Satyrs, Photo by Lara Katz Lara Katz, 14Weston, CT
Not-Silence
It is quiet there in the great oak tree by the brook, in the fields – and why shouldn’t it be? For it is morning – Dawn No sound comes to my ears but there is no such thing as silence. So I listen and I try to make out the not-silence. So I listen, and then I hear – the quiet whisper of the leaves in the great oak tree murmuring to the awakening world: Stand strong and steady, strong and steady – like the oak tree itself. I hear – the gentle tumbling of the brook over beyond that stretch of field the clear waters leaping and gurgling as they chortle: Fill with life, spirit, and love, life, spirit, and love – like the vibrant brook itself. I hear – the soft rustle of the tall, swaying grass in the wind. Breathing: Gentle and peaceful, gentle and peaceful – like the quiet grass itself. I hear – the faint calls of the birds warbling in the trees to the wan morning: Wake up! Wake up! and hear our song – their clear, silver voices rising to the sky in unified harmony. And I hear – the deep, golden sound of bells rolling low and unwavering over the rippling fields: Come, and start, this morning’s work – for there is much to do today! – and I slide from the leafy grasp of the oak but I know I will come back tomorrow – to listen to the rippling life of the world. Kate Choi, 12Seoul, South Korea
I believe in…
I believe in simple truths, Like 1+1=2. I believe in facts, theorems, and postulates, For they are tools That help us understand The world around us just a little better. I believe in the laws of thermodynamics. Energy cannot be created or destroyed. So the same energy in me right now Has been here since the beginning of time. And will continue existing, Even when I die. And I know that I said “simple truths,” And to some people those I mentioned Are everything but simple. They’re huge, immobile, stone statues, And that makes them simple, For even if everything around me Is in ruins and ashes, They stand strong and unchanged. Nargi Golashi, 13Durres, Albania
Up the river bank where the flowers bloom
My basket swings around my bare muddy feet I run up the rushing river with my basket swinging around I give my voice to the wind as calmly as it moves I run freely along the brown mud with the sparkling water next to me trying to get to the flower meadow where the river flows I see my footprints way behind me as they try to catch up There is that pretty meadow I start to pick the blooming flowers I rushed to the river and then I quickly put my feet into the crisp water I lie on the fresh spiky grass with a few flowers circling the hot sun shines all around me and I close my eyes The fish start to nibble that makes me tickle I close my eyes as hard but the sun still shines I open my eyes and look around Where is the river and flowers? Garden In The Day by Kathleen Werth Deeba Kord, 10Louisville, CO Kathleen Werth, 7Silver Spring, MD
Ode to the Common Weed
A cousin pointed you out to me when strolling calmly to the abandoned playground. “A weed!” she falsely exclaims while she prods at your emerald leaves. However, my eyes must be deceiving me, for I see the most enchanting creature that is known to man. Your velveteen leaves, with drops of morning dew, are mirages, transforming from a freshly spun creamy golden foam to an arctic forest green as deep as the night itself. Your indigo bud, hidden behind blankets of green, is a freshly washed gown hidden in the back of a dress shop, anticipation flooding through every one of Nature’s stitches, waiting for that someone to see it for what potential it has. A gift from Heaven itself, masked behind the role it has been granted. Instead of plucking it from where it has begun to flourish, instead of pressing your immaculate body against the coarse bindings of my scrapbook, instead of trying to alter your stunning figure, I let you go silently, for it is not my choice whether your kind may stay alive or not. There is nothing I can do, except for to hope that my memory of you will not fade away. Today, I continue to see your long lost brothers and sisters on evening strolls, in sunlit valleys, and inside the inner workings of my heart. Katy Meta, 13Pittsburgh, PA
The Money Tree
There is a money tree In my living room With a braided Fishtail trunk And of these five Interwoven strands Only one of them Has visible veins Pumping water For these plumed Green leaves Like dollar bills But for the Chinese New Year We don’t hang coin garlands Or paper cranes For prosperity For Liu Haichan The toad in the moon The God of Wealth No, my mother waters The leaves And my cat likes to Eat them While my father Chases her away For fear of bad luck; Me, I just notice The tree bending over And sometimes I lay A crooked leaf over A straight one In the hope it might Correct itself Because isn’t Luck something That’s made. Sabrina Guo, 11Oyster Bay, NY
White Upon a River
A shimmer of light cast upon a blue mirror. I see my spirit reflected on a ripple. Light upon a river, when wind comes, it is blurred into illusion. Griffin Byrne, 8Cambridge, MA
My Tenth Summer Part One: What I Learned About Hard Work
I’ve learned this week, Something I knew already But not well My mother, She sits at her desk. Typing. Writing. Scribbling furiously. I felt sorry for her. I thought she hated it. My father, He used to sit at his computer, Frowning. He’s good at numbers, But he’s tired My mom hates to build trails. He helped her. He learned. He’s still learning Everyone is. Me, I found two things, They are sort of one, Violin and poetry. They go hand in hand It takes a long time to do either I love projects We, Found something Something we loved to do As long as each of us are happy, We all are We work at our joys, Have fun, Daydream. Now I understand It. Makes. Sense Zoe Lynch, 10West Lake Hills, Texas
Tuesday at the Shore
Sitting on a towel atop the sizzling sand, I’m warm, wet, and a little tired Absentmindedly searching for shells with my damp, sandy, hand I look up to see the wine-dark ocean chomping its foamy mouth Gobbling at the jam of people skittering around the beach clutching their boards And gulping for a breath in the water Pretty sure it is about to take my brother Instead it just gives him a free joy ride I push my pink cheeks in, feeling for a burn Sandpipers rush to pick clams out of the murk, jumping back from the waves Seagulls shout and bicker over a half-full bag of Doritos Mom snaps at us to hide our snacks My little brother defiantly holds up a Pizza Flavor-Blasted Goldfish Hoping to lure a bird to his hand Cheese dust staining his tiny, pruny, fingers My cousins, with salt-soaked hair and rough red sand rashes, Beckon me to Boogie Board with them, And to search for sand crabs with Grandpop (Even though Nana yells at him “not to go out too far!”) When we come back, I sneak a second soda and a bag of Popchips from the snack bag, Hiding them from Mom behind my cousin’s drip castle I watch as her hand dips into the bucket, Then lets the wet drizzly sand dribble through her fingers, Shaping tall towers of mud A moment later my two little brothers bumble over the castle Like little dragons careening into warm, wet, hugs from Mom Look at the Waves, Photo by Ula Pomian Molly DellaValla, 10Jackson, NH Ula Pomian, 11Ontario, Canada
Just Me
When I first saw the dark of night I knew who I was. I was another shard Of my birthstone. I was the king of curiosity. I was a bitter one with danger. I was a monkey going tree to tree And the “Ouch!” When I fell out of a bush. I tossed and turned to get up And I climbed out of the bush. Then a few years later, I move away too sad to say, “Will we go back and have fun?” “Yes,” says my mom, “Some day… but not for long.” Ilya Ivanović, 10Santa Barbara, CA
Over The Shadowed Hill
We drove over the hill In the dark lamplight night My grandma in front Full speed ahead The warm flowing breeze It showed me the way As the mauve sunrise Shown bright ahead Past the farm Watching the cows eat My grandma and me Drove swiftly away As the sunrise followed us It began to fade As the warm swift breeze turned cold And it scurried away That sweet sunrise left us all The town came clearer The people filing away They didn’t seem to notice My grandma and me They didn’t seem to see that beautiful things fade The rosy color of dawn spreads all over the sky, Photo by Julia Li Genevieve Gray Fink, 9Hoboken, NJ Julia Li, 12Mason, OH
Baseball’s Sad Lexicon
Warm air, shining flowers, golden sunlight—summer in Chicago. And what summer would be complete without baseball? At historic Wrigley Field in Chicago, baseball has been a central part of summertime excitement for generations. I must confess that I am an avid baseball fan. I watch baseball, play baseball, listen to baseball, and read about baseball. Recently, while flipping through a book about the Chicago Cubs, I came across a short, comedic poem written by Franklin Pierce Adams in 1910. Adams was a newspaper writer for the New York Times, and also a Giants fan. He wrote the short, woeful tale, “Baseball’s Sad Lexicon,” while at a Giants and Cubs game. It tells the story of three Cubs infielders, Joe Tinker, Johnny Evers, and Frank Chance, who were notorious for turning double plays (getting two runners out in the same play). The poem laments the strong teamwork of the trio, and how they always took the championship from the Giants. The Cubs won the National League Championship four times between 1906 and 1910, so Giants fans had good reason for their frustration. This is expressed well in the final few lines of the poem: Ruthlessly pricking our gonfalon bubble, Making a Giant hit into a double— Words that are heavy with nothing but trouble: “Tinker to Evers to Chance.” When I first read the poem, I was very curious as to what “gonfalon” meant. I discovered that it means “pennant” or “banner”. The winner of the Championship would always receive a pennant, which always eluded the Giants. I love poems that accurately reflect the spirit and thoughts of people from long ago. It gives a clear window onto history and helps me understand how people really felt about historic events. When Mr. Adams’s poem first came out in the New York Times, it was wildly popular. Fellow New Yorkers understood and agreed with Adams’ complaints. The poem turned Tinker, Evers, and Chance into double-play legends and is a big part of why they were elected to Baseball’s Hall of Fame in 1946. To a baseball fan, “Baseball’s Sad Lexicon” provides a historic and fascinating view into the talents of these three players. Even someone who is not a baseball fan can appreciate the rich history the poem brings to life. It connects us with the events of the day, makes us feel as if we were there. When reading it, imagine yourself at the ballpark in the early 1900s, cheering on Tinker, Evers and Chance. The warm air, clear blue sky, golden sunshine—summer in Chicago. Catherine Woods, 13Frankfort, IL
