Tag Archives: children’s poetry

One Wrong Thing

One Wrong Thing

By Alexa Dunsche, age 13, New York.

Don’t be quiet at school
otherwise people won’t like you;

be kind
but don’t be too kind otherwise it’ll come off as desperate;

you have to keep up with your work
but don’t go too far ahead otherwise you are a “goody two shoes”;

you have to be yourself
but you also have to be what other people want you to be in order to fit in;

“Aren’t you the quiet kid in school?”

you have to be nice to everyone 
even if they don’t treat you right;

“I have to be quiet because if I stand up for myself,
I will get shut down”;

you have to be loud and proud
otherwise no one will hear you;

“You are doing everything wrong!”

you have to smile for the picture
even if where you are smiling is purgatory;

you have to keep your cards close to your chest
but not too close otherwise people will think you are hiding something;

you can’t dress in black otherwise people will think you are emo
but you can’t dress too colorful either, otherwise people will look at you
like a little kid;

you have to follow the trends
but you can’t be too invested in them because it’s not cool the next day;

“I’m trying!”

you have to stay and not cry
because if you do, they will get pleasure;

you have to be perfect.
you just have to be.

if you make one little mistake,
you’re a failure;

one bad mark
can damage your grade forever;

one misstep
can send you to the hospital with a cast on your leg;

one wrong move
and you lose the game;

one new friend
and you lose the whole friend group;

one public embarrassment
and no one can be seen with you;

one wrong thing
not the whole story

By Alexa Dunsche, age 13, grade 7, New York. Alexa adds: “This poem came from the pressure I feel to be perfect, and how one wrong move can feel like it ruins everything. In the moment, I felt like each mistake I made erased everything else. Writing this poem helped me realize it doesn’t have to be that way. One wrong thing can feel huge, but it doesn’t define who you are.”

Elegy for the Fragile Universe

Elegy for the Fragile Universe

By William Pan, grade 7, Washington.

How will the world end?
Will it end with alien settlers
from another galaxy?

Or will it be our own
war-torn fault, the world’s
sparkling Hawaiian sunsets

and buzzing Chinese streets
melting and emptying
any number of ways? Now

that Earth has warmed
like sand condensing
into a fragile universe

of glass, we are sturdy
yet fragile. We scowl before
we embrace. We pray

between arguments while saving
the world. Will we have to
flee this green haven? Will we

have to ribbon our faith
into the carbonated air? Or
shall we fit another

planet more to our liking?
Is any of this needed
to save us? Will this stop us

from existing, or can we stop
ourselves? Whether the world dies
or not, we must

cherish what we have—
whether the world succumbs
to bots or we continue

to laugh at movies
and jokes with each day

—William Pan, grade 7, Washington. He writes: “I wrote (this poem) because I realized that we need to unite to stop climate change from ruining our world… I have written many poems and short memoirs that explore culture and family. I am drawn to poetry because I can play with language and build imaginative worlds that enable me to explore things I can’t explore in the real world.” William has recently joined us as one of our student interns.”

Stuffed

Stuffed

By Claire Chen, age 11, New Jersey.

Stuffed, stuffed, the house is stuffed
With stuffed toys that need to be thrown out
A waste of space
I am told to get rid of them!

But when I look around
Memories abound
First, the dozens of stuffed Pokemon
Evoke memories of family trips to Japan
I cradle an Eevee, a treasured prize won
With bated breath at a claw machine in Tokyo
I squeeze Lapras, the comforting pillow I hugged
On the 18-hour flight to visit family
I can almost still hear my brother’s high-pitched shrieks
During our made-up game of Pokemon Dodgeball
Can I let them go?

Next, the stuffed shaved ice from Singapore
Its name—Ice Kachang* —reminds me
Of Singlish and its foreign yet endearing sounds
English, Mandarin, Hokkien**, and Malay smashed
Into one bizarre hodgepodge
Intelligible only to insiders
Like Singlish, I am a mash
Of American and Asian
Do others understand me?

Then, a stuffed chocolate bar
A souvenir from Hershey
During my grandmother’s first and last visit
Before the chemotherapy failed
The only stuffed toy she ever bought for me
Mum says Grandma never bought her stuffed toys
But that time, she got one for me
Isn’t it a souvenir of her?

Stuffed, stuffed, my mind is stuffed
Stuffed with memories I want to keep in
Precious treasures
That only I hold in my heart

Notes:
*Kachang is the Malay word for nuts
**Hokkien is a Southern Chinese dialect

By Claire Chen, age 11, New Jersey. She adds: “My parents were born in Singapore but I was born in America. My family visits Singapore or Japan nearly every year because we have family in those countries. I speak and write both English and Mandarin, but it takes a lot of time and effort to learn Mandarin in America and I find it very difficult. My mother wanted me to learn Mandarin so I could understand her culture better. However, when we visit Singapore, they do not often speak Mandarin. They speak a version of English that they call “Singlish.” It is a mixture of several local languages, mainly Mandarin, Hokkien (a Southern Chinese dialect), Malay, and English. Singlish can be quite confusing for me—something I mention in my poem.”
“I was inspired to write this poem, titled Stuffed, because I have a lot of stuffed toys and my mum often talks about getting rid of them to reduce clutter in the house. But these items all have histories and meaning to me.”

Boy in the Back

By Michael Steel, age 14, grade 9, B.C., Canada

I was always the boy in the back
Letting time slip through my fingers
Watching the cluster and the chatter
Watching and never doing

A silent ghost, never real and never seen
Floating in the cosmos behind my eyes
Breathing in the synthetic suns
And polyester skies
Starry moons of the finest gleaming plastic
Twenty years in the blink of an eye

I saw the other side of the world
From the back of our classroom
The clay people danced before my eyes
Only I could see them move

Watching the constellations of LEDs
Soar brightly over my head
The things I never saw,
But I always believed

I was the boy in the back
Living a thousand ceramic lives
In a thousand spun-glass galaxies
But I was never here at home

—Michael Steel, age 14, is a high school student and published author currently living in Vancouver, British Columbia. He lives with his parents, brothers and ridiculously fluffy cat, Taco. His hobbies include creating arts, reading, writing, and playing Block Blast.

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.

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.”

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.

Ode to Backyard Gardening

Ode to Backyard Gardening

Lipless mouth of the earth—she has planted her many clocks
The ground is pregnant in too many places
with tiny empresses on her wrist 

Her hands weed out the thyme; time is a spool; an autumn seamstress of patience
A tundra tending architect
Club bouncer of biomes

Find her; search her
thaw her out—
her belly has swollen too big

Her nurturing placenta caskets; pulping over; the collection, 
Of everything inside her, childish and buried;
Asphyxiated paper cut-out dolls
Frosting over

Ask them; flax and psyllium
Aren’t fathers equal to mothers?
As pistil is to stamen
Tell me, Fertilizer and measuring tape of sacrifice

Mother has become a statue and we no longer wait,
Waiting is for summer, when she is an ant mound

And we bring her saffron offerings
And a whistle for her feet

So that she blesses this house that waits for
No one and nothing but garden gnomes and
Wrist watches

Underground, father doesn’t know how we exist
He knows only that we are boundless
Citizens of space debris

Father is our earth monger 
Soil for soul

—Rose Haberer, Canada. She writes: “My name is Rose Haberer. I am sixteen years old from Toronto, Canada. My family has roots in Poland, Lithuania and South Africa. My writing is inspired by feminism and the authors I love such as Kelly Link, Jennifer Egan, Mona Awad, Joan Didion, and Sylvia Plath—along with the women in my life who have led me to write about the struggles and complexities of femininity.

Overwhelmed by thoughts of climate disaster, I often find myself flooded with emotions that I need to excise through artistic expression. In this piece, I reflect on how nature functions within my family, how the ecosystem in my backyard is tended to, and how my family members each have roles within that ecosystem, both functional and emotional. In the piece, I view the members of my family as belonging to the garden, reflecting how we are all children of nature.

Writing transcends the mundane and breaks conformity and it is something that I hope to continue to do for the rest of my life.”