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, 12New York, New York
Poetry-Sense-of-Place
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, 12Russellville, Kentucky
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, 13Falmouth, Maine
