Alone is the homeless man looking at all the goods in the grocery market that he cannot have Alone is the refugees leaving all they ever knew behind, their friends, their houses Alone is the single pillar Standing in the rubble of a bombed building Alone is the Iraqi mother whose children have died From lack of medical care Alone is the turban among a thousand baseball caps Brendan Grant, 11Piermont, New Hampshire
Poetry-Reflections
Treasure Box
Born in northern forests of Australia centuries ago And carved from yellow jarrah, My wooden treasure box Holds secrets of its own. Felled for ballast on sailing ships, It traveled over distant oceans And touched exotic shores, Seeking the spirit of Africa. Abandoned on the docks, The jarrah became railroad ties, Carrying steam engines Across the dry, Burned colors of a continent. Polished and alive again After four hundred years, The box captures within it The roar of a startled lion, The thundering hooves of wildebeest And the long, graceful loping of giraffes. Our secrets are treasured Together now With the shimmering heat of the plain, And warm a space for my own memories Still waiting to unfold. Mark Roberts, 11Windsor, California
Diego
Living in a world full Of selfishness and wealth, I feel the need to do something, Reach out to others. Two-year-old Diego Calls out to me, His picture spanning the miles From faraway Guatemala. Alone with just his mother And very little else, There must be some way to help, Save my money for his life. It isn’t fair, Growing up with so much, Knowing others suffer in Their lives day after day, And not doing anything to share. I can make a difference, In Diego’s poor community, Become his “big brother,” Help him lead a healthy And successful life. Carrying his picture in my pocket, I can’t wait for the moment When love wraps his body in blankets Or when I can finally hold his tiny hand In mine, knowing that I can be a part Of him forever. Mark Roberts, 12Windsor, California
