Poetry-Nature

In this shimmering liquid tourmaline A teal and gold-breasted kingfisher whistles in the green pines As the lake’s cool breath whispers in my ear She speaks of laughing trout gliding in her belly Humans pouring acid in her veins And her tree friends she has lost I am wrapped in the scent of salt and sweetness As the freezing rush of cold water billows about my hand And the smooth trout wriggle across the lake Lauren Giglia, 11Irvine, CA

Pine needles cover the ground, Life chirps and peeps from cracks in the Earth. These mountains rise high, Scraping space. Lizards and bugs infest the leaning trees, The elder branches of the oak, Fir, And birch Wave their spidery fingers at the sky As if waiting for an answer to a prayer. Paths twirl and unfold like ribbons, Tracing the past generations’ steps to the peak. Clouds encircle the summit as if dancing. Markers are set to tell you that many people Have been here to rise above. Trees make a thin blanket against the buffeting winds That scour everything And withdraw suddenly. An old house at the back of the mountain Gives you a personal secret You keep to yourself. Your ancestors scaled it. You want to follow their invisible ghosts up to the top And see the valley spread out like a patchwork quilt, And a feeling of big/small makes you want To become part of the mountain yourself, To become one with the wind and trees and birds And stories that the locals tell. You want them to surround you And enclose you. The footprints that have faded leave their story, The birds have an article that they will share, The trees have old legends Of kings and queens and knights, The ground has an account Of the gossip passed by the people of the mountain. You want to call this home. Zeke Braman, 9Acton, MA Enoch Farnham, 12Edmond, OK