Waves are crashing all around me, The sun is casting its yellow rays upon the island. I hear a yell but it is oh so distant: “Go! Go!” I turn my head to see a wall rapidly approaching. I thrash my arms and kick, But it seems too late for me. I push up onto the board and stand, Keeping my balance. The timing is perfect, I sail onward to the palms in the distance. I am flying. No, I am face down in the sand, Waves lapping at my feet. For a moment I think I am dead, But my board slithers up beside me. I smile and laugh. I did it. I surfed. Eddie Mansius, 13 Charlotte, North Carolina
Poem
Riding the Gondola
New York at dusk When shadowy sun Rests on skyscrapers And in the park In the city Dragonflies murmur Birds hum As the little gondola Glides across the silver lake That parts between my fingers The tenor of cheerful chatter From the restaurants The whispered conversations Of the couples On their sunset rowboat trips The swan Splashing Preening its feathers One by one As night comes to the city that never sleeps The man on the gondola Sings in a resounding baritone “Venite all’agile Barchetta mia Santa Lucia Santa Lucia” “Come to my Swift little boat Santa Lucia Santa Lucia.” Anna Elizabeth Blech, 12 New York, New York
Pursuit
Her pudgy feet ran through the grass Sparkling in the morning dew Her footprints left a trail behind her Impressions on the cold ground She ran Her feet stumbling on unfamiliar territory She tripped and stumbled to the ground She rose without hesitation and again began her pursuit Of the beautiful winged creature Its wings carried it higher Faster than her little feet could take her Yet she ran Willing herself to go faster She closed the gap It was nearly in her reach She sprung from the ground A single finger brushing a delicate wing Then it was off and she hit the ground It fluttered away Soaring to the sky While she stayed grounded Her face misted Her knees green But with a smile forming She accomplished her goal She touched the butterfly Kym Goodsell, 13 Woods Cross, Utah
Dawn
The gray sky wavers Between day and night. A distant train whistle blows Skimming the solidity of the moment. Quiet again, The atmosphere is unreal. No movement, Other than the occasional rustle Of wind stirring leaves. A brave bird calls out, Unsettled by the silence. No reply. The heavens lighten, Until finally The sun appears, Smiling upon the world. The birds now begin to sing, A chorus of relief, All with the same message: The day has come. Sophia Gehrmann, 13 Urbana, Illinois
Silent Story
On a cold winter morning The lake breathes out steam Like a giant tea kettle. Two ducks in the middle As still as a painting. Why haven’t they gone south? A bird hangs up in the air. Let’s sit on the shore And soak in the quiet. Instead, we zoom by And join in the traffic. Mina Alexandra Oates, 7 Pinson, Alabama
Monolith
Carved, crooked peaks outline themselves against a Yellowing sky, Deep crags littered with fertile eggs Cawing to the firming moon, We flap between their statuesque Shoulders, draped in heavy fog They don’t dance Their shadows do, Trembling freely outside of the rocks’ impenetrable cases, Sharing secrets with the sand, A peppered canvas, Which formed when The smeary stars Cracked and crumbled We gulls fly, The stones too stiff To crane back their necks And see us, Swooping, whooping, Following an invisible course Sliced into the sky Eden Amital, 13 San Francisco, California
The Beginning
I watch them Each face unknown Their eyes move back and forth I walk to my desk In the corner, alone The teacher begins I sit there Watching Each face wondering Whispering Who is she? As if I’m not there I glance up At the girl in front I see a smile appear And she laughs Quietly Pointing at me My face burns crimson I stare down At my desk Out of the corner of my eye I see Someone toss A paper On my desk I grab it, and read “Don’t mind her,” it says, “She’s just being unkind, Welcome to school” I look at her A quiet, red-haired girl She smiles at me And I know I’ve found a friend. Devorah Malka Reisner, 12 Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
White
White is the color of Beautiful Like a dove Soaring over a forgotten mountain lake Snow Blanketing the landscape In a soft white Paradise Essence of pine Like a cello’s music Sweeping the night Alone But that makes it even more Serene Like a white sail Rising up a mast Against a coral blue sea Waving about Taking You there Like a patch Of white roses Among the ashes The start Of new life Dylan Sherman, 10 Seattle, Washington
A New Brother
There he was Such a tiny person I looked at him Sleeping peacefully Suddenly his eyes open Brand new brown eyes Staring at me Blinking and adjusting his eyes to a new experience Light His mind consuming New thoughts New faces New world New everything He is a new person Ryan Sparks, 12 Kansas City, Missouri
The Brown-and-White Tabby
I leave for school, Strolling with my mother. My tiny pink backpack is slung over my shoulder. It is a crisp, autumn day. All the leaves Changing pigments. My mother Constantly reminding me to Walk faster. To keep up with her, I drag my little feet along. Into the dirt they go… And there! As I round the next corner, I hear a faint tinkling. It’s not my imagination. I spin around And lay my eyes on it! Yes! It’s a brown-and-white tabby! Mother scolds, “Mia, keep walking. You get so distracted over little things in life.” As our walk progresses, I still hear the tinkling, sweet little bells ringing from the kitty’s neck. Every few seconds I turn my head around, Checking to see if the tabby is still there, And it is. As I check back one last time, my mother says, “Mia, we’re here at Linden. Hurry up, Or you’ll be late!” “Bye, kitty! See you tomorrow!” Mia Ba-Lu Hildebrandt, 12 Glen Ridge, New Jersey
The Loss of a Leaf
It was a picturesque day at a pond, The glassy water gently undulated, Transforming turtles to twigs. The swans slowly carved their way forward, The paddleboats hypnotically Slap slap slapped. But no day is perfect for everyone, Like the coming of fall, For betwixt the lily pads, A swan lay Dead, Its head limp at its side. Two deceivingly collected swans swam up, Their wings arched over their backs. One of the mourners swam up and went from calm and collected, To aggressive and emotional. It began biting the neck of the dead swan, wings pumping, causing a great ruckus. Was it cannibalizing or freeing the other swan from its eternal sleep? That swan will be denied so much, Days like today, Cygnets, And the late summer water relaxing away troubles. Was it dead from natural causes, or man-made ones? Could it have been saved? So many questions, Like the water in the clouds, So much stress and more worry than bugs in a humid summer’s night. All from The loss of a leaf. Peter Satterthwaite, 13 Cranston, Rhode Island
Leaf of Sunshine
The forest is calm, only an occasional chirp of a bird, breaks the silence, the sun is buried in a blanket of clouds, only a few golden rays escape, just enough to penetrate the darkness, cool wind rustles through the trees, gently swaying their nimble branches, so peaceful, one single leaf spirals to the ground, twirling, spinning, now upon the brown fallen leaves, lies one of a brilliant sun-yellow color, with its bright green smudges, splattered haphazardly across its surface, a beautiful sight, compared to the crumpled leaves surrounding it, it seems like a precious gem, it is a bit of sunshine, on a crisp autumn day. Laurel Gibson, 12 Durham, New Hampshire
