Take an abstract photo that shows a pattern in nature, like this one of a piece of coral from the October 2020 issue of Stone Soup.
Stone Soup Magazine for young readers, writers, and artists
Saturday Newsletter: February 26, 2022
Golden Sunset (Acrylic) By Delilah Prager, 10 (Santa Monica, CA), published in the February 2022 issue of Stone Soup A note from Sarah Hello all! After working at Stone Soup since 2017, I am leaving for a full-time position as an archivist. In this last newsletter, I’d like to express my appreciation for all of the wonderful young writers, artists, and readers I’ve been fortunate enough to work with over the years. I have consistently been amazed by how thoughtful, considerate, and talented you all are, and it makes me so hopeful for the future. For my last weekend project, I want to invite you to be inspired by Ava Espinoza’s lovely poem “The Word,” published in this month’s issue and also available if you scroll down to the end of the email. In her poem, Ava dances around an unspecified word that seems to follow her around, never giving her any peace. Do you have something in your life that strikes fear into you like the “word” in this poem? Maybe it’s not a word, maybe it’s a phrase or an event. For this exercise, I want you to try to a similar technique to Ava’s—hinting at but never directly addressing a word or subject. It can be serious, but also feel free to make it lighthearted. How can you describe something without ever truly introducing it? What do you want to convey to your readers about this unnamed concept and how do your characters feel about it? If you’ve felt inspired by this prompt and like the work you’ve created, please consider submitting it. Again, thank you all for being so wonderful during my time at Stone Soup. I can’t wait to see the things that Stone Soup contributors will go on to do, and I hope to read your work for years to come. All my best, From Stone Soup February 2022 The Word By Ava Espinoza, 12 (Palo Alto, CA) I look through boxes for things I want to keep, taking out those I need, leaving in those I don’t Need or want. Then suddenly I see, At the bottom of the box, A word. It’s a scary word, a horrible word, A terrifying word. I don’t want that word. I don’t see why I’d ever want that word. I close the box, but on the floor in front Of me, there I see The word. It creeps closer. I start to run. Imagine! This disgusting word chasing me Away from the box, out of the room, Into the hallway. I look behind, and there, Still chasing me is The word. …/MORE Stone Soup is published by Children’s Art Foundation-Stone Soup Inc., a 501(c)(3) educational nonprofit organization registered in the United States of America, EIN: 23-7317498. Stone Soup’s advisors: Abby Austin, Mike Axelrod, Annabelle Baird, Jem Burch, Evelyn Chen, Juliet Fraser, Zoe Hall, Montanna Harling, Alicia & Joe Havilland, Lara Katz, Rebecca Kilroy, Christine Leishman, Julie Minnis, Jessica Opolko, Tara Prakash, Denise Prata, Logan Roberts, Emily Tarco, Rebecca Ramos Velasquez, Susan Wilky.
A Tribute to Bobby Hutton
A Tribute to Bobby Hutton Emma, 9 I didn’t know much about Bobby Hutton until recently, when I read about the Black Panthers. It’s important to know the parts of history that are hidden from us. During Black History Month, we are taught about people like Oprah Winfrey and Michael Jordan. But we’re rarely taught about people like Bobby Hutton, Malcolm X, and Huey P. Newton. Bobby Hutton was a sixteen-year-old member of the Oakland, CA Black Panther Party, an organization led by Huey P. Newton and Bobby Seale that fought for Black people’s rights and protested police brutality. They also fought for the working class and against capitalism. “Lil’” Bobby, as he was called, was the youngest member. It’s important for people to remember him and all the Black Panthers, and know his story. Bobby Hutton was with Eldridge Cleaver when Bobby was murdered. Their plan for a revolution had failed. The police caught Hutton and Cleaver, which led to a shoot-out. No one knew who fired the first shot, but Hutton and Cleaver fled for safety into the nearest basement of someone’s house. The police set off smoke bombs and started a fire. Eventually, Hutton and Cleaver realized they had to surrender. Cleaver took all of his clothes off to show that he didn’t have a gun. Hutton took his shirt off and came outside with his hands up, too self-conscious to take off the rest of his clothes. Nonetheless, the police immediately opened fire, killing Hutton and injuring Cleaver, and that last shred of trust—that the police would not shoot a person if they knew they weren’t armed—had faded away. Below is a poem I wrote called A Letter, dedicated to Bobby Hutton. We all should remember him and know his story. A Letter For Bobby Hutton I think you missed the birds calling in those last moments. I think the leaves stopped rustling when the bullets hit. I wish you were able to hear the trees whisper and the flowers grow instead of the guns and the creaking of the burning house. I think you missed how every single pair of paws was clasped together in prayer for you. I think you missed it while you were falling. I think you missed how the mud parted ways for you. I think you missed your own funeral but doesn’t everyone? You were entangled in black shadows you were pulled farther back, you were pulled inside. I think you didn’t see the tears because you couldn’t cry. I know your eyes were closed. Can I take it for granted that your limbs were straight or were they slowly breaking in that casket? Did you know what happened afterwards or was your head just blank forevermore? I don’t think you saw the way the others mourned. You were far, far away, maybe even nowhere.
