An update from our eighteenth Writing Workshop with Conner Bassett A summary of the workshop held on Saturday October 23, plus some of the output published below In anticipation for Halloween next week, and in conjunction with last week’s partial focus on the “monstrous body,” this week we focused on the neglected art form of short poems about monsters. Thus, we looked at exclusively literary examples, beginning with “Monsters” by Dorothea Lasky, which offered a change in the typical point of view. We then read a host of other poems ranging from “A Boat” by Richard Brautigan to “A Monster Owl” by Lorine Niedecker to “Theme in Yellow” by Carl Sandberg to “All Hallows” by Louise Glück to “And the Ghosts” by Graham Foust—a haunting one line poem. We finished with a close reading of William Blake’s famous poem, “The Tyger”. The Challenge: Two Parts. Part one: in fifteen minutes, write a monster poem. Part two: change the poem line by line by writing each line’s exact opposite. The Participants: Emma, Clara, Josh, Simran, Nova, Lina, Ellie, Audrey, Alice, Olivia, Shilla, Svitra Emma Hoff, 9(Bronx, NY) Monsters (original) Emma Hoff, 9 Some things crawl, asking for the mirror, something to break, smiling at us, rosy pink cheeks. Little cherubs are us, winged creatures, flying through the air, we flap our wings and kiss the other wings. Other things are obstacles, they braided my hair, I braided theirs, walking and walking along, tiredly, as if we had just risen. Along the path are scissors, so many combs and brushes, they rip my hair like a rope, like a cord. I took a step away, eyes blank, never colored in a book. Little children haunt me always, little birds, flitting around with wings of steel and iron, we call them machines. Ten days later you wake, asking others where you were, they tell you that they were in Hawaii and did not creep into your space. I begin to get wet, other forces are getting together, drying themselves, while I, I am under a mushroom, bigger than myself (I am an ant) and I wished I was sleeping like you. I dream of deserts, you dream of snow, everyone has a rainbow entering through a special door. Nobody ever actually becomes an actor. They have to wait for others to come, to say their words, I talked to them and they invaded me. Monsters (flipped) Things don’t crawl, they don’t want the mirror, they do not shatter, do not smile, their faces are pale with no color. We know nothing about cherubs, falling, wingless creatures, we have no wings to flap, we do not find the other wings. No obstacles in our way, and we never braid each other’s hair, we are lazy, we never walk, we always sleep. No scissors along our path, no combs, no brushes, my hair remains pristine, never ripped or pulled. I never had to take a step away, eyes were always full, colored, perfectly colored. I love little children, birds are gigantic, they do not flit around on wings, they do not work mechanically. You never wake, you never ask where you have gone, the others never go anywhere either. I am dry, I am alone, and everything is normal, I was sleeping, wished I was running. We do not dream of anything, no light, no color, can enter through our special doors. Everyone can act. We do not have to wait, do not have to talk, or listen, I left unscathed and healthy.
Stone Soup Magazine for young readers, writers, and artists
Coronavirus, a poem by Chloe, 9
Chloe Mohamed, 9 (Wilton, CT) Tick-tock, tick-tock, the time seems to move like a snail as I wait for the world to move like a cheetah towards the Light Right now, It seems as if night rules the world And burns everyone’s Candle inside of them Everyday, I watch as the light of the sun rises And falls, And it can’t Get Up I try to lift up my heart for The sun But it’s like there is a spell On my heart Because Instead of it getting up, Everything falls, Including, Earth Deep down inside my bones and deep through my blood, I know that Soon, Light will shine For now, The world will have to wait For someone to heal its heartache
We’re the Resilient Generation, Not the COVID Generation
We’re the Resilient Generation, Not the COVID Generation Olivia Shekou, 12 What is resilience? “Resilience” is used in physics to describe the way materials revert back to their original shape after undergoing some kind of shock or impact. In medicine, “resilience” describes a patient’s ability to recover after a traumatic event, such as surgery or accidents. “Resilience” was used by my younger brother who came back from Kindergarten one day, now five years ago, saying that his teacher told him “resilience means to bounce back.” That sure struck a chord with him. During our current pandemic, I think we can agree that “resilience” describes our ability to cope with stress, loss, and anxiety in the face of a deadly virus that has swept across the globe. Generation Z (those born between 1995-2009), like myself, and Generation Alpha (those born between 2010-2024), like my younger brother, have quickly learned to wear masks, socially distance, frequently wash our hands, elbow bump rather than hug, and drill test swabs high up in our noses in an effort to do our part. We all waited forever for the vaccine and were quick to line up for it so we could see our grandparents again be social citizens. Our resilience comes from just this—our excitement to return to our schools and communities. It comes from our desire for normalcy, especially coming off the heels of a long depressing year of virtual learning and what felt like a “caged” interaction with our friends who we needed more than ever. Many of us had a serious case of cabin fever, and too many of us were grieving the loss of a family member or friend whose funerals we couldn’t even attend. We’ve been through the unimaginable, all the while watching our own parents figure out how to keep their jobs, care for their own aging and very much vulnerable parents, and guide us in times they’ve never experienced or imagined before. They had no manual or experience of their own to draw from. What we’ve been through has felt like cruel and unusual sci-fi torture. I’ve thought long and hard about the countless immigrant children who move to new unfamiliar countries with no manual of their own, and only their own desire for a better life that fuels their resilience. According to a 2016 UNICEF report, one in eight migrants worldwide are children and these numbers are especially high within refugee populations. Sadly, these immigrant children experience trauma from culture shock, language barriers, racism and, oftentimes, bullying, and yet a large percentage of them recover from the trauma, integrate and thrive. I believe their resilience resides in their motivation for a better life. One such example is a character in the novel Dragonwings, by Lawrence Yip, which I read while stuck at home for my sixth grade year during the pandemic. The character, Moon Shadow Lee, soon became my hero and someone I drew upon to help me through the many ups and downs of our pandemic. Moon Shadow Lee, the 8-year old immigrant narrator and protagonist in Dragonwings, moved from his native country, China, to a new world, the U.S., only to relocate yet again in the aftermath of a natural disaster, all the while confronting racism and violence. At age eight, he traveled alone from China to San Francisco during the 1903 Gold Rush and learned to assimilate in a new environment with many obstacles and unimaginable hurdles. On his first night in San Francisco, Moon Shadow reunites with his father and other family members who run the “Company,” a laundromat service in Chinatown. He receives a rude awakening when some evil Americans—”demons”— shatter their laundromat window with bricks. Soon after, Moon Shadow is unexpectedly beaten by his very own cousin, Black Dog, who turns out to be a corrupt and vile family member. In response to this incident and in search of a safer place to live, Moon Shadow and his father, Windrider, pick up again and relocate to live with the Whitlaw’s outside of Chinatown. Not long after this move, an earthquake devastates San Francisco, uprooting them yet again to a barn in Oakland, a move in which they are rudely awakened again by Black Dog who surreptitiously seeks them out and steals their savings. As a result, they have no way of paying rent on their farm, and through this struggle, Moon Shadow develops a deep level of resilience. Despite this unexpected setback, Moon Shadow and his father manage to pay their rent and go on to achieve their ultimate goal of flying their glider, Dragonwings, a symbol of their freedom and aspirations. Boy did he teach me a number on resilience. Let Moon Shadow’s story be an inspiration to us all. American students and children everywhere, we too are resilient in the face of adversity. We have proved that we are not the COVID Generation, but the Resilient Generation. We too have our kites and gliders to fly, our hopes and ambitions to achieve. Resilience is a shared but unique experience to each of us. What if resilience were a color? If we received exactly what we needed right now in the form of a drop of light in our hearts, what color would it be? Dragonwings by Laurence Yep. Harper Collins, 2001. Buy the book here and support Stone Soup in the process!
