Category Archives: Poetry

They Let Me Live in Sound

They Let Me Live in Sound

By Mahika Kapoor, age 14, Virginia.

I wrote this poem with a ten-minute timer to try to capture the frenzied mindset of the narrator in this poem. I wanted to see how fast I could capture the importance of the Holocaust, and how other people felt. I came up with this piece, “They Let me Live in Sound,” showing a child’s mind during the Holocaust, mostly based on the child Ellie Wiesel. Ellie Wiesel wrote the book “Night” to capture his dream of other people understanding the misery of the Holocaust. He will forever be remembered, and so will many other characters from the Holocaust period, such as Anne Frank. Anne had a dream to publish her diary she wrote during her two-year Holocaust hiding. These two historical figures both had dreams of people remembering the Holocaust, and for others to be able to vision how tragic their experience was through forms of writing.

The poem tries to capture how many people may have been feeling during the Holocaust in metaphorical ways.

—Mahika Kapoor, age 14.

 

I used to run away from the people and the sound
I used to seal my ears because my life was too loud 
Running away, sealing my ears, hiding from what’s monitoring me
But what if I let loose my hand cuffs and decided to be me?
What if I decided to be free?

They would shut my eyes belligerently, making sure my eyelids wouldn’t dare to let the light in by even a slit
It’s not worth it
It’s not worth it 
What would I do to be free?
What would I do to open the jar of experiences that are limiting myself to be me?
And then suddenly, I expose my ears
I expose my ears, submerge my feet in the bosom of the ground, and erase my tears
The world behind my eyes will vanish if I want the will to be free
But at least I will die knowing I can still be me

By Mahika Kapoor, Indian American, age 14, Virginia.

Is Convenience Worth the Last Drop?

Is Convenience Worth the Last Drop?

By Mikaela Gee, age 16, New York.

As we walk from the sea to earth, along paths carved by rapids long ago,
It was Mother Nature’s tears that nourished and raised—
Our bodies, our cells, our kin who’ve begun,
To shape the earth with a boundless run.

And yet, we have forgotten our mother,
Who raised us through countless years.
Her lifeblood, pure and versatile,
Now depleted, unwaveringly so.
She gives us the sweetest fruits to savor,
Irrigates our crops to yield golden wheat,
And builds the grand towers that power our homes.
Yet we poison her roots, her veins,
Choking the motor, seizing the reins.
Our pipes leak lacquered oil into her seas,
From which we fish, then we eat.
Steel succumbs, its strength turned frail by decay,
Her hands unearth truths time cannot betray,
Empires crumble, bound by nature’s say.

And so I call upon you—
My peers, future generations, and past:
Let us pause and remember: the taste of water, sweet and crisp.
The refreshing rain that quenches earth’s thirst.
Without water, no harvest will grow,
No forests, no flowing seas—no us.

Let us act before time discreetly seeps away,
With hands that halt the careless streams,
And choices that honor the gift we’ve known—
So the rhythm of life may endlessly flow,
So that our cups will always be filled to the brim.

By Mikaela Gee, age 16, Chinese-Malaysian, New York. Mikaela explores life’s complexities through quiet reflection, capturing universal emotions in still moments—like gazing out a car window at the world rushing by. She’s eager to share her voice and connect with readers, blending personal introspection with themes that resonate widely. Expect to see more of her poems in near future.

Monsoon Rains

Monsoon Rains

By Adhya Kidiyoor, 14, Texas, and Maira Khwaja, 13, Texas.

The steady, gentle pour of the rain
The hot steam spiraling from the cup in my hands
The soft creaking of the wooden swing beneath me
This takes me back to where I belong
This takes me home.

I linger there for a while, trying hard to piece myself back together

The thunder booms, shaking the rain-soaked earth, scattering my broken thoughts across the mossy ground.

The swing freezes midair.
My chai loses its last warmth.
Time seems to stand still.

Who am I?
I’m a girl who’s lost.
A girl in the glorious shower of rain
A girl remembering the soft, familiar canopy of past days
A girl falling apart in the monsoon, not yet ready to let it go.

A girl who longs to go back.

Sitting here without the warmth of my home, I feel so small.
Alone.

Lightning flashes, and for a moment, everything seems clear.

I breathe again, as the rain grows heavier and heavier
As the burden I carry feels lighter and lighter

I listen, for once, as the murmurs of life grow smaller and smaller
And the depths of my clarity grow deeper and deeper

I pause, in wonder as the tiny insignificant raindrop becomes a brilliant shower—
Something bigger.

The rain grows stronger, the steady stream washing away my confusion
For the first time, I can see clearly.

Alone, I would be swept away, just another raindrop swept away in the current
But I don’t have to be alone

The stories of pride and joy, so achingly familiar, keep me warm.
The whispered tales, so fondly believed, keep me company.
These are my roots.
This is my culture.

The rain fades away, as all moments must.
But I can find solace in this memory
I can find clarity in this moment
And in the rain, I find not just my answer but myself.

I am not just a drop, but part of a storm.
I am not just a person, but part of a nation.

I am not just a girl, but the spirit of what makes India beautiful.
And that is all I need.

* * * *

Somewhere between that last sip of chai and the weight of the rain, I stopped worrying and began to listen. The rain didn’t just fall—it spoke, in a language older than our names, dialogue that can be felt and heard. It tells me, tells all of us, that home isn’t always a place, but a scent, a story, or the rhythm our footsteps carve and the droplets copy. And sometimes, the storm doesn’t break you. Sometimes, it brings you back home.

* * * *

The steady fall of the rain
   counters the frantic
    thumping of my heart.

I am surrounded by the scent
  of moss and earth
   and all things green with life.

It was a dry period,
   one without the flourish of nature
    and the embrace of home.

But
  monsoon
   is coming soon.

I now sit on the swing
  that has swayed the same since I was six—regardless of storm or season.

The sky weeps a wretched cry,
   hungry to drown all that is familiar.

I must remind myself
  this brutal storm is nothing new.

And the lifeless land will be ruined only momentarily—
  hard and loveless destruction giving way to plentiful earth.

For days, the skies will wail
  and the clouds will darken,
      closing their weepy eyes.

   I wonder if this storm will ever pass.

But
  monsoon
   comes every year.

So by now, I must know
  the storm will waver eventually—
   desperate, darkened skies shutting their curtains  

to reveal the calm of the sun
   the soft of verdant grass
       And the saffron and marigold of the ripe aam
         That I have been waiting for.

         My little swing continues to rock
        and the rain continues to fall
      but I continue to breathe
 Because the skies have promised

To epilogue into vibrant
    orange, white and green,
     that fills me with the spirit of India,
      alive in every drop of rain.

Written jointly by Adhya Kidiyoor, and 14, Texas, and Maira Khwaja, age 13, Texas.

Adhya loves staying active—especially in the world of literature! Whether it’s volunteering, competing in Science Olympiad, or practicing tennis, she’s always doing something. When she’s not on the move, you’ll find her reading, listening to music, or working on her next big idea. She’s curious, motivated, and always up for a new challenge.

Maira has a passion for learning and creativity. She enjoys writing poetry, reading, and spending time outdoors. When she’s not volunteering with nonprofits, she’s either listening to music or practicing karate.

The Global Wildlife Center

The Global Wildlife Center

By Keren He, age 16, grade 10, Louisiana.

In Louisiana’s heart, a lush embrace,
A sanctuary sprawls, a wild, open space.
The Global Wildlife Center, a haven graced,
Where creatures roam free, their freedom traced.

Nine hundred acres, a vast expanse,
Where wild hearts freely roam and dance.
A thousand beings grace this grand land,
In harmony, they live as if by chance.

Safari wagons roll through verdant terrain,
As guides share tales that educate and entrain.
Of habitats lost and efforts to sustain,
Of balance restored, new life to regain.

Zebras with stripes like an artist’s brush,
Kangaroos hop with a playful rush.
Giraffes bend low, their touch gentle, plush,
Camels sway by, their steps soft as hush.

Ostriches dart beneath the azure sky,
Emus stride through, their gait never shy.
Bison show strength as they wander by,
Antelopes leap, so graceful and spry.

Conservation’s call rings clear and true,
As visitors learn what they can do.
To protect these wonders, both old and new,
For future generations to cherish, too.

The Center stands tall, a beacon for all,
A refuge, a teacher, heeding nature’s call.
So come one, come all, let your spirit soar,
In this sanctuary of life—forevermore.

By Keren He, age 16, grade 10, Louisiana. 

Here and There with Every Bear

Here and There with Every Bear

By Sara wael, age 14, Al Ain, U.A.E.

Bears by Daemion Lee, Oregon.

Bears here, bears there,
bears are found everywhere!
Let’s take a trip to meet them all,
Who’s your favorite bear of all?

First, we visit the panda bear,
Found in forests deep and rare.
They love to munch on fresh bamboo,
And nap around the whole day through.
They tumble, roll, and sometimes share,
Pandas are the playful bears!

Ready for more? Let’s move along,
To places chilly, wild, and strong!

Then we go where the weather snows,
And icy wind forever blows.
There we meet the polar bears,
Fishing for food and swimming in pairs.
White and tough with icy stares,
Polars are the coolest bears!

Keep the pace, there’s more to see,
The forest calls to you and me!

Soon we find a grizzly bear, tall,
Roaming the forest, proud and strong
Eating honey with a mighty swish,
Their claws are sharp, their steps are swift.
With watchful eyes and steady care,
Grizzlies are the protective bears!

Quiet now, don’t make a peep,
Moon bears rest where midnight sweeps!

Found at night in forests deep,
Where moonlight glows and shadows sleep.
There we meet the moon bears, shy,
Peeking up at the starry sky.
With quiet steps and gentle glares,
Moon bears are the mysterious bears!

Under stars, our journey’s bright,
Next comes bears with eyes of night!

Found beneath the northern skies,
With beauty bright in golden eyes.
There we meet the black bears, bold,
Clever, curious, and never cold.
With black, brown and soft dark hair,
Black bears are the boldest bears!

Now let’s explore the mountains high,
Where secret bears are passing by!

Hidden in the southern clouds,
In mountains deep, special and proud.
They wander alone in quiet steps,
And eat wild fruits on jungle treks.
They’re quiet, sweet, and very aware,
Andeans are the special bears!

Off we go, you’re almost there,
To meet a bear with shaggy hair.

Seen in grasslands climbing trees,
Their tongues stretch out with skill and ease.
They feast on bugs with great delight,
They sleep by day and wake at night.
They’re gentle, sweet, and beyond compare,
Sloth bears are the caring bears.

Now for last, the smallest one,
Our bear adventure’s almost done!

Finally, we meet the smallest bear,
Cute and sweet, with gentle care.
Found in tropics, bold and bright,
Resting deep through day and night.
With honey dreams and silly stares,
Sun bears are the cutest bears!

Bears here, bears there, bears live everywhere!
Let’s keep them safe with all our care.
From forests deep to mountains high,
They need our help to thrive, not die.
So show some love, be bold, be fair,
Who’s your favorite bear out there?

—Sara Wael, United Arab Emirates. She adds: “My name is Sara, and I’m 14 years old. I live in the U.A.E. in a city called Al Ain. I wrote this poem (which I hope to publish as a book someday) to help spread awareness about endangered bears and to shine a light on bear species that many people don’t know much about. I hope this poem inspires others to learn more about these amazing animals, their habitats, and just how important they are to our world.”

The Harvesters & Escaping Hunger Pangs

The Harvesters & Escaping Hunger Pangs

By maggie d., poet and retired educator, Washington

1. The Harvesters

“Be at peace with your
Enemy” our ancestors
Preached
But what if they were
Police
The authorities who
Handcuffed and
Hunted you down like
An animal
That gave you no relief
When you sought to live
Freely in America
Continually we battled
Our poverty hunger strife
In our native land
At one time the fields
And orchards offered a
Way to excel
It was a place where hope
Dwelled
And Cesar Chavez’s Spirit
Existed

2. Escaping Hunger Pangs

Stealing food heals
My momentary hunger
Making me wonder
About the noises
In my stomach
They sound louder than
Thunder as they rumble
Inside
But I relentlessly search
For slumber and shade in
The city sun
Oblivious to places too
Obvious for rest
I recall how nice the
Beans and rice
Are when I realize I can
Get caught someday
Living life on the streets
I savor solutions to stay
Alive without needing to
Hide

—maggie d., African American poet and retired educator, Washington.

 

Knowledge is Power, Hope is Healing

Knowledge is Power, Hope is Healing:
Empowering Youth to Combat Suicide

The Create Resilience Youth Art Contest for Suicide Prevention is your chance to make a difference! You can submit your creative work—an essay, poem, song, story, or something else—focused on improving youth mental health. Send your entries by August 1st, 2025. Contest winners will be announced on September 10th, which is World Suicide Prevention Day. Cash prizes for the winners! Get creative and share your voice! For more information, click here. (PS: This contest is limited to Oregon youth aged 13 to 21 only). 

By participating, you can help stop the silence, shame, and stigma around mental health. Each one of us is born unique. We are one-of-a-kind and can never be replaced. Think of everyone as a seed—when given the right care and attention, we can grow into something amazing. The gift of life is the most precious gift of all. Yet, there are those who feel so incredibly alone, hurt, without hope, and in so much pain, that they don’t want to live anymore.

Tragically, suicide is a leading cause of death, both in the U.S. and around the world. According to the Center for Disease Control and Prevention, suicide is the 11th leading cause of death in the U.S. And, in Oregon, it is the second leading cause of death for people aged 10 to 34. Having access to lethal means (like guns) greatly increases the risk of suicide. That’s why it’s important to always make sure guns are safely secured.

“Time and distance” help prevent suicide. When we are suicidal, we do not think rationally. Our thinking is all distorted. We forget the truth that there is hope and that the pain we feel will not last forever and we can and will feel better again. Reaching out for help is a sign of strength, not weakness.

Giving ourselves “time” means we do not react impulsively or make plans to end our life. Instead, we calm ourselves by doing “box breathing,” engaging in healthy distractions like listening to music, reading, making art, exercising, and more. We reach out for support by calling or texting 988 (the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline number), contacting trustworthy adults or friends, and speaking with our therapist or doctor. We can visit a nearby walk-in crisis center or go to a hospital emergency room.

We need to create “distance” from weapons, dangerous medications, substance use, and alcohol. We also need “distance” from negative and distorted thoughts. That’s why reaching out for help is important. When we are in emotional distress, we may feel like we are a “burden” to others, but that is just not true! By sharing our thoughts and feelings with people who care, we gain the clarity we need to start addressing the actual problems.

Your being alive is not the problem! You very much deserve to be alive—and—to stay alive.

We can all help prevent suicide, and knowing the warning signs that put us at risk is essential. Some of the warning signs to look out for include mood changes such as sadness, depression, irritability, anger, social isolation, change in sleep and/or appetite, loss of interest in activities, lack of pleasure, and thoughts of dying.

Asking someone if they are having thoughts about ending their life or not wanting to wake up again is not going to increase their risk of suicide. In fact, asking directly can be the first step to saving their life. It’s also important to share our concerns with a trusted adult, who can help determine the best course of action.

Resources including the 988 Lifeline, American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, and National Alliance on Mental Illness provide valuable support and help. Please take the time to check them out! Your life and the life of your loved ones will thank you.

By Diane Kaufman, MD. Diane is a poet, artist, humanism-in-medicine awardee, retired child psychiatrist, and founder/director of the Hold On Campaign for Suicide Prevention that uses the power of art to educate, connect, express, and heal. She can be reached at diane@holdoncampaign.org.

Poetry for Mother’s Day

Poetry for Mother’s Day

By Xiyuan Cheng, age 9, California.

We are pleased to share three poems for the Mother’s Day
(This year, it is being celebrated in the U.S. on Sunday, May 11th).
Happy Mother’s Day to you all!
—Editors

1.  When God Created Mothers

When God created mothers,
all lovely as can be,
he made one extra special,
and saved her just for me.

2.  My Heart is Gold

Your heart is silver, and my heart is gold.
You are so beautiful, it’s more than I can behold.
Your wonderful, so the legend is told.
Your heart is half, and so is mine.
Together are half-hearts shall combine.

3.  Mother’s Day End

Mother’s Day will always end,
but my mom will always be my best friend.
Our relationship might bend,
but we always know it will mend.

By Xiyuan Cheng, Age 9, California. Xiyuan has been writing since the age of eight, and her collection of six poems, Poetry for Mother’s Day, explores the themes of love, imagination, and appreciation for mothers. The three poems selected above reflect both her emotional sensitivity and growing creativity. Xiyuan is now 11 years old.

Faith in Yearning

Faith in Yearning

By Estelle Bardot

It’s funny
how we believe
that all our hopes and dreams
can be manifested
by the single motion
of blowing out a birthday candle.
Or an eyelash.

I’d always close my eyes
to all the times
wishing had failed me
and still do it again
just because
the act of wishing
bought me a childish sense
of comfort.

More often than not,
it would disappoint me.
Still, it would be foolish to blame
a flame.
Or the wind.

But nothing is more detrimental
than blaming yourself
for daring to dream.

Estelle Bardot is the pen name of a teen music student studying piano. Aside from composing music, Estelle is passionate about reading and literature in general. She loves long walks on the beach (or anywhere, really), travelling, and is a sucker for anything dark academia aesthetic. Her work has also been published in Under the Madness Magazine, Flora Fiction, and Alternate Route. She is also an active member on the Write the World platform.

Climate Concert

Climate Concert

By Elaine Elizabeth Jinto, age 14, Bengaluru, India.

we had had a scorching summer
and every AC in the house-
hold was on all the time
but it wasn’t hard for us
like it was for the farmers
who longed for rain, for crops
that he had sowed in summer.
at last it was, finally, June
and we gathered on the balcony
hoping to see nature’s finest performance
raindrop musicians, thunder-clapping audience
spotlighted by lightning, the aroma rising
from the loamy soil of Earth.

My little brother was most eager
to see rain falling, to do
what the rest of us have done
to race through the puddles, to
make paper boats and sail them
to run barefoot in the water, that
icy tingle shocking his little legs
to taste those cool, clean drops
and to drink steaming hot chai*
and to eat bhajia** at the end
but it did not rain, like
it was supposed to, and he
grew despondent, sad, waiting for rain
each day, his eyes searching for
those welcome clouds, to bring rain
to this parched, peppery, dry earth.

And finally, it did, though not
at the time dictated by nature
and we did not let him go out
he asked us why, and we
told him about climate change and
fossil fuel, pollution and everything else
that was happening these days to
Nature, and he grew angry, and
blamed the older generation, for
being greedy, plundering loot from nature
leave behind nothing for his generation
and asked us what stories he
would tell his grandchildren. Of technology?

*Chai is Indian spiced tea, made especially by boiling the tea leaves with milk, sugar, and cardamom, etc.
**bhajia is a type of fritter originating in the Indian subcontinent. It is made from spicy hot vegetables, commonly onion, and has several variants.
We often enjoy these during the monsoons.

By Elaine Elizabeth Jinto, age 14, grade 9, Bengaluru, India. She adds: “I am originally from the State of Kerala, but I was born and raised in Bengaluru, Karnataka. I can speak Malayalam, Tamil, Hindi, and Kannada, along with English. I started writing in 3rd grade, beginning with a poem about a playground. I serve as the Editor-in-chief of our school magazine. I understand the impact writing has when it comes to spreading the right messages.
“I love writing and reading about everyday things that I can relate to. I generally do not follow a strict form in my poems, because I get more room for creativity… Through my poems and prose, I like to give voices to those silent and mundane events that play a huge role in our everyday lives.”