Poem

On my porch Seeing white Falling from grey clouds I walk away From the It’s peaceful And serene The mountains Are beautiful Taking a deep breath I walk away From the snow Nora Cohen, 11 South Jordan, UT

Beautiful Wood: In the light of the lamp Many rocks Sitting aside Resting in place In the dark The shadows cast Lights and lamps Throughout the night Hanging down Towards the book The poems written With many hooks Worms slithering on the piece An earthquake it seems With many trees Mountains and Rain and Rivers of Color Throughout The piece of wood Many slopes With curved flat ends At the bottom. It may seem that it’s not cold. A Chord of Pine Trees in the Night. Sean Tenzin O’Connor, 5 Bishop, CA

Daylight fades, unravels, revealing intertwining coils of color. Dusky lavenders to emerald greens creep through the sky like enchanted vines on an old brick wall. Colors flicker and dance, candle flames lighting up the heavens. Fierce oranges and hot pinks explode like dragon fire, flooding the world with color for a mere second before the colors shatter, sending pieces of sunset everywhere. Catch one. It’s mesmerizing, but I look up just in time to see that everything has ended in stars. Sage Millen, 12 Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada

Parallel lines don’t stop. Christmas doesn’t stop. The snow sticks and not a light flicks out. Not a curve or a bend in a parallel line. The time ticks and tocks for Santa. Comes and goes for Christmas, but the lines of Santa’s are forever. Get ready, hang the stockings. Set out the cookies and milk. Light up the tree for a parallel Christmas. Analise Braddock, 9 Katonah, NY

The muskets The words The guns The roses wilting to the battle That would not be likely be beat The soldiers’ cold faces Molded by fear and braveness Outdoing each other No more trapped by England No more being told what to do Time to be free Analise Braddock, 9 Katonah, NY

Cedar tree growing tall, I remember when you were small. I climbed on your branches but didn’t fall. Some rope and wood should make something good. It should. When swinging from your branches, I feel like I have wings. When I tell you my secrets, you never say a thing. The Christmas tree orbs they swing, they swing, they swing. And they look like the sun, brightening up everything. Eva Worsick, 9 St. George’s, Bermuda

Once an old man stepped to me We sat down on the chair He said to remember this day But now that I see that man was no other than Nature Gideon Rose, 9 Dallas, TX

This man has little food, Little water, Has not eaten in two days, Only thinks of love. Once a person, or unhuman I should say, Punches the poor man and throws his supplies in the trash. The man gets on his knees for mercy And still only thinks of one thing: Love. You may think this story is crazy. It’s not. Because that man was me. Gideon Rose, 9 Dallas, TX