Thunderstorms, My favorite things. I sit on the porch with a cold treat. Wrapped in a fuzzy blanket, warm And watching the sky light up. Thunder echoes through the air, a grin creeping Across my face. Darkness all around, The stars are hidden behind the dark clouds. If I look fast enough, I will see the bright streaks Race across the sky. Raindrops dance as they hit the ground, Drops tickle my toes. As the night sneaks up on me, I only close my eyes and smell in the wonderful smell. The smell of fresh liquid pouring from the sky. Lulu Priede, 11 Minneapolis, Minnesota
Poem
Little Miracles
We all think we are important. But if we weren’t here the world would still turn the sun would still rise most people’s lives wouldn’t change. The world doesn’t need us. Some people many people sit and think about it. They only see that the whole wide world doesn’t need them and don’t see that they need the world for them to feel better for them to get better. I am one of those people. I try to conjure up a lifeline that I can hang onto. But sometimes, the school bell just rang and I’m alone standing waiting for the light to change so I can cross. And a car passes by me, so close that I can almost touch it. And I think of how easy it would be to step forward to fall. I have to focus on creating a lifeline, something that stops me from falling. I am afraid that one day that lifeline will snap I will fall I won’t stop myself. But I hold on. I find the small things that give me a lifeline. The little miracles in life that make it worth living. Have you ever seen a bird take off, bursting into the air? Or felt the joy when a child takes his first step? Living things are miracles. We all have something to give to the world. Something that the world needs. These words, they are my gift to you. They are my gift to the world. Sylvia Gibson, 13 Mill Valley, California
Unexpected Action
Past the field Through the briar By the breaths of people lingering in the light Past the smoke Into the mill Creeping closer With the stealth of a cat Up the stairs And onto the windowsill Like a hawk in its nest A pencil and paper And a breathtaking view With an idea And new perspectives She put the pencil to the paper And as though the paper was a ballroom And the pencil a dancer She wrote. Anne Brandes, 12 New York, New York
Frolic
A mound of fur, tongues, tails, clumsy paws, and deep brown eyes, laughing with the ecstasy of play The heap seems its own creature, without distinction between separate bodies Teeth nip, paws bat, tongues kiss, tails flash from side to side, a blur of pure happiness With playful growls and tackles and pounces, with not one care or worry, the play of puppies is beautiful to behold Katie Thomas, 12 Standish, Maine
Orange to Black
Come on Come on Come on I bolt to the window Quick as lightning, with a gasp, my mouth drops open the sun is swiftly sliding into the water, an orange marble sinking into the horizon infusing the river with orange dye I think where does it go? does it sink into the river with a swoosh and a swish? does it dissipate into good dreams for the night? I drift to my bed I realize I am a sun sinking into my bed but I feel nocturnal, my eyes are glued to the ceiling I stare and stare some more into the darkness that darkness that is feared and loved that darkness coating you in black that darkness like the bottom of the ocean that darkness wishing you good dreams that darkness regenerating you until the sun seeps in shining in with a warm hello transforming the darkness to light giving hope for a new day Kyle Lotke, 10 New York, New York
If Only I Could
If only I could help the world. I would like to get bad people and teach them how to be nice. If only I could fly and help people with their feelings, and stop them from killing people that are trying really hard to help us all to be good people and nice and kind to others like us who come from a different country. If only I could help my family from Haiti and us too. I would make them feel welcome to the new country we live in now. If only I could talk to them. I would say welcome and how is Haiti? How is it there? If only I could ask Mom and Dad a question in Creole. I would ask, “Did you miss me and Ericka and Ruth, Mom and Dad?” If only I could go back and save my best friend from the orphanage. I would be so happy for the children because their birth families get them back! I would give them to their new family that was waiting for them a long time. If only I could help the world. I would like to get people and teach them how to be nice. If only I could… Rickza is a Haitian-American, adopted by her mom, Ruth, and living in the United States with her sister since July of 2013. Rickza Kerr, 11 Seattle, Washington
How It Works
I sit here, and I don’t notice the dirty dishes, left lying in the sink I don’t stare at the holes in the wall, strange and unexplained I don’t ponder the fishbowl, tipped over on the floor, or the color the light makes as it bounces off the broken mirror I do not wonder about the skittering in the attic, And I don’t think about the ceiling tiles, slowly chipping down, and gathering in the roots of my hair I sit here, and I don’t notice anything, As the browning shutters bang against the wall like the wings of a caged bird Because I’ve noticed That noticing just makes it feel less like Home Alden Powers, 12 East Hampton, New York
Gabi’s Poem
When I feel peace, it’s like my whole body is on fire, with a dim, yet warm glow. Soft, like moonlight, peace creeps in my open window, sunlight glows. Somewhere, A mountain stream rushes down a cliff. A pool at the bottom sits there, unbroken, Like glass. Somewhere, in a field grass grows, velvet soft, doves coo, sweetly. Somewhere, so peaceful. Gabrielle Mott, 8 Lenox, Massachusetts
Dawn
The first shaft of luminous light travels, its speed unthinkable Over the horizon, through the trees, And into my open eyes. Birds hop about, like people, Trying to find a good Perch, branch, position In life. Satisfied, they begin their Throaty chorusing, declaring only the best. Window open, the maple and oak Scent drifts like it has done For millions of years, a crisp Beginning to the significance Of the day, three hundred and Sixty-five rotations a year, Time’s luck which decides so much. As after a rainstorm, Water has never smelled so sweet. During the time between dreams And reality, air has never Tasted so good. Wujun Ke, 13 Chapel Hill, North Carolina
Winter Walk
A winter walk— My dog barking by My side, Leafless trees Piled with snow, Rotten cornstalks Golden brown, Cows with frosted fur Chomping dead grass, Squirrels feast on Stored acorns, Frozen water under A rusted bridge, Snow piled in drifts, As I whistle Trucks pass. Dylan Geiger, 11 Everest, Kansas
Dawn
The first shaft of luminous light travels, its speed unthinkable Over the horizon, through the trees, And into my open eyes. Birds hop about, like people, Trying to find a good Perch, branch, position In life. Satisfied, they begin their Throaty chorusing, declaring only the best. Window open, the maple and oak Scent drifts like it has done For millions of years, a crisp Beginning to the significance Of the day, three hundred and Sixty-five rotations a year, Time’s luck which decides so much. As after a rainstorm, Water has never smelled so sweet. During the time between dreams And reality, air has never Tasted so good. Wujun Ke, 13 Chapel Hill, North Carolina
Ghost Park
Swaying wooden swings Whisper to each other The wind blows dry leaves, Scattering messages across the park. The white, lacy blur Of a girl Polished black boots drum along stone paths As the boy calls out her name. “Come back, Margaret! I didn’t mean it! Come back!” Sariel Hana Friedman, 9 Pacific Palisades, Californii
