It is quiet there in the great oak tree by the brook, in the fields – and why shouldn’t it be? For it is morning – Dawn No sound comes to my ears but there is no such thing as silence. So I listen and I try to make out the not-silence. So I listen, and then I hear – the quiet whisper of the leaves in the great oak tree murmuring to the awakening world: Stand strong and steady, strong and steady – like the oak tree itself. I hear – the gentle tumbling of the brook over beyond that stretch of field the clear waters leaping and gurgling as they chortle: Fill with life, spirit, and love, life, spirit, and love – like the vibrant brook itself. I hear – the soft rustle of the tall, swaying grass in the wind. Breathing: Gentle and peaceful, gentle and peaceful – like the quiet grass itself. I hear – the faint calls of the birds warbling in the trees to the wan morning: Wake up! Wake up! and hear our song – their clear, silver voices rising to the sky in unified harmony. And I hear – the deep, golden sound of bells rolling low and unwavering over the rippling fields: Come, and start, this morning’s work – for there is much to do today! – and I slide from the leafy grasp of the oak but I know I will come back tomorrow – to listen to the rippling life of the world. Kate Choi, 12 Seoul, South Korea
Poem
Summer Sea Shell
My feet sunk into the soft sand. The waves called to me. “Come play,” they said, “within my water so that I can hear your laughter.” The water washed up on the yellow sand, trying to reach me. The breeze rustled in my hair and the only sound I could hear was the love that the seagulls shared that morning. In the distance, the water looked as pretty as a pearl. Just as I was about to turn back, something sparkling came out of the sand. At first, it looked like a shell. Then it became more. It was a precious turtle, small and helpless. Suddenly, crabs and seagulls crowded around the turtle. Breakfast was what they saw. “Stop!” I shouted. I walked over to where the turtle hid and I guarded it. Slowly, I walked with it, imagining our conversation as we sauntered to the sea. Then, the turtle stumbled over a shell the color of my mother’s eyes. Finally, it made it to the sea. I picked up the shell, for it would be my memory. McKenzie Steury, 11 Auburn, Alabama
Enchanting Sunset
A walk by the shore on a blazing summer day, So hot that you can cook an egg on the street. The soft silky sand tickles your toes While you complain that it is hot as fire. Happiness and laughter fill the air as I jump From the glistening waves that try to pull me in. You build a castle with your left hand And eat a frozen treat with the other. You spread a fuzzy blanket to sit back and wait, For the time has come for you to be speechless. In awe you see, your eyes sparkling bright, Right at the horizon, is a sunset. Jinny Min, 11 Mukilteo, Washington
Dreams
When you remember The long night that passed by you There may be a hint of a scene A recollection of a moment Warped and disfigured Wonderful or horrifying Only playing out in your mind This clue may be short It may continue to a story A twisted stream of events Where nothing ever gets done Or you might wake up Believing it still to be one instant after you fell asleep And yet time ticks by Your tossing and turning the only keeper of it Your dreams the only memories of the night Malin Moeller, 11 Washington, DC
Dreams
When you remember The long night that passed by you There may be a hint of a scene A recollection of a moment Warped and disfigured Wonderful or horrifying Only playing out in your mind This clue may be short It may continue to a story A twisted stream of events Where nothing ever gets done Or you might wake up Believing it still to be one instant after you fell asleep And yet time ticks by Your tossing and turning the only keeper of it Your dreams the only memories of the night Malin Moeller, 11 Washington, DC
Roller Coaster
Sweet like ice cream in the summer. There for two minutes then gone. But always with me. They possess me and my heart but always love me. They stand by me wherever I go. If I choose to go to the moon they will be there listening to the silence with me. Waiting outside, waiting for me to come out. I rush down the stairs like a puppy when it’s time for a walk. We see each other and smile, thinking what could be better than this? Now walking I feel like a leaf drifting in the wind. Laughing so hard I can’t even breathe. Then I stop, keep a straight face for five seconds, then laugh again. On a roller coaster that’s me and my life. With loops and twists. Roller coaster… an adventure. Fun. Scary. I come home and hear silence. I see the light from the lamp in my room. I turn it off and fall in bed. I stare at a wall thinking and listening to the silence. Taking in the darkness of the room. Brooklyn Jeffcoat, 12 Seattle, Washington
Orchestra
Orchestra, our favorite subject of the day. We rush in the music room, eager to unpack our instruments, Grins creep across each musician’s face as we unpack Our beloved stringed noisemakers. We tune, we play, we make wonderful Music, did I mention… it’s my favorite subject of the day! The music brings joy to my ears as I listen to what could be mistaken For expert symphony players. The bows move up and down In harmony on the strings. The melody moves gently as the orchestra Plays as one. Each and every player adds a unique addition To the ensemble. Solana Ordonez, 11 Mukilteo, Washington
As Seen from Above
Hundreds of feet in the air, the world is In miniature, a scale model made of tinfoil, cardboard, and glue The green water ocean is so smooth you could walk on it Haloed by a ring of white foam, tiny islands poke out of the sea They’re so small none of them have a name You could be the first to conquer them, call them your own The wind is high, and clouds rush in The plane rises higher You leave the old world and enter one of pure sunlight The only shadow is that of the plane on the clouds below Sunset is fading fast You chase it— Everything ends in stars Jem Burch, 13 Van Nuys, California
Rain
I like to think That when it rains, the thunder encloses our small city In a soft gray blanket. We are cut off from the complications and distractions Of the outside world And all there is Has been And ever will be Is the white noise of rain. I like to think That when it drip-drops down from the leaves Showing us the simple beauties Of ripples in puddles And quiet crackles of bright yellow, It wraps us up tight in that blanket. It rocks us to sleep, Content in the misty gray fog And the pitter-patter of rain, The low rumbles of thunder and the golden lightning. Celie Kreilkamp, 12 Bloomington, Indiana
Starry Night
In an art museum in Chicago my dad and Van Gogh stare at each other. On a kitchen table in Sanford my mom watches me draw. In the museum gift shop my dad buys me a print of Starry Night. At home in my room Starry Night hangs above my bed, calming like a space gallery, yellow, white, black, and blue. Jude Stumpf, 8 Sanford, North Carolina
A Fraction of an Inch
Either the boat did not want to be withdrawn from the water, or the water did not want to let its new prize go. Waves of green foam rolled over the railing in a calm firmness, and the trees cast shadows on the rippling water pooling at the edge of a concrete slab where a red truck’s wheels were spinning in the mud. A few more inches and the rubber would have connected to the waves bouncing off the boat’s hull. I sometimes think of life’s fractions of inches it reminds me of how closely life and death are related. I’m thinking now watching two hawks circle a fraction of an inch to the left of the chickens below. Abigail Rose Cargo, 13 Lexington, South Carolina
Rain
I like to think That when it rains, the thunder encloses our small city In a soft gray blanket. We are cut off from the complications and distractions Of the outside world And all there is Has been And ever will be Is the white noise of rain. I like to think That when it drip-drops down from the leaves Showing us the simple beauties Of ripples in puddles And quiet crackles of bright yellow, It wraps us up tight in that blanket. It rocks us to sleep, Content in the misty gray fog And the pitter-patter of rain, The low rumbles of thunder and the golden lightning. Celie Kreilkamp, 12 Bloomington, Indiana
