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
Poem
Someone Absolutely New
A dull, cloudy morning, On the couch with my parents, Cozy, like the three little bears. My dad holds the camera, …Why? An unexpected turn in the lethargic morning conversation My dad tells me to look at some papers, Confused and unsure, Why are they meant for me to read? All the words on the paper were blocked out, Except for one—like a lighthouse, flashing news… PREGNANT My legs jump in the air, My feet tap out the sound of joy. Then I know what the camera is for. These new and different feelings and thoughts Crowd my head Like a crowded pack of people at the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. I would have to take care of someone Small, gentle, and fragile like a feather. What to do, what to do? This new baby—new person in my life Will change the way I think of others, And will change the way I care for others. A baby brother? A baby sister? Someone I am excited about, Someone I’m looking forward to—someone absolutely new. Imani Apostol, 11 Seattle, Washington
Into the Night
Loud chirping surrounds the house. It is hard to concentrate on anything else, While the wood frogs and peepers are calling. Silently, I put down my book, and slide away from my chair. I lean out of the window, seeing nothing, But feeling something in the air. The stars are shining brightly. I cannot see the tiny creatures, But their voices are calling, calling, Begging to be heard. Suddenly, I am through the window And into the night. Sitting on the porch roof, Letting the chirps and peeps envelop me. The tiny animals of the swamp are calling, calling, We are alive. Eliza Putnam, 13 Hartland, Vermont
Frisbee
I curl my cold fingers Around the yellow Frisbee Coil my arm back Dip it low, flex my wrist, Release. It sails smoothly through the air Floats gently above my father’s head And then The wind carries it slowly Into his waiting hands He smiles and tosses it Back into the wind I am prepared My arms are open, ready As his were To grasp it, to hold it in my clutches But instead The wind takes it, Swoops it, low and high Suddenly I am snatching air, And the Frisbee lands Softly in the grass, Wet with mud I pick it up Bend low, Step forward, Let go. Dad leaps With a ballerina’s grace His hands clasp Around its plastic yellow body Our eyes lock He nods, I nod, A mental understanding Then it’s whizzing through the air A bright, lemon-colored streak against the violet sunset. I push off the ground My feet lift from the grass I reach for the sky, Palm open Instinctively My hands snap shut Like the pincers of a crab on the beach And suddenly it is there I am holding it Thud. My sneakers meet the ground And I am thrusting it into the air A triumph He smiles I smile The yellow disk Is in my hand We smile We nod Go home Now we are done here. Laura Dzubay, 11 Bloomington, Indiana
Spring Morning on a Farm
My black-and-gray rooster crows. The sound of birds’ chatter filters through the morning. I open the icy gate and walk the familiar trail. A cool, damp haze swirls around me. I carry the rusty bucket filled with a ton of feed; It pours like sifting sand into the concrete trough. Cowbells reverberate as they prance over the hill. Stopping beneath my willow tree, I watch them eat. I turn around to head home, But first I pick the first Wild buttercup. Levi Crossley, 12 Russellville, Kentucky
Down at the Dock
By Rebecca Mitkus Wishnie Down at the dock when all is dark, my footsteps clang and echo on the metal corridor above the ocean. Filling the near silence, accompanying the shhhh of the waves and the thud thump of the silver boats knocking on the dock. And the sssss… callop sssss… callop of the white-crested waves disintegrating on the peaceful shoreline. Look at the black sky! White sparks in the darkness of night, the kindling of light. Rebecca Mitkus Wishnie, 10 Newton, Massachusetts
Up in a Tree
I climb the water oak in my yard Its gray bark Tearing my once smooth skin As I pull myself to a New branch A cool breeze Like the cloud That rolls out of the freezer When you crack open the door But gentler, softer Breathes on my face The sea of Gray, white, blue Swirling as one sky Lifts my heart And makes it joyful That special joy Where Your heart pounds Your chest aches Your eyes water Your lips smile The dull Almost twilight Sun Giggles from behind A cloud Showing up In gay splotches Here and there Every thing Every worry or care Every war, lie, death Shut out All is beauty When I’m Up in a tree Isabel Sutter, 13 Houston, Texas
For No One
I watch her From the garden A baby girl Wobbling around, like a buoy On a choppy ocean, Batting playfully At her rainbow of toys, Her blue eyes, Darting around the room. Her mother softly coos, “So big,” With a pearly smile Drifting gently up her face. The baby shoots Her tiny fingers Towards the heavens. The mother, Clapping and cheering, Tells everyone. But when I Was a sprout, Nestled warm In my cocoon of soil, Like the jelly encased In a fluffy doughnut, Soaking up the nutrients, Readying for my awakening, The thunder boomed to me, “So big!” With its blinding smile Shooting straight to the ground. I sprawled out My verdant fingers And rocketed to the sky, My tiny heart full Of pure pride; All the creatures in the forest Saw me, But they told No one. Mara Schiffhauer, 12 Tabernacle, New Jersey
Red Fox at Dawn
Red fox at dawn Picks its way across dewy ground Leaving footprints His fur gleams Like fire In the rising sun As if he groomed it Just for this. Ears pricked high His tail a banner for All to see Proud of himself But not vain How could he be vain? A red fox all alone Then joined By another. She turns A signal passes. Then. Wait. Cautiously At first Then faster Come little Fox kits Throwing themselves On the Wet grass Delighted. Then the sun comes Kisses them good morning And sets their coats on fire For all to see. They hold their heads high Then disappear the way they came It would all have been a dream But for the footprints left on the lawn Olivia Smit, 12 London, Ontario, Canada
Winter Night
The world is black No moon No stars As black as ink from a squid The air is damp And moist My clothing is wet and cold Up against my skin I can hear only My breath And the crunching of snow Coming from my feet My boots sink into the crystals Of white I walk for hours Until I see a light From a cottage I smile And run My feet pounding into the snow My breath blowing in my face All of a sudden It’s not dark It’s not silent I’m home now Zoe Phillips, 11 Moss Beach, California
The Whale
The whale gently glides across the surface his sad, long, moaning music enchants all he meets to rejoice the sound would be a wronging for he is sad, lonely, cold his sister has just lost her life and the two-legged ones did it an empty feeling embraces his head and the wind drowns out his thoughts as he peacefully swims away Isaac Goodman, 9 Providence, Rhode Island
Camp
A bluish cabin near a quiet peaceful lake. Nothing, nothing at all could beat a place like this. Colorful sailboats glide along the silent water. A loon and its babies dive down to get a fish, Leaving a ripple in their place. Birds calling, a tree swaying, Laughter of my family fills the air. My feet run across the soft mossy and green grass, While playing with my dog. In this place, it makes me happy, Takes me away from all the dangers of the world. It protects me. I jump into the crystal-clear water. It refreshes me on a hot summer day. This place is better than an arcade or a water park. The hammock swings near the water, While hot dogs and hamburgers are grilling. It’s old I know, but it’s the best. It’s Camp! Kayla Walsh, 13 Falmouth, Maine
