I stand on the ocean shore, watching the waves go by. The sun is going down but I don’t leave. I will stay out on the ocean shore. Seagulls fly overhead, they land down on the beach. Their far-off cries bid the day good-night. Out in the sunset I see dolphins leaping through the waves. Their turning, jumping transforms the setting sun into the start of a new day. They call out to me and I long to join them in the freedom that is the sea. Sunset is a dark, purple haze, recalling everything that is beautiful. I grab a boogie-board and float along with the water. A giant wave comes over me and I tumble head over heels underwater. In the sea I am a new creature. When I return to the surface I laugh out loud. I look up and see the first stars. The sky is becoming black. It is time for me to be going. Tomorrow I’ll come back and watch from the ocean shore. William Ilgen, 9 Berkeley, California
Poem
Coming into the Light
(for Cameron) Looking down at the Little wrinkled face and The mop of black hair in my arms, I felt excited, holding a baby For the first time. Peeking through tired eyes, he tried To behold the newness of life, But was too sleepy from the Hard work of being born. Seeing his small hands and The little scratch on his face I smiled down at him, And he smiled back in his sleep. I wanted to tell him about What he was in for, All of the adventures and Surprises of the world. He was two days old, Squirming in my arms, And I thought about new life And how it moves from one boy to another. Mark Roberts, 11 Windsor, California
The Ocean
I stand on the ocean shore, watching the waves go by. The sun is going down but I don’t leave. I will stay out on the ocean shore. Seagulls fly overhead, they land down on the beach. Their far-off cries bid the day good-night. Out in the sunset I see dolphins leaping through the waves. Their turning, jumping transforms the setting sun into the start of a new day. They call out to me and I long to join them in the freedom that is the sea. Sunset is a dark, purple haze, recalling everything that is beautiful. I grab a boogie-board and float along with the water. A giant wave comes over me and I tumble head over heels underwater. In the sea I am a new creature. When I return to the surface I laugh out loud. I look up and see the first stars. The sky is becoming black. It is time for me to be going. Tomorrow I’ll come back and watch from the ocean shore. William Ilgen, 9 Berkeley, California
America Ever After
I love to go to the library walk through stacks and rows of books, picking whatever I like, the books pull me in. I can go on any adventure. I can sit and read all day, worming through them, reading out the whole shelf I am at home and somewhere else at the same time. One morning, I saw spinning planes thud into tragedy, crumbling around the whole of America; everybody listened, hushed. We sipped up the sadness. Hurt. I know I am safe in my house with people I love. I hear the rushing water of the sighing waterfall. Mom clicks away on her computer. I can see my little sister sit silently, waiting for Dad. I grab my book so I can disappear into a world of happily ever after. I see ash and broken brick. I am worried. There are people under there, too. My heart drops. I would not want to be there. I do not want a war. I think about other kids my age in different countries. They must be scared. The war might come to them. I am lucky to live in America. Tae Kathleen Keller, 8 Waihapu, Hawaii
The Best Thing in the World
The late August sun warms the carpet in my room. I sit listening to the sounds below me. Mom and Grandma cooking food in the kitchen. Dad putting the finishing touches on the cake Aunts, uncles, cousins, friends ringing the doorbell My brother running to the door with hellos Loud laughter sounds throughout the house Squeals of delight from baby Maddy’s discoveries “Come down Craig, you’re being rude,” yells Mom. It’s my birthday, I’m not being rude. I’m thanking God for the best thing in the world. The best thing in the world is this moment in my life. Craig Shepard, 12 Camillus, New York
Alone
Alone is the homeless man looking at all the goods in the grocery market that he cannot have Alone is the refugees leaving all they ever knew behind, their friends, their houses Alone is the single pillar Standing in the rubble of a bombed building Alone is the Iraqi mother whose children have died From lack of medical care Alone is the turban among a thousand baseball caps Brendan Grant, 11 Piermont, New Hampshire
Alone
Alone is the homeless man looking at all the goods in the grocery market that he cannot have Alone is the refugees leaving all they ever knew behind, their friends, their houses Alone is the single pillar Standing in the rubble of a bombed building Alone is the Iraqi mother whose children have died From lack of medical care Alone is the turban among a thousand baseball caps Brendan Grant, 11 Piermont, New Hampshire
Treasure Box
Born in northern forests of Australia centuries ago And carved from yellow jarrah, My wooden treasure box Holds secrets of its own. Felled for ballast on sailing ships, It traveled over distant oceans And touched exotic shores, Seeking the spirit of Africa. Abandoned on the docks, The jarrah became railroad ties, Carrying steam engines Across the dry, Burned colors of a continent. Polished and alive again After four hundred years, The box captures within it The roar of a startled lion, The thundering hooves of wildebeest And the long, graceful loping of giraffes. Our secrets are treasured Together now With the shimmering heat of the plain, And warm a space for my own memories Still waiting to unfold. Mark Roberts, 11 Windsor, California
Friday Night at Miss Farida’s Piano Lesson
Miss Farida loves vanilla-smelling candles which flicker against the sleeping couch. I place my sandals beside the spill of shoes and slippers strewn across the plastic mat in the hallway to her room. I see the Sesame Street stickers propped near the electric piano, tangled in a hoop of dreaming dust, and the pedals, wrapped in a layer of fine metal. Miss Farida takes my stack of weary books that whimper as she turns to “Stepping Stones.” My delicate hands look like tiny mice skittering across the keys. I play to a beat from the metronome fast as a hummingbird’s heartbeat, slow as a whale’s. Miss Farida takes a pencil from her hair and writes in my notebook. “Tonight you will write a song about New Year’s.” I pick up my denim bag and dump my books into it. Already, I begin to hear the notes of endless possibilities for my composition: The orchestra of 10,000 fuchsia fireworks exploding in the air, the symphony of sparklers, the dropping ball of melody, the score of the night, filled with new beginnings. Tae Kathleen Keller, 8 Waipahu, Hawaii
The Mystery of Cats
Cleaning yourself as if the world is just fine Of course you don’t know about September 11 or the war You don’t know about the terrorists or do you Is that mangy dog down the street the terrorist you fear What does someone of your small stature think of the world Do you look at the humans around you and think you’re much smarter because you can hunt smell a rat and see in the dark Maybe you think all we can do is open a can How would you manage all these wars between countries Would you talk out your problems or use a more violent approach Grady enters the room and I watch the hair on your back rise You don’t move He doesn’t move This could be a showdown But no The moment passes and you resume your cleaning I breathe a sigh of relief What would the world be like if ruled by a cat say, like you, Stripes Would everyone be ordered to bathe for hours on end You look up at me with clear eyes and I’m curious to know Do you actually reason or do you just look smart You know I’ve always suspected you have the ability to think and also the ability to pretend to think I see a smile flitting across your face You get up and go outside Even though that dog could still be there you show no fear Marley Powell, 12 Los Angeles, California
Doing the Tango
In my house, we celebrate everything. Even the smallest things. Good grades on a test. Learning that we are going On vacation. Even a surprise present. The reward is “doing the tango.” The dogs want to join in And scramble to find a toy A bone, a partner to celebrate The joyful dance. Learning to do the tango Was a hard job in itself. When I was young, The turn and the switch Of hands Was the most challenging. Now it comes naturally The greatest part of all Is seeing the joy On my mother’s face When she knows There is good news, Meaning We get to dance the tango. John Roberts, 13 Windsor, California
Asleep At Last
Nails piercing my brain Glass shattering around me Metal crunching, smashing together Crying all around me Screeching, Screaming Howling, Wailing, Weeping It seems like a hundred years have passed Just when you are about to blow a gasket The baby falls asleep We shut off the phone Take off our shoes We talk in sign language Travis Wilkins-Smith, 12 Dorchester, Massachusetts
