Poetry

Sand Color Shell

Oh shell,
You are the crown of a king
Feeling proud
On the king’s head
Your spikes are pointy
Like grabby starfish hands
Like the color of sand
You look like a sandstorm
Swirling
In action
You have a little opening
That is curled
Like a fruit roll up
Your swirly top is a mountain
You look like a footrest
So comfy
So warm
You’re so many wonderful things
 Which one is your true identity?

Christina lives with her 3 sisters and her dog, Sami. She loves to dance and sing and play soccer and basketball.

The Crayon Box

The sun shines bright
Like a red robin’s feathers.

The grass grows green
Like a wet emerald turtle.

The flowers dance up
Like a pink ballerina.

The bark swirls around
Like a dark silhouette.

The tree buds bloom
Like many speckled stars.

New smells waft
Like a bright paisley pattern.

The equinox arrives
Like a crayon box opening.

Spring.

Kayleigh Zubrod is 10 years old and in 4th grade in Kennett Square.  She loves singing, acting, and of course reading and writing.  Words are a favorite thing-like raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens to her.  When she grows up she would like to be a lawyer or a singer/songwriter.

A World Without Color

What would the world be like without the vivid colors of a summer sunset? What would the world be like without the lush green grass that brushes your ankles on a walk in the rolling meadow? What would the world be like without that big, blue blanket above our head full of puffy, white cotton balls dancing in the wind? What would the world be like?

Meredith Davies is in fourth grade and is the oldest of three girls. Writing and reading are two of her favorite subjects at school. She also participates in Girl Scouts and loves taking ballet, jazz and tap.

Ode to a Kiwi

Kiwi,
sour
but so
sweet.
Rough on
the outside,
smooth
on the
inside.
Up close
you
resemble
a sparkling
emerald.
Far away,
a
hard,
brown,
rock.

Genevieve Bevenour, age 10, is in 4th Grade at the Plymouth Meeting Friends School.

Ode to a Grape

You
smell of
sweet
dreams.
You taste
like
a soft, gentle song.
Up
close
you resemble
a soft
purple
ball.
You dream
of soft
squishy
pillows.
Your
friends call
you
the Purplestar.
You
are
the
grape.

Lily Aparin-Buck age 9, is in 4th Grade at the Plymouth Meeting Friends School.

My Tree

My tree, my tree, I love my tree.
It feels like it is a part of me.
I look at it when I wait for the bus, even if I’m in a rush.
I watched the leaves dive and fall, until there were no leaves at all
Then the branches, covered in snow.  Now, tiny leaf buds, all in row.
It tells me “I’m sprouting, I’m sprouting, Spring is near!  Soon you will see lots of leaves up here.”
My tree, my tree, I love my tree.
It’s like a friend, sharing all the seasons with me.

Connor, age 6, is a kindergartener at Overbrook Preschool and Kindergarten in Philadelphia, PA.   He enjoys being outside in nature, reading, rhyming words, and building Legos.

Colors of a Nation

Missing blue
Why blue
Color of the sky, color of defense

Parties
Different parties
Conflicting ideas, same freedoms, equal freedoms

Justice
Equal justice
Real people, understanding people

Blood shed
Red blood
Independence with acceptance

All religion
Free religion
Welcomed here to thrive here

Democracy
Powers splayed
A Nation’s positions on its conditions

When dreaming
Know why
Founded by curiosity and built on truth

Lark McAllister is in a creative writing class at Country Day of the Sacred Heart in Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania. She loves to read books of all genres and also enjoys learning about history and politics.

Bridge

Two easels lay apart,
Abstracted of different mediums.
One from shimmering hope,
Other knowing only heavy demur.

In practice,
The two bonded over mixings
Of colorful palettes,
Revealing hopes and dreams,
Triumphs and downfalls,
Water both half-full and half-empty.

What former conceived,
Latter believed.
They became mural
In endless second,
And in next few decades.

Matthew is a tenth grader enrolled at Northeast High School. In addition to writing, he enjoys reading, distance running, and sleep in large doses.

The Shoes

The shoes - a light blue size too big,
untouched with paper filled belly.
The shoes sit tied by the bed.
Just in case
he needs to run away.
Because dragon’s fire does not
Burn hotter than
“No”

The knight will come,
but here in the night,
creatures crawl.
The giant,
who gave much more than
shoes,
looks with disapproval stretching
into eternity.
(One step.
Two step.
The dance begins every time
his shoes misstep.)

Mother is gone.
Father never was.

Oonagh Kligman is a freshman at Jenkintown High School. She loves reading, but loves to write even more. When she is not locked away some place "bookish," she is hanging out with her friends, playing tennis, or eating.

Dragon

They are afraid.

Afraid of my eyes,
afraid of my talons.

They think I snap,
I paralyze, I ravage.

They think I kill.

They are afraid.

Afraid of my invincibility,
afraid of my strength.

They think I am a villain.

They are afraid.

Afraid of my scales,
afraid of my fire.

They think I am vengeful,
And cruel,
And corrupt.

They think I am heartless.

But I do not kill.
I am not vengeful.
I am not cruel.

Maria Maisy Meyer is in 7th grade and is 13 years old.

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