Some people walk
In the paths made by others, those
Who came before,
Footprints and bootprints in the sand
Heavy and methodical, or
Light and dancing
And everything in between.

I'd like to think that
I dare to walk in the deeper,
Unmarked sand,
Leaving prints of my own.

And if the sand is
So hot that it scorches
The soles of my feet,
I'll tiptoe, quick like
A water nymph
To the oceanside,
Play like a child in the gentle
Waves, chasing
Long-legged seabirds

Lily Alexandra Mell is 14 years old and is Home-schooled. She plays violin in two student orchestras, and is an avid reader. She was published in the premier edition of PS Junior. She has a poetry manuscript compiled, and is working on writing a science-fiction novel.


The breeze tickles my smooth cheeks. The warmth of the sinking sun’s rays buries into my skin. Bursts of purples, blues, reds, and oranges cover the sky, outlining the bright sun. Practically diving into the crystal clear water, the orange ball of light skims the horizon. The cool waves kiss my toes and the grains beneath my feet create the feeling of safety. The worries suffocating my mind drown in the peacefulness. The salty smell and crashing waves fill my senses with joy.  

An autobiographical poem

Athletic, strong, funny
Daughter of Joyce and Jerry
Who loves basketball, softball, and family
Who feels strength about perseverance
Who needs support, love, and confidence
Who gives 100%, help, and support
Who fears giving up, taking the easy way out, and never doing her best
Who’d like to see Hawaii
Who dreams of being a nurse
A student of Visitation B.V.M. School


Smelling all the pies and cakes,
And the turkey as it bakes.
Talking, laughing, family and friends,
All this fun, it never ends.
Looking at the golden leaves,
Falling off of all the trees.
Hugs and kisses, saying “good night,”
Going to sleep without a fight.

Brynn is 10 years old and in 5th grade. She loves art and gymnastics, especially competing in the floor event. Brynn really enjoys writing, especially short stories. She lives in Central Pennsylvania with her parents and 3 siblings.


War is like you are a pumpkin
And it is Halloween
War cuts you off at the stem
So you cannot grow any more
War is like you are a pumpkin
And it is Halloween
War cuts the top off of you
War carves you out, scoops out your insides
War is like you are a pumpkin
And it is Halloween
Your soul is like those pumpkin insides (they scooped your soul out too)
War throws your heart in the trash
War is like you are a pumpkin
And it is Halloween
War carves you out, war carves your face
Then gives you a fake smile

E. D. is in 6th grade and likes to write poetry. He also likes basketball, building things, and reading. He lives in the Philadelphia area and has read all of Rick Riordan’s books twice. He wrote this poem after listening to a lecture by a veteran

A Child’s Request

We were free, we played, we laughed, we were loved.
We were taken from the arms of our parents and thrown into the gas.
We were nothing more than children.
We had a future.
We were going to be lawyers, rabbis, teachers, doctors, mothers, fathers.
We all had dreams, then we had no hope.
We were taken away in the dead of night like cattle in cars, no air to breathe, crying, starving, dying.
Camps our new home.
A little ration of food was a blessing from g-d
Living in the camps filled us with terror.

Max is an avid soccer player, news junkie, and enthusiastic reader.You can support young writers like Max with a contribution to PSJR today. Click here to read how.

Talking Leaves

Did you ever notice the leaves talk?
Whispers in spring, quiet like my little sister sneaking in beside me for a late night snuggle.
On blustery summer days they sound like my little brother, joyfully stomping and calling out, “Look at me, look at me!”
In autumn they are like my Nana’s knees when she gets up from the couch. Crunch. Crunch.
But in winter the leaves are silent.
And I wonder, are they sleeping or just talking in a way I can’t understand?

Connor, age 6, is a first grader at Penn Wynne Elementary School in Wynnewood, PA. He enjoys being outside in nature, reading, rhyming words, and building Legos.

Falling Jewels

The rain has been streaking down all day.
The world is gray as an old photograph.
Then the sun emerges and turns the rain into gold.
Now the rain is a diamond clear and beautiful.
Rain turns the leaves into emeralds.
Rain glitters like rubies on the sidewalk.
Rain is pearls clanking onto the ground.
Rain has transformed the sky into a sapphire.

Ari is a 3rd grader at PJDS. At school, he loves reading and writing (his favorite genre is fantasy). Outside of school, he enjoys tennis and soccer and is learning lacrosse. He is also learning acoustic guitar

The Poet of Dusk

When it’s dusk, I really must
Know your secret, dusk
When I say I must, I have to know!
You’re really great. You put on a show.
How do you make those lights shine bright?
How do you make those colors not shy? I would really like to try.
How do you make those colors glow? I really ought to know.
What I want to know most is something new
Something no one has ever asked you
How do you get so beautiful?
When it’s dusk, I really must
Know your secret, dusk.
When I say I must, I have to know.
You really do put on a show.

Paul is a kind and intensely curious boy whose intelligence and creativity find an outlet in writing poetry. He spends much of his time pursuing outside interests such as martial arts, piano, and performing in plays. Paul is a loving son and he enjoys playing with his friends and younger siblings. This poem came from a workshop from Mrs. Strong’s Third Grade Class at Neeta Elementary School.


Baseball, baseball is the sport I play

I play, I play, I play all day

I like to dive

I like to slide

I like to run from side to side

Most of all, I like to hit

I like to hit and I like to spit


I like to spit the seeds I bit!

I like to catch

I like to fetch

I like to fetch what I’m supposed to catch!

Luke Anderson loves baseball and has three siblings. He plays travel soccer and baseball. In his free time he likes to hang out with his friends and he loves pizza! He’s in third grade, and his favorite color is blue. This poem came from a workshop from Mrs. Strong’s Third Grade Class at Neeta Elementary School.

Syndicate content