I sit down Tired, anxious But I can’t relax I stand up Make some tea Fresh and green Add some milk Puffy white clouds Suspended in liquid Floating in their little world Take a sip Warmth rushes through me Things are better Nothing complex Everything is Simple Just me And my tea Adele Stamenov, 10 Bethel Park, PA
On Sunday, I feel happy because I have nothing to do but play. I sit by the computer and watch YouTube all day. I send yellow balls flying with my white-and-purple racquet, Then get out other strings—my violin from where I pack it. I never feel stressed and always get a good rest. I love Sundays, a day I have no tests. On Monday, I am tired; it’s the beginning of the week. More geometry, science. US history makes me freak. First though, at 7:00, is tennis practice in the morning— “SWING MORE POWERFULLY!” is a constant warning. My arm is so tired and all of my body wants to sleep. But it’s Monday and the whole school sounds like sheep. On Tuesday, I feel depressed. I have homework that’s due. I get more homework, which I have no clue how to do. To make matters worse, at 6:30 there’s math club. Then for dinner, I have to eat spicy sausage grub. I go to my room and watch some online tutorials. It’s Tuesday, and I still can’t understand factorials. On Wednesday, I am free with nothing after school. I eat M&M cookies, then splash into the pool. My homework today is easy and quick, So I go to HEB with dad, and strawberries I pick. At home, with nothing to do, I don’t get bossed around. I love Wednesdays because I never break down. On Thursday, I am tired; I have tennis once again. I run around the green, returning balls and hoping I’ll win. I lose all my energy for the rest of the day. I really don’t want to write another essay. Can’t the teachers stop cramming in so many tests? All I want on Thursdays is to Have. A. Rest. On Friday, I feel okay—the tests are finally at their end. The bell at 3:55 will make it start to feel like the weekend. Before that, noodles, goldfish, and berries will get me through, Just as long as no one packed me a cashew. I trudge down the halls—this feeling only lasts for a while. Fridays are okay because at least I will smile. On Saturday, my mood changes, I end happy but start sad. I start off with Chinese. Everything makes me look bad. But after I finish, I am glad to have nothing to do. Sometimes I go on the balcony and just look at the view. I once again end up watching YouTube all day. On Saturdays, I sometimes even go outside to play. Carolyn Lu, 13 Katy, TX
A boat on the horizon of crystal clear water, meeting the rainbow sky, A beautiful watercolor for all to see, Bobbing up and down, serenely, so peacefully, Swaying and rocking in time to the rhythm of the waves, Lulling us to sleep. So mesmerizing . . . So hypnotizing . . . A stray wooden water car. It may look lost but it is not, Sailing smoothly across the never-ending glassy sea. Evangeline Flynn, 10 New York, NY Alicia Xin, 13 Scarsdale, NY
People want to say a lot of things. People think they know a lot of things. People want always to be in the right. People think they’re always on the good side of every fight. People say be open to new ideas. People mean their ideas. People are stupid. I am stupid. We are stupid. Galen Halasz, 13 Saranac Lake, NY
I wake up on that side of bed. My leg’s my arm, My arm’s my head. Lucy Hurwitz, 10 Newton, MA
Some wars lead to the ancient Egypt story that keeps on going It is so ancient it’s God in heaven with the sun and moon When the cell comes you sleep. Eli Nimchonok, 6 Toronto, Ontario, Canada
The mind is birthed in the day but in the night it is silent Every day the mind has a memory and removes the math When the mind music comes you hum. Eli Nimchonok, 6 Toronto, Ontario, Canada
The moon is a silver bead, strung in the necklace of the sky. Every night, it slides in align with the Earth. Then we see it, small but bright. Shimmering. It sheds its light upon us, elegant and soft. The light’s only a reflection of that larger bead. It is not real. Yet we see the light, a bright silver illusion. It is the silver magic. It dangles the entire night on a thin strand. As a hand slides the necklace, the bead disappears. Another, golden, glowing bead slides in. Day has come. Chloe Ma, 9 Naperville, IL Sloka Ganne, 10 Overland Park, KS
Just in front of the back wall Was my seat Full of salty popcorn No curtain went up There was no curtain A poor man buried his children Who will bury me he wept A dog barked suddenly Then Michael stoned the rabbit And Peggy said the leg stinks Straight away, Michael said you stink All I could smell was cola As we got back on the bus A man and a woman kissed Who will bury me? Daniel Shorten, 9 Mallow, Ireland
The pyramids were made to remind people of a ruler But now something lasts longer and can fit in a cooler. Plastic is like a shapeshifting ooze. An eternally flexible yet strong fuse That is slowly burning to our explosive end. Pennies to make, Fortunes to break. Made of the remnants of before With a host of chemicals. All for what, a vessel of soda? We fear poison, but we create it. Send it into our luscious waterways And bury it in our merry earth. We deny our extinction But we kill ourselves. Teddy Lykouretzos, 13 Bronxville, NY
Why do we take pictures? The ability to endlessly preserve is one of many modern fixtures. If we like a dish, we order another. Impossible to do with the birth of a brother. Capturing fireflies in a glass, Eventually they burn out and pass. Wedding cake in a freezer, Forever able to eat at one’s leisure. Still tastes of cherry, But not as good as when you went to marry. Even hands in cement, statues of stone Are gone like the wind’s moan. Don’t you get it? Nothing is and I’m not being mean. Life, love, even colors on a screen. Teddy Lykouretzos, 13 Bronxville, NY
StoneSoupMagazine · Where I’m From by Talia Moyo, 10 I’m from the hot deserts of Africa, with Sekuru’s delectable, rich mushroom stew, and Mama’s avocado pudding, and the African adventures with waterfalls and dancing in the night with fireflies as night lights. And the red dusty villages of Cameroon, with rains that come almost once every month. And Sekuru’s little straw hut-like chapel, where stories and the Bible are read. The big continent of Europe is where I’m from, with silly, little, annoying, cute, frustrating cousins who follow me everywhere I go. And aunties, who make delicious cake pops and table grill and German sausages and treats and grow mouth-watering fruits that drip down my shirt, and cook everything possible everywhere they go. I’m from Hopewell, New Jersey, with its green luscious forests, and with Lotta, our dog, following my every single step. And seeing her perform a routine of sit, lie down, paw and guess which hand your treat is under. And the soft sandy beaches of the New Jersey shore and their warm grains of sand cushioning my feet under cool water with shells of all shapes, sizes and colors. I’m from Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe, with drops of water splashing my face like rain. I’m from hiking up mountains to reach for the heavens above us. With my Sekuru who tells me stories of his trips from Australia to Los Angeles and all around the world. And I’m from the frightening animals, like charging elephants and yawning hippos with enormous teeth and lions crossing roads. The piano is where I’m from, with notes from lowest A to highest C, and violins and cellos that follow me. They sing the songs of Mr. Louis with a past as old as dirt itself. And when strummed, fill the air with dust and history of an old jazz band rocking out on the streets all night. I’m from a village in France, with water crystal blue and caves with plenty of history to go around. And little French schools with children running around and screaming with joy. I’m from lollipops the size of my head. I’m from Louisiana, New Orleans, with Louis Amstrong on every street and Mardi Gras beads hanging on electricity poles. And homemade spicy crab mix, my favorite of all time. I’m from summer night barbecues and side dishes of haricots (rice and beans), and running my home-made “ninja course.” With Lotta biting at my clippety-cloppety, sparkling, muddy boots. I’m from staring on a starry night into the clear nighttime sky way past midnight. But on the rainy days, you’ll find me in a light raincoat and without an umbrella running around my yard with a little puppy running and slipping at my heels. I’ll always be from giving Lotta a bath and seeing her look almost as skinny as a single sheet of paper. And from her shaking herself dry and giving me a shower. I love that I’m from the five year classes of ballet and tap and coming home with usually three to four blisters on each sore, swelling, painful foot, but every lesson was worth it. And the bootcamp-like swimming competitions, always swimming in cold and rainy weather. I’m from summer, summer, and more summer, with buttered corn and sprinting 5Ks all morning. I’m from splashing in an ice-cold quarry and finding mulberries and being silly with friends. And I’ll always be from the really special place—my home. Talia E. Moyo, 10 Hopewell, NJ
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