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Untitled
I flow from the mighty mountain down
through the magic of moss, mist and forest.
I flow through mighty desert, fire and rain
through cool shade and burning sun.
I flow through beautiful places, ugly places
night and day, under suns and moons.
I flow through disaster and magnificent glory
precious moments and hated past.
I flow through life and study it.
I protect life along with taking it.
I see all and yet I am only a river,
strong and free.
Lauren Anderson, Age 11
Linscott Charter School
Watsonville, California
Teacher: Paula Cover
Golden Gate Bridge
(A poem created and performed in American Sign Language)
Note: American Sign Language (ASL) is a visually based language that has its own unique rules and structure; it is not simply a signed representation of English. ASL poetry uses visual patterns (such as a repeated handshape, movement or sign location) to create rhyme and rhythm. For example, in this poem, the poet chose to use only two handshapes, the “4” handshape and the “5” handshape, to create a visual rhyme. Rhythm was created by a slowing down and speeding up of the signs used, corresponding to the bridge activity and storm intensity being described. Because the poetic qualities of an ASL poem are visual, a written translation of the poem would not capture the poem’s essence. Therefore, we have provided a summary of the poem’s content.
The poem opens with the rising of the sun, and shows, through the course of one day, all of the activity on and around the Golden Gate Bridge. We see people and traffic rushing across the bridge, the waves in the ocean below, the birds flying in the sky above, a light breeze, and then a building rainstorm. As the day comes to an end, people rush home, and finally the storm calms and bridge activity subsides.
Jasmine Avilar, Age 15
International Studies Academy
San Francisco, California
Teacher: Peter Tam and Becca Blau-Shane
Sunrise in the Forest
The gentle spirit of a new sunrise
Brings yellow and pink, then soft blue skies
Shapes of redwoods and delicate ferns
Emerge from the darkness as daylight returns
Shadows in the forest dance with delight
Sparkling dewdrops reflect the light
Piercing rays add a magic glow
Birds sing praise at the wondrous show
In the simple grace of her effortless way
Our Mother Earth unfolds the day
A rising mist wanders and drifts
Like a pillowy blanket that gently lifts
The rich brown earth slowly appears
With patches of moss, moist with tears
From the joy of sharing this sacred space
With rainbow flowers that color her face
In the stillness and beauty she whispers a dream
Come walk in my forest, swim in my stream
Show me, my children, your beautiful smiles
Heal with me as you wander for miles
Follow a path that calls you this day
Let my tiniest creatures show you the way
Take this moment to shed every care
Enjoy a breath of cool fresh air
Carry this peace in the silence within
And remember that you may return here again
Whenever your heart needs to feel like new
The sun will be rising in the forest for you
Rawan Bardini, Age 13
Sierra Middle School
Parker, Colorado
Teacher: Ms. Boucher
A Rain of You
In the deeps of your eyes
Quiet rains sing.
A thousand tuneful whispers:
Each tear a note beyond any cadence of mine.
We have walked
Together as one and a half,
When a salty downpour made a poem from the grays of the parking lot.
With each splash of a car through a puddle,
Our extra half became quite mathematically larger.
And even more clouds were forming.
You explained to me
That each drop is its own universe,
Perfectly shaped,
More beautiful (and important) than yours or mine.
Each drop is a complete prayer
As it plummets towards the asphalt.
We have walked
In the misty rains of a parking lot
As my clunky-heeled shoes
Shattered the surface tension of worlds.
The leather has since dried.
In the deeps of your eyes,
Quiet thoughtful rain forms
Sweet salinity
Like other tastes I have forgotten.
Anat Ben-Zvi, Grade 11
Ward Melville High School
Setauket, New York
Teacher: Faith Krinsky
Untitled
Milky rays filter down reflecting
off a silent pond
Waltzing along a barnyard door
Skipping over the swaying tips of cattails
Reflecting off stray tendrils of mist
Bringing sparks of life to the dark, obscured
world of night.
Woods Buckley, Age 11
Greenwood School
Mill Valley, California
Teacher: Devika Brandt
Clean
The tires make a crushing sound
against the crust of the iced-over snow.
Frost webs are spun over the windshield.
Outside the sun reflects off the snow.
The white, bright light
makes me temporarily blind.
Finding salvation in the shadows,
I regain my sight.
I know that snow is pure.
But today, it is holy.
Forrest Carver, Grade 8
Center for Teaching and Learning
Edgecomb, Maine
Teacher: Nancie Atwell
Silent Night
Living and breathing oaks and elms
Dancing silently in a grove beneath shafts of moonlight,
Mere silvery shadows in the gathering dark.
The chilling river rushes on its way,
Dancing to speak out in the silence as the mother of all.
A wall of trees fades into the gloom,
Stretching farther than the eye can see,
Away,
Away.
Branches sweep the ground,
But not a rustle of leaves or creak of old limbs penetrates the silence.
Stars wheel overhead in the eternal circle of time,
Looking down on the trees bowing their mangy heads.
From above, the great river is but a band of meandering blue,
Bearing no sign of its true nature,
Ferocious, snarling waters.
All pay homage to the great wonder,
Bringer of life,
Bringer of dreams,
Rumbling into the darkness.
Allegra Chapman, Age 13
Kent Middle School
Kentfield, California
Teacher: Peter Gavin (2001 ROW Teacher of the Year)
The Lake
I used to be scared
Of what lurks inside
Looking around,
I used to hide
A broken log,
A new sea monster
Don’t be scared·
Said my mother
Shadows of the willow trees,
Monsters creeping up to me
Don’t be scared·
Said my mother
The fish inside,
Baby creatures.
Don’t be scared·
Said my mother
Now, I’m older,
I know better
Now I know
What lurks inside
Is scared of me·
So now they hide!
Melissa Choy, Age 11
Worcester Preparatory School
Berlin, Maryland
Teacher: Jan Baldwin
The Deschutes River
The traveler Deschutes
Meanders her way through gossiping aspen groves,
Tip-toes through old-growth cathedrals,
And waits impatiently in the traffic jams of estuaries.
The lioness Deschutes
Tears at mud banks,
Crushes rocks,
And rampages out of her bed to curl her grip around land.
The thunderbird Deschutes
Flies over waterfalls,
Rumbles over rapids,
And paints the sky with summer clouds.
The queen Deschutes
Presides over meadows,
Reigns over leafy subjects,
And wears a silver crown of foam and bubbles.
The mother Deschutes
Shelters crying fish,
Plays with cheeky otters,
And comforts the lonely trees.
My friend the Deschutes
Performs a ballet every Tuesday and Saturday night,
Tells me secrets, knows all mine,
And lets me write poetry about her.
Kelly Cox, Age 15 (2000 ROW finalist)
Home School
Bend, Oregon
Teacher: Kathryn Cox
Before a Snowfall
A late autumn leaf falls and drifts to the floor
brushed by the cold breeze
the grass
takes its last look at the world above
a lone crow
silhouetted against the blank sky
Becky Davis, Age 11
Lakeside Middle School
Seattle, Washington
Teacher: Alicia Hokanson
Water Babies
La Llorona thrust her children
Into the river’s mouth
And watched it swallow them
Like silver minnows.
Gleaming flies buzzed on the bus
Gasoline fumes floated, thin clouds over our heads
Juan and I shared an orange while Abuelo whispered,
In the USA we would eat ice cream every day.
Trudging through dense desert dusk,
We breathed the scent of green mesquite
Staring up at dark jagged mountains, down at tracks of tire sandals
Mama stumbled on a cattle guard.
Wrapped in her rebozo, the baby woke and whimpered.
Coyote Man whirled, hissing curses.
We reached the brown bubbling mole of the river
Our boats were plywood, laid over tubes
The Coyote snatched the child from her arms.
The weight of two would make it sink, he snarled.
Only a moment while he didn’t watch
For the current to catch the fragile ship, carrying it away.
Mama didn’t scream or speak at all
As they pulled her from the shallows.
Look, they cried, pointing to Juan and me
You have beautiful children still.
While her empty eyes sank into the swirling water
They led her away and the Coyote told my father,
I will not charge you for that child although the tube was lost.
La Llorona weeps for her children,
As they sink like stones.
Or do they float and twirl like trout
Living on mist and damselflies
In the circles of the river.
Todd Detter, Grade 12 (1998 ROW Grand Prize,
1997 ROW National Finalist)
North High School
Phoenix, Arizona
Teacher: Mrs. Buehler
Water
Water is as steady as thoughts
as unstable as a child’s first steps
as old as time
as fresh as life
as mysterious as dreams
Amanda Ditmore, Age 9
Montessori Family School
Berkeley, Calfornia
Teacher: Jane Wechsler
The Old Seaweed
The old seaweed deep in the sea
did a flowing dance
for the eyes of me.
Michelle Donovan, Age 14
South Meadow School
Peterborough, New Hampshire
Teachers: Mrs. Morash and Mr. Franz
Huerfano River Valley Water
Grey smoke screen fills the sky
Clearing out any thoughts but water
Plink, plink, plink
The water rises one inch
Plink, plink, splash
Another inch
Plink, plink, splash, splash
Now we are all in the puddle
Our brains go past imagination
Stop at reality
My brother decides what we want to do most in the water
So many possibilities
building dams
water fights
collecting foam
diving and
swimming
Now we are drenched and cold with
Not a living animal around but
Clouds and the peaceful drip, drop of water
Yuri Dudik, Age 10
Gardener School
Gardener, Colorado
Teacher: Liz Schneider
Dreaming Trees
I never liked to live in nature
Sit with my feet burrowed in the sand
The guided tour of God’s Labyrinth
Seemed like nothing more than a frosted cave
Where dreams were lost
But then
A dragon fly hovered and teased
Above my eyes
As the sun hit the Wasatch Mountains.
And I realized
That it is everywhere
That each new day it is reborn
When I shake the sleep out of my hair
The earth’s breath absorbs my nighttimes
And takes it to the trees
Suddenly
Give and take seems so sincere
And courtesy unfolds
As my sleepy dreams are
Absorbed by the trees.
Amanda Gaither, Age 17
Brighton High School
Salt Lake City, Utah
Teacher: Patricia Russell (1997 ROW Teacher of the Year)
Past Crest and Swell
The pulse, the beat of waves
On rocks on sand
Pulsing over me and over
Dissolving me
They sweep me carelessly out
Past crest and swell
To the curved world stretched by a naked hand
Holding me delicately at the nape of my neck
Expanding and expounding-this is how it should feel
My heart thrust open to two reverberating, continual
Circles of sky and water
Merging
And forms my own shell out of fragments of stars
Broken, sewn, then mended
The sea traces the seams of my face
Like no one else can, draws my breath
From me and into the deep
Healing sea-foam green
Pours through my skin and streams out of my fingertips
The sea deposits me gagging salt water on the shore
Separate again.
Kiya Gornik, Age 17
San Domenico Upper School
San Anselmo, California
Teacher: Hilary Staples
Trees, Trees
Trees, trees follow me
Walk with me along the river trail,
Stop with me at the water’s edge
Watch with me as the fish
float in the polluted Anacostia
Cry with me
Let your leaves shed tears
Clean the water
Jamir Graham, Grade 4
River Terrace School
Washington, D.C.
Teacher: Patricia Goodnight
Water
Water is
An amazing
thing,
eerily different
rough and
smooth
endlessly moving
dreadfully still,
elusive
Devin Hamon, Age 11
Gardner School
Gardner, Colorado
Teacher: Liz Schneider
McCormick Ranch
The singing of trees,
Makes the soil feel full.
The mountains will rise,
The lakes will be mighty oceans,
The smoke and smog will clear,
The sun will shine through,
The oak trees will quiver.
A wave of weeds
Will bow to the wind.
A rustle of bark can be heard.
A rush of wind blows the leaves,
Oak trees shudder.
A rotting log
Will be a king’s throne.
Keep it,
Keep it that way.
Davis Hoffman, Age 10
St. Helena Elementary School
St. Helena, California
Teacher: Cam Fraser
Picture This
A babbling brook snaking its way through damp Seattle neighborhoods
And on its banks, vicious blackberries
Lurking behind every bend, ready to take the stream over,
like a pack of snarling wolves.
Imagine the maples
Each one giving their all to touch the sky.
One maple’s adventure fails,
its last leaf flutters to the ground
A fork in the stream,
break off the trail and travel to another place, and time
Hear
The robin’s call, mumble of water over the rocks
See the salmon
Every scale glistening in the morning sun
Stop here.
Luke Hussey, Age 11
Lakeside Middle School
Seattle, Washington
Teacher: Alicia Hokanson
Music of the Appalachian Seasons
Spring
Raindrops falling into swirling rivers,
Songbirds welcoming the day.
Willows swaying with the windy shivers,
Flowers dancing like children at play.
Summer
Take me along to a symphony of summer,
Dance me around at a concert sublime.
I’m drifting off in a deep, deep slumber,
A medley of bird songs and passing of time.
Fall
Leaves are blanketing the foggy mountains,
All the hummingbirds retreat.
Mowing the hay and bringing in the harvest,
Famlies gather for a treat.
Winter
Ice crisscrosses Watauga River,
Trees are weighted down with snow.
Sleigh bells jingle as we sing and shiver,
Past the frozen ponds we go.
Joanna Laine Isaacs, Age 13
Covenant School (Home School)
Boone, North Carolina
Teacher: Carol Isaacs
Ocean
Ocean
blue, gray, and green
gallops up to the shore
like a friendly puppy, licking
your toes.
Joanna Kass, Age 11
Center for Teaching and Learning
Edgecomb, Maine
Teacher: Robbyn Leventhal
Snowshoeing
Crystals crunching and cracking underneath my feet,
Humming my favorite tune, trudging to the beat.
Wandering on and on,
Never getting tired.
Increasing my pace,
My breath puffs out in big white clouds.
Looking back I see my tracks,
Meandering over the snow.
Kyla King, Age 11
Jackson Hole Middle School
Jackson, Wyoming
Teacher: Leona Wunnenberg
Circles
I dream in circles
if I dream at all.
He walks in my sleep,
I watch his footsteps fall;
when darkness ends, it is the end of all.
I dream in shadows,
soft and undefined
the glows and candle-flickers
of my mind;
he walks through places I will never find.
I dream in rhythms,
in movements, startled motions,
the toss and roll and tumbled foam of oceans;
he laughs at my impressions.
His silences surround me and I drown.
I speak his smiles, his whispers drag me down;
there is so little I can call my own.
My dreams are always him.
I do not dream,
I want to sink, and sinking, want to swim.
I do not close my eyes till I am tired.
If night was made for sleep, then why the moon?
I wake from dreams
still dreaming I’m awake;
my candle has burned out,
a blackened wick.
I wake in circles
if I wake at all.
Anais Koivisto, Age 17 (2000 ROW National Finalist)
School of the Arts
San Francisco, California
Teacher: Jim LeCuyer
Coming Back to Skykomish
Cabin in the country
High on the hill
Overlooking the river
River rushes
Drops of compelling power
Keep on swimming, salmon
Proud mountain
Like a pointing finger
Snow melting in the sun
Forest awaits
Calling to the world
Trees two thousand strong
Sweet apple tree beckons
Gnarled branches outstretched
Calling, Come Back
Come Back,
This is the World.
Kate Lund, Age 12
Lakeside Middle School
Seattle, Washington
Teacher: Alicia Hokanson
Water
The oceans slowly taking the life of sand castles
moist, heavy sand
The girl crying on the steps
Rain, hitting the gloomy cement like lightning bolts
The child sleeping in her car seat
Tree roots pulling with all their might for nourishment
The choir sings to the sky
The frosty dark night speckled with stars
The cat sleeping on his pillow
The new immigrant
The tortoise hibernating
Poor families
Rich families
The ice skater
The painter
me, writing this poem
you, thinking what this is about
Water
Shakti Madrigal, Age 13
Kent Middle School
Kentfield, California
Teacher: Peter Gavin (2001 ROW Teacher of the Year)
River
I am the drink you
drink when you’re thirsty.
Feel me and let me
dance on your fingers.
Let my friends the playful otters
play with you.
Let the fish twirl and
dance for you.
Watch the sun
lay against me.
Let the moon
light the way.
I am the River.
Christine Mbula, Age 10
Glenallen Elementary School
Washington, DC
Teacher: Mrs. Buehler
River of Words
As we have our words, so does the river
Drip, drop
It always has something to say
Trickle, tinkle
A cat can never get its tongue, even as it falls
Whoosh, sploosh
Even in a deep freeze, it will still talk
Creek, crack
Listen child, if you listen hard
You will hear its life story,
From melting
Drip, drop
To flowing
Trickle, tinkle
To diving
Whoosh, sploosh
then to frozen
creek, crack
Take a little time to hear what
it has to say
drip, drop
trinkle, tinkle
whoosh, sploosh
creek, crack
Listen to the river as it always
has something to say.
Nygil Milligan, Age 11
Three Rivers Elementary School
Sunriver, Oregon
Teacher: Button Gaviglio
Nature
Slithering on a dirt path,
A green snake rushes to safety.
Water is splashing, trees are wooshing.
Grass grows wild in the meadow.
Chirping, a robin sits in a tree,
Red and black, looking down at me.
The sun floats down, down, down.
I can see the moon’s white eye.
Richard Moala, Age 9
Schafer Park School
Hayward, California
Teacher: Becky Hemann
Winter’s Break
Mist rests in the valley,
Tired from its southward journey.
How long must it stay?
Ice creeps away
slowly melting
in the sun’s rays.
A pony whinnies
in the stable. Outside
the car gives a sputter.
Clouded skies.
Fragile trees wave their
good-byes in the wind.
Michael Moore, Age 11
Lakeside Middle School
Seattle, Washington
Teacher: Alicia Hokanson
River’s Soul
A man sits by a river.
He has only known it for precious few
seconds, yet again for an eternity.
He sees the river, hears the river, is the river
He flows as one with the river, one body,
one mind, one soul.
The river within him flows with the river about him.
His body sways and rolls as does the river.
The gurglings that utter from his throat
match that of the river.
Tone for tone.
Thought for thought.
Soul for soul.
Max Mosher, Age 11
Kent Middle School
Kentfield, California
Teacher: Denise Zalecki
Waterfall
Drip·drip·
Sounds of gently flowing water
echo through my kitchen.
The drips become
a loud rushing noise.
When I glance at my faucet,
I see a waterfall,
dancing around the unnoticed rocks
at the bottom.
The waterfall
becomes a rapid-filled river,
and that river becomes a stream.
Not just any stream,
my stream.
The one that travels through the winding
trails of the woods, behind
my house.
That exact stream
trickles down into
the Guadalupe River,
and then journeys into the
Gulf of Mexico.
Emily Neinast, Age 9
Hill Elementary School
Austin, Texas
Teacher: Judith Kalb
Slave of Poverty
4:00 A.M.
She woke from the coarse pinewood bed.
Quietly, not to disturb her frail children.
Cursing at the vinegar aspect of life.
Another laborious day of farming.
Lower her weakened back.
Kneel on her numb knees.
Gather with her exhausted hands.
Smell the polluted air around.
Watch the ashen cloud starting to cover the royal blue sky.
Taste the salt that tears render.
Sobbing, scolding heaven to be unjust.
Thinking of her helpless children.
She sucks up the unfortunate life.
Murmur hopefully.
Nothing is forever, even our troubles.
Mydzung Nguyen, Grade 10
Duncan Polytechnical High School
Fresno, California
Teacher: Mrs. Blanchfield
Farm
Farm-
Fruity, fresh, earthly, and delicious,
Sister of Mother Earth,
Who feels fresh, natural, full of nutrition,
Who needs water, sunshine, and tenderness,
Who fears drought, crows, bugs,
Who hears the laughter of boys and girls as they’re harvesting,
Who lives where life needs me,
Lover of water, soils, and peoples,
Fruity, fresh, earthly, and delicious,
-Farm
Phalyne Noun, Grade 10
Duncan Polytechnical High School
Fresno, Califfornia
Teacher: Mrs. Blanchfield
Seasons
Leaves everywhere-
The ground littered
With paper cut-outs.
Crowded beach-
I wonder if
The sky is sweating.
Birds chirp-
The grass is greener
Than ever before.
Fresh snow
Engraved with the
Footprints of children.
Dylan O’Shea, Age 12
Lakeside Middle School
Seattle, Washington
Teacher: Alicia Hokanson
Tears
If I cry for foolish things
Or
The troubles of the earth
I wonder
If my tears are the same
As the millions that were cried
In the Holocaust The Dying
The Famines The Jailings
The Wars The Drugs
The Murders The Shootings
The Pollution The Slavery
The Dying
All the troubles
Come with tears.
All the rivers
Flow with tears.
Cleansing tears.
Cleansing rivers.
Flow and heal.
Tears and rivers.
Flow and heal.
Water
Camila Perez, Age 10
Linscott Charter School
Watsonville, California
Teacher: Maybelle Kagy
Wit and Fright
(A poem for two voices)
(words for owl)
(words for mouse)
Sleep all through the day, at night capture your prey.
Savor the sun, it’s almost noon, darkness is coming soon.
In your eyes, lanterns burn bright, golden rays illuminate the night.
Scrunched down low, trying to hear, your eyes ablaze with fear.
Flying, flying up on high swimming in dark pools of sky.
Dark shadow hides the light not a speck of moon in sight
Dinner
Gone
Eric Pierson, Age 10
Abington Friends School
Jenkintown, Pennsylvania
Teacher: Anne Fields
Crater Lake
It sounds like drumming waves
It smells musty, moldy
Dirt that smells like freshly tilled earth.
It looks like a green snot puddle.
It feels cool and wet.
It tastes like groundwater
That hasn’t had a bath.
John Reynolds, Age 11
Alexander II Math and Science Magnet School
Macon, Georgia
Teacher: Sue King
The Other Side of the Horizon
Moon, you’re useless!
When people sleep no light is needed.
How would you know,
flighty young sun?
Your eyelids drop
at 4 o’clock.
But moon, you stay up all night long!
That cannot be good for you.
It’s medicine for my soul-
Anyway, you never dance
With the stars.
I dance instead with the clouds, o moon
Clouds of the softest cotton-your stars are sharp and pointy!
How would you know, sun?
You have never truly seen them!
Really, they are much like you
No-they are of night and I am of day
Moon, day is a time of happiness, picnics and smiles
But sun, night is a time of romance
And love
Feelings that can’t endure harsh light
Light is not harsh, moon, it is life to all
Plants and people
But without light, trees look so much better!
Their silhouettes
Are more beautiful than the trees themselves!
Moon, you are not worth arguing with
I must rise and make the earth joyful
And when you are gone, mighty sun,
I will make it
More joyful still.
Mae Rice, Age 11
Lakeside Middle School
Seattle, Washington
Teacher: Alicia Hokanson
I Am True, I am True
(inspired by a poem by N. Scott Momaday)
I am a white pearl on a bright star
I am the rabbit that knows where to find secret places
I am gold like the sun over Ocean Beach at evening
I am from Guatemala where all the colorful colors come
I am the doe standing in the dusk
I am the hunger of a young lion
I am the dream of peace
You see I am true, I am true
I stand in good relation to the earth
I stand in good relation to all that is beautiful and all that is true
You see I am true, I am true.
Claudia Rustrian, Age 17
International Studies Academy
San Francisco, California
Teacher: Judy Bebelaar
Grand Teton National Park
Blue ridges,
Purple peaks,
Snow packs melt creating creeks.
Taupe elk,
Tawny deer,
Antlered mammals living here.
Silver rocks,
Emerald trees,
Branches blowing in the breeze.
Golden aspen,
Lavender flowers,
Enjoyed hiking for many hours.
Black bear,
Snow-white swan,
Cow and calf moose in a pond.
Pinkish sky,
Crimson sun,
Kit fox out for a morning run.
Clear blue rivers,
Turquoise lake,
Beauty preserved for everyone’s sake.
Brady Samuelson, Age 10
Ashgrove Elementary School
Riverton, Wyoming
Teacher: Julie Yager
Winter on the Hudson
Snow with tracks,
trees with blankets of snow
a dozen gulls.
Wind bristling through trees
children playing,
in the coldness of the breeze.
Welcoming the warmth of the sun
beating on my face,
still feeling the numb on my feet.
Cold brisk air,
tickling my nose,
while blowing softly against the Hudson.
Beyond there are trains, boats,
and an occasional airplane,
breaking the silence of winter.
Amy Sarinsky, Age 11
New Windsor Elementary School
New Windsor, New York
Teacher: Mrs. Bacon
Dance
Look the sun,
Go sparkle!
Ripple down the rocks
Chose your path
Dance with the sloshing water
See how you become kerplunkered!
The beat is spiral
Dance
Dance with the spiral.
Then become your own.
Sloshing
Spiraling
Dancing
Through the trees.
Faina Segal, Age 12
Linscott Charter School
Watsonville, California
Teacher: Robin Higbee
At the Noon of Night
At the noon of night-
not a bird in the darkness
an angry clap of thunder
called out by the howl of
the wind
at the noon of night-
not a fly in the sky
a sudden shriek of lightning
fills the
black
Alexandra Silverstein, Age 9
Greenwood School
Mill Valley, California
Teacher: Devika Brandt
Spring
Yay for streams
that cut and dive
through the velvety hills.
Hurrah for the trees
that stand nonchalantly
in each other’s shadows.
Woo hoo to the flowers
that bloom by the thousands and launch
their colorful attack
on the hills and
fields. Painting a
rainbow on the earth.
Yippy for spring. It’s
time to run through
the colorful flowers
that blanket the hills
and fields then take
a quiet nap in the
tree’s shade while
listening to the stream
talk of the mountains
afar.
Meghan Smith, Age 17
Brighton High School
Salt Lake City, Utah Teacher: Patricia Russell (1997 ROW Teacher of the Year)
Night in the Oak Grove
Moist, oak wood
Glistening bark.
Moss soft as
Moonshine.
Ink black sky
Held in place
By diamond pins.
Swaying, wispy
Leaves garnish
The solemn sky.
A fog rolls in,
Like nymphs’
Footsteps in sand.
Damp fog kissing
My face; gradually
Receding into
A pleasant rain.
Drumming down.
Luring me
Into a sweet dream.
Molly Thrailkill, Age 13
Kent Middle School
Kentfield, California
Teacher: Peter Gavin (2001 ROW Teacher of the Year)
Grandfather Plum Tree
I.
Grandfather plum tree, no!
Older than that, perhaps,
planted in the Great War,
stones rattling in a match tin, collected
outside the bloody trenches of Verdun.
II.
Decay has taken hold of the plum tree,
and I wonder whether from the bud down
or the root up-
up from that very stone.
III.
When farm boys who went to war didn’t return,
the plum tree’s branches sagged.
IV.
Ode to joy! Plum tree flush with pink-white bloom,
a mantle to intoxicate hummingbirds with hope.
V.
With the farmers gone,
women and children from the village
make a pilgrimage to the plum tree,
baskets heavy sweet, so sweet-yellow jackets cling.
VI.
The great oaks and rotted maples have seniority,
but the plum tree has the
wizened nobility of a poet.
VII.
No hybrid, but a plum tree that casts stones
on wind and ice-in and out
of birds, to litter the ground and send up shoots-
inferior though, with small and bitter fruit.
VIII.
Stout poles brace the outboard branches now,
not against the weight of fruit but against the cancer from within.
Rot of age has eaten its spine.
Life sustains the plum tree through the thin thoroughfare
from beneath its bug-ridden bark.
Each April we stand a death watch.
Noah Tucker, Grade 8
Center for Teaching and Learning
Edgecomb, Maine
Teacher: Nancie Atwell
Native
There is a time of the natives,
In the season between summer and fall
When the sound of freedom and warmth and work
Propel into the open window,
Like a peeper’s swollen-throat song.
We look at the light,
Plugged in and turned on.
Straining to see wire inside
Mangled like the legs of a mosquito
Murdered on an ankle.
And we turn away as if it’s the sun.
We can’t alienate the flitting blotches.
They only intensify like fireflies in the dark
When we close our eyes.
We get back to our own work,
The things we do for ourselves.
And when only there’s night
The pink beats, channels and garbles of inside us
Push against the mattress,
And we sleep when we know the best thing about us:
We’re always home.
Jo Walls, Age 16
Mt. Desert Island High School
Mt. Desert, Maine
Teacher: Jane Disney
Two Worlds
golden rays fan out
across the horizon
dew drops tickle
the blazing meadows
birds gossip
in the lofty cherry trees
blooming flowers
praise upwards
but what is this?
Ah, you are like me little one.
A coccoon
tingling with excitement to escape
yet we cannot leave home so soon.
Estee Ward, Age 12
Lakeside Middle School
Seattle, Washington
Teacher: Alicia Hokanson
Seasons of Water
Winter
I am the soft, white snow you play in.
I am the steam that rises from your hot cocoa on a cold day.
Spring
I am the gentle shower you dance in.
I am the glistening dewdrops on a crisp, clear morning.
Summer
I am the refreshing mountain pool you splash in.
I am the splat of a water balloon on your back.
Fall
I am the icy cold rain that keeps you inside for recess.
I am the pitter, patter that hits the window when you are curled up beside the fire.
I am the water of your life.
Katy Wilson, Age 9
A.W. Spalding Elementary School
Collegedale, Tennessee
Teacher: Betty Swafford
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