Big and bright It stood and watched me. Shattering as I Skipped stones Across the surface Of the Solid lake, The ripples spread its Perfect whiteness. Silent but bold. It moved the ocean waters. It was howled at by the Wolf, Enraged by loneliness. It lit the path of the Dead night. I cup the cool, crisp Water in my hands and Splash them on my face. The drops Capture its rays And I am splashed With moonbeams. Lauren MacGuidwin,12 McLean, Virginia
Poem
Haven
Soft, quiet, a blanket of books, Turn left, left again, up the stairs, Feet finding the usual route. Passing comrades, enclosed in words, To the end of the row, near the window, The chair, my haven, Of books. I don’t notice when it grows dark, Outside, I don’t look up from the knights, And dragons, and swords, and horses. The problems in this world are easier, To face than the ones in Mine. Misha Kydd,12 Jericho, Vermont
Homesick
Leaving my dear country made me sad, made me miss all that was worth remembering the food like foutou the food like attieke the food like aloko. Leaving my African country made me mourn, made me long for the people like the Baoule the people like the Senefou the people like the Dan. Leaving Cote d’Ivoire made me sour, made me cry for the places like Grand Bassam the places like my grandfather’s village —N’Gattadolikro the places like Abidjan. Leaving Papa resting in his grave made me dispirited, made me despairing. I miss him Listening to Louis Armstrong, reading the poetry of Leopold Senghor, calling me his cherie. Soujourner Salil Ahebee, 10 Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
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
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
Sailing
The wind caresses my hair As I grasp the tiller, The direction of the sail in my hands. I watch the dazzling turquoise water Splash up against the boat, And glance up at my grandma’s magnificent face. “Am I doing OK?” She answers with a smile and a wink. I feel so good, With the seagulls flying all around me, And the warm summer sunshine Beating on my bare back. I feel so good, With wonder flying all around me And the warm love of my grandma Beating in my soul. Claudia Celovsky,13 Bloomfield Hills, Michigan
Tickle Me Pink
Buzz! The familiar sounds of bees pierce my ears As I lay on the dewy morning grass. Sprawled next to me is Tessa, My younger sister, Doodling with her favorite crayon. “Tickle Me Pink, Isn’t that a funny name?” I ask. Squish! I roll over to hear her reply, and Stubbles of the freshly mowed grass stick to my back. Giving me her naive face she answers, “What color is your heart?” Not wanting to confuse the toddler, I flop against the pole of the basketball hoop with a Thud! “What color is spring?” Tessa persists. I was too old for her childish games, “I don’t know, now hurry up it’s at least 1000 degrees out!” The grass squelches as she stumbles towards me, Waving her drawing like a trophy She sticks it in my face, and I see her masterpiece: A picture of her and me, Lying together in the grass On a warm spring day “Your heart is pink,” She points to my chest in the drawing, “And so is spring.” She points to the grass, sky, and flowers. And at that moment, my Tickle-Me-Pink heart Is a blossoming bud. Marissa Bergman, 12 Farmington, Connecticut
Puppy
The little brown dog huddled up against me breathes deeply knowing he is safe. Crickets chirp outside an owl hoots frogs croak but he sleeps through this snoring on my lap. His body is so warm with each slow breath he heaves his body pushes against mine and he knows that I am still with him. But as my body stays with the dog reassuring him that all is well, my thoughts travel and I think back to our first day together. He barked at every neighbor jumped on the table ate all our good food chewed up the couch. No one understood why we kept him. But I do now. His paws are tucked in his snores are little whistles he is deep in sleep. He is completely at ease peaceful because he knows I am with him holding him keeping him safe and warm. Where would this little brown dog be without me? And where would I be without him? He stirs sleepily and I hug him close his head drops down resting in my lap. And our breathing is now synchronized. Like the chirping of the crickets Emina S. Sonnad, 12 Snohomish, Washington
The Sea
Standing on a stretch of glossy rocks lumps of mussel shells adorned with seaweed advance forward into my grasp. Murky greens color the water in shady reflections, the thought of wind and shadows combined. There is no divider for sky and sea they are intertwined like ivy leaves around each other. For what is not related, in this cool, salty, boundary-less place where the deep comes alive from bottomless water Wujun Ke,13 Chapel Hill, North Carolina
Mountain
Pure, dazzling white Miles of ice blend with miles of snow and snow-covered rock which can be deadly if you don’t know where to look A solitary climber winds his way up this mountain stopping only now and then to adjust his tinted snow goggles This high up he almost feels ill overwhelmed by the sheer altitude of this mountain which he has come to love in a way as his own the altitude of his mountain can do this to people — make them feel so ill that they never make it up to the summit but he will he vows this to himself Each step is a mountain in itself the snow is quicksand it wants to drag him down with every step he takes but he fights back and wins this battle thinking only of the summit the very top oh the view from the summit nothing else is on his mind not even the ever-diminishing speed of his steps He sees the snow is ending—could it be the summit is only fifty yards away? He quickens his pace His struggles are pushed like mere toys to the back of his mind with one last step a step taken more by determination and resolve than by the energy of his body and his feet He reaches the summit and looks down Emily Riippa,13 Grand Rapids, Michigan
Firefly Sky
The fields are a wonder in summertime: Midnight black like the sky, With twinkling lights like stars. What are those lights? Hundreds of fireflies flittering about, Tiny and so nimble. Their lights shine on and off, Making the field like shiny sequins, Like moonshine dancing off the sea. I run out into the field, The half-grown wheat scratching my legs, The ground soft and damp, The air humid and fresh. The fireflies dart away from me, Intimidated by my presence, But I don’t mind. I watch them from a distance. They float above the wheat, Like bright candles in the field. Glancing up at the heavens, I see the stars, Bright candles in the sky This is the moment When Heaven and Earth meet: The stars in the sky are the stars on the ground. How strange it seems That something as small as fireflies Can bring these two vast kingdoms Together as one. Jennifer Hu, 13 Hummelstown, Pennsylvania
Meadow
There are scattered wildflowers wilting among the coarse grass. Solitary deer graze on prickly stems. Birds gossip in the branches of dead oak trees. Sunlight casts a dappled shadow onto the hard dirt. And the wind whispers secrets to me over the bent corn. Julia Lipkis,12 Bethlehem, Pennsylvania
