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print 2013 edition / Richland Library / Columbia, SC

“Enchanted” | Kimmee Dao, Age 13

contributors

Amin, Chandni Army, David Army, Hannah Army, Joshua Bates, Shaamel Beckner, Jack Beckner, Samantha Brabham, Max Bulzoni, Sophia Burgess, Reagan Chen, Eric Chen, Kaylee Chen, Lauren Courtney Bohl, Chloe Crawford, Rachel Crawford, Sara Dao, Kimmee Davidson, Daniel Davidson, Mary Kathryn Davis, Atiya Davis, Nina Dibble, Ruth Doty, Marissa Dubinsky, Isaac Emetu, Sophia Fee, Kennedie Gregg, Calais Highland, Aleah Hinnant, Sarah Houde, Andrew Jackman, Victoria

35 26 41 19 45 20 6 15 3 back cover 27 38 10 2 29 43 cover 36 6 45 5 27 46 19 37 47 16 35 33 40 37

Maxfield, Alex Maxfield, Juliette Miller, Brant Miller, Julia Muccio, Cameron Myers, Libby Needle, Bette Nelson, Claire Nelson, Henry Noble, Demetrius O’Neill, Cat Ramdhani, Maraya Robichaud, Clover Robinson, Shaniqua Rodgers, Cassidy Sadler, Frances Sbardella, Claire Stanton, Jackson Stevick Brown, Calvin Stevick Brown, Lucia Tarr, Caspar Tata, Karina Weinkle, Naja Williams, Kai Wilson, Daisharya Winslow, Alex Woodruff, Harold Wooten, Courtnie Wooten, Kellie Zaccone, Leah

14 24 36 7, 32 39 31 22 11 25 18 back cover 9 4, 34 48 28 12 23 30 23 3, 32 25 title page 42 21 44 44 24 13 17 8

“My Hand That Holds Life� \ Karina Tata, Age 13

kids in

print 2013 edition / Richland Library / Columbia, SC

Flavorful Eruption of Words Seldom. Perusal. Amalgamate. The delicate pronunciations roll on my tongue. My spine tingles. The exact sounds resonate in my eardrum. I relish the flavorful eruption of words. Chloe Courtney Bohl Age 10

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“Barrel Cactus - Beware!” \ Lucia Stevick Brown, Age 10

“Sea Oats” \ Sophia Bulzoni, Age 12

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Spark In the darkness, I saw a spark, illuminant in the opacity. It called me, holding promises and answers to my unrelenting troubles. Unsure of what to do, I followed the spark. I had nothing to lose and no hope left at all. The spark led me out of the shadowy abyss and away from all I had ever known. I pursued it across rivers, through forests, and over lonely, desolate plains under the cover of the night sky, Not knowing if it would lead to my doom or the happiness I was searching for. Finally, after days of endless pursuit, my chasing came to an end. In the middle of a vast meadow, I caught the spark and held it tight. It entered my heart and filled me with a flaming passion and a joy I had never felt before. Then, under the star-filled sky, I found you, your soul consumed by the darkness as mine once was. You made no attempt to escape, the evil eating you from the inside. Despite everything that happened in the past, I was incapable of the cruelty of leaving you there. Looking through all the turmoil you had caused and felt, I could still see something to be saved. I am now a spark A pinpoint of brightness invisible in the blinding flashes of the daylight I can only be seen in the dark. You are shadows Darkness slowly being swallowed by the void, Only visible to the glow. I returned to the abyss, for the despair could no longer harm me I see your tears. I feel your pain. I understand you, For I am the spark now. I reach out and hold you in a tight embrace. I will lead you out, cast away your pain, and wipe away your tears. You will get the comfort that everyone else has denied you, Leaving all the chaos and darkness behind. Now it’s your turn to follow the spark. Clover Robichaud Age 13

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He is something she hasn’t had before. With both parts of them hopelessly intertwined, she is lost in the way his eyes shine, the way he smiles at her. In the small part of her mind, she knows how little this happens, how impossible this can be, what her likelihood is. But she can’t help it. He is the stars. She cannot fathom his light into things of substance. He is something she hopes to hold for longer than they are woven together in this moment. Nina Davis Age 17

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“Feathered Friends� \

A Bud I am a bud, swinging from side to side. My heart beats through the night, impatiently waiting to bloom. Samantha Beckner Age 9

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Mary Kathryn Davidson, Age 12

Untitled My hummingbird heart beats far too fast For this world that Slowly Sinks Stones rising, collapsing against the brink My hummingbird heart beats far too hard For the daily Rattlesnake Race A terracotta army won’t keep me in place My hummingbird heart beats far too well For the souls who Water Words The hunter shoots down the bright-colored birds My hummingbird heart beats far too slow For my ceaseless Breakneck Blood Will go Julia Miller Age 15

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The House I Grew Up in The brick walls enclose the silence, the whispers, the shouting. They carry every sound through the long hallways and down the stairs passing pictures perfectly placed on patterned wallpaper that matches the elaborate furniture. It made things seem better on the inside than they really were, but I knew the truth. Every crack, every stain, every hole in the walls that fit my fists. The mirrors reflected only what they wanted to see, but I saw what they could not. I saw the worn faces full of brokenness, aged by tears. Alone, I heard and saw the hidden secrets. Empty rooms filled my ears with past conversations exchanged in whispers or screams. The real brokenness was seen in the dark, when all perfection became unable to see behind the flawless crown molding. In here, the silence speaks to me. Leah Zaccone Age 17

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Where I’m From I am from a Barbie collection, arranged neatly by height From Wal-Mart to Mary-Kate & Ashley clothing I am from the beige, steep driveway, Glistening in the sun, worn out by my roller skates I am from that single pink flower with thorns, That always smelled like my mother, Sweet & refreshing I am from spooky Halloween train rides And frightening men with their roaring chainsaws Big eyes, long eyelashes, and vertically challenged From Mila Benwari & Harold Ramdhani I am from enjoyable bike rides at Gladiola Park And breathtaking adventures at Disney World From, “Brush your teeth before you go to bed” To “Did you study?” I am from 70 ˚F winters and towering palm trees My mommy’s roti and my daddy’s bara, Filling the air with an abundance of spices And a nostalgic feel From the unexpected birth of my brother at age 5 To my mom’s parrot feeding at the Parrot Jungle To my dad’s hard-working, rough hands I am from sitting in our ’96 Chrysler Voyager Singing a Roxette song at the top of my lungs So innocent and carefree I am from the blue, plastic doctor’s kit, “Diagnosing” people all around the house I am from those moments, A better and stronger person, Grateful for every breath and every moment, Heading down the bumpy road of life Maraya Ramdhani Age 17

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“Let It Snow” \ Lauren Chen, Age 7

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Not-So Silent Night The family turned the corner, and waited for the house to come into view. The car slowed as the house approached. The house, though it always seemed like it couldn’t fit in another horribly cheesy Christmas decoration, yet every year something new was added. Mom rolled down the window, the cold night air and tinny Christmas music drifting into the heated car. This time, Silent Night played, all the lights flashing comically to the tune. Curious eyes searched the yard and found the newest addition to the mess. Today, the normally white candy canes cycled between the colors of the rainbow. The car drove away, laughter fading as it left. Claire Nelson Age 12

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“Giraffe” \ Frances Sadler, Age 15

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“Yuck!” \ Courtnie Wooten, Age 12

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The Three Little Palmetto Bugs and the Wolf Spider Once upon a time there were three little palmetto bugs living in the woods. One day, the pest control came and smoked them out of their lovely home. Now the palmetto bugs had to find a new home. The first little palmetto bug built his house out of pine straw because it was the easiest thing to do. The second little palmetto bug built his house in the sandhills. This was a little bit stronger than the pine straw. The third little palmetto bug made his house in a place made of bricks inhabited by giants. One night the big bad wolf spider, who dearly loved to eat fat little palmetto bugs came along and saw the first little bug in his house of pine straw. “Little bug, little bug, let me in or I will use my eight legs to destroy you and your kin,” he said. Not by the shell on my exoskeleton!” said the little bug. “Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff and destroy your new den!” The wolf spider destroyed the house of pine straw, and the first palmetto bug just barely escaped to his brother’s house in the sandhills. The wolf spider then came to the house in the sandhills, and said, “Little bugs, little bugs, let me in, or I’ll puff and attack your new den!” “Not by the shells of our exoskeletons!” said the little bugs. “Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff and attack your new den!” Then the wolf spider wrecked the house in the sandhills, and the first and second little palmetto bugs just barely escaped to their brother’s house in the brick structure. “Little bugs, little bugs, let me in or I’ll use my eight legs to destroy you and your kin!” cried the wolf spider. “Not by the shells of our exoskeletons!” said the bugs. “Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff and destroy your new den!” Well, the wolf spider huffed and puffed but he could not destroy the house. But when the giants opened the door, the wolf spider crawled in. Now the little bugs were in big trouble. They were cornered by the wolf spider, shaking in their exoskeletons. The wolf spider reached out to grab the palmetto bugs… SPLAT! A giant stepped on the wolf spider! The next day the little bugs had a party with all their favorite foods, cheese, leather, bakery products, starch from book-bindings, manuscripts, glue, hair, flakes of dried skin, dead animals, plant materials, soiled clothing, and glossy paper with starch sizing and their all-time favorite, wolf spider pie. They Lived happily ever after… but the giants not so much… (giants not happy). Alex Mayfield Age 11

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The Three Little Turkeys and the Big Bad Fox Once upon a time, there were three little turkeys that lived with their mother. One day, a hunter came and destroyed their home. The three little turkeys stood next to their dying mother who said, “Remember me by this piece of birdseed…” The three little turkeys took the piece of birdseed, broke it in three, and set off for a life of their own. The first little turkey built his house out of dirt because it was the easiest thing to build. The second little turkey built his house out of grass because it was a little bit stronger than the dirt. The third little turkey built his house out of wood which was stronger than the other two houses put together and it was also camouflage, and that was very good. One day, a big bad fox appeared who loved to eat little turkeys. He saw the house made of dirt. He went up to it, knocked on the door and said, “Little turkey, little turkey, let me come in!” “No, no, no—Not by hair of the waddle on my chin.” “Then I’ll call the hunter and get you for breakfast!” Then the fox said “Hunter, Hunter, Hunter” and then ran away. The Hunter came and shot the house down. The turkey just managed to make it out and run to his brother’s house. He was followed by the fox who went up to the grass house, knocked on the door and said “Little turkey, little turkey, let me come in.” The turkey said “No, no, no--not by the hair of the waddle on my chin.” Then the fox said “I’ll call the hunter and get you for breakfast!” Then the fox took a deep breath and said, “Hunter, Hunter, Hunter” and ran away. Then the Hunter came and shot the house down. The turkeys just managed to escape, but were being followed by the fox. The turkeys ran to their brother’s house. He let them in and locked the door. The fox ran up to the door and said “Little turkeys, little turkeys, let me come in.” “No, no, no not by the hair on the waddle on my chin” said the little turkeys. “I’ll call the hunter and eat you for breakfast.” Then the fox took a deep breath and said, “Hunter, Hunter, Hunter!” Then the Hunter came but did not see the house. So he shot the fox and took him for breakfast and the turkeys lived happily ever after…or so they think. Stay tuned for the next story. Goodbye! Max Brabham Age 9

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“Twisted Treats” \ Calais Gregg, Age 18 16 | Kids in Print 2012

Dream All my life I’ve had a dream To be on top like berries and cream To be on stage and sing sing sing To dance around like a graceful wing To hear people cheering and clapping for me Oh what a marvelous sound that would be So until that day comes I’ll keep reaching for a star Because I know someday I’m going to go far. Kellie Wooten Age 13

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Eyeballs of Eyeballs Eyeballs, oh eyeballs How wonderful you are You are the sun and the rain The lights to my shine Eyeballs, oh eyeballs How funny you are You’re the comedian to my comedy You are the funny to my laugh Eyeballs, oh eyeballs How weird you are You are the goofy to my movie You are the freaky to my weak. Demetrius Noble Age 10

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Flying I dreamed that I could fly higher than the sky over airplanes and birds. Isaac Dubinsky Age 9

“The Amazing Acto Man� \ Joshua Army, Age 8

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The Kid That Lost His Jacket It was the kid’s first day of school. He lost his jacket. On the second day of school, he lost his jacket. On the third day of school, he lost his jacket. On the fourth day of school, he lost his jacket. He did not know what to do. It was his last jacket. The kid looked and looked and looked. He found his jacket. But there was a problem. How would he get home? He rode a train. He rode a truck. He rode a bus. He finally got home! Jack Beckner Age 6

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“Just in Time”

\ Kai Williams, Age 9

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Autumn’s End Leaves fall Heat rises in exchange. Your breath fogs, Leaving steamy thumbprints On the air Before the grooves you left with The exhale Steadily dissipate into air. The sun, soft and succulent as butter, Recedes inch by inch A departure unappreciated By the Earth And it’s impending chill. Autumn is slinking away. Bette Needle Age 15

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Summer Summer stretched in golden bars before me I melted some down, made casts of my desires I lazed among my figurines, watched as the rest flowed Behind me The silver studded star of stress streamed with it Liquid from my languid limbs My dreams surged from its void Danced around me I laughed at myself, a fool with nothing but time who Lacked the time to catch them. Summer drifts in on unrealized possibilities Yet my will washes into her idle flow My dreams danced – I watched them Content to note their attributes Content to watch them drift Away. Claire Sbardella Age 18

“Sunlight and the Spooky Tree on the Way to Edisto” \ Calvin Stevick Brown, Age 7

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Limping A limping dog going down the highway instead of running –limping instead of chasing –limping I was in my car wondering, watching. A limping dog going down the highway. Juliette Maxfield Age 8

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“Untitled” \ Harold Woodruff, Age 13

Raindrop I am a raindrop falling through the air I hit solid ground. Like everything else I die. Caspar Tarr Age 9

Broken i’m broken falling getting torn apart ripped to pieces dying i’m broken Henry Nelson Age 9

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History History is an ocean’s waves breaking upon the shore, never ending. Some are hard and rough, yet others smooth and easy. Some surprise you, like the battle of Waterloo, yet others, you know they’re coming. History never stops, from two seconds ago, to two-million years ago. From good to evil, from Jesus to Hitler, history is history. I love it, don’t you? Battles, Kings, Emperors, wars, pirates! It is all part of one glorious word: history. I love it, don’t you? David Army Age 13

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“Great Wall” \ Eric Chen, Age 13

”Shall We Claim this History” \ Ruth Dibble, Age 12 Kids in Print 2013 | 27

Soldier’s Prayer Caked with blood and dirt, he fought in righteous fury. Gunfire resonated in his ears and traveled down to his heart. Corporal Whitmire was unconscious, carried over his shoulder—six more miles to go before they reached safety. Sean had fought with the corporal since they were put in active duty for the Marine Corps and he wasn’t giving up on him now. There was too much waiting for them on the other side of this battlefield. Whitmire had a little girl on the way and somewhere out there in a safer, kinder world where the civilians were protected, the love of Sean’s life was worried about him. They had to make it home. Come home, Castor had begged of him. The ground beneath him erupted into fire and debris. Still they survived, still they waged on. The coppery stench of Whitmire’s blood permeated the humid air, but Sean held fast to hope. If – No, when – they returned to safety, Sean would stand beside Jamie Whitmire and they would receive their medals. They would be honored for the death and destruction that had been strewn across this land they now walked on when all they desired was to see their loved ones. On the verge of attack at any given second, Sean would have sold his soul to see Castor one more time, even should it be the last time—Just one more chance to look into those green eyes. Sunlight blinded him when they at last emerged onto the sand that was stirred by the rotors of the helicopter. His ears were ringing and he was distantly aware of someone shining a light in his eyes. Belatedly, he noticed that he had fallen to his knees, that Whitmire had been lifted onto a stretcher. Men lifted Sean and helped him into the helicopter, a dark skinned nurse checking his vitals. Voices faded to a hum. Then it all faded to black. When Sean next woke, he was surprised. He had not expected to wake at all. His eyes opened to the harsh glare of fluorescents. The room reeked of antiseptics and sickness. He knew even before he saw the IV in his arm that he was in the hospital. Bandages were wrapped around his abdomen. He looked beside him and saw Whitmire still unconscious but heart beating steadily according to the monitor next to his bed. The green line rose and fell in a melody of beeps that were sweeter than any music. “We made it,” Sean croaked, not caring that the words were unheard by his sleeping comrade in arms. Only then did he notice the disheveled dark head, so different than his own blonde hair, resting beside his arm. It rose up, now, at the sound of Sean’s voice. Castor stared at him for a long few moments before almost breaking into tears. He stayed strong, though, as he always had been. His fingers curled around Sean’s and clung on as if his love would be torn away by duty once more. After eight months of separation, and more to come if Sean went back into battle, he only said, “You came home.” Sean looked into those green eyes, stared at his answered prayer. He smiled. “I’ll always come home.” Cassidy Rodgers Age 15

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Waiting for You My life has been hard. I was born in Mumbai, India. My first mom died in a train accident. I was with her—I was only 2 or 3 years old. The accident made my leg crooked. I was put into an orphanage. I had many friends there, especially Diya. Sometimes I fed the babies milk or rocked them back and forth. When I was 7, Sister Jessie handed me a book with pictures of the family I was going to live with. I wondered—Who were these people? I was kind of happy, but also sad to leave the orphanage. The next day Diya left for good with her new mom. Diya’s new mom gave both of us a huge chocolate bar. I cried when Diya left. Several days later, my dad and brother came to pick me up. I spoke Marathi. I knew only a few easy English words. When I left to go to America, they gave me a photo of myself when I was 6. In the picture, there was a quilt behind me with the words “I am waiting for you” sewn into it. Rachel Crawford Age 11

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Music If you strum a guitar or beat a drum Or blow a horn or sing It is music- good or bad. Scratch that, there is no bad— Only music. Jackson Stanton Age 9

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Piano Hands Skipping along, They play their song. Dancing on gleaming ice, Colored black and white like dice. Glorified artists, appraised by many. I’d pay my pretty penny, To watch them, sleek and narrow, like acrobats, Leaping from step to step like graceful cats. Some songs sad, Others glad, Sharing their cheer And casting out fear. Some mournful revelations, Told without real explanations. A tear comes to cheek, As the tellers reach their peak. They pierce the heart, As they each play their part. Creating a piece of art, As to and fro they dart. As emotion pours out, Even the bravest heart, most stout, Is utterly torn, As feeling summons with its horn. As they play their last notes, People reach for their coats. They take their last bow, While the moment’s still now. Libby Myers

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My Freckles My millions, angel kisses, golden brown, polka dots on a party dress. They just appear on my face. I didn’t have them then I did. They hide me, they expose me. They smile, they expose me. They coat my nose, my cheeks, watercolor splattered on paper. People often compliment my hair, rarely my freckles. I love them. Do I need them all? Looking at them in a mirror sometimes makes me smile. Untidy, disorderly freckles Raindrops on a windshield Water on smooth stone They make me whole. Lucia Brown

She’s the type of girl Who walks in click clack of (comfortable) heels Her dress a bright green normally found in popsicles Her grandmother’s gold necklace on her neck And her little sister’s handmade earrings on her lobes Her makeup goes perfectly unnoticed Her too-short hair a windblown sign of surfing days Who looks flawed and flawless and utterly heartbreaking Who thinks she’s a fool and knows that she’s smart Is polite when she doesn’t need to be And is respectfully rebellious The adults call her “well-mannered” but they’re mistaken She gazes with silent disapproval on her elders She’s friendly with all and has no friends Who feels too much and cries too little Extends a hand to everyone and never saves herself She’ll strike before she lets you see her cry She tells herself she’s brighter than all the rest She’s honest when she’s dying for a cause Who says she’s beautiful Who says she’s imprudent Who says she’s horribly proud Yet loves it all. Julia Miller Age 15

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“The Actress” \ Sarah Hinnant, Age 13

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“Volatile� \ Clover Robichaud, Age 13

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RISK! It’s misting, tiny rain droplets cover everything. The smell of wet straw and rubber from the tar in the parking lot fills the air. All of the students have taken cover, trying to eat their food without getting soaked. But not us— We’re the ones out in the rain, coats drenched and hair damp. We aren’t afraid of water or colds, or humidity, or even pneumonia. We’re behind the building, sitting on our backpacks discussing the latest Metallica and Slipknot news. We make our way to our lockers, breaking off one by one until there’s only a few of us—Then just me. People pass me, only a few, but enough to get a good rumor stream flowing. “What’s up with her?” “Why does she hang out with them?” “Does she think she’s dead or something?” “She’s probably helping them make plans to shoot up the school or something.” “LOL!” Those aren’t the worst things I’ve ever heard. “Punk!” “She-mo.” “Go cut yourself or something.” I’ve gotten so used to the comments they might as well be on my to-do list. Do homework, wash hair, hear comments, then feed the cat. I’d always been that way: dark, depressed… emo. That was just me. But people always took it wrong. They just wanted to label me. “Is she a boy or a girl, or can she even decide?” “She’s black. She can’t be emo!” So because I got sick of hearing it, I tried to rid myself of those people who I called my friends—the ones that were making me look bad and feel bad, and increasing the comments. I convinced myself to try to find a new group, or just go around by myself for a while. It didn’t work. The labels—they stuck and got worse: “Lesbo,” “Goth-wannabe,” “Freak.” Part of me wanted to curl up and die. I longed for my friends. But another part of me told me that I was risking my personality and social status by being with them. I was becoming depressed—more than usual. And that unless I wanted to be the freak everyone cursed at, I should stay alone. But now, as I sit here covered in rain, I realize it’s better this way, better than having no one at all. And that if we’re freaks, at least we’re freaks together—I know now that no matter how hard the rumor stream is flowing, I like sitting in the rain. Aleah Highland Age 15

“Be Nice or Leave” \ Chandni Amin, Age 14 Kids in Print 2013 | 35

Assignment: Write a Poem Haiku Too few Need more words. A sonnet Think on it Need less words. Try a quatrain That hurts my brain Need less rhyme. Free flowing, free verse It can’t get any worse Need more rhyme. A limerick sounds fun Five lines and I’ll be done Need more time. Assignment’s due Boohoo, I’m through! No more time. Hey, this has rhyme. Is this a poem?! Daniel Davidson Age 13

Why I Need to Write I usually like reading better than writing, but you need to write to have more stuff to read. If it wasn’t for my homework I probably would have been reading this, like you are, but I’m actually writing this. Brant Miller Age 8

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Enjoy Life When you hear the story, How I was anticipatin’ You’ll really think I’m silly To describe the way I’m behavin’. Tomorrow is my test And I’ve sank inside my books My mom said I should rest Or she’ll help mess up my looks. The next day, I was so nervous— I chewed on a purse My teacher said to calm down Or he’ll call the nurse. Now the test is over You would think I’m okay But I’m searchin’ for a clover For good luck to come my way. Sophia Emetu Age 14

“Alex Kawaii” \ Victoria Jackman, Age 13

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Snowvasion on Mars I’m MasterMind II, the Robot on Mars, and I’m studying rocks. It is near the winter and I am afraid it will snow. My batteries will go out if it snows, I heard one day. I thought it was not true, but here is a different change to prove me wrong! So I was studying rocks until, one day, I felt a drop on my shoulder. I thought, “Hey, I thought there was no water on Mars!” Then I felt a different thought, “Snowing! Oh no! My fuel will go out in minutes, seconds, milliseconds!” I froze, and then it all happened at once. Snowflakes began to fall, and one fell on my laser beam, which made it dim! I moved away. If I had to keep dodging snowflakes, I would not have enough time to study rocks! What a terrible time--Not now, of all times! I closed my eyes, ready to collapse on Mars and roll my body up. But instead, even though the snowflakes poured down, I felt no force to die. I kept on studying the snow-covered rocks, and I found it very annoying to not have a snow shovel. So I did my best to scrape away the snow and examine the rocks. Fortunately, I can send messages back to my creators. So I sent a little letter that went something like this: (I did not make an exact copy.) Deear Creeatur Compunee, Qite unicspictid--Snoowfull happind. Bee soo nic und sind a snoow shuvull too murs. Huppee Stadying, --Musturmind Too Okay, so I am not practically a spelling bee champion, and yes, my name is MasterMind. But I needed a snow shovel RIGHT NOW! So I decided I should just send a message because I need to study or they will smash me into bits. I was incredulous when a snow shovel attached to a letter flew out of a space buggy. So I picked it up so slowly. I finally forced myself to go faster and I read the letter. The people had misspelled it so I could understand: Deear Musturmind Too, Hire es thee snoow shuvull. Et es utomatec soo yoo priss a battun und et shuvulls. Huv a grit tim stadying! Yur spac frind, The Peepul frum thee Spac Cumpunee I was on my merry way, shoveling up snow with my “hand” and studying rocks. I finally finished on December 19, 2012. I went back to Earth. I had collected and studied over 99 rocks. I started in July. So I was very proud of myself and, of course, my owners accepted my work. I now live studying rocks and being happy with my friends. I look forward to studying more rocks next year. Bye for now! Kaylee Chen

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“Stones” \ Cameron Muccio, Age 13

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“Finlay Park Fountain” \ Andrew Houde, Age 16

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JOSHUA THE FISH There once lived a boy named Joshua. He was very good. He had a brother named David and sisters named Sarah and Hannah. One night, Joshua turned into a fish. Someone took him to a river. He swam for about one mile and realized he was in the ocean. He swam into a cave because he was so tired. He fell asleep. When he awoke from his sleep, he found an electric eel hovering over him-about to devour him! It was getting very close! But just before it bit him, Joshua quickly escaped the electric eel. But the eel kept on chasing him! Finally, he swam into the river that he was dropped into. He found a boy who was yelling, “Where’s my fish?” And then the boy looked at Joshua and said, “There’s my fish!” And with that, he scooped Joshua up, took him home, and put him in the fish tank. The next day when the boy went down to the river, Joshua turned into a human again. When he did, he told his story and he said, “That was a scary adventure!” Hannah Army Age 7

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“Unicorn Pegasus in the Sky� \ Naja Weinkle, Age 6

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“The Fair” \ Sara Crawford, Age 8

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The Raven I am the raven Dark as night Yet light as day I am the raven Alex Winslow Age 9

“Jail Cat” \ Daisharya Wilson, Age 10

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Blind Sight I feel and smell the rain, but I can never see it fall. The color of black was all I ever saw. I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen my face. Memories of past visions, with time have erased. I feel the warmth of the sun on my skin, but I can’t see it set or rise. Everyone who can see how beautiful the world is, I despise. At the age of five, I lost my ability to see. The kids my age didn’t understand, they laughed and teased me. “Look at that girl. Her eyes look weird!” they would yell. I didn’t say “I’m blind,” the tears just fell. I wish I could just curl into a ball and disappear I don’t want to live in fear. The fear no one would accept me, the fear I wouldn’t make any friends. As I got older, the fears I once had, came to an end. Being blind wasn’t as bad as I thought when I was five. “I’m special and different” I said when I finally realized. The world is beautiful but I’d rather be myself. Shaamel Bates Age 17 “OOO” \ Kimmee Dao, Age 11

Set Out Faith Faith is joy. It is like freedom. I want it to clear out the bad things in my soul. It is like I am flying but I’m not. Faith is like an advance of God, to know him better. Everyone needs to escape from bad things. I want my bad feelings to go away. That is my life. That is why I need to set out faith. Atiya Davis Age 11

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Speaking Flowers I walk down a shaded street Where the shadows meet And where we used to greet A new dawn and day. I look to the left then away As I pass the place we used for play In the joyous month of May Before they took you away. Upon my entrance, I see No one has touched the bouquet beneath the tree. With the cosmos and white carnations Left from our times together In my arms are two bouquets One for an unforgettable past And one For a future we’ll never have. I know you’re watching me from heaven So the past holds daisies, gardenias, lilacs and pink roses While the future holds pansies, hollies, tuberoses and violets The same flowers you picked for our wedding. Marissa Doty Age 15

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Gone and Back Again I decided to leave, Just give him some shade, Sometimes it seems like I just know nothing about nothing. Oh. That little poet’s heart spoke to me, Telling me everything that I needed to know, At times like this, just writing “Hope” on your hand makes you feel like you’ll actually get some. When he told me to leave, I could hear him do the same, He walked in a way that seemed like magic, it was unknown, but special. To me it was like a war, stuck between two worlds with different meanings, Though he was gone, I could feel him right beside me, Thinking of him made my eyes slowly water like the drizzle before the storm, My mind was a symphony replaying a sad song without letting any other thought settle in. Staring into time, I see a picture of him and me, It seems as if I can hear it, The laughs, the talks, the arguments, All of it. In the moment, I couldn’t let a breath in, couldn’t let one out, As I let reality come back to me, That one person was there. The only person I wanted to touch my shoulder, The only eyes I wanted to see shine in the light, Was right there, I guess some dreams do come true. Kennedie Fee Age 12

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Life Is a Chapter of Goodbyes Life is funny--right, life is short--right, and life is simple—right? Nah, life is rigorous Nothing is simple about the desolation given to you, From the loved ones that have ceased their existence that you’ve grown so used to, The smiles and hugs that have created the bond that is so unbreakable, That no man or weapon is able to penetrate it, Being given the sweet goodbye kiss from the ones not even knowing That their very soul would disperse into the never ending place we call home, Are words that are yet unspoken of Saying goodbye to those simplistic wonders of life is heart- wrenching That beautiful person who has torn your heart into pieces and has taken it with them, Won’t ever hear you breathe the painstakingly beautiful words that troubles us so Gratified, yet distraught and depressed, That one that has done no harm, has gone more quickly than they have come into this blood thirsty world You hold on and pretend that they are there, Only to corrupt your heart and feed it lies that you’ve conjured up, One word is all it takes to deprive yourself of further constriction to your heart, But amazingly that one word is the most arduous and complex Word ever to be spoken to the ones you have loved This just goes to say that Life is a hard chapter of goodbyes. Shaniqua Robinson Age 15

A Very Special Thank You... Many people made this edition of Kids in Print possible and we each worked hard to make this publication the best yet. PrintSouth Printing / The families, teachers and school staff Programs and Partnerships / The Children’s Room, Main Kids In Print Selection Committee Christina Fuller-Gregory / Heather McCue Jennifer Naimzadeh / Cody Walters / Sherry Williams

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“Self-Controlled Marionette” \ Cat O¹Neill, Age 14

“Blown Wishes” \ Reagan Burgess, Age 12


Kids in Print 2013 Edition