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April 2012

Dreams…

A faded black…
A place so deep…
The deepest black a place can be.

There is no place to go…
There is no place to see…
There is no place to be.

He who sleeps and dreams the dreamless dream,
Cannot find a place to deem.

Little thoughts depict their way through his head…
Little child, there is no need to dread.
He who sleeps and dreams the dreamless dream,
Is stuck in an eternal keep.

Do not fear attack…
Gather what you lack,
For the dreamless dream is merely an act.

He who dreams the dreamless dream,
Of the faded black…
The place so deep…
The deepest black the place can be…
He will no longer be…
For, he will be set free.

(c) 2012 Heidi B.
Titan New Tech High School
Kokomo, IN
Grade 9

April 2012

The Point of Poems

What’s the point of poems?
I mean, whose got the time
To think of all these random words
and somehow make them ryhme?

To write them down on paper,
And maybe have them read:
I can think of things much better,
Among them, being dead.

To sit all day and write away
Would just be such a bore!
I mean, just thinking about poems
Makes me want to snore!

I’ll never write a poem;
I’ll never even try!
Wait a minute, hold the phone,
I just did, didn’t I?

(c) 2012 Cassidy I.
Martin Meylin Middle School
Strasburg, PA
Grade 8

April 2012

Pinnochio Parrot

There once was a parrot named Zeke.
Who had an extra large beak.

When he lies it grows,
From his head to his toes,

And now everyone calls him a freak!

(c) 2012 Hannah V.
W.D. Williams School
Asheville, NC
Grade 5

April 2012

Move

I move
9th av
62 street
I live in 3rd floor
I look down
cars look little
I like it
But it smells bad
(c) 2012 Ivan Z.
PS 310
New York, New York
Grade 2

March 2012

The Water Fetcher

Clutching my bucket I glance out my clay door.
Heading down the path,
rubble lashes open my bare toes.
I gaze at
Women being clouted by soldiers, like rag dolls.
Cripples counting their coins, and craving money.
I gag
at the sight of maggots masking their faces.
I can’t attend school.
Mother once told me,
the land was beautiful,
filled with riches.
Then the Taliban, like a plague,
destroyed it.
They are lions hungry for pain and blood.
My mother’s burqa
strangles her like a python.
A mile to go.
Dead carcasses smother land mines.
My brother is one of these.
I approach the water tap.
The water,
like my life, is murky.
Although someday it will clear up.
When that time arrives
my mom can determine
for herself,
if she wants to reveal
her beautiful face.

(c) 2012 Ben S.
Fox Lane Middle School
Bedford, NY
Grade 7

March 2012

On her shirt was
the word ‘peace’
all sparkly and pink
and ‘smile’ was written
on her hand
in purple ink

On her diary
in glittery sequins
was the word ‘dream’
but how can she
understand
what these words mean

How can she
believe in peace
when her hatred
will never cease
and her amount of lies
only increase

How can she
give a real smile
When she bullys
a minute a mile
How can that make you happy
even for a little while

How can she
have a dream
If she is
nothing but mean
and how, if she
kills with gossip,
how could she dream

She doesn’t know what those words mean

(c) 2012 Penelope G.
Westfield Intermediate School
Westfield, IN
Grade 5

March 2012

The teacher is fat
He has a cat
The cat has a red and blue hat
On the red and blue hat there is a baseball bat
On the baseball bat there is a bat
On the bat there is a mat.

(c) 2012 Thijn E.
Hangzhou International School
Hangzhou, China
Grade 2

February 2012

Conversing with a Mosquito

How awful life must be for you.
How terribly, horribly unfair.
Do you hate me?
Yes, I suspected so…

I believe I met one of your relatives this very morning,
my mother slaughtered her without a second thought.

Yes, cruelty in it’s purest form.

I often wonder how life must be for you.
I understand you do not wish to be what you are.
I know it must be quite painful for you,
we have been selfish.
I apologize.

Then again,
what is my apology worth?
I can give you my condolences one minute,
then reduce another one of your kind into nothing but guts and blood on a tissue another.
It is dreadful.
Believe me,
I know.

I truly understand.

I honestly don’t approve of your peculiar eating habits,
but what choice do you have?
You’re forced to,
it’s your nature.

I honestly don’t appreciate our total annihilation project of your kind either though…
However we are forced to,
it’s OUR nature.

(c) 2012 Ryane L.
SCIS Hongqiao
Shanghai, China
Grade 6

February 2012

Alana Angryhead’s Thoughts

Once, I Ghost of Alana Angryhead, went to the dreary world of humans,
On a gloomy and bloody Halloween day.

Was this a trick someone had played?
Because I unexpectedly landed in the place where the Ghostbusters lay.

The old bun frightened me and I fled to the Murderin’ McKee’s,
To see what they had in store for me.

On the way I saw two children under the “protection” of the quilt,
Amused I was and thought “If the quilt protects you, why was the house built?”

When I flew to Baker Street,
And observed that many children were dressed like geeks.

Enough was enough, I had to go,
I’ll surely tell about my visit to Jigglyhead Joe.

(c) 2012 Saanjh S.
Hangzhou International School
Shaoxing, China
Grade 5

January 2012

Ghosts of smiles
On icy windows
Tiny clouds, huffs of air
Warm, stifled
Drip rainwater
On broken sidewalks
Tears of victims
Of loving
Too much.
Wrought iron fences
Capped with snow
Melts, and peels back
The coating.
We were bronze
All along
Hibernating under
Desperation-built igloos
Sleeping, with phantoms of sun
As our solitary blanket
We dreamed
Of frost-bitten lakes
Of the first crack in the ice
Drifting floes
Painted sunsets
Dripping sunrises
And awaken to
Frost bitten fingertips
Solaceless shadows
The lovers’ kiss
Of winter breath
Draws forth our own destinations
Amongst the solitary anger
The frozen screams
Of we who love
Too much.

(c) 2012 Hannah S.
George Washington High School
Charleston, WV
Grade 12