Acrylic on canvas Caitlin Goh, 8Dallas, TX
Mighty Exquisite Parrot
Watercolor on paper Nicole Qian, 13Auckland, New Zealand
Raking the River
Jeff Kovatch Memorial Ohio River Cleanup, Harris Riverside Park, Huntington, WV My father reaches out with the rake and pulls the bottle toward us. I pick it up with my litter-getter and drop it into our big green plastic bag. “I’m raking the river,” he says. We both laugh. I think that would be a good idea for a poem. Charlotte Tigchelaar, 11Huntington, WV
No one knew
The rain pounded the windows. No one knew what to do… What would happen to everyone? The baby started to cry. He had been born in a happy, sunny place. Jada Kovatch, 11Huntington, WV
Mysterious Moon
Nikon Coolpix L830 Hannah Parker, 13Burlington, VT
The Blue Planet
Captain Vistyz Stausk paced the command center of her ship. It had been her father’s ship, but he had passed onto the next multiverse a Sastorian year ago. Captain Stausk missed Sastorus, but she missed her father more, and thus stayed with his ship. She had been given a commission to either find and destroy or rehabilitate particularly malignant species. Sastorus and its brother planet, Castea, had been attacked by an unknown entity that left as quickly as it destroyed. This was one of the more far-reaching and broader missions to stop both their attackers and the general malice in the universe. So far, they hadn’t disintegrated anyone, but they also hadn’t found any civilization that didn’t need serious help. The crew’s morale was low and what they needed just then was to come across a kind and loving race that they could ally with. They seemed to be in luck, as Captain Stausk’s co-captain, Naeq, came in with a report: “Smallish blue planet off the starboard side. Looks to be inhabited. Should I organize a scouting party?” Captain Stausk thought for a minute before replying. “No, just set up gear and a landing pod for us two.” ~20 minutes later~ Vistyz and Naeq unboxed the high-tech, to-be-reserved-for-special-missions, highly-adaptable camouflage suits for the seventh time that voyage. They lamented their one-size-fits-all label as they squeezed their six limbs inside and climbed into a two-person landing pod. As they sat in the dark interior of the white, bubble-shaped contraption, hurtling towards the little blue planet, they both thought about how wonderful it would be if the inhabitants were nice. How perfectly lovely it would be if they could negotiate an alliance. How highly likely it was, based on the laws of statistics. Sadly, they were wrong. The first thing the two noticed was that the planet was divided up into nations, each with a different language and different customs. Of course, though they would be much stronger united as a whole planet, they had to be forgiven for this fault because of the language barrier. Yet another thing they noticed within their first “week” (a term used to describe seven days on that planet) was that most of the world’s leaders were power-hungry and corrupt. They didn’t work together peacefully, as would have been best for all on the planet; instead, they squabbled among themselves childishly. Many of the humanoid inhabitants were without basic necessities, while others had an almost disgusting surplus of material wealth and currency. The planet itself was polluted and littered, which took its toll upon the flora and fauna, which had done nothing wrong. Even worse, some beings were considered less than or more than other beings simply because of trivial surface traits! And when Vistyz and Naeq began to perform experiments of moral character and look into the minds and psychologies of many, they found irresponsibility, avarice, malice, and many more things. Captain and co-captain were saddened by the fact that so many vibrant cultural traditions and kind, loving people were overshadowed by the much larger amount of bad. Back aboard the ship, Vistyz called a meeting with all of her advisors, counselors, friends, and trusted allies. They argued about the fate of the planet for many earth days, talking in turns, sitting in reflection, screaming at each other, and then laughing about it afterwards. Finally, they came to the conclusion that they could neither destroy, nor heal, this planet. There was too much wrong and sadness to be fixed by an outside force, but the goodness and kindness was enough that it could not be destroyed. So, they isolated it: they placed a special barrier around it, preventing interaction with any other planets or societies until the good in this planet became enough to destroy the barrier. They had a chance to change. And so Captain Vistyz and her ship went on its way, but this violent little planet, violently good and bad, had left its impression on many. Some were significantly saddened by the wrong and the dirty, but others were uplifted by the good and clean and pure they had seen there. Many were confused, others convinced that they had done the right thing. All would remember it. Arabella McClendon, 13Racine,WI Hannah Parker, 13Burlington, VT
Found
The fire-colored butterflies Flying drunkenly Silently sipping on the budding milkweeds. Snowflakes delicately falling Landing on open mouths of youth. The lake, calm and tranquil Silently discovering the ocean. The smallest trail of smoke Making its way to the sky. Fate isn’t sealed Like an envelope, Instead it guides Like the rails on a cliff To prevent falling Into a never ending Darkness. Or the stars Dotting the sky like freckles To prevent the sailors From stumbling into a whistling whirlpool. Not all maps Must be followed. Maya Wolfford, 13Cincinnati, OH
To Contradict
The waterfall, thought as brave, Viewed as unwearable, unstoppable, ablaze, Secretly cowers and hopes to end its days But continues to roar and never strays. The brambles, viewed as fierce and tough, Ignorant, guarded, as if they’ve had enough And stay like that until they wither, Pretending to be cool and tastelessly blither. The garden, swaying with the wind Seen as vulnerable, flimsy, weak, and thin But only leans with this harsh blow Because it has learned to go with the flow. The ocean, scrubbing away at the sand, Knows it could do something much more grand But still tries to reach for the land With a watery, frothy, desperate hand. The dirt, seen as filthy and rotted, With jewels and gems its depths are dotted But still it chooses to follow the dark way For it’s afraid to be seen with a happy day. The pebble, smoothed down by the stream, Seen as solitary, so hadn’t tried to join a team And as it tried to let out a scream Beneath the waters, it was held, serene. But the rose, viewed as superficial behind thorns Was expected to laugh with pity and scorn At the ugly weeds as they were promptly picked But instead it didn’t, thoughtful to contradict. And until this very significant moment It had been waiting for the bestowment Of the gift it had long ago earned: The petals it has, since young age, yearned. And this is how the rose gained its beauty, For performing a kind act, a necessity, a duty, And now you look at the rose and think pretty Instead of low, arrogant, and gritty. Maya Wolfford, 13Cincinnati, OH
Fog on the Mountains
Nikon Coolpix L830 Hannah Parker, 13Burlington, VT
The Standing Mountains
They are frozen but not yet gone They feel so sad but cold I can’t Oh I can’t feel my body when I stare at them for they’re so great and I’m so small Cora Gelman, 8Washington, D.C.
The Hut on the Hill
The ferocious waves slapped against the shoreline, spitting mist and bits of white foam into the crisp air. The gray clouds conquering the sky like a vast cotton blanket of darkness responded with the occasional crack of thunder. Rain beat down hard onto the backs of seagulls desperately searching for cover. The gloom was a plague that reached the toes of everything in the vicinity. Everything, that is, except a small wooden hut daintily perched atop a towering hill rising from the ocean. It observed the storm with a sort of wisdom and knowledge that pleased it, because it had lived a long life and knew many secrets. Its small form looked ready to be swept away by the wind like a miniscule piece of dust, but it sat firmly on the hill, proud of its resistance. A large oak tree curved over it, partially shading it from the merciless rain pelting from the heavens. Inside the hut, a crackling fire burned merrily in the hearth, and a large, cushioned armchair stood invitingly before it. There was a cozy-looking four-poster bed in the corner of the single room, its colorful quilt pulled back and the mattress still warm. A kettle dangled before the fire, the hot water inside bubbling and boiling like children frolicking on a warm summer’s day, the pot whistling along, too. Over on the corner opposite the bed, a little table was placed with two sides against the wall, with windows bearing cheerful, yellow-flowered curtains directly above them. A single three-legged stool was beside the table, and the remains of a berry pie was on a china plate beside it. Near the table was a wooden cupboard, the door ajar. The door on the other side of the room swung open as if a ghost had entered, and, from outside, the pleasantly fresh smell of petrichor wafted in, signaling that the rain had lessened. Emerging from the clouds, the sun shone, a bright light illuminating all the earth. Out the window of the hut, a gorgeous rainbow arched across the sky, basking in the glory of both sun and rain. The little hut sighed and creaked slightly at the wonderful sight. What a great view, thought the hut. I hope another storm comes one day. And, with that, the hut gave a huge yawn and fell fast asleep. The floral curtains slid closed, the fire lessened to glowing embers, the kettle was still, and the covers of the bed slowly were pulled over the mattress. And although the hut was empty, it would always be full to the brim with memories of Home. Linden Grace Koshland, 11Berkeley, CA Hannah Parker, 13Burlington, VT
Wild Wyoming Horses
As the horses ran down the mountain like a raging sand storm, I knew I was in Wyoming. The swift, creek water was mint in my mouth. I felt sandpaper as I touched the horse’s hair. I turned around to see the trees of the forest swaying as if they were rocking their leaves to sleep. Everywhere I walked I could smell the scent of the flowers like the perfume of a beautiful women. I found myself crying as I watched the beautiful horses run across the plains beating their hooves to a strong, clear beat. Gwen Deutsch, 12Dubuque, IA
