I can capture a bird’s flight, a mountain’s splendor, a tiger’s roar. My pen marks the crisp white paper like footprints on a snowy trail. My dreams are alive, and leaping like sparks in my hands. To dream is to speak a thousand words and never speak at all. In my dreams, I fly like a new bird, like the quiet of the storm. The music that flows from my eyes is like currents of electricity, and it powers me, the dreamer of dreams to live. Danielle Eagle, 12Winnipeg, Manitoba,Canada
Poetry-Reflections
I See Only Beauty
Liquid glass shatters on the sidewalk from the angry sky Scattering all the pedestrians like ants They hurry home to the comfort Of their TV dinners and their television sets While I walk the streets— A garbage bag as my raincoat, my heart light I find Picasso in a puddle And stories in the sky Orpheus is playing his lyre tonight While gentle Chiron nurses his wound The sky is my storybook And as I settle myself under a peeling park bench I see only beauty Jeremy Long, 13Mission Viejo, California
The Trains That Went By 31 Years Ago
I watch the trains go by The sky takes on a purple haze that seems unique to London As I slowly fall asleep, I try to imagine my father doing the same thing, decades ago I am lying in the house he grew up in, in the same bed, with the same blanket I imagine living in London eating dinner at the little table where you have to tuck your elbows in then going upstairs to bed and looking at the trains Would I enjoy it as much? Would I even consider myself lucky? I wake up and look out the window The sun is glaring in my face even though it is early morning I watch the trains going by, the same ones as last night The trains feel as if they are right next to you close enough that you can watch the people going past as the trains follow their everyday routine The people on the trains never notice you But you can see everything they do for those brief seconds before they disappear Stella White, 11Newark, Delaware
