Angry labored breath All I can hear Angry labored breath I don’t remember what I’m angry about Something Doesn’t matter… I turn back to my math book One problem left I can’t think, My mind Crowded by a radiating heat, Like lava ready to explode into the air I need clarity I stand from my recumbent position Dad asks me something about where I am going I barely hear him And don’t answer I rush through the front door Rough concrete hits my feet, Shocking me back to reality I hit the ground running, running It feels like a few miles It is only a few feet The spiky grass of the front lawn Grabs at my feet Tripping over the exposed roots, closer, closer to my beloved tree, My clarity I grab the bark and lift up, My limbs flying over practiced handholds and footholds Climbing higher Higher Not registering the rough, sandpapery bark Scratching I finally reach the branch where I sit Dream I let out my breath Not realizing I had held it Scalding hot tears hesitate At the edge of my eyes… Unsure of what to do A stinging sensation I stare down at my hands, Red and scratched I close my eyes Lean against another branch The anger leaves me Tears trickle down my face Cooling down the red sweaty mess My face has become My crowded head clears Leaving a glowing radiance of clarity For a moment there is nothing, but the brilliance of silence Shared by the tree and the wind Christiana Joiner, 11 Kihei, HI
Poem
I believe in…
I believe in simple truths, Like 1+1=2. I believe in facts, theorems, and postulates, For they are tools That help us understand The world around us just a little better. I believe in the laws of thermodynamics. Energy cannot be created or destroyed. So the same energy in me right now Has been here since the beginning of time. And will continue existing, Even when I die. And I know that I said “simple truths,” And to some people those I mentioned Are everything but simple. They’re huge, immobile, stone statues, And that makes them simple, For even if everything around me Is in ruins and ashes, They stand strong and unchanged. Nargi Golashi, 13 Durres, Albania
Up the river bank where the flowers bloom
My basket swings around my bare muddy feet I run up the rushing river with my basket swinging around I give my voice to the wind as calmly as it moves I run freely along the brown mud with the sparkling water next to me trying to get to the flower meadow where the river flows I see my footprints way behind me as they try to catch up There is that pretty meadow I start to pick the blooming flowers I rushed to the river and then I quickly put my feet into the crisp water I lie on the fresh spiky grass with a few flowers circling the hot sun shines all around me and I close my eyes The fish start to nibble that makes me tickle I close my eyes as hard but the sun still shines I open my eyes and look around Where is the river and flowers? Garden In The Day by Kathleen Werth Deeba Kord, 10 Louisville, CO Kathleen Werth, 7 Silver Spring, MD
Ode to the Common Weed
A cousin pointed you out to me when strolling calmly to the abandoned playground. “A weed!” she falsely exclaims while she prods at your emerald leaves. However, my eyes must be deceiving me, for I see the most enchanting creature that is known to man. Your velveteen leaves, with drops of morning dew, are mirages, transforming from a freshly spun creamy golden foam to an arctic forest green as deep as the night itself. Your indigo bud, hidden behind blankets of green, is a freshly washed gown hidden in the back of a dress shop, anticipation flooding through every one of Nature’s stitches, waiting for that someone to see it for what potential it has. A gift from Heaven itself, masked behind the role it has been granted. Instead of plucking it from where it has begun to flourish, instead of pressing your immaculate body against the coarse bindings of my scrapbook, instead of trying to alter your stunning figure, I let you go silently, for it is not my choice whether your kind may stay alive or not. There is nothing I can do, except for to hope that my memory of you will not fade away. Today, I continue to see your long lost brothers and sisters on evening strolls, in sunlit valleys, and inside the inner workings of my heart. Katy Meta, 13 Pittsburgh, PA
The Money Tree
There is a money tree In my living room With a braided Fishtail trunk And of these five Interwoven strands Only one of them Has visible veins Pumping water For these plumed Green leaves Like dollar bills But for the Chinese New Year We don’t hang coin garlands Or paper cranes For prosperity For Liu Haichan The toad in the moon The God of Wealth No, my mother waters The leaves And my cat likes to Eat them While my father Chases her away For fear of bad luck; Me, I just notice The tree bending over And sometimes I lay A crooked leaf over A straight one In the hope it might Correct itself Because isn’t Luck something That’s made. Sabrina Guo, 11 Oyster Bay, NY
White Upon a River
A shimmer of light cast upon a blue mirror. I see my spirit reflected on a ripple. Light upon a river, when wind comes, it is blurred into illusion. Griffin Byrne, 8 Cambridge, MA
My Tenth Summer Part One: What I Learned About Hard Work
I’ve learned this week, Something I knew already But not well My mother, She sits at her desk. Typing. Writing. Scribbling furiously. I felt sorry for her. I thought she hated it. My father, He used to sit at his computer, Frowning. He’s good at numbers, But he’s tired My mom hates to build trails. He helped her. He learned. He’s still learning Everyone is. Me, I found two things, They are sort of one, Violin and poetry. They go hand in hand It takes a long time to do either I love projects We, Found something Something we loved to do As long as each of us are happy, We all are We work at our joys, Have fun, Daydream. Now I understand It. Makes. Sense Zoe Lynch, 10 West Lake Hills, Texas
Tuesday at the Shore
Sitting on a towel atop the sizzling sand, I’m warm, wet, and a little tired Absentmindedly searching for shells with my damp, sandy, hand I look up to see the wine-dark ocean chomping its foamy mouth Gobbling at the jam of people skittering around the beach clutching their boards And gulping for a breath in the water Pretty sure it is about to take my brother Instead it just gives him a free joy ride I push my pink cheeks in, feeling for a burn Sandpipers rush to pick clams out of the murk, jumping back from the waves Seagulls shout and bicker over a half-full bag of Doritos Mom snaps at us to hide our snacks My little brother defiantly holds up a Pizza Flavor-Blasted Goldfish Hoping to lure a bird to his hand Cheese dust staining his tiny, pruny, fingers My cousins, with salt-soaked hair and rough red sand rashes, Beckon me to Boogie Board with them, And to search for sand crabs with Grandpop (Even though Nana yells at him “not to go out too far!”) When we come back, I sneak a second soda and a bag of Popchips from the snack bag, Hiding them from Mom behind my cousin’s drip castle I watch as her hand dips into the bucket, Then lets the wet drizzly sand dribble through her fingers, Shaping tall towers of mud A moment later my two little brothers bumble over the castle Like little dragons careening into warm, wet, hugs from Mom Look at the Waves, Photo by Ula Pomian Molly DellaValla, 10 Jackson, NH Ula Pomian, 11 Ontario, Canada
Just Me
When I first saw the dark of night I knew who I was. I was another shard Of my birthstone. I was the king of curiosity. I was a bitter one with danger. I was a monkey going tree to tree And the “Ouch!” When I fell out of a bush. I tossed and turned to get up And I climbed out of the bush. Then a few years later, I move away too sad to say, “Will we go back and have fun?” “Yes,” says my mom, “Some day… but not for long.” Ilya Ivanović, 10 Santa Barbara, CA
Over The Shadowed Hill
We drove over the hill In the dark lamplight night My grandma in front Full speed ahead The warm flowing breeze It showed me the way As the mauve sunrise Shown bright ahead Past the farm Watching the cows eat My grandma and me Drove swiftly away As the sunrise followed us It began to fade As the warm swift breeze turned cold And it scurried away That sweet sunrise left us all The town came clearer The people filing away They didn’t seem to notice My grandma and me They didn’t seem to see that beautiful things fade The rosy color of dawn spreads all over the sky, Photo by Julia Li Genevieve Gray Fink, 9 Hoboken, NJ Julia Li, 12 Mason, OH
A Letter to Chickadee
I wake up to the sound of music, a tiny fluttering sound Flutter in my ears ‘til the sun drops down Perch on my windowsill and wake the waiting sun Take flight, bird, be free Feathers round my mind, ‘til opposites meet. Satyrs, Photo by Lara Katz Griffin Byrne, 8 Cambridge, MA Lara Katz, 14 Weston, CT
Plain Wall
As I sit here Staring at My plain wall No pictures, desks, or tables near this Plain wall I think It almost seems like I come up with my greatest ideas Staring at This plain wall Over time I have grown quite fond of this wall I have made many stories by looking at this Plain wall My stories are known across the globe And I am a great author, My greatest companion, My plain wall Ashley Class, 10 Cincinnati, OH
