(orig. in Spanish)
To the water,
that fills the oceans,
that marries the earth,
they fly,
they fly together to the planets,
that tell the rain to rain.
To the water,
that rides the wind,
that’s smarter than a book,
that can do anything,
for the dead to the living.
To the water,
fast,
cold,
that can swallow you in one gulp,
that slowly
turns into a creek,
that laughs when it falls.
To the water,
that gave me life.
Lydia Elias, age 9
Berkeley, California
[Untitled]
Cinnamon thistles,
spicy paprika autumn.
Wool socks,
caterpillar curled in the
grey soil where cabbage once grew.
Withered wet grass
humming in the
bitter bite of breeze.
Prickly milkweed
and silken clover.
A gypsy moth twirls by.
Violet beads trickle
down from whispering tendrils,
the shedded skins of rain clouds.
Iced cranberry
roses,
their crimson petals trapped in frostbite.
The freckles of mist, the
flecks of topaz,
the grey mist of sea.
Nicole Grinsell, age 12
Mill Valley, California
The Pond
In winter
I trudge down to the pond
carrying a huge bag stuffed with extra mittens and socks,
bundled up in my winter protection.
I perch on the icy dock that’s halfway buried in snow
and pull my skates on before gliding
out onto the clear cool glass.
In spring
I skip down to the pond,
my fishing rod swung over my back.
I try to catch minnows--use leaves as bait
and daydream under the new sun.
In summer
I scamper down to the pond
with a towel wrapped around my body.
I stand at the edge of the dock
and it kills me
not knowing what lurks in the mysterious waters.
But I take a running jump into the cold glaze anyway.
It shatters, sending ripples everywhere.
In fall
I wander down to the pond.
It’s barren and deserted—
no skating, no swimming.
I gaze into the still water
and watch my pure reflection
as it changes every year from younger to older,
as the murky water harbors
my childhood.
Marnie Briggs, age 13
Edgecomb, Maine
Eyes and Ears Wide Open
With wide-open eyes, the sky stares down
On the giant firs and the tiny buttercups
Wind, with relaxed ears, listens to
The lion’s roar and the mouse’s whimper
Quiet and kind, roaring and strong, earth is home
To the two-inch mole hill, the mile-high mountain
Forest, sheltering all living things
Like the brown bear and the black beetle
Sand and rock, holding up the oceans and ponds
A stone bowl brimmed with water
Sky, wind, earth, forest
Sand, rock and oceans
Eyes and ears wide open
Annie Zamojski, age 12
Seattle, Washington
If I Lived in Water
If I lived in water
I would swim
All around the sea
Eat algae
With my friends
Play with seashells
Dive into the deep waves
Looking for adventure
Then I would float to the top
And see the big yellow sun
Staring back at me.
Nayat Hamideh, age 12
Baton Rouge, Louisiana
Louisiana Morning
Let morning come.
Let the gators wake.
Let the birds sing to the sun.
Let morning come.
Let the morning come.
Let the brown pelican
Swoop down to eat its breakfast,
Let the cypress knees bend to stretch again.
Let morning come.
Let morning come.
Let the baby’s cries
Wake the mother
To wake the father
Let morning come.
Let morning come.
Let the pirogues begin to swim in the bayou.
Let the morning come.
Let morning come.
Sarah Spain, age 11
Lafayette, Louisiana
Peaceful Lake
Bright moon
Dancing
On a still lake,
Gentle waves
Lapping
At the footprints
We left behind,
Our feet sinking
In soft sand,
Our silhouettes
Standing alone
On a peaceful water.
Tori Borish, age 12
Seattle, Washington
Know the Earth
To know the Earth
on a first-name basis
you must stand along the banks of Papermill Creek and watch the
crawdads scamper from underneath one rock to underneath the
next
You must watch the red-tailed hawk
circle Mt. Tam
You need to lie in the grass and watch pill bugs that have sat
in the hands of local children
You should watch raccoons raid
plastic trash bins
Stare down at the silent sandstone
sitting on top of Mt. Baldie
until a child collects it and adds it to his brimming rock collection
You must watch the lizard
scamper in the burning sun
To know Mother Earth
you need to
Love Earth’s children
Marieke Hodge, age 10
San Anselmo, California
River of Memories
Alpin’ glow bright
red over the Russian
River kids at play
Salmon
leaping suddenly
I’m back in
Benares people
are shouting
bargaining people
Everywhere cleaning
the polluted river
transported back
in time to my childhood gurgling
tormented brown
river calling me for help.
Too young to
understand the cry, I
smile unaware of water’s plight
Back in California almost
a man, I
smile and kids splash
Bend down and scoop
floating styrofoam
Box from swirling
Smile transforms to
a determined
gaze.
Daniel William Seeman, age 16
Berkeley, California
