In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt. - Margaret Atwood

Photographer: Jean Malek

Writing

The Sparkling Blue Sea

Elizabeth Y. 
Age 12

The sparkling blue Sea is my friend
He washes and foams waiting for me
To dip my feet into his waters 
To sing a cheerful song as I haul up my nets
The sparkling blue Sea whispers
Of lands far across his waters
Of coral reefs and rainbows under the sea
His white-washed hands beckon to me
To dive under the sparkling blue Sea
When midnight comes, my Sea turns indigo
And waits for me to give me a light show
He tells the bioluminescence
"Shine shine"
the sparkling blue Sea doesn't just belong to me
The children slap their rough hands across his face
They sweep trash and sand into his arms
His blue turns brown
His eyes dim
But I love the Sea
I love the Sea
I tell him stories of blue blue water
Clear to the bottom, see through like glass
He sighs and whispers
Wanting to be one of them
But my Sea never get angry
His hurricanes are his tears
His tsunamis are his waving hands
that stretched too high
So many people hate the Sea
They don't understand that he forgives them for
Turning his blue to brown
But I still love my Sea

The World

Willow Y. 
Age 8

The bright sky seemed to go on forever. The trees, stretching up to it, had green leaves that stood out in the blue background.  The magnolia was shorter than the others, with pink and white leaves.  It hung over the fence, stretching its branches across the two yards.  A small tree stood in a yard on the other side, its white flower petals blowing in the wind, making it look like it was snowing.  A small tulip stood in the back of the yard, all alone.  

Season's Change

Willow Y. 
Age 8

The wind gives a roar as you arrive at my front door.  I remember as the leaves blow the blue skies and lilacs just one month ago.  I remember the lilly petals rise as the soft wind blows, now the lillies are bright red leaves which have fallen off the trees.  The birds used to fly to get food.  Now they fly south for the winter. Everything is changing.  Grass... to snow.  Birds ... to squirrels.  The change is beautiful but horrible.  

Heaven's Moon

Elizabeth Y. 
Age 12

Heaven's Moon
Bathe me with your milky light
Take me up to touch the stars
Rock me in your crescent hold
Send me to where my dreams lie

Heaven's Moon 
Half a cookie
Dark and light
Will you touch the stars for me?
Bring me their warm and friendly glow?

Heaven's Moon
Smile at me from above
Light the path for the travelers
who travel fearful paths
Guide me through the dark chamber
of my heart

Heaven's Moon
Dark and cold
Empty spaces where you once were
Did you go reach the stars for me?
Come back to me
Take me in your crescent hold
Rock me until I touch the stars
Bring me to where my dreams lie
Bathe me in your milky glow

The Oyster's Pearl

Ines Amelia A.
Age 17

Sea showers crystals
Ashore my sanded toes cross
Away my footprints
Nearby the immense waves crest
My eyes can’t bourne on further

On rose gold sand flecks
Glistening shells half-broken
Curling up one pearl
This grand world is my oyster
And I am its precious pearl

A Rainy Day

Shubhi J.
Age 11

Scribble, scribble, Scribble
Goes my pencil writing.

Drip, drip, drip
goes the water raining.

Hurry, hurry, hurry
go the birdies flying.

Swish, swish, swish
go the branches dancing.

Rustle, rustle, rustle
go the leaves all falling.

Boom, boom, boom
go the clouds thundering.

Snap, snap, snap
goes the lightening sparking.

eek, eek, eek
goes my sister crying.

hush, hush, hush
go my parents soothing.

phew, phew, phew
goes my sister calming.

Crick, crick, crick
goes the lightening leaving.

duh, duh, duh
go the black clouds clearing.

Crack, crack, crack
go the fallen leaves crunching.

Wave, wave, wave
go the branches slowing.

Come, come, come
go the birdies emerging.

Drip, drip, drip
goes the water drizzling.

Scribble, scribble, scribble
goes my pencil finishing.

A World Beyond

Shubhi J.
Age 11

They give our lives a lively touch
Which we adore
But take for granted too much
I see them through the apartment door.

I see the ruler shouting, hardly softly
It’s subjects quivering, slightly quietly.
The blanched beings bent at every command.
Huddling together over the vast, large land
With natures so soft and gentle.
A comfort so parental.

Then I change my gaze
And I’m treated with a large soldier maze.
They all stand, colossal and strong.
Knowing nothing can go wrong.
For deep inside they know.
This is where their duties flow.
They have a hopeful village to protect.
A village which pays with never-ending respect.

Then, something fluttering I see.
Tiny dancing angels, quite like a baby
Amid them, a blooming pink lady.
At the times when the weather was frigid
Her arms were barren branches
Ever so rigid.
But with the sun now brightly gleaming
Her once ugly limbs are greatly teeming.

A majestic dancer leaps above.
Her flaming color, the symbol of love.
Her countless poised leaps proves
As her arms perform a string of swift moves
She’s as talented and gifted
As her eye-makeup looked.

There’s also a spy.
But you won’t find him however you try
Completely camouflaged, in the weeds,
Cautiously and discreet, he proceeds
Communicating through a furtive code
For he’s on a mission of a top-secret mode 

All this nature lit a bulb in my mind,
I realized that I can see, but I’ll be blind 
until I treat nature like mankind

 

Summer Din

Elana E.
Age 11

When the trees stretched so high
that they may as well have been
fallen scraps of a
low hanging sky.

when the thunder crashed
and the lightning struck
and the rain plinked
and the sun shloofed.

when the mists rolled off the lakes
and we imagined vanilla-chocolate shakes out of the birch bark boughs.
we entwined our fingers in the haze
and told anyone who would listen
that we could touch the clouds.

when the the summer sun would set
and auburn autumn in it's glory would roll in,
we were old enough to regret
that our summer kin-
our summer fun and din-
had gone
at least until next time,
to the bin.

The Swing

Avah D.
Age 12

I wandered among the tall grass of the fields behind my house,
The soles of my shoes crunching on the parched, dirty terrain.
My feet were on the ground, but my head was in the storm clouds.

I passed a brook, a trickle of muddy water dribbling through dead brush.
I passed a tree, an ugly, hollow thing, pecked by woodpeckers.
My eyes flitted without focus until suddenly I saw

A wooden swing,
Dry and ancient,
A porch swing
That had lost its porch,
Held only by a thin rope.
I ran my fingertips lightly over the rough wood,
Covered in splinters and leaves and memories,
Like I’d found a treasure in a beaten, moth-eaten chest.

My feet skimmed the tops of the trees, 
Back and forth, back and forth,
With only the wood slab to protect me,
While the feeling of freedom lifted me up and away.

When it was time, I placed my memories on the others,
And returned the treasure to its chest for someone else to find, 
And turned to walk home.

I heard the woodpeckers, the soft chirping of the baby birds,
Embraced by their mother’s wings in their hollow house.
I saw the small brook, the shimmering stream
Running through mossy rocks, flowing down into rivers and majestic oceans.
I felt the soft grass cushioning the path to my backyard.

Sometimes, now, when my head is in the clouds, 
I lie on my couch and my thoughts return to a place,
A place with an old, hidden, long-forgotten porch swing.
And I fly.

Our Home

Azera P.
Age 14 

It’s so heartbreaking 
It’s so heartbreaking to know that the beautiful bees going extinct 
It’s so devastating 
It’s so devastating to hear wild fires are running rampant 
It’s terrible 
It’s terrible to see All the pollution on the Earth 
Why do we treat our home so poorly? 

The life of a dandelion 

Jeesica W. 
Age 15 

The Life of a Dandelion. 

The dandelion gasps as the little boy pinches her fragile stem. His fingers suffocated her, choking the very life out of those ivory petals and shiny lime leaves. 

Then as the last seconds of her life tick by she remembers. She remembers starting out as just a seed, a little speck attached to the bottom of her mother’s stalk. Her mother, although fair with a sweet fluttering fragrance was one plant out of thousands and the dandelion was no more than one seed out of many.   

Still, she remembers quite clearly the coolness of the wind as it broke her free from the stalk. She had waved goodbye to her siblings and drifted away, the prospect of the unknown future filling her with joy. 

She had flown above the treetops, heard the sound of the fat robins singing and the tiny plink plink of acorns falling from trees. The strong smell of pine had made her dizzy as she floated along dancing with the wind. 

After three days of drifting under the stars and swirling under the sun the wind brought her to the ground. She remembers the warm dirt coating her shell and slowly sinking deeper and deeper into the rich wet mud. 

Then she slept. She had slept through the cold bitter nights when the ground froze and the trees turned a sparkling white. She had slept through the frozen lakes and the dark evenings when the sun itself went to sleep. 

And then the cold had stopped. 

The dandelion had woke to the first rays of spring and slowly smiled at the new bright world. She discovered new leaves and petals adorned to her green body and the birds above her tweeted their compliments. 

She had lived life for another four days, listening to the rain patter and making friends with the spotted mushrooms on the bottom of the oak tree. 

Until one day a little boy spotted the dandelion and with a tug of his fat finger ended the life of a dandelion who had flown above the trees and danced with the wind. 

Snake

Christelinda L. 

Age 18 

Moves like water
Grassy ripples
Quiet pause
Flash of gold
One squeak
Silence

 

Storm

Christelinda L. 

Age 18 

Listen to the wind
The branches bow and tremble
Leaves fall down like rain


 

5 Senses at Low Tide

Christelinda L. 

Age 18 

Fresh Breeze
Sparkling waters
Salty Taste
Seagull Cries
Decaying Seaweed



 

Here Comes Lady Autumn

Vivian C. 
Age 15

Here comes Lady Autumn, who grants bountiful harvests for all. Adorned in a gown of fire and smelling of smoked applewood and sweet pumpkin spice, she treads as gently as a sloping river over the fallen leaves.
 

Tree Wisdom

Christelinda L. 

Age 18 

Hello
little Tree
I see you outside
looking so happy and free.
Wiggle your roots deep into the Earth.
Feel the warm sun on your young leaves!
Rustle your leaves, sway in the wind
Look at the birds soaring above.
Reach high, little Tree!
Feel the joy
breathe
in
out
feel
listen
breathe
growing…
Soon, little tree
You’ll be big like me!




 

The Beach

Seth D. 
Age 10 

When I’m at the beach
I’m as happy as a peach

The sand is all smooth
And the water doesn’t seem to move

You can be a bear
Not like I will car

The wind in my hair
Like music to my ear 

I could play in the sand
But that’s too bland

The sea is nice
But sometimes it feels like ice

 

Climate Change

Seth D. 
Age 10 

Climate change
Is like to rearrange

The puzzle of the atmosphere
Like a shaken beer

The atmosphere will be destroyed
Like an asteroid

It will look like a deflated balloon
Holding on to the moon

If we don’t do something
There will be nothing

We will be left behind
In our past mind.

Concrete World

Om B.

Age 13

Concrete World

The concrete world today, 
A gargantuan creation of man
Surely expanding day by day, 
All part of a decided plan. 

Nature replaced with stone, 
The stars blocked out by lights, 
Perhaps we may not ever atone
For violating the constellated nights. 

Birds are as if behind bars, 
Their territory demeaned
Chirps replaced with horns of cars, 
A blaringly obnoxious scene.

Homes replace the grass and trees 
A new habitat for man, 
We do not heed Mother Nature’s pleas,
Although we clearly can. 

The weather beaten dirt, 
Covered by asphalt, 
Perhaps if more alert, 
We may finally halt. 

A wasteland of rock
Devouring grassy plains, 
If the environment could talk, 
It would lament over its remains. 

Humans have created this concrete world
At the expense of our natural wonders,
Soon the result will become unfurled,
And reveal our enormous blunders. 

the Girl

Sheena S. 
Age 16

the kid climbed the Sycamore tree
as high as he could go,
and daydreamed
Dreams of tomorrow.

his knuckles hurt
his face was bruised,
blood was smeared on his shirt
and dirt was on his new shoes

he closed his eyes,
and tried to imagine the pain away
while he wondered why
it had to be this way

a hand caressed his
and a shock of pain went through him.
he looked up to see who it is
and saw a Girl right next to him

as She sat still on the branch of the Sycamore tree
picking the dust off Her ripped jeans
as Her auburn hair blew in the breeze
She looked like a farm queen

She then slipped Her hand in his
and even though it was sore,
He let it
as they sat on the branch of the Sycamore.

Four solemn souls

Alexis B.
Age 17

I feel mercy for four solemn souls that are just based on how they seem 
They say one is sad and alone for her heart is cold as snow 
Her brother silent, and hypnotized by the colors of the world like an eternal daydream 
Then comes the star child loved by all, the warmth of her smile can make everything grow 
The last brother always expected to be great, so proud, and bold 
Always looking for a party, and have a great time 
He knows all the secrets of teenage mischief that go untold 
His favorite pastime is to go visit the shoreline. 
Its cold out just stay in they say 
Only noticed because tis the season 
Years of being alone has made her grey 
What's the point of being joly when you’re only remembered for one reason 
Starchild always wanting to spring into action 
With all her beauty, hear her song through the trees 
She brings all types of reactions 
Just ask the pollen, and the bees 
The last soul, quiet and from the rest more matured 
Sees the people around him in every color 
To him we are just falling leaves on a chilled breeze yet he’s still allured  
All though he’s quiet and prefers to be alone you can notice his presence toward the end of summer. 

Chris

Alexis B.
Age 17

The sun dips behind the arc,
Slowly slipping into the dark.
Although his brightness is out of sight,
You never have to look far to see his light.

The trees shine with a tawny glaze,
The sky, a raging chrome blaze.
A river runs like liquid gold,
A cluster of buttercups, blonde and bold.

A lemony bird taking flight,
Riding the rays of fading light.
Fire flies twinkle like countless stars,
Mourning their loss from afar.

The sun rests beyond the mountains, 
But our memories of him soar to the thousands.
Although his loss burns like flames,
His endless love still runs through our veins.

Your laugh, your smile, your life we will miss,
But we will always love you Chris.

 

Summer's Christmas Lights

Elyse K. 
Age 18 

Summer’s Christmas Lights

    An earthy scent travels in the breeze as my father and I tiptoe through the forest. The moon smiles high above our heads and shines her cheerful glow along the path. Although the journey isn’t foreign to me, the night seems to hold something new. All around me the trees rustle with excitement. The crickets play a gentle tune, lulling all the hidden creatures to sleep. I am humming along, looking down at the illuminated path, when I notice the absence of my father’s steps. I slowly lift my head. I know exactly why he stopped. The fireflies. Millions. Billions. Trillions. Countless flashing lights dancing in the pines. 

“It’s just like Christmas,” I whisper to my father. He asks if I could take a photo, but I know this moment is too special to capture. There are rare moments in a photographer’s life that should be left to play out like a movie instead of seen through a lens. However, this isn’t the first time I have been mesmerized by firefly magic. 

My little toes were tickled by grass and my hands were stretched up grasping at the night air dense with flashing bugs. Giggles erupted from my throat and the warm beachy wind blew my golden curls. A tall, plump figure appeared next to me. My PopPop came outside to help me catch the fireflies.

“Elyse, let me show you a trick!” He demonstrated how to carefully guide the bugs into my hands and cup it gently so I could examine them up close. The little glowing creature crawled all over his rough builder’s hands and took flight soon after. PopPop smiled down at me before moving onto the porch with the other adults to drink his “shluky.” I raced around the yard for another 15 minutes until I caught every firefly that night. My stubby legs carried me over to my grandfather’s lounge chair, pushed me up into his cozy lap, and curled into my chest until I fell asleep to the beat of PopPop’s steady heartbeat.

As the fireflies sparkled in those pine trees, I couldn’t help but think of my grandfather. He would always go for a morning walk on the beach as the sun came up over the horizon. Every morning I would wake up and rush to the kitchen table to find the crumb-bun box neatly tied with red string. He knew how much I loved sugar for dessert. On mornings that weren’t too hot, PopPop would take me and my cousins to the dock to go crabbing. Homemade crab traps made of a thin plank of wood, yellow rope, and a metal clamp with a chicken leg stuck on the end were our weapons of choice. We stayed there for what felt like hours, but they always flew by. 

When I miss my grandfather, I revisit those times of my childhood to see him smile and laugh and take care of his family. When I am at the shore taking photos, I remember how he always smelled like the beach and how his eyes were as gentle as the rolling sea. When life starts to get overwhelming, I remember how he could always make me laugh and would never put me in a timeout. I remember when he started getting sick, how frail he looked. I didn’t understand what happened to the strong, smiling man I knew so well. 

The wind is starting to pick up and a coyote calls out in the distance. I wipe the tears from my chilled cheeks and get ready to march forward. I know PopPop is gone, but he will forever live inside my heart and my memories. I turn to my father and we both know it’s time to move on. Together we crunch along, further into the forest, disappearing into the pine trees alit with summer’s Christmas lights. 

Like the Wind

Annabel Z. 
Age 12

Exploding into temper tantrums,
Howling, screeching, whining
Tearing past at enormous speeds
Trees bend, scrambling to get out of her way.

Like a kid in a candy shop,
This! That! These! Those!
A spinning funnel
Snatching what she wants.

In January, she turns a cold shoulder
Spitting out icy accusations.
In the wake of her anger,
Lies a silent calm.

Her stiff ways bend to softer caresses,
Relinquishing her anger
She nudges the porch swing,
Finally at peace.

Summer frees her playful side.
Racing children down the beach,
She gently brushes past,
Cooling, soothing, refreshing.

Lulled by the summer breeze, a false sense of security
Just around the corner, her temperament will whip into yet another storm.

ahead by a century? 

Grace G. 

Age 17

our humanity in our dealings with others still has a long way to go before we can truly think of ourselves as advanced. 
Behind closed doors social media has confined our youth into forming preconceived notions regarding others, and restricted our abilities to making meaningful connections with our peers. Millenials have been protrayed as incapable and incompetent, according to studies, they are most likely to quit and have been given everything on a silver platter 

We need more women with careers in stem field 

More time spent in real life, not on social media 
More love, less hate towards marginalized communtiies and to put the spotlight on diversity as a positive, not a negative (divergent) 
We need to start movements just like our fathers and grandparents (hippy) 
And stop the stigma associated with hippies
Stop the stigma related to mental health, and combat the current crises in our country such as opioids, cannabis, and environmental consumption or footprint 
The future needs technology, and advancement to bridge the gap between the rich and the poor, and allow democracy to put those who are marginalized in favor- expose them to more opportunities to gain enough money and ressources and to allow the upper elite rich to contribute to their societies. We need to give the silenced marginalized communities a voice and allow them to grow out of their situations, and stop the leaders of companies to under pay their workers unsustainable minimum wages. The future jobs will not need labor, utting a greater emphasis on technology and engineering. Our future is about sustainability, sustaining our humanity, our appreciation, our respect towards nature, and our purpose in life. 
We no longer want to see our earth's resources as commodities but as priceless possessions which we want to keep for the generations to come after us. 
Being a hippy is not doing drugs and promiscuity 
But vying fro fredoms adn rights 
Our environemtn is declining at alraming rates
Animals, and our own welbbeing is in risk 
This leads to me , and what im doing to make a change 
I have a passion for the environment, and am in part of my schools me to we
I’ve already started campaigns where weve recycled plastic water bottles and sorted trash 
And a part of youth who want to make a change in our society.
If we all work together, our future will be in good hands

 

the outdoors

Eva C.

Age 14

i don’t think we’ll ever stop running 
through fields of golden, wheat grains sticking
between the gaps of our fingers --
how the whiskers of the seed,
dance with the wind.

i don’t think we’ll ever stop jumping 
across patches of sunlight, 
finding rocks tucked into our shoes, 
braiding daisy stems into flower crowns, 
digging our toes beneath cold sand
letting the ocean kiss our ankles.

strawberries in the spring will always taste sour
like a rash on your throat. 
a mocking bird sang our argument into a song
there will always be 
mud tracks on the carpet,
after fishing with dad. 

the clouds will never not 
look like a dog or a cat 
and the rain always has a different taste
when it slaps the thickness of my tongue 
pounce across my belly, dribbling -- 

i don’t think we’ll ever stop taking walks at 4am
i don’t think we’ll ever stop counting the stars
i don’t think we’ll ever stop laughing, crying, dancing 
i don’t think we’ll ever stop
loving the outdoors.

Forest Wilderness

John Muir

The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness.

the sky writes me a love note

Eva C.
Age 14

the sky writes me a love note at 6pm
bruised with pink blemishes and swelling with blues.
hands me another at 9,
this time, a dome sprinkled with speckles of lights. 
one in december,
it comes in the form of pure white 
that kiss my cheeks and tickle my tongue. 
april became 
carides home with the rain 
drumming agaisn’t my window. 
sometimes the rain sounds like music,
or a marriage proposal. 
summer, 
the sky wrote all golden letters --
my wedding ring a tan line,
the sounds of a hummingbird’s wings between 
wisps of wind became church bells. 
july 4th,
radiant hues ruptured the night --
the sky said
“ i love you ” between the ecstasy, 
and i held the love note 
cradled in my hands to sleep.

 

Earth

Jessica W.
Age 15

Crushing a red speckled strawberry in his hands the artist smears the sweet juice delicately across her lips. Taking out a small ladle he scoops into the night sky and pulls out a handful of stars, carefully adding a touch of moonlight before dabbing the mixture onto her eyes. Her cloak is weaved from the sun’s rays fashioned with gold ores and sparkly rubies. If you were to stroke her hair, you would feel the tips of the soft thistles that grow by the river.

The artist dips his paintbrush again and adds a layer of fine sand for her skin. He mixes it together with the yolk of a robin’s egg and gently sprinkles her with the scent of tulips. In her heart, he places a single grain of rice. And he watches with a smile as she comes to life. 

Bad Hair Day In the Savannah

Adachi A. 
Age 16

Bad Hair Day in the Savannah
By Adachi Amaram

A hairy pink tongue flits in
and out of whisker ornamented lips
like a frog lashing out to catch a rebellious fly.

Four legs collapse comfortably,
the muscles ripple like a tsunami
going in reverse.

Golden fur laughs,
tickled by the wind,
with hopes that it won’t tickle back.

A mane of gold eclipses
mini playful, vanity-filled fur balls
each grooming to ensure 
a hair isn’t out of place.

all efforts gone to the waste-
lands of the Savannah, 
as a black net descends from the heavens
 and entraps hair dreams.

 

The Future

Sofie D. 
Age 9

The wind blows at my wispy hair
My fingers becoming cold
I start to speed up
running through the leaves
turning in circles
sprintingjumpingfalling
I see the blur of color
red orange yellow and 
blissful green
combining as I run into my freedom
run into my home
and my future
I see what is ahead of me
The world goes spinning as I can’t remember 
the leaves I just ran through
I see something different
I see what we all have done to the world
the decisions we have made
what it looks like now
and I know
We can do better than this.

 

Butterflies Butterflies

Brynn M. 
Age 5

Butterflies, butterflies
They're good for their wings.
All I like to see
Is them flap their beautiful wings.

I like to see them flying by,
All I know is a butterfly.

The last leaves

Maire M.
Age 12

An orange leaf is floating down,
Breaking away from the tree's golden crown
Blowing, glowing, gone.

Amber leaves with their warm, gentle glow
Falling from trees like a bright orange snow
Drifting gently down.

The sun is setting in the west
And the cardinals lay down to rest,
as snowflakes drift past.

The ground and trees are coated in white
By the snow that's blown in during the night
Freshly fallen snow.

The leaves lay under the snow, buried deep
While all living things lay down to sleep
In winter's crisp cold.

Tree Trunks

Juliet V. 
Age 8

Tree trunks are a shield
Trunks help trees survive winter
They show bravery

 

Gorman Falls

Awak M.
Age 6

Gorman Falls

I liked going to Colorado Bend to see Gorman Falls.
We walked for a mile and a half to get there.
The waterfall was 70 feet tall. 
It was cold, I could feel it even though I couldn't get near the waterfall.
The air was misty.
The water was really clear.
It was feeding a pool at the bottom.
There were plants growing all over the rocks and being watered by the falling water.
They looked mossy and green.
The Colorado River flows by the pool and by the waterfall.

Fall

Quleanja L.
Age 14

Red, Yellow, and golden hues
Are the well-known fall cues
Summer has ended 
and gardens have been tended.
Days shorten as Night lengthens
and the cold weather begins to strengthen.

Have You Forgotten 

Hailey C. 
Age 17

Have You Forgotten
By Hailey Chutter

Why do petals 
Fall so carefully to the ground
Sit so perfectly in place
Just to be swept up in the wind

The snow 
Blanket huge mountains
Layer upon layer
Just to melt away in the spring

And the trees 
Grow fruit for months
Sweet, sweet fruit
Just for it to fall to the grass

Oh, but have you forgotten?

How the petals love to spin
And twirl in the breeze
How the snow loves to change
And surprise people suddenly
How the trees love to let go
And watch a new plant grow

And I,
Love running back to you.

Nature's First Green Is Gold

Robert Frost

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

The chickens

Seth D.
Age 10 

Our alpha is milky
Her feathers feel silky

Next is Ninja
The only rhyme is jinja

That is a city in Uganda
Though I live in Canada

Then is Drumstick
She’s the one who was hard to pick

After that is Golden
She is very hard to hold in

Last is Deep-fried
And you can’t say we never tried

Underground Warriors

Fumairia L. 
Age 16

The underground warriors
Do not march with feet
Instead they noiselessly crawl
Along to their own beat

They do not move within a unit
Nor have use for guns and tanks
They carry out their tasks
None having any special ranks

These soldiers push their ways
Through the hard and rocky soil
Either rain or shine, they all yet still
Relentlessly continue their toil

They help aerate the earth
And nourish all its inhabitants
These small but mighty heroes
Take their roles as the descendants

So next time you see them
Come up through the ground and squirm
Please do not step on one 
Of these friendly warrior earthworms! 

 

fibers in june

Frida J. 
Age 15

at night when the heat in the room is spun around by the ceiling
it condenses into spider silk, 
and from then on, it falls through the air 
and piles on top of me while i try to fall asleep.

the silk is heavy when i am still. on nights 
where i am stagnant, i sit up and break through all the millions of threads 
and press myself up to the window:

it’s open and a screen sits inside to filter. my sleepy eyes blur out 
the sharp intricacy of the mesh. it keeps the bugs out, but worse, 
it keeps me in. almost desperately, i clutch the wooden frame 
and press my cheek to the miniscule crosshatches; i imagine my hot breath
seeping through the partition slowly into the cooler night, 
and the idea only makes my heart rate quicken:

i feel claustrophobic and have the urge to knock out the frame 
by the plastic on the sides, or reach my palms right into the wire 
and clench my them into fists. i want to feel my fingers pop through the tension 
to break it away and crumple and condense it into my hands 
and to feel each strand of wire, tiny and thin like spider silk:

i cannot. so i let my face strain against the frame and i still myself. 
the wire smells sharp and earthy like what i smell hanging in
the limpid air outside. it smells like my brother’s sweat and a little like dust. 
it’s deliciously cold outside, and i wonder what 
the screen has done to the air, for it to have filtered in hot,
and what i have done to deserve the way it has made my room so warm. 

All Because Of Her

Isaiah L. 
Age 18

She greets us with a chill in the air and at times a cold and fierce blow.
She pulls our blankets back in an effort to make us get up, look out our window, and see her new blanket of snow.
She brightens our rooms with a very bright  and inviting light;
It is no longer the sun but it is the brightness of the outside Winter white.

She forces us to bundle up and shield ourselves with very heavy clothing.
She does this in an effort to prepare us for those fierce blows and that high white coating.
She opens up our doors and the scenery has been scanned;
We are now prepared to take those first steps into her beautiful Winter wonderland. 

She now greets us with a not fierce, but gentle blow.
We look down to the ground and notice the disappearance of the bright white snow.
She taps us with her rain releasing it as a drizzling; 
She provides her flowers with this beneficial source of life which is another sign that the season has transformed into Spring.

She has taken back her snow revealing her tall green grass.
We look into the drops of rain that possess the action of reflecting ourselves similar to that of glass.
She steals from us this pleasant sight in the effort of another season change.
She doesn’t feel regret because of the next season she will provide in an allowing exchange.

She warms us up with a blaze from the bright and yellow sun. 
The characteristics of this season opens up an agenda for a wide range of fun.
A feeling of freedom compels us and it is all because of her;
We feel free because of the lack of restrictions that we encounter during the time of Summer.

She provides a light blow from time to time which is very much needed.
But even with the raging heat it is hard to find any time to be seated.
Take a dip in the water or just lay out in the sun;
Just make sure you enjoy this time before Summer is officially done.

The last of her four seasons is another beauty that separates itself from the others;
It does so by showcasing a metamorphosis of the leaves’ colors.
We wonder what happened to the green leaves and where the red, orange, yellow, and brown came from.
She causes this change to inform us that it is time to fall into Autumn. 

Porches are aligned with jack-o’-lanterns during the period of October; 
Kids are also going from house to house asking for candy from the homeowners.
Then thanksgiving rolls around and the air is occupied by the smell of cooking food.
This is definitely something that will put you in an Autumn mood.

Throughout this poem you where probably bewildered at times when trying to comprehend who was being referred to when you came across “she”.
Well I’ll give you a hint it certainly isn’t me.
Because of our different preferences when it comes to the weather we all at times find ourselves hating her;
But that hatred doesn’t last very long because all of the beautiful things of the outdoors come from the one and only Mother Nature. 

High In The Sky

Shanelle F.
Age 14

If I were the wind:
I’d run, flee from the ground,
whisper mischievously in passenger’s hair,
blow birds about the sky and toss kites
high in the sky.

If I were a tree:
I’d adorn my hair with crowns
made from garlands of a robin’s nest.
Stand boldly as the cheeky winds rustle me,
and lift my leafy arms 
high in the sky.

If I were a flower:
I’d bloom tenaciously like rainbow silk
where dreams can be weaved from.
I’d bask in the sunlight filtering through the lattice of tree leaves
as I face my silky petals
high in the sky.

If I were a butterfly:
I’d dance in a whirl of colour, swimming
in the air, curling in the sweetest of swirls.
I’d charm rose petals with butterfly kisses 
as I, with fluttering wings, fly
high in the sky.

If I were the sun:
I’d rise, pouring my cascades of amber and honey rays
into the earth like a pot of molten lava.
I’d caress my children with scintillating golden lights
while hanging, like crystal orbs
high in the sky.

But I am me, the only thing I can do
is frolic with the wind,
lean on the proud trees,
praise the dancing flowers,
relish the velvety touch of a butterfly’s kisses,

Or 
I could look,
look very hard and dear,
with my fondly squinted eyes
high in the sky.

 

The Jasmine Tree

Yuwei D. 

Age 17

The Jasmine Tree
As the rain fell lightly from the sky, the old jasmine tree stood, unmoving, but the flowers flew down, all white like snow but with bright yellow underbellies. I sat down on the gray boulder with my two friends Chun and Liya from school. We used colorful chalk to draw our castle and then used our handmade “Shabao” plushies to act like the people inside. It was April in the city, the best weather I could ever have. However, the spring in Beijing was always short. After I lived there for fourteen years, it was still hard for me to catch the “true spring”—those perfect weather days. Summer always came so fast. That year, the rain lasted about a week, and it was finally the season for the jasmine flowers to bloom. Today, kids from school ran past the bushes near the street, some in a hurry to go back home to eat their mother’s handmade milk ice cream, others to fly kites in the field, but none seemed to notice the jasmine tree flowering overhead. 
Grandma was there, sitting on her old red-wooden chair, wearing her white silk qipao and her dark green cloth shoes. She sat there quietly reading her favorite book A Dream in Red Mansions and drinking her favorite jasmine flower tea.  
The flowers flew from the tree and landed on our chalk-drawn castle. Chun suddenly asked: “Oh, Lucy, how old is this jasmine tree? You said it’s more than 200 years old, right?” 
“No, it’s nearly 400 years old. And it’s been here since Grandma was a little girl like us,” I replied but kept my eyes on the tree. It was so tall, almost growing into the sky. I couldn’t even see the top. It was so huge, even ten people could not hug it using their arms. Grandma told me once that the tree was planted 400 years ago and started this life with my Grandma’s family. It has witnessed the prosperous times and the declines. In the 1920s, one rainy day, a flash came down from the sky, and boom! The middle of the tree was split in two. Everyone thought it would die, but it kept standing for almost a century after, just like my grandma has. 
Suddenly, I heard a sound. I glanced back and saw Grandma standing up. She didn’t say anything but just went straight toward our kitchen. She opened the yellow wooden door, and I saw her shadow. With the rainbow’s light reflecting on the exterior of the house, I heard the sound of a pot being opened, the smell of something good drifting into the sky and spreading into my nose. Oh, it was the smell of the jasmine flower, but, it was a little different. What’s that? A new kind of food? Did grandma make it? I turned back to Chun and Liya with the question marks in my head. 
“Lucy, Chun, Liya, come here. Let’s have some jasmine flower cakes!” the sound of Grandma’s voice went into my ear. I saw Grandma was standing there outside. She was so pretty, within the white silk qipao—simple but elegant. She held the jade green plate in her hand, and on it were the white jasmine flower cakes. She didn’t move. She just stood there smiling at me—so warm, so sweet, like an angel from the sky. 
The sunshine of April shone on her. With the warm light, the jasmine flower cakes looked like treasures. Grandma kept smiling and moved toward us. In her white clothes and green shoes, she was like a flower. She sat near the tree and put down the plate for us. “Let’s try it! It’s a snack I always had when I was young. I used the jasmine flower from this tree to make it,” she said. 
She handed me a cake. I put it in the middle of my hand, looked at it like enjoying a piece of art. The cake was as big as a cupcake, all white, with six red spots shaped like a flower. I put it near my nose. The smell of jasmine mixed with flour. I bit into the cake and felt the soft texture in my mouth. The jasmine flower juice, red bean paste, and jasmine flowers made it taste not overly sweet, but just right. Chun and Liya all took a cake from the plate and ate. We gobbled up the flour crumbs left in the plate. The rainbow was still hanging in the sky, the seven colors of it shining on the tree and on the flowers. The colors reflected in the white flowers and made rainbow petals.
Grandma sat there, smiling at our chalk drawn castle, and I imagined that she thought about her own childhood. We turned our heads to each other and smiled. With the fresh smell of the jasmine, the happiness was all around me. For me, happiness was the time I spent in childhood with my grandma, playing with my friends, eating the homemade food Grandma made, and sitting together under the old jasmine tree. 
Last summer, I visited grandma. The tree was still there, but my friends had all moved to the other cities. Outside the house, the bushes were gone. All around, tall office buildings stood shading her yard. But Grandma was still there, and the jasmine tree was still there. Grandma stood at the door of the house and smiled at me. Then she turned back into the kitchen to grab taro rice cakes. I sat down with her on the rock. She held my hand, and I leaned on her shoulder, listening to the happy songs from childhood. 

Oh, Deer, Smokies! 

Ella C.
Age 16

Your sight leaves me breathless
In shock, I start to dream
dream of what life could be
How it would be to wake up every morning
Ears ringing to the glorious sound of the life that lives all around me
And the remarkable smell of the pine and maple
In the distance, I hear a loud pounding of water onto rocks
As I move closer I see the gigantic and thrilling waterfall
Nearby, the trickling of water leads me to a small stream
FIlled with algae, crystal clear water, and oh so many pebbles 
I follow until the neverending path of water seems to have reached an end
This is the place I love, the place I need to need to be, and the place where I can truly be happy

a few months ago in a national park

Skylar C.

(Age 14)

i'm outside

but this time
i'm really outside

because
now
the constellation
of lights
in office buildings
and houses
don’t cloud
my vision 
so much 
anymore

now 
instead of the warm, thick air
coldness
waves past me
like
drinking
a cup of water
with ice
that makes it too cold 

now
the tinny
bing
of my phone
don’t take over
my mind

and i can smell
wildflowers
faint
sweet
only steps away

now 
all i can see
is the dark slope
of a mountain
rising
into a sky
scattered 
with stars
those foreign things

Rest in the grass

Honey W.

Age 16

I fall swiftly.
My back enveloped in the grass. Mottled shadow, following the waving leaves. I wish to melt into the forest floor. Fungi, disintegrate my skin, envelope me in your alien beauty. Let me dacay. Birds, take my eyes, use them to see this place as I do. Take my teeth, bury them like seeds, so I may grow here with you. Let my blood sink into the ground, feed the blankets of moss, turn them red as rubies. Bugs, burrow through my bones, turn them in to pure white sand, that may be swept into the sky by a cool breeze. Continue this. Continue my decomposition. Spread me out, let me exist in every part of this wildwood. Let the trees grow up through my heart, taller than I have ever lived, taller than I've ever looked. Reach the clouds and then the heavens. The moon and the stars.

timeline of the earth on which we stand

Anusha G.

Age 16

Calm and happy 
Thousands of lives form in front of your eyes
You can hear the chirps of a robin
The buzzing of a bee
The croak of a frog

The life she gives
She provides like no other
She cares like no other 
Started with anger 
Ended with bliss

Now the children have come forth
The ones she gives such tender love and care
The ones she provides for 
But
They don't love
They destroy and deprive

They kill the good 
They coddle the bad
She is terrified                                                                                                                                                                      She shouldn't have to bear this pain                                                                                                                        This hatred                                                                                                                                                                        This fear                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              She is a mother                                                                                                                                                                        One that I hold so dear                                                                                                                                                        I know that she loves me I know that she will be there                                                                                          But you all smother her until her lungs run out of air

There will be a day 
When she is no more 
Everything she has created
Will go along with her

When morning

Emma P.

Age 13

When the folds of blue have finally colored 
themselves sunset and captured Selfies and hearts. 
When the moon paints her marbles silver and rolls them 
across the floor of the sky for her earth to look at 
as she drifts off into her realm of dreams.

When people have tucked their spawn beneath blankets 
and sheets, promised morning and flicked off the lights. 
When the bloodshot sky clots around the horizon and 
commands us to call her dawn, whispering to her armies 
of trees to not move when they can be seen by people.

When the flowers return to their plots and gardens from 
their late bars and night clubs, and pretend to wake 
up from a deep slumber as if to fool us. 
When light is spread over our land like honey on morning toast, 
it looks like a road, or many roads rather, all pointing to the west, telling us we will find yesterday's sun 
but not where we expect it to be.

When the clock gently chimes it's morning Sonnet, 
the grass recites Haikus for the soil, 
the sky becomes an Acrostic for the sea, 
and the breath you breath this morning 
sounds like an Ode to the heart. 
When the poet wakes to the day calling her name, 
nothing will stop her from following.

The Sounds of Nature

Sam G.
Age 10

I sit here all alone today,
The silence of the wilderness is better than okay.
The trees surrounding me so tight, 
And the clouds blocking away the light.

The birds are singing their happy song,
And the squirrels are starting to sing along.
With the freezing air hitting my skin, 
I imagine a fiddle and violin.

The quietness of the nature is interrupted
 By passing cars and horns of trains
Blowing loudly,
And the pitter patter of falling rain.

Smoke in every smokestack,
I in the rain;
I sit meditating,
And bringing me back to sane.

 

Mother Earth is Satisfied

Chelsea G.

Age 12

Rushing rivers,
Golden sand,
Immense mountains,
The waves that dance.

Alluring flowers,
Grand sequoia trees,
Arresting hills,
And stunning seas.

Flowers in her hair, 
Stars dot the sky,
Crystal clear water,
Mother Earth is satisfied.

 

Blue Bird's Home

DeeDee K. 

Age 13

There once was a place that I called home
Where blue birds sang and black bears roam
Where there's lushious mountains and fresh water springs
And a mountain blue bird that always sings
And one day as he sang his song
I slowly started to hum along
I realize now this lovely place is not just my home
Where blue birds sing and black bears roam
This is the home of my blue bird friend
Now isn't this a lovely end.

A Goldfinch Among Evergreens

Athya P.

Age 14

A Goldfinch Among Evergreens

Far from sea stars adhered to rocky shores 
Above the plains dotted with dandelions, chamomile, clover
The little songbird dives and soars in flight
Then alights on the old redwood

The yellow outlaw dons his black feathery cap
Eyes shine like a black dotted domino 
Wingtips colored like piano keys in reverse 
Caress his golden silhouette, outlining the sky

Upward flicks of his tail show underside spots of white 
And precise acrobatics through the limbs of the tree
Reveal sponge-like textures of his tan colored feet 
Curling to grasp a branch of the ancient evergreen

Contrasted between the navy blue twilight and feathered pastel yellows
He nestles his beak to preen the bend of his wing
Smells belonging to the day fade as
Cool night air veils the settling landscape 

The lone goldfinch on the ancient pine serenades into the evening
And long last a female alights nearby 

 

Vertical Plane

Margaret G.

Age 16

Ascending, into clouds that blush like fairy floss
A tiny window,
is my portal to the whole universe

Fluid aqua, replaces the steel of my wings
Surrounding islands,
set like gems in a ring

Seeing more but feeling less
Descending,
out of the heavens and floated to bliss

 

Life in the Celestial Sphere

Margaret G.

Age 16


Shimmering clouds in nebulae craft luminous stars
Who catch planets in an eternal dance
With Silver moons and asteroids 
Enlisting in pirouetting galaxies

Distant stars paint pictures for us in the sky
Whose patterns remember the stories of civilizations past
Guiding early explorers to new worlds
And sprinkling the inky heavens with glowing lights
And our industrial world has slowly concealed this from us

They say we are made of stardust
But glaring lights smother the stars
They say the sky's the limit
But poison smog fills the atmosphere

Bleak clouds in thick skies poison the rain
Who collapse fragile ecosystems
With aquatic plants and creatures
Suffering in toxic lakes

Blinding lights illuminate roads for us after dark
Whose craters remember the stories of winters past 
Guiding guzzling cars to blaring malls
And splattering the night with neon advertisements
Leaving Polaris and Orion as our only reminders of the world outside of the celestial sphere

 

Bass

Madelaine T.

Age 8

With their shiny scales
they swim through the water.
They look for food with their big, black eyes.

BOOM!

A bite!
The bass pulls,
you fight.
Finally!
The bass is out of the water,
it looks at you with its big black eyes

You release it.
 

Maldivian waterbites 

Yejin S. 

Age 17

Even rousing is a slow, gratifying collection of the senses and
I knew to wake golden haze dripping
up my skin in dappled wonder
movements so time-strung I was hardly alive
across lazy twining weeks when I played island intruder
for days in a villa on solar time to hide
between stilts encrusted. A dwelling on open ocean like 
Adriatic mist dipping low into this dark blue space 
teasing horizons.
I set out to swim to this space until nothing but silence 
roared in glacial, forbidding gales and beneath me
the ocean bared its naked body, stripped ravishly in barren shame,
but I felt sea-things scurrying away at my gaze, 
I am hunted. Few things
as simultaneously haunting and beautiful
as the ocean, and there is a hollow place in its middle where I feel
like I’m being watched, where I hear my name,
where I’m alone. I dove up to kiss my starting point with my eyes
so far away, and I swam back. There’s a vacuum between echoes where I feel unnaturally alone, and severed 
from the flesh of my body. If I must
engage in carnal pleasures, the ocean will 
kiss tundras across my skin. 

 

Sunsets

Lauren R.

Age 15



She breathed in the salty ocean air. Summer had arrived, along with all of its pleasures. The long dress she wore trailed behind her in the sand. As she waltzed to the shore, she watched a plane fly across the neon orange sky, pulling along a banner that read “Go to Clarke’s burgers” in curly black letters. The cool evening air hit the young woman’s shoulders, warning her of the approaching storm as she stepped into the ocean. The cool murky water danced upon her toes, instantly relaxing her. The sunset was absolutely breathtaking tonight. A cocktail of rose and lilac, it had to have been stroked into existence by God himself. Distracted by the setting sun, she momentarily forgot about all of her worries and sadness. 

The Old Gray Shed

Andrew R.

Age 16


There was an old gray shed,
In a forest of pride.
Battered and broken,
It leaned to one side.

The squirrels all laughed,
The passing wolves sneered,
And the birds all wished,
The shed would be cleared.

But if anyone cared,
To look through the door,
They’d meet surprise,
By the sight on the floor.


For it housed orphaned bear cubs,
Scared and alone.
The shed, on the inside,
Was a warm cozy home

I wonder how many times we go by,
And judge someone quickly on the outside.
We don’t ever try, we don’t even start,
To find out who they are in their heart.

 

Corvid

Tara B.

Age 17

As my boyfriend and I  take our walks and hikes during this quarantine. I take pictures, physical and mental images. All the images last forever. I sit in bed and edit the photos, then I post them on Facebook and sometimes Instagram. All the running around and "sword fighting" captured in the camera, but the love, laughter, and amusement are captured in my memory. Hopefully all to be recaptured for years and years to come.

The Weathered Trail

Summer H.

Age 13

Footprints on a weathered trail,
The noise of stomping boots,
Crumbling stone stairs,
Climbing up a hill,
Wrapping around.

The cool sweet air,
Rivers breaking through,
A hole in the trees revealing a blue stream,
Tubing in the summer,
Hiking in the fall,
Playing in the spring,
Walking in the winter.

 

Cool, damp caves,
Buried in a hill,
Playing with my friends,
Climbing on top,
Sliding down the side.

Picnicking on rocks,
Down by the river,
A misstep,
A shoe drowning in mud,
Falling on a river,
While crossing on a tree,
The outdoor,
All that they do for me.

 

Trees to climb,
Water to swim,
Trails to walk,
Caves to play,
The outdoors,
All that they do for me.

 The Pigeon

Elizabeth Y.

Age 11

With wings that soar throughout the sky
The brave and selfless pigeon flies
Although you might think her a thief
Eating all of your trees' leaves
She does not keep it all for her
But fills her mouth up to the brim
To give to her children to eat
For a pleasing dinner treat
But when she leaves the sky grow dark
And droplets fall down every bark
But she does not quit right there
For her children are in her care
Her feathers matted, her wings wet
Yet her heart is stone set
Little pigeon thank you for
Showing me what family is for

A Splash of Color

Elizabeth Y.

Age 11

A splash of color in the sky
Made after a gloomy blanket
Of rain
Thunders down the Sky
Warmed by a ball
Of flaming heat
Mixed with a spray of mist
An Allusion
To all
With a Mythical pot at the end
Bright scarlet
Vibrant Apricot
Gay gold
Vivid emerald
Deep azure
Majestic magenta
Tinged together with happiness
A splash of color in the empty sky

My Special Tree

Abby G. 

Age 17

Remember the times
We would play under our tree?

Clothespin people 
And the tree trunk our doll house.

Remember the time 
Dad was tying the knot of our tire swing? 

Remember the years of laughter
And joy it would bring?

Remember the time 
We hung a rope in our tree?  

Remember rigging up a harness 
And pretending we were mountaineers summoning a cliff?

Remember the times 
We just sat on the limb? 

Let's dangling
Ants crawling up our arms.

Remember the time 
We tried to tap the tree?

It was a maple 
So we would get syrup, right?

Remember the time 
I tried to build a tree house?

And remember the time 
You all pulled out the boards? 

Remember all the times 
We tried to create a zip line? 

And remember all the times 
We failed?

Remember the picnics 
We had under her canopy?

Talking and laughing
About happy things?

Remember that day
We decided we had to leave?

I was sitting silently 
Beneath my tree.

I remember that day 
We said goodbye
To our tree.

It stood so 
Still and quiet and
Bare as could be.

Never angry
It looked down
On me.

I knew

That whenever it was
And wherever I'd be
I would never forget 
My special tree.

Explorers of the Waters

Anthony E. 

Age 16

Underneath the warm rays of the sun, lies a creature basking in the ambience. As soon as the sun rises down, the creature slowly treads back into the water. The creature embarks on a journey that takes place in murky waters. As it uses its claws to grasp the leaves and swim through the current, it makes its way through the aqueous environment. The creature then comes across an old friend; a fish. As the creature exchanges greetings with the fish. It swims back to its home with great eagerness. These creatures are known for going on tedious expeditions underwater and for their noble longevity. They are known as sea turtles, the majestic creatures of the sea. 

Night

Abby G. 

Age 17

Night.
The world stops.
The sky sets anchor,
Dropping the sun.
The day is
Done.

Miss Spider's Web

Elizabeth Y 

Age 11

Miss little spider weaves a web
Its delicate strings glitter in the sun
She waits for a tasty treat
Her prey can almost never run

For long hours long she waits and  waits
The sun goes to sleep and the moon wakes
Rose petals fall and bees go to sleep
Still the little spider stays awake

A Sudden movement
A crucial turn
A little fly
You'll soon learn

Miss Spider
Jumps with joy
Wraps him up
And dips him in some soy

So pretty things
You'll learn soon
Can also be strong
Like that cocoon

With delicate strings
That would seem to break
But for catching flies
It's a piece of cake

 

fixing things.

Hadley J. 

Age 12

why is it so hard
to just say, 
we can't do this. 
we need to stop
we need to open our eyes
we need to fix things. 
but it's hard.
it's hard to fix things
when everything seems broken. 
i want to do things. 
we all do. 
but it's so hard to realize, 
that it's our fault.
and you say, 
"i'm trying."
but are you?
are we really doing enough
we aren't. 
the great barrierr reef has been dead since 2016
the bees are dying
there are less than 4000 tigers in the wild
and we think that we can't do anything
but we can. 
it takes a moment to realize that, 
we are killing the world. 
we are the reason
and we need to fix things. 

What's Left

Elizabeth Y. 

Age 11

There used to be a fish
With Iridescent colors
A fallen star from above
A clip for the waves
There used to be a sky 
In the breasts of the ocean
Glitter blessed from heaven
A reef
On the other side of the rainbow
A home to the bubbling teeming of
Life
Death
Now, there is no fish
A reminiscent 
A bone
There is no blue
A place like Hell
A garbage patch of loss and misery
A lonely feather
What's left

The Fireflies Under the Ocean

Elizabeth Y. 

Age 11

Under twinkling lights from above
The ocean is calm and peaceful
But under the ocean is dark and dreary
no light to shine the way
A faint glow shows
stronger and stronger
Until a steady light shines
Able to rival the stars with its beauty
A magical scene
Controlled by Luciferin
Soft glow
Warm glow
A path to light the way
Bobbing jellyfish
Dance with tentacles
A night show
Bright show
Waves upon waves
Neon blue, emerald green
rise up and on the shore
People laugh and people play
With the sky in the ocean
No longer dark
or ominous
But filled with life
of
Bioluminescence

Via Ferrata

Ariya N.

Age 12

Don’t look down,
I climbed up top
Ropes and rocks
Oh, what a shock.

“I’m on top of the world,”
I yelled from the top,
Ziplined down
Over the mountain brown.

Climbing up the mountain
You need a water fountain,
Via Ferrata,
In Sacred Valley ,Peru
Is something that you need to do.

Nature

Christine S. 

Age 11

Plants and leaves are fully green
Flowers blooming with color
The settling wind blows gently across the field
Who knows what nature might yield?

Sometimes the wind howls
Like a wolf singing to the moon
Animals must eat
Even if it means another animal to beat

Dangerous tornadoes swirling around
Sucking up everything in its path
Hurricanes flood the land
Nature works together like a band

When its peaceful
Beautiful weather will show
When its furious
Hard storms will blow

No one knows what nature does
No one can stop the events
No one can calm the mad
No one knows the true meaning of why its glad

Look Forward to the Adventures

Tyler Z.

Age 15

It was April 02, 2019 when we reached the wooden separation from the never-ending fall. It seemed uneasily simple to just jump, too easy for a life worth lived to be over so fast. Looking upon the monstrous hike that stood before us, it was easy for our knees to buckle. However, rather than seeing the hike that would tire us for the rest of the day, we looked instead onto our adventure that lay ahead, and got excited.  

Camouflague

Elizabeth Y.

Age 11

A predator, a sudden sound
Or perhaps a hearty meal
Needs to achieve its purpose
And bask in camouflage

An Apollo butterfly tries to avoid being a meal
Its dark complexion an aide to concealment
A lizard with its placid ways
Masking the lunch of the birds

Meanwhile, down under the ocean
Midst the contrasts of light and dark
Abrupt movement in the sand
Startles every heart

A ray leaps out of the sand
And devours another fish
A chameleon sits and waits
Looking like it is adhered and part of the branch

A alligator in a murky swamp
Feigns a submerged deceased log
A shark with its black and white
Dark from above and light from the bottom

Predators and prey alike
Are accustomed to this skill
A lifesaving one
And one for lunch!

 

Spring Rain

Alyssa W.

Age 13

The spring rain lightly
kisses the soil,
planting seeds
 
That become buds,
Where hidden tender
petals lay,
 
a promise of bloom
where they become
plum flowers
swaying in the wind with
their silent beauty.

The Life of a Rose

Christine S.

Age 11

The rose stood the in garden
Soaking up the sun
The other roses were haughty
Self-centered and mean
But this rose was different
And kept its thoughts to itself
Her velvety petals were dark, deep red
The slightest morning dew sprinkled on them
And when the gardner came,
Each rose begged to be picked
To be taken inside
To be kept in a beautiful vase
But what they didnt know was once they left their stem
A part of them was be missing
Hopelessly broken from the dirt
That grew and gave life to them
That day the rose got picked
She felt something was missing
She did not want to be taken inside
To show-off the petals
She wanted to be humble
Outside and free
But once taken inside
Her life changed forever
Put in a vase full of
Sober roses
Who regreted begging
But there was still a ray of hope
Not for her
But for her seeds

The Trees Used to be so Much Taller

Kiera M.

Age 16

I remember at a young age my father would bring my sister and I to a playground at a school that I didn't go to. Behind the school was a forest full of trees. At the time I didn't think much of it. One day my father brought my sister and I to the playground and like most days I went to the top of the slide and started to read my book. My sister today decided she wanted to play. Of course I didn't return the interest and she thought, if she wont play, I won't let her read. After awhile of being taunted and annoyed I finally gave up. I went down the slide and went into the forest. My father had warned me not to go too far because there is no way I could find my way back. I remember being surrounded by trees. In that moment, I realized that these trees were so much more important then what I had been reading. The smell of dirt filled my nose and drops of water fell of my face from the storm the night before. Now, whenever I find that peace again, it reminds me of the forest behind the playground.

COLORS OF WILD FLORIDA

Ashritha V.

Age 10

There are so many things in this world &more
Let's see what Wild Florida has in store.

Beautiful blue skies that are so bright,
Nothing can beat that gorgeous sight.

Crimson Hibiscus and Orange Blossom,
Yellow Wild flowers that are super awesome.

Sandy White beaches and Shells galore,
Mighty blue Waves that wash up the shore.

Green Palm trees and Oak Heels standing so tall,
Purple Perennials and shrubs that are small.

Pitch black night and white bright Stars,
Maybe if you look, you can even See Mars

Crystal clear springs that shoot out of the ground,
Gaze upon them, it will seem so profound,

Wild Florida is a sight you can't beat
Once in your lifetime, you should make it your retreat.

The Eagle

Sonya W.

Age 13

Beyond the city somewhere
Underneath a starry sky
Amidst the mighty mountains
In the heart of the old forest
About the ancient lake
Near the great pine tree
Above the soft spring mud
Around a mossy boulder
Atop a small maple tree
On the highest branch
Sits the noble eagle

White- Tiny- and Beautiful 

Ariya N. 

Age 12

White-tiny-and beautiful
Bright-multitudinous 
Long-lasting and rich,
Innocent and radiant,

Precious and pretty
Comes and goes, 
-Magical-
Those buds really are,
They are,
A sign of spring!

 

Autumn Reminisce

Sonya W.  

Age 13

Fiery autumn leaves falling
In the familiar old wood
Migrating wild geese calling
Memories of my childhood

Crisp breezes gently blowing
Hushed whistling under the eaves 
Autumn most surely knowing 
The beauty of falling leaves

Laden pumpkin vines crawling
Across the quiet old farm
Verdant cornfields sprawling 
Autumn’s timeless country charm.

Fiery autumn leaves falling
In the familiar old wood
Migrating wild geese calling
Memories of my childhood

Across the forest glade

Sharanya S. 

Age 13

Across the forest glade...Through the hazy fogs and beneath the ivy walls...lay the garden of mysteries. It was perfect in every way, with the light caress of the wind that blew across the lonely lands. The birds cheeped and chirped in delight at the sun peeping at the raindrops that sounded soothing, like music to the ears. Pitter-patter..pitter-patter..., they called out to the sun to take over. I slowly sauntered near to the spot where the mother bird was feeding her children with care.The garden was abandoned except for the animal and the plants living in harmony with each other.Mother nature gazed at us with gente eyes wearing the dress of all five seasons as i heard the gallop of the moor ponies and the 'boing; of the bunnies and the flutter of a fairies wing gathered around to see the rainbow...This garden,these trees,all of them, are the power of believing.Look around at the nature for a bit.Talk to it.Believe in it.Know that it will make a difference.Who knows when you will encounter something magical???

The Tree Of Memories

Esmeralda M.

Age 16

As I walk through a rough path, 
I look ahead,
A tree, A picnic, the sun setting,
What will this lead me through?
The walk must be rough,
But I keep going
Finally, the rough path changed to soft grass
My goal to reach the end has changed,
I stop to sit under a tree,
I might have stopped,
But the world goes on.
The roses near me
Reminds me of my grandma
Her fragrance, 
Hmmm so sweet.
Memories came flooding by,
As I sat there,
Leaves,
Old and new,
I hold on to the good ones.
The sun keeps setting,
Until I see the dark blue sky,
The moon shines like a flashlight,
The stars as the angels I say goodbye to her and leave

The Broken Window

Maisy K.

Age 14

A window pane
The small shards of glass left stick out like daggers
There's nothing special inside
A light bulb and a boarded up door
Walking to the front I see dates that belonged to faces I never knew
As I ramble over the moss encrusted pavement 
the mourning dove calls out to them
Hello Jacob Greenwald, 1839
Nice to meet you Charles D., 1901
They respond to me through the swirling of the creek down below
And the pitter patter of the woodpecker smashing his beak into a tree
Although everything here is dead but me 
This place is more alive than anyone could ever imagine. 

Weeping Trees' Tale

Isis C.

Age 15

Dew-struck grass lies beneath my feet
Church bells join the chorus of birds
A little white butterfly travels along the breeze
The tall wise trees rise to tell a tale
That I did not sit down to listen to

The tall trees weep as the wind passes by
The singing birds above my head
Quiet down so the crickets may speak
Gaia paints the sky with ineffable colors
Inspiring those who supine under dusk

Aurora returns with the mellifluous sounds of dawn
The little white butterfly returns to greet me
As benignant as the day we met
Guiding me across the shimmering creek
Into the forest to greet the weeping trees
And listen to their tale that lies within their roots

The Song of Nightingale

Neha K.

Age 11

Every creature in the forest
Admires falcon's flight
Among these creatures was the small
Nightingale of little height

When Nightingale spreads her wings
And attempts to get off ground
All other creatures 
Mock her all around

Nightingale looks around
And sadly hops back home
No one else accompanies her
And in her nest she's alone

When the Sun begins to
Make its way back down
Nightingale opens her beak
And makes a single sound

She makes up a tune
about her worries and her day
Nightingale attracts many 
From the forest to the bay

She realizes what she has done
And lets out a small grin
For they had come to hear HER
And she does a happy spin

Finally, the Sun
Has finished its travel
Every one in the forests
Lets their praise unravel

The Falcon appears
Out of the crowd
He tells her he was mistaken
And Nightingale bows

Take Control (Wind)

Yulia A.

Age 15

Outside I saw, Outside I lived, Outside I danced
The fluent movement my body creates.
From dandelions to a rose. They become my audience.
They bloom, and with their graceful pollen they teach me their own moves.
Their dance is special. It's not dainty like ballet or smooth like the tango.
The wind takes control.

Outside I learned, Outside I listened, Outside I danced
The leaves have a dance with the wind.
Holding each other close for comfort, as their bodies move in sync.
The wind always dazzles their partners.
The wind being in control of every dance in the forest.
The wind is the leader, the wind takes control. 

Outside I’m here, Outside I fear, Outside I dance
My body flows with the wind. The sun shined down on us.
Soon enough the leaves joined, and I couldn’t help but smile.
The flowers clapped, they cheered.
The dance was dainty, the dance was smooth. 
The wind holds me close, the wind protects me, the wind takes control. 

My name

Etta C.

Age 9

My name is the wind.
My name is the stone.
I am the child of Mother Nature.
My name is the feeling of sand on your toes.
My name is the chirping of birds in the morning.
My name is the feeling of wet grass after a long rain.
I am the child of Mother Nature.
My name is the tulips.
My name is the feeling of the fur of an animal.
My name is the squishy mud under your toes.
I am the child of Mother Nature.
My name is the fruit that you pick off the trees.
My name is the pollen that the bees create.
And my name is the bees and their buzzing...
I am the child of Mother Nature.
My name is the Earth.
My name is the sun.
I am the child of Mother Nature.
Just like all of us.

Calm is Forest Green

Sonya W.

Age 13

Calmness is forest green
It looks like a green canopy stretching endlessly overhead and the bright colors of wildflowers
It sounds like the quiet chirping of songbirds and the lively chatter of the squirrels
It smells like the earth after a rain and the fresh scent of evergreen needles
It tastes like wild blueberries and forest air heavy with the fragrance of leaves
It feels like the crunch of twigs scattered across the path and the gentle cool breeze dancing through the branches
Calmness is a stroll in the sunlight-dappled woods, watching the light throw patterns on the cool earth.

The old pine tree

Emmaline L. 

Age 10

The old pine tree is big and strong . 
Protecting our backyard from any harm.
A home for so many animals too.
Oh Mr. Pine Tree, I do not know how to repay you .
You give us something to look at . Oh Mr. Pine Tree, how could we repay you someone like you.
You give us shade, you bring us birds , and everything in between.
Oh, we love you Mr. Pine Tree .

The drummer of the forest

Emmaline L. 

Age 10

Tap, tap, tap, goes the drummer of the forest. 
The musician of the sky . 
Your tune is so lovely , I don't want to say good bye .
I love how you fly so high, you're lovely all the time . 
What I see is the drummer of the forest , to other's they see a woodpecker looking back into their eyes.

Mowing

Emmaline L. 

Age 10

Mowing is something fun to do when you are feeling blue .
But don't do it in winter time or people will think you lost your mind.

Spring

Emmaline L. 

Age 10

We wade out of the snow into a majestic spring day .
A robin above leading the way.
The flower are a bloom , forming a path into the land of spring .
The insects cling onto tall grass , sunbathing in the spring sun .
Oh spring I love you so very much!

What rock am I? 

Karsten L. 

Age 8

I am a rock
Am I igneous, am I sedimentary, am I metamorphic?

I take thousands of years to create
I am extremely fragile because my layers are very thin

I’m not…
From a volcano
Created by intense pressure and heat
Dark as obsidian

What type of rock am I?
SEDIMENTARY!

I am a rock
Am I igneous, am I sedimentary, am I metamorphic?

I take thousands of years to create
I am extremely fragile because my layers are very thin

I’m not…
From a volcano
Created by intense pressure and heat
Dark as obsidian

What type of rock am I?
SEDIMENTARY!

Freedom

Zaira W.

Age 16

Freedom is the emerald green of west coast trees,
the shining eyes of an old friend;

Freedom is bare feet and a tickle trunk;

It is hair laced with wildflowers and
berries trailing from purple fingers;
freedom gets hold of your hand 
and pulls like the ocean.

Freedom is flying without knowing where
and building sandcastles until the sun sets.
It is running faster than time and
sitting so high in a tree the stars get stuck in 
your hopelessly messy hair.

Freedom is giving everyone a crown and a cape because
we’re all royalty 
we’re all heroes
we're all free 
when we’re in the forest of emerald green.

 

a day at Point Reyes, on a date I'm not quite sure of

Lilah S.

Age 17

on a given day in late December
on a date I’m not quite sure of
I stood in a kingdom full of salt 
and full of mist
and full of light
in front of a waterfall that boomed deeply
like a giant bellowing at the sky
after being fooled by his small enemies below him.
but instead of rage or defeat
Alamere Falls roared with honor
like a lioness after tearing apart her prey
or like a king at his coronation, regal.  filled with decided pride.
what was most striking, however
was not the water crashing into the sand at Point Reyes
nor was it the birds that dotted the shoreline-
picking at small crabs and bugs on the beach-
but it was the sun that shone so brightly that the sand glowed
as if it had materialized into glass 
and merged with the restless ocean
to form a window into the heart of the earth
through which ages of life shone brilliantly.
and I felt large with this life,
alone with my father on that California beach
and yet so typically small
as the beings in the sky so often make us feel.
but in that smallness, I now know,
is the feeling of being a human
that is synthetic anywhere but on the earth itself-
in the thickest forest
on the widest beach
in the heaviest rain
in the driest sun.
nature is where humanity lives
as it has lived forever, quietly
joyously
freely
organically
full of life
and full of light.

A Rose who Thought She was Better

Elizabeth Y. 

Age 12

   A single rose stood in the midst of a garden. Even though the garden had beautiful marigolds the color of the sun and tulips the color of dawn, the rose was the owner's pride. Her petals were as soft as silk yet as sturdy to survive in the harsh breezes. Her rich color and sweet fragrance drifted far and wide. Every day, several bees and butterflies pollinated her, making her bloom with the greatest pomp. Yet, the rose was not happy for she stood next to none other than- a dandelion! Everyday, the rose would make fun of the dandelion and criticize the dandelion.
   "How dare you stand next to me!" the rose glared and sneered at the dandelion. "Do you not know who I am? I am a rose, and the most beautiful in this whole garden. And who are you? You are nothing more than a bunch of seeds with little white hair on top. You are a WEED."
   The dandelion stood motionless as the rose kept on talking.
   "I am as red as blood. All the lovely and delicate butterflies want to land on me. All the bees want to pollinate me. My fragrance even attracts hummingbirds. Can you do that?"
   Finally, the dandelion replied,"I do not wish that I was you even if you are so stunning. Everyone has their own talents. I flew here from a seed. I met birds and eagles and soared across highways and fields of golden wheat. 
   The rose laughed and scorned the dandelion. "I was bought from the store in a little package of seeds. I was the only one that survived the harsh breezes and cruel winters. My owner carefully watered me and fertilized me. Am I not worthy of all that hard work. Look at me now, the pride of the owner."
   One day, the dandelion overheard the owner talking to his wife,"Today, the boss is coming here. Could you please cut off the rose  that's outside and put it in the glass vase?"
   The dandelion told the told this to the rose, but she ignored this,"I would look so pretty in that glass vase."
   The wife used some scissors and cut off the rose. The dandelion sighed with sympathy that the rose did not know what would happen after a few days in the glass vase.
   Everyday, the rose would peep out of the window from its spot in the glass vase and jeer at the dandelion. The dandelion would only sigh and say nothing. Five days after being in the vase, the rose started to feel something in her she never had felt before. It was a gut-wrenching feeling leaving her empty and hollow on the inside.
   "What is this?" the rose questioned herself,"What is this horrible feeling?" 
   Without knowing that that was what the rose was wondering, the owner said to his wife,"Look, the rose is dying. Soon I'll have to change her to fertilizer for the tulips and the marigolds."
   The rose felt tears well up in her. As they fell, so did her petals one by one in shriveled heaps. "What have I done?" she asked herself."I've been so mean to the dandelion and she even warned me. I've realized how cruel I've been and now I have no way to tell the dandelion. She bowed her head in shame.
   The dandelion outside saw the sight and knew the rose had repented. The dandelion asked a passing magpie to tell the rose that she forgave her. The magpie flew by the screen and told the rose in his loudest voice that the dandelion had forgiven her. The rose was so happy that she weakly lifted her bended head.
   Suddenly, a harsh gust of wind blew over the dandelion. She swayed once, smiled, and sent off her seeds to reach unknown places, perhaps over seas and fields of gold.  

The deep forest

Emmaline L.

Age 10

The deep forest, with no sunlight in sight, is not a place I would like to stay the night. 
Creepy animals all around .
I don't know where is save and sound.
Maybe it is the crooked path, or the eyes coming out of the grass, 
But no thank you, no thank you . 
The deep forest is not A place I would like to go so stay away please, oh,oh .

Hurricane

Anushka C. 

Age 10

A hurricane weighs
about one hundred sixty
million male rhinos

Azoomm My Magic Spell!

Anushka C. 

Age 10

When trees are chopped
The animals are dropped
My magic spell work
Grow Grow the trees 
The animals are happy

When the fire burns all
The animals fall
My magic spell work
Blow blow that fire off
The animals are happy

When the oceans are littered
The animals become bitter
My magic spell work
Vacuum Vacuum away
The animals are happy

When animals are used
They are not amused
My magic spell work
Delete Delete the user
The animals are happy

Winter is Here

Yuvraj C. 

Age 14

Here comes the cold wind again
Howling through the window pane

Oh how it sends chills down my spine
Outside I see men cutting down fresh pine

The taste of hot cocoa still lingers
I feel the warmth of the fire cinders 

Oh how crisp and fresh winter makes
All the layers of clothing it takes

Enjoy it while it is still here
As you will not see it again until next year

Rise Again

Ananya B.

Age 12

Pale light that filters through my blinds,
Casting a pale shadow in the darkness,
So little,
Yet so bold.
The sun.
And when the darkness seems to creep around,
And all hope seems gone from the hearth,
I see the light. 
And I’m not afraid,
For that sun still lives.
Shadowy canopies, 
Entrap me in this wild ride.
I know not what to feel,
When my heart seems to have died. 
The taunts,
The jokes.
Yet, an inch of weight lifts,
When I see that parasite,
Clinging to the tree. 
Unwanted,
Yet so beautiful.
And so I cling,
Cling to hope,
Like that parasite clings to life.
I’ve walked all these roads,
I’ve learned all this patience,
From this presence that’s there,
The trees still grow, 
Even though they can wither and die.
The flowers still bloom,
Even if they want to give up,
They give me hope, courage and strength,
In the darkest of times,
If a small bud can cling to hope,
Then so can I,
A small bud can cling to hope,
Then so can I.
They can be strong,
When all their surroundings seem to shatter,
They can be bold.
Then so can I,
They come back from the impossible,
Dried and crippled.
They came back stronger, 
And so will I.

Blue, Blue, Blue!

Evelyn F.

Age 6

Blue is like the sky,
Blue is like the sea,
As the wind blows by,
My body feels so free!

Beauty is Everywhere

Elizabeth Y.

Age 12

Beauty is everywhere
Whether it's great or small
Mighty or powerful
Short or tall

Even when hope
Is thin and bleak
You know you can
Climb the mountain peak

Even if hurricanes have demolished your town
And life seems turned upside down
You'll find and soon see
Delicate flowers survive and so do we

Sunlight streams through closed shafts
Butterflies fly over paths
The brilliant sea is ever so blue
Emerald green grass dotted with dew

Hope and beauty are everywhere
The love between the foal and the mare
Or perhaps you can see
Little flowers can survive
And so can we

The World is Aglow

Abigail R.

Age 13

Oh, how beautiful autumn is!
The air is so clear,
So cool,
So clean.
My mind is far away.
My eyes are on the leaves,
So brilliantly yellow!
They seem to glow
In the intense light.
The sun is shining bright,
Unhindered by the clouds.
They are there,
So puffy and white
Floating
Across the sky.
Ah, the sky!
So pure and blue,
So very big.
The scene is overwhelmingly peaceful.
The earth feels so huge!
God’s wonders are endless.
From the chattering squirrel
Up that tree
To the neighbor’s cat
Looking at me,
God made them all
So full
Of beauty.

Flowers

Abigail R.

Age 13

Flowers, so lovely and bright,
Lovingly clothed by God in majesty,
Owe our eyes nothing but their beauty’s delight.
When I see one, I sketch with glee.
Even busy bees stop at the sight.
Rays of sunlight glow and we
See flowers that inspire me to write.

In the Tree

Abigail R.

Age 13

When I run outside wanting to cry,
I climb the tree and feel I can fly!
All of my worries float far away
As I look at the beautiful day.
        When I am up here
        My head becomes clear.
        My thoughts all go straight.
        I can hardly wait
    To put it all into words,
    Starting with the calling birds:

Whirperdee, whirperdee, whirper wee-wee-wee, werrwe!
Cheeper, cheeper, cheeper!
Wher-whepher, wepher!

 

Living

Abigail R.

Age 13

On a perfect spring day I step out the back door
And it’s far more exciting than my brother’s high score.
I can’t take his video game talk anymore.

I am hit by all the wonder at once.
Beautiful things to behold by the bunch!
My breath is swept away in a kind punch.

The warm air wraps around me in a light loving hug.
The sweet smell of lilac attracts me and many a bug.
I hear moss soak up water at the pace of a slug.

What shall I do with a day like today?
Live. Just live in the most joyful way.
Forget and forgive the snow as I say…

“Thanks to our Creator, God,
For He is so very good!”

 

Rainy Creek

Abigail R.

Age 13

The cool water
So thick and fresh,
Wraps around my ankles in a rush.
All is peaceful
Beneath the vibrant canopy
Of green leaves
As the smooth flow
Massages my legs.
Lazy droplets collect on my skin;
I don’t even bother to shake them away.
All I can hear
Is the soothing call
Of the creek,
My pencil on the paper,
And a bird’s chirps of joy
For this moment.

In the Hollow

Abigail R.

Age 13

Sunlight filters through the leaves,
Each with its face turned up
To meet the sunshine 
And glow.
Against the pale blue sky,
Their joyful light and life
Fills my eyes
With color.
The stripes of bark and foliage
Extend as far as I can see
Concealing magical adventures
All the way.
I long to swim
Through the shining sea
Of delicate ferns
To uncover
Those adventures.
I see a mass of long lost trees
Which look to have been cleanly chopped
Many years ago.
I wonder who has done it
And when.
I feel a firm log beneath me
And soft leaves
Gently tickling my thigh.
I have stopped jumping at the loose hairs
Blowing against my shoulders.
They don’t feel like spiderwebs
Anymore
Because paranoia
Is gone.
A queen bee’s buzz
Doesn’t startle me,
but instead blends
With the incredible chorus
Of birdcall
And the unusually calm hum
Of my rambunctious sister’s voice.
The stench of bug spray
Doesn’t bother me;
It is muted
By the fresh, tangy smell
Of greenery.
It even adds
A sort of summer-like
Sweetness.
In the hollow
Of our own imagination.
Writing, drawing, dreaming
With my sister by my side,
Both with notebooks in our laps,
Happy to have each other.
To understand
The other’s thoughts,
To enjoy
The other’s hobbies.
To adventure
Together,
But to still be unique.
Being our own people;
Doing the same things
But each in our own way
In the hollow.

Those stars

Emily X.

Age 10

Hello! My name is Polly! I lived in the arctic, I have lived there ever since I was born! Me and my siblings, Oreo and Apollo, have great fun together! Right before it is time to sleep, we would look up at a star, and make a wish. We would link paws together and watch the sparkling silver spots, hanging from the silent sky. Then, we would lay down, snuggling on mama’s cordial fur. I used to ask, 
“How do you know if your wish will come true?” My Mother would smile and reply, “You won’t.” I used to furrow my eyebrows in confusion and ask, “then how do we make sure that the wish is true?” Mother would just sigh and reply, “You wouldn't. It’s just destiny.”

 
What happy times those were.  

 

But if you don’t know, happiness doesn't last long. When my family was getting ready to hunt on our favorite iceberg, I noticed a small crack on the ice under my mother's paws. I recoiled away from her a bit, stopping when my paw got entangled on some plants. Mommy?" I whispered. "What's wrong, Polly?" Asked my Mother, focusing her beautiful opaque eyes on me. "The ice, It's melting!" I whispered frantically. “Don't be crazy, dear.” Replied my mom. Oreo and Apollo looked at me like I was out of my mind. “But-” My father nudged me gently, interrupting my warning. “Polly,” My mother chastised, “This iceberg will never melt, not in a million moons.” She continued, "It just never will..." Suddenly, the iceberg we were standing on started cracking. My mother stared in shock at me, and her eyes filled with fear. "Sploosh!" And then she was gone, devoured by the dark waves lapping at the huge gap where her feet were just a second ago. "No!" bellowed my father, as he and my brothers lunged towards the water to rescue her, their lithe bodies twisting around to stay afloat. My mother scrambled back on, panting in fatigue as she stood there covered in water, trembling slightly. But it wasn't over yet. I looked down and saw that my feet were starting to tip backward. My whole family supported me back onto the iceberg. “Thanks, guys.” I panted. Wait. Where was my family? I saw them swimming towards the shore. “No! Don't leave me!” I ranted. “I can't survive on an iceberg with no food!” At that point, I started to garble in panic. My mother glanced at me with no emotion, before leaving with my family, her family. I choked out a sob, before falling asleep on the iceberg, shivering. 

I heard a wave crash on the iceberg. Then the sigh of my mother. Wait. My mother?! I shot up immediately. My Mother was sleeping beside me. It was all a dream! I was so relieved. I was scared my worst fear had happened. I sighed happily and fell asleep again. 

When my family woke up, my mother asked who would hunt for the family today. No one answered because they hated hunting for the family. They stifled their groans. But, today, after what had happened, I didn't want my family to be disappointed in me, So, I jumped up and said, “I’ll do it.” I started by trying to find some fish. I stood on an iceberg, trying to catch some when I saw that the ice was melting on the iceberg. I immediately jumped up in shock. I went back to the shore, scared. This was like my dream! I didn't want to go on an iceberg, but I had an overwhelming curiosity. I'll go soon, to solve my dilemma, I thought to myself. 

In the nighttime, I snuck out of my bed and went back to see that melting iceberg. It was foggy in the distance, and I couldn't discern it. I went a bit closer, trying to see it better by going onto a large iceberg. I vaulted past a few icebergs to get even closer. Then, when I was close enough, I took a tentative step towards the iceberg. Aha! I was on! But as I was on the iceberg, I noticed it was getting smaller by the minute. Seriously? Every single time, this happens to me? Unfair. My paw slipped on the ice, and with a splash, I fell inside the water. I was sinking! Oh, well, I love you mom and dad and brothers. I thought. I let the current slowly pull me under, and I let the darkness consume me.


The gentle whirring in the back of my head was like a pesky mosquito, constantly buzzing in my ears until I could take it no more. I shot up in confusion, as my surroundings blazed to life around me. The human in front of me made a noise like a sigh of relief, glad that I was still alive. The human was observing polar bears when he saw me struggling in the ocean. He looked so happy! I cowered in his presence. I noticed a filmy gauze wrapped around my mangled right paw. After a few hours, I was in the Zoo, where nothing ever melted, and everyone lived in peace. I would stand there as brigades of people flooded out the doors, staring at me in awe as I sat there, skimming water off my bowl of food. 


Every night, I would climb onto the big snowy hill in the corner, and look up at the gleaming little specks in the air. And I would say, “Starlight, star bright, first star I see tonight: I wish I may, I wish I might, have this wish I wish tonight. Tell me my destiny I will have.” Then, I would think about my family and wonder if they were up there too. But I have a feeling that they were going to be just fine.  

 

 

The End

Nature

Yuvraj C.

Age 14

The quiet peaceful environment.
The chirping, hooting, and ribbeting of animals.
The deer protecting their fawn.

The grass and trees, greener than ever.
The clashing of water from the waterfall.
The gentle breeze that tiptoes across my skin.

The howling of the wolves.
The scratches on trees from bears.
The drilling sound of a humming bird.
The animals camouflaged waiting to ambush their prey.

Nature is such a wonder.
A plunder of such sights.
In the morning and even at night.

To the Light

Elana E. 

Age 11


Moss carpet cove
stretching softly across the soil
a green cushion littered with glowing droplets of dew
glittering in the sunlight
spraying tiny rainbows across the woody earth

birds soaring across the canopy
cawing and cooing at the top of their voices
nesting and nestling in welcoming wooden limbs

trees side by side
shadowing and shading
growing up to the light
always to the light

School is a Beautiful Mountain

Aaminah S.

Age 17

School is a beautiful mountain. Five mornings a week, my mornings are enlightened by the bright sunshine shimmering through the trees. I wake up, get dressed in a comfortable outfit, pack up my backpack and set off to my educational journey.
    My hike begins when I arrive at the entrance to Knowledge Trail. I set off for my destination with my companions. Throughout my hike, to go up the hill, I weave through the trees and shrubs that scratch me with their twigs and thorns. I climb up the rocks lying ahead until I arrive at the confusing Scientific Ridge. This ridge is the most annoying in my hike. My whole physical state is crushed as I go through this narrow ridge. As I am in the middle of my journey, I bypass other travelers, all of them going to different points. I do not follow these travelers, but; instead, I follow the voice inside of me, leading to my target.
    After being exhausted from an overwhelming hike, I arrive to the scenic view and enjoy the beauty of peace. My goal is accomplished by the wonderful scenic sight filled with greenery and the bright colors of blooming flowers. I take a deep breath and take all of the beauty in me. From this, I rediscover harmony and feel refreshed. An influential spark of Creativity flares within my mind, which helps me to sculpt, draw and craft wonderful objects.
    On my way back, I encounter different sign boards leading me back to where I started. After being delighted by the scenic view, I go down the hill feeling calm and relaxed. Walking down the hill is the easiest part of my journey. The rest of my journey goes peacefully. I am pleased by the knowledge entering my mind, persuading me to think deeply and understand things from a wider perspective. 
    By the end of my hike, I go home thinking that I would start a new journey tomorrow to carve a path of new ideas within myself on a different, exciting, and challenging hiking trail.

 

My seedling

Elizabeth Y.

Age 12

I planted you
Inside my heart and the soil
And watched you grow
Each day and day
Under rosy sunsets
and under bright cerulean skies
A sapling
With a delicate trunk
That could snap in the wind anytime
I watered you
Out of a gray watering can
Dewdrops everyone morning
So you could see yourself
In August, a stronger you remained
With thick raw Sienna-colored bark
And my hard work
Next
year
You were looming
Over daises, marigolds, and sunflowers
The head of the garden
I planted you 
With thick emerald foliage
Two years
Later
Red Fruit dripping off in rivulets
I sat in your shade
And remembered
The time I shared moments with you
As you were younger
And needed me more
And now needed me less

 

The Storm

Simon B. 

Age 10

the wind is blowing,
the clouds grey,
the water throwing
fish away.

the rain is falling,
snow hailing,
arms flailing,
on this dreary day.

a storm is brewing,
stray cats mewing,
but not all storms 
lead to dismay.

The Sun

Simon B. 

Age 10

the sun shining
the sun bright.
the sun casting
endless light.

the sun above
the endful earth.
the sun giving
only mirth.

An Advancing Introvert

Avery B.

Age 14

A dancer, stretching across a gray slate.
A silent spy, a lurking corruption,
Consumption, the fate of all that enter.
Withholding secrets: the mass.
Stealthy, viscous, layers 
Of blank stares.
Expanding, and fading.
A mournful horn in the morning,
Waving at its arrival.
It retreats, secluding, making way for a saturated sun

 

The Second Storm

Simon B.

Age 10

lightning crackles,
thunder booms,
grey clouds
fill the gloom.

streaks of white
fall from the sky,
rumbling spreads
in the rye.

lightning booms,
thunder crackles,
the clouds keep them
in their shackles. 

Dependence

Simon B.

Age 10

when the sun rises,
shadows are cast.
the sun is light,
but shadows are fast.

they tail to everything
except the sun itself.
they only thrive
with the sun’s help.

when the sun falls,
the shadows think they won.
but what they don’t know,
is that they thrive on the sun.

Oxymoron

Simon B.

Age 10

the cactus pricks and pokes
with its spindly spikes.
the cactus makes a shield
with its sturdy spine.

but its flowers,
delicate and soft,
are beautiful,
pink and puffed.

Transformation

Simon B.

Age 10

before the sun
goes down,
the clouds are
colored brown.

but they turn pink,
orange, and red;
you might think 
they have bled!

the night sky shimmers
with its evening gown;
the clouds are silver
all the way down.

A Fallen Star

Simon B.

Age 10

a meteor slashes
through the sky;
it cruises where it’s
very high.

it burns up to be
a shooting star;
it sails somewhere
very far.

it lands in a large
patch of rye;
it wishes to be
back in the sky.

The Weeds

Simon B.

Age 10

they flower,
luring your eyes,
away; to others
that were given lies.

they spread, making
more of a mess,
until you notice
less and less.

these beautiful
things that grow
between the cracks,
should bring no sorrow.

Life

Simon B.

Age 10

a sprout pokes
out from the ground;
soil formed into
a small mound,

water comes pouring
onto this life;
the sun shines
with much delight.

it grows tall,
it grows strong;
this is all of
nature’s song.

In Nature

Anaya W.

Age 13

IN NATURE
By Amaya
The wind in my hair,
The grass at my feet,
Couldn’t see a bear
Through those trees.
The water flowing silently
I can feel it just below my -knees
If you climb the hill,
Taller then these trees,
You’ll be able to see…
The amazing world of nature,
all in one scene.

Observations inspired by rising sea levels

Anya T. 

Age 15

Observations close to home 

Observe: 700,000 young people take to the streets in a global strike, 
the young are spilling into the squares like a contagion, the young are 
tearing this city up with their vegetarian teeth.

at dinner my mother surfaces like a body from a lake, skirt hoisted 
to her hip as though we’re treading water, and my eyes are dry for six years. the weatherman watches us eat. he is so afraid. keep the change. the oil of a take-out restaurant is dancing atop black water.

Observe: when Greta speaks or chickens cluck you can only hear choking, like a drainage pipe at leaves.

sometimes I picture our road, after. the earth winking on its side and all 
the children turned to vegetables. make no mistake, we are learning. 
learning with our mouths brimming with foraged pearls and metal straws. but looking away makes it too easy to misplace. our caution leads to strange decisions. my mother puts the keys in the fridge, wishes her body into something cold and sweet, presses her lips to the cola as if in prayer.

Observe: the particles of water in the birdbath reproduce, decide among themselves to divide like a foetus or an amoeba. they become an ocean, swallow the birds. how many die before the flock loses faith? there is something in the sky but it keeps on breaking. my mouth is all feathery, teeth itch with tiny fleas running between the shafts. 

in the shower the gills come naturally. what a terrible way to love. tell me, is it wrong to cough up so much water from the lungs, the Pacific percolating through my throat. hello? is this the repairman? no, no problem. just Africa melting on my bathmat for four days and four nights. how much for an emergency repair?

Observe: the young are damp from the effluent, they are streaming to ocean. Please, they say, save the turtles.

when I am still young, I beg the sea to unmake me, flat like a seabed and several miles green. I dream that they drained the pond and found nothing, that all the children have drowned in fathoms of dust, but in the end there is always enough still water to run over the edge. it crumples and recrumples like shot silk, imitates the sounds of 
everything it drowns: peristalsis pulling down huge mouthfuls of sunlight like meat. no matter how hard you look, you will not see the algid bottom. 

Observe: the young are bounding into warming waters, the currents now porcelain and hungry.

the rain sours. acidifies. it’s beating the records this year. the weatherman counts backwards from the sea. quick, better get your masks while they still sell them. there is smoke in Exodus. there is smoke in Leviticus. there is smoke in every cell of your body and if you are burned you will rise to the heavens like a Roman sacrifice. 

Observe: the camphor has caught red earth between the roots and the trees pray for rain, slowly starving to life. a man steps out onto his porch with his shotgun loaded, and we wonder what is left to bleed in this husk of a land. Australia is burning, and the weatherman pins me down when I scream fire! Like like it’s always been too late. 
this is progress, he says.

my mother hums of aloe gel against sunburn. I trap the heat like a boil, 
under glass jars. today, all the bees are dead, and the usury has been forgiven. I drip with honey, sprout stingers from every orifice. this is the story where I forget the ending, tempt the children out of their nests like disorientated baby turtles. this, the story too wide for the tv screen, where I play heroine and save the fish from their slow drowning in rising sea-levels but scream at the sight of blood. this time I am 
ready for everything. I megamouth. I pull up the flowerbeds. I pull up the tides and swarm the shores. I fan a forest fire with both my hands. 

Observe: mite season. the crouchers and scuttlers have reclaimed the garden. subclade of womankind (in purses and handbags; taking in, taking in).

a bird feeds its beak into the ground and comes up wanting. this is the story where I drop my jaw into a crater. I find wet sea stones, clean like a thumb taken into the mouth, and mistake their shine for faux gold. soft and moon-heavy I watch my belly burst with floodwater, back rupture to accommodate wings, and though the polite ones look away, the women gourding on their sundecks eye me 
from their driveways. 

Silence

Olivia C.

Age 13

I step
Off of the cement sidewalk
Away from the road
Away from the cars speeding by
Away from the noise
Into the woods
Into the green
Into the silence 
A silence that is deafening
A silence that is pure
A silence that isn't really silence
Because of the birds
Because of the squirrels
Because of the wind that rustles the trees
I step over rotting logs
I step around thorny vines
I step o v e r the stream in one quick leap
Making my way
Steadily
Steadily
Steadily
Through the woods
Through the forest
Through the trees
To the place
To the spot
To the point 
Where the bullfrogs croak
Where the robins nest
Where the minnows swim
The river
The creek
The waterfall
Tumbling pouring rushing Water
I slide and
I jump and
I make it across
And sit on a rock
And listen to the silence that isn't silence
And watch the world
Until it's time to go back 
Home.

Ocean at night

Huda H.

Age 16

Inhale wisps of salt
The inky waves kissing beige
Life under moonlight

Tears of a Willow

Nidhi S.

Age 17

The weeping willow overlooks the world around it.
A world with modern mansions and malls being built all around,
Artificial flowers in symmetrical rows replace the natural trees.
The beauty of real nature, slowly ruining.
But the willow stands tall. She stands strong.
Shedding tears for her siblings of Mother Earth,
Her leaves droop downwards, shielding her trunk in fear of being next.
We need to protect her to save our environment. Our home.
When it rains, as light shimmers off the fresh droplets, the leaves gleam.
Like the shine of a shooting star, it gives hope.
Birds rely on the willow for a home. 
Bugs depend on the willow for food.
We need the willow to breathe. To live.
She cleanses the air and gives us the oxygen that courses through our veins.
As children, we climb her to see if we can reach the top,
Or we hide behind her as our friends search for us to play.
As if grown, she’s grown with me.
Through tears of joy and sadness, she has wept with me.
Now, as I look upon her dancing with the beat of the wind,
The bugs, the birds, and I thank the willow and wipe her tears.

Message in a bottle

Huda H.

Age 16

You filled me with your papyrus dreams
fastened a cork to my glass lips
and kissed me a salty farewell

I drifted along my aqueous path
twisting and turning with the waves
while your hopes shifted in my belly

Along the way I came to a city
filled with others like me
I met a new kind too

They called themselves polystyrene
and coaxed me to stay
in their great patch

So I lay with them
holding your stagnant wishes
and sometimes I wonder

if the life that lies beneath me
knows I have taken their dreams
too

Wood to Ash

Emma C.

Age 12