadows of maples mold into the empty space where nothing yet grows, and the tops of the trees, so closely touch, like emerald fabric sewn to make a lush and massive canopy. I drift further down the narrowing path, and come across two walls of stinging nettles built strong and high on either side - dangerously close. The tiny hairs on their leaves brush my arm softly and their sting burns my skin; breaks my pace. I look back to the open entrance, safe and charted, then ahead into the tapering tunnel, dangerous and winding. The breeze passes through me again; the leaves curl like fingers, drawing me forth. Entranced, I follow - into my unknown.

That Thin Line

Courtney Fleming, Grade 10

Smitten by eyes that part the skies

Finally able to see through my lies

I’m sill so fragile

So be prepared, I can break at any time

Trying to stay balanced as I walk the thin line

Of trying too hard and not giving a damn

That thin line

Of not letting it go

But not letting it control my every thought

Experience is slowly making that thin line easier and easier to walk

As the days go on

Those memories slowly fade to the back of my brain

Always imprinted there

And walking that thin line

Of being perfectly imperfect

And loving every mistake that I’ve made