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

Photographer: Jean Malek


Nature is losing

Sophie V.

Age 13

Let’s face it. Nature is losing. The wild places of the world are disappearing, and will continue to disappear, until they are no more. I’m glad I’ll be dead before it’s all gone.
While we have brought a few species back from the brink of extinction, and onto the slightly more stable plateau, most of the species on the endangered list will disappear forever. Along with many of the species not even on the list. In a relatively short time.
The plants will be just those we like, or can’t get rid of. Some of the animals will be the ones we’ve spent billions to keep, but most will be our food and friends, and those that can survive being around us, like cockroaches and rats.
But is this really a bad thing? Do hippos add anything to the world beyond being cool to watch?Most people on Earth don’t care very much, especially the 4 billion just looking for a regular meal and clean water. I’m not saying that life will disappear and the Earth will be a dead planet. It’ll just become more like our backyards. Some nice and manicured, some dumpy with weeds. A few nicely kept parks, but over 150,000 years, the Earth had only 10 million people on it at any one time. But our astounding cerebral cortex gave rise to a few key developments like fire, the wheel and agriculture, and an astonishing frontal lobe allowed us to use them effectively.The population began to grow just before the beginning of the Common Era, rising to 300 million during the Middle Ages and to a billion at the beginning of the Industrial Age. Then 2 billion in 1927, 3 billion in 1960, 4 billion in 1974, 5 billion in 1987, 6 billion in 1999 and 7 billion in 2011. This exponential rise is textbook for a bacterial colony in a petri dish, right before it dies from outpacing its food sources and generating too much waste. It’s also eerily analogous for us on the petri dish of Earth.nitely not natural. This has nothing to do with global warming, although a warming world makes it more difficult. This is simply how we live. From the original equilibrium of 10 million people to 7.6 billion people in only 2,500 years. Nature just can’t handle this density of humans, at least not on its own. There’s still time to prevent the complete loss of wild nature. The system is still resilient enough to respond to even a reasonable attempt at conservation. This is completely wrong. Humans have the numbers, and the technologies, to pretty much destroy the surface of this planet. Or remake it in some dumbed-down fashion of a specimen garden. 
Let’s face it. Nature is losing. The wild places of the world are disappearing, and will continue to disappear, until they are no more. I used to think I’d be dead long before it was all gone, but I don’t think that anymore.

The Little Garden

Elizabeth Y. 
Age 12

There is a little garden in its own little plot near the village's edge
It grows all by itself; no one tends it
A little partridge sings from the tippity top of the old pear tree with its gnarled trunk, faded grays and auburn mixed into a masterpiece
And in the morning comes the morning's breeze
Fresh and clean it caresses the little garden
Underneath the pear tree is a ringlet of fire
Red Salvia entwines itself between the crevices of its roots
And when the leaves grow red and gold
The pear tree is laden with thick rivulets of fruit
And the deer from the nearby woods prance merrily in
the little garden
Using their long tongues and elegant necks to reach for the low hanging pears
A water pond with its opaque water serenades the visitors with the elusive croaks of the polliwogs hidden between the thick reeds
And the sparrows peck the moss laden ground for hidden seeds
While daffodils and tulips blossom and bud
In the little garden by the edge of the village

Nature Senses

Molly G. 
Age 9 

In nature I hear leaves rustling
In nature I feel showers
In nature I see squirrels bustling
In nature I smell flowers
In nature I taste something puzzling

What's Inside

Maeve D. 
Age 12

As she sits on the couch
watching birds fly past,
she thinks what the world would be
if we didn't have grass
What's Inside?

She clambers off 
onto the floor,
she wonders what the world would be like
if there was never any war.
What's Inside?

She walks outside,
climbs onto the chair,
she wonders what the world would be
if no one had fresh air
What's Inside?

The Season of Life (Spring)

Evelyn F

Age 7

Sunny and warm so Pink and purple flowers bloom. Rain becomes ponds and rivers, Ice turns into water, and Nature Grows and comes to life. Spring inspired me to create this entry. “The Season of Life (Spring)” makes me feel like I am playing outside and smelling the flowers and playing in the water. Spring is beautiful!

There's Winter in the Air

Mia F. 
Age 14

Upon a sleepy wilderness falls snowflakes from the sky  
And as they land a whisper spreads all throughout the woods 
The squirrels take haste to find their homes and birds begin to fly
The silent lake puts on a coat, to keep it warm and snug
The deer look up from the hills to see the nearing clouds above
And trees let go of all their leaves to make a cozy rug

As morning breaks through tops of trees, creatures begin to stir
And as they peer from out their homes they see a sparkling world
The snow is spun in the morning breeze to make a silver blur
And all the life is quiet still, for at the beauty of the land they stare
Once the sun has reached its peak, the ground shines bright as jewels
Through the woods, and over hills, there's winter in the air

The Snow

Joshua J. 

Age 6

The snow is white.
The snow is soft.
The snow is wet.
The snow is cold.
I love how the snow feels on my hands. 

Super Rider

Adam B. 
Age 10 

Hey dude, let’s go on a ride,
Close to the sea, near the tide

Hey dude, let’s go for a drift
Near the high, elevator lift

Hey dude, let’s go fast,
Near the fence, close to the grass

Hey dude, let’s bike for speed,
Our powers, we will need

Adam Bouamrane
Grade 5


Nature Sounds

Evelyn F. 
Age 7

Thunder and lightning,
Oh so loud! The world rattles,
Scary but so great!

Electric Bursts

Evelyn F. 
Age 7

The thundering sky,
Lightning coming day and night,
Great colors flashing!

At the Beach

Lynn G.
Age 7

Waves crashing, 
Castles smashing
Gulls swish,
Smelly fish
I eat a peach
at the beach

Mountains of the Sky

Mia F. 
Age 14

They echo calls to all who pass
To explore their rugged plains
Rising up with shadows they cast
They reach for the sky firm and steadfast
They tower over all living things
So immense and tall in size
Their peaks take height though they have no wings
And beauty is where they lie
For they are mountains of the sky


Eddie W. 

Age 13

Eddie Wang 

The wind whooshing unbounded
Branches swinging left to right
Fruits dropping to the ground
From the mountains towering height
To the lilliputian plants, which spread miles around
As the birds took flight
As the leaves glide past the compound
the sun shines forever bright

There I was inside
Trapped with no friends or foes
All I do is hide
The doors remain close
I do not confide
In  anyone diagnosed
 all I want is the outside
But the danger shadows my pride

Thunder roars outside
As millions dance to the sound of the rain
Little droplets going downside
The water will be contained
But on the southside
Dryland still remains
As the northside
Celebrates the last rain

It is Morning

Ishanvi K. 

Age 13

The rising sun casts a deep red glow
Bright and charming, on the fields below
The grass is wet from the minute drops 
Of dew from the rain the night before

The flowers open up their petals
As light soon falls on the sharp nettles
As the trees begin to settle down 
From the storm the night before

The birds chirp and tweet light tunes above
Telling the little ones to wake up
As the butterflies begin to fly
After the winds the night before

Meanwhile the light shines on a child’s room
 With photos and a Chromebook for Zoom
And trophies above the sleeping child
 After the power-cut the night before

Because it is morning, and bright
The beginning of a new day
And nature will remain beautiful
Despite the storm the night before


The Forest

Brianne C.

Age 12

The forest is a place to play,
A place for life,
A place for they, 
who with their eyes,
watch the fray
A place where life often unfolds
A place where some hearts are cold
A place where the cold hearts take effect
A place where often its the death
 Of the forest kingdom's subject's

Indescribable Canyon

Sarai M. 

Age 9

Your nature is beautiful.  The sunset on your rocks.
People say the word to describe you is WOW. 
I think it is beautiful. 
The rock formations that you make reflect WOW and BEAUTIFUL.
Nothing can beat you in prettiness.
The stunning sights of your rocks. 

I know I said there's 2 words that describe you but there is a bunch.
The list just keeps going. 
I walked to see the sights and my mouth hung open. 
You are mine. 
I will never forget you. 

You are so very indescribable.
One will say WOW.  Another will say STUNNING.  Others will say BEAUTIFUL.
The weather was beautiful.  I like the feeling of your wind blowing through my hair. 
The morning is hot but at night it gets colder.  
See what I mean?  You ARE indescribable. 
You are going to always be my friend. 

Swans dance

Emmaline L. 

Age 10

The swans dance in the moonlight, 
swimming in the most beautiful way, 
white wings looking like a spotlight in the moon,
singing the song of a goddess.

But one wears a crown on her head,
sitting by the shore,
watching her others,
bathing in the moonlight.

The summer night gets cooler,
the swans swim around once more,
take on last sip of cool pound water, 
and head off to bed.

Now there is only the lily pads left,
enjoying the moonlight,
the cool summer night, 
where swans danced.

The Lonely Tree

Timothy D.

Age 17

Stifled, secluded, solitary, I, the lonely tree sit. Beside me not one plant, not one living thing, yet I continue to grow, poking my blossoming head into the fully ripened world. 

In the desolate landscape, many young trees simply fall their leaves and shrivel back into the earth. Yet I, the lonely tree, continue to grow. I seem to overcome all obstacles. 

I can see in the distance the lush greenery of the trees that once felt my torture, their limbs stretching over the barren ground; They are now their own shade, they live because they have lived; but me, I fight for life, growing inch by inch, longing for the day my canopy will be large enough to supply me ample comfort. I undergo the painful satisfaction of knowing that these trees still feel the heat, they still know my suffering, yet I dare not dwell on this knowledge in fear that their contentment is my only motivation. 

I feel the bugs and worms underneath that can travel and find their own way; alas, I’m stuck in the ground, waiting for the day I can grow a flower or a seed so that I may too be able to travel the world. Occasionally I’m greeted by a bird, he soothes my pain and comforts me; yet just as the bugs and worms, he can’t stay forever, he finds his home among the wandering clouds.

I think back to the spring nights, the cool breeze gently whispering through my ever-expanding branches, the sun, who seemed to be my friend, still providing me with its radiant warmth. These are the recollections that cause me to understand the joy of life. Now the sun is my enemy, lashing out its deadly rays upon me, and wind does nothing but destroy my leaves and excavate the dirt which holds me steadily to the ground. 

I reach toward the sun, I navigate through the wind; in moments I dance with their melodies. But no song lasts forever, no tree can sway without help from the wind and the sun. My endless climb, though, never wavers. I reach up and up, consuming all of the scarce water, and gradually, I, the lonely tree, grow. 

Pleasant Summer Surprise

Ray Z. 

Age 11

As I am sitting doing my work
I spot a bird standing on my porch
I think of this unusual quirk
I wonder if it’ll get scorched

I walk outside to check on it
I stumble and almost fall
But it doesn’t seem to move a bit
Even after witnessing it all

The bird, as small as a mouse
Has beautiful green and yellow wings
It’s tiny compared to our house
But its eyes are as big as rings

At first, I thought the bird was dead
How sad I would be if it were the case
As it should have fled
When I tripped on my shoelace

However, on closer inspection
Its eyes are still wide open
Unneeded from protection
Its wings are not swollen

But as my naughty brother runs outside
The cute little bird flies shyly away
However, I am satisfied
As the bird seems to be okay


The Ferns

Emily C.

Age 17

Ferns etch their way along my line of sight,
Presenting themselves in the most conspicuous way possible: appearance
Their existence is a truth I often ignore;
An existential happening I choose not to regard 

As I live in the city,
A desert city,
Where these ferns have no place,
I have no chance to notice their beauty-
No opportunity to admire their strength in numbers

My truth is cacti and joshua trees,
Their elegance defined by no more than…
Leaves, brown dirt, brown sky…

I miss the presence of the ferns,
Pray for their reappearance,
Yet I know their home is far outside mine,
In the thickly-lined serenity of the forest;
I’m still glad they leave me comfort

What It Means to Be Canadian

Ravinya A. 

Age 15

From the East to the West,
The true North stands strong and free,
From the Canadian Rockies to the sandy beaches, lakes, shores and valleys 
We stand together,
United, and bound to be as one
From far and wide, we will always be rejoiced,
As god keeps our land glorious and free!

Canada is a country filled with beauty,
Changes of the seasons there are much to see
From festivals of early spring tulips on Parliament Hill,
To beautiful spring blossoms that bloom in the Cape Breton Highlands

The joy of sliding down snowy hills, just as the beautiful Blue Mountains,
Building snow angels,
To building snowman just out in the balcony,
All the joys of winter are just under our toe tips!

From the high lighthouse tops to the low historical houses,
The wars of the past,
To the wars of the present, Canadians have always been,
and will be
The peacekeepers of the world!

Stories of the Canadian heroes, to the Canadian inventors
Along with the Indigenous people
And their traditional knowledge
Paved the path

To the Canada,
We see today!

Kanata was what they called in the past,
A place with native history, rituals and ceremonies
We embrace this country,
As a place of diversity,
And a vast array of religions,
And a mosaic of cultures 
Hello, Bonjour, Ni hao, Hola in the air
This country welcomes all, 
With long held hands

We stand together, 
Embrace our past
From the present to the future, the journey still stands
A land filled with a scent of maple syrup, peace and joy 
We the next generation, stand under the maple flag
And walk into the path of light

People from every corner of the world,
They call this glorious land Canada 
I call it, home sweet home!

"Tie Dye Sky"

Nicole G.. 

Age 15

The phenomenon that brightens up my day,
the feeling it gives off never leaves me astray.
Those beautiful mixes of orange and yellow,
the highlights in the sky seem so close and so mellow.
Oh sunset, how I wish you'd stay longer,
Oh sunset, how I love our bond growing stronger.
Oh sunset, how I always look forward to your presence,
Oh sunset, how I adore the happiness you give me, your true present.

Nature's Dream

Jerry L. 

Age 12

As I walk upon my backyard, 
The soft grass slides in between my feet
The blades shiny unlike coal charred  
Flowers have never smelled so sweet 
A buzzing sound by my ear 
A bee was pollinating near 

Scurrying nonchalantly away 
Spreading its iridescent wings  
Over the rainbow bouquet 
Nature’s musical strings 
Carried through the cool breeze 
Waving at the carefree trees 

The breath of mother nature
the little chirps of mother birds 
Amazed, I realize I am no stranger 
To this scenery without words
I slowly drift with the clouds 
Higher and dreamward without crowds



Olivia Y. 

Age 10

Snowflakes twirl and fall
Dancing like ballerinas
Scent of pine wafts by 

Dancing Water

Evelyn F. 

Age 6


Wet small sparkles,

Dancing water all the way down!

It brings me so many feelings,


We Are Water

Chloe M.

Age 19

Water is healing
Water is inspiring; motivating
The effortless flow and beauty amaze but surprise me every time, like it’s the first 
The crash, a splash, the pureness of the water calm and center me 
The interconnectedness of our planet is centered around water
Through oceans, waterways, rain, storms, or faucets, we all are connected by water
We have a duty to protect our planet as champions of water 
To protect what connects us, not divides us
I made up of seventy percent water
I am water
We are water

What A Wonderful World

Dayana M.

Age 15

I walk on the dirt path in the forest.
As it leads me to better days.
I hear every sound that echos from the treetops to the rocks below.
I hear the sounds of birds singing a melody that can wake up the world.
The sound of water droplets falling off of leaves and landing on the surface of the earth.
The sound of the wind flying through the trees as it sails to better lands.
I keep on walking like it was just another day.
The animals seem to look at me but they aren’t bothered.
They don’t judge like we do.
They see our souls and know more than we could ever believe in.
The earth listens to us.
It always has.
It kept watching over us even when we didn’t watch over the world.
The earth seems like a breathing animal.
A majestic beautiful animal that can calm the universe with the song of its trees and the sounds of the oceans.
We take it for granted everyday.
We never think deeply how this earth keeps us alive and makes sure we wake up every morning.
It’s so complicated yet so simple.
It can take up our entire mind or can just be an after thought.
It’s so incredible to believe it exists.
What a wonderful world I say.
What a wonderful world indeed.

My Pearl Necklace

Elizabeth Y.

Age 12

My pearl necklace hints at things beyond
Of adventures, of danger, of treasure and more
It sings me a lullaby when I sleep
About the blue ocean deep

It sings about colorful fishes
It sings about the ocean's hypnotizing song
It sings about the mysteries of long ago
Underneath the aquamarine ocean deep 

My pearl necklace was born in an oyster
A speck of sand irritated it
Nacre was poured over it
Until it became a beautiful, iridescant pearl

It stayed in the breast of the oyster
Until divers came and fetched it away
And when they opened it to their surprise
Out came a lustrious pearl

They made it into a necklace with other pearls
And placed it in a glass cabinet in a jeweler's shop
Where I bought it and brought it home
And it hangs from my neck singing to me

My pearl necklace came from the bottom of the sea
Where pretty fishes darted among coral and sea anemones
But one day it was picked up, its oyster pried open
So now it sings to me at night about the bottom of the sea

A Little River

Quinn B.

Age 9

A Little River

A little river in the woods.
A little river always could
Warm your thoughts and make the trees sway,
A little river can never be blown away.
A little river
Helpful, kind
Is the only one who isn’t surprised
When the wind blows his water up in the air.
A little river is all the forest needs
To become peaceful,
To succeed.
A little river
Smart and wize
A little river
Has the best prize;
A place where he can be happy.


The Art of Nature

Yemaya G.

Age 15

Everything around us is nature’s work of art.

Flowers are nature’s paintbrushes.
The grass is nature’s canvas.
Every place I go, every landscape it touches.
Nature’s art is on the outside, on the inside, everywhere. 
Mother Nature gives us a chance to share
With the creatures on this earth, that we need to respect.

Respect air, earth, water, fire.
Respect for nature’s art is what I desire.


Tree Hugger

 Emmaline L.
Age 10

The tree hugger is a wonderful man, who walks in the woods each day.
Night or day, winter, spring, summer, fall, he and the trees do play.
Yet the tree hugger as not been late for a round of ring around the Rosie. 
After they all fall down after a game or two, he gives each a great big hug, just like our parents do to me and you.
Yet then the next day the game just continues.

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. 


Christelinda L. 

Age 18 

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



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 

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
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. 


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. 
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.



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
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.


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,

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

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

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

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

and i can smell
only steps away

all i can see
is the dark slope
of a mountain
into a sky
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 
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
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



Madelaine T.

Age 8

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


A bite!
The bass pulls,
you fight.
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. 



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.



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. 


Abby G. 

Age 17

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

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
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