94... Cassie 96... Aurora 97... Elizabeth 100... Ronnie 102... Diana 104... Ellyn V
Chelsea 110... Miyako 113... Vivienne
Lucy
Elsa
Emily Z
Zoe S
Nora K 128... Sloane
Romy
Zetta
Kaira
136... Maddie B
138... Maeve
140... Sadie L
142... Zoe N
144... Maddie C
146... Rachel
148... Stella
151... Rivenka
Cover art: Nora K
One afternoon in autumn, our beloved teacher Mr. Cross came into our class of rowdy 7th graders with a poem. This poem had 13 stanzas dedicated to describing a specific bird. It was “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird” by Wallace Stevens. After analyzing this beautiful piece, we were told to write our own. The prompt was simple- pick anything… an object, a person, an emotion, an animal and observe it, play with the absence, describe it from every angle. Our poems show the world how we view different topics. In them you will find simple meditations, biting humor, emotional gravity and everything in between. With only 13 stanzas we share our deepest thoughts, and the ups and downs of our topics are beautifully displayed in these 7th graders’ poems.
- Zetta G.
Blue
The endless deep blue skies swallow the destruction of thundering jets.
An ancient jellyfish swims through the vast blue ocean that it calls its home.
The bright blue eyes of a black cat evoke me in the dark night.
Sorrow and melancholy pour through my veins as the depths of winter arrive.
Missing the bright skies that were once blue.
Periwinkles blooming on the sidewalk shining through the blue day.
The woman sitting in the carriage wearing the color that only those above us could wear.
The sun is right below the horizon marking the beginning of a new day, a new start.
Snow covers endless lands, the old man struggling to pass through the obstacle.
The bluebird flying over meadows, happiness is just one of the few feelings the bluebird felt.
I put on my faded jeans as I set out for places unknown.
The Sapphire hanging on my neck whispers thousands of years in my ear.
Water poured from the eyes of the sky; it was too late to stop the damage that had already been done.
By: Meher D
13 Ways of Looking at a Dandelion
1 A single yellow sun. Crisp and round like a fresh apple.
2 Cloud puffs, floating in on a summer breeze.
3 A long, slender stalk, reaching up. Toward new beginnings, to tomorrow.
4 Childhood has gone by like the seeds of a dandelion, fleeting and all too soon.
5 The small glint of hope sprouting from a crack in the ground. A wish for something better.
6 Seeds blow towards the street, tickling my nose as they drift by. They do not know what I know. That the asphalt may not welcome them. They flew away in vain.
7 A picture of joy on the weedkiller bottle.
8 Drifting away lonely, the magic is gone.
9 Sneezes of childhood allergies will not deter me.
10 Frolicking through a field of sunlight, scented of hope and life, kicking up seeds with every jump.
11 Whiskers of a cat are like the puff of a dandelion. Both are fickle as the first snow.
12 This way of looking has blown away on a wind with the dandelion.
13 This way is still possible, like the hope of dandelions sprouting up every spring. Not a weed, a survivor.
by Noemi A
Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Pond
I
In the still water
It lurks silently without Warning before it—
II
A sweet aroma
Cattails swaying in the breeze
A dog’s loud barking
III
In the pond, see it?
Fish swim, fins flapping around Bird into water
IV
A reflection of You, me, hopes and lonesome dreams I smile, slightly
V
“They drowned in that pond” . . . Or so I heard from a friend I doubt it’s true, though
VI
A summer spent here Memories look back at me
Quickly, I turn ‘round
VII
The pond rocks, yet still The tree’s leaves rustle, yet still The night’s coming, yet—
VIII
I close tired eyes
Words exchanged that night, crushing
I think to the pond
IX
Peace, serenity
Meet under that willow tree
The pond feeds it well
X
Water clogs my mind
I can’t write out my thoughts, but They’re sloshing inside
Xl
Think back to the pond Before they ran it over Remember those days?
XII
Children’s bright laughter
Cicadas chirping at night
Corse fish scales, the pond’s
XIII
Soaring high, a bird
I followed it to some place Of perfect silence
By the edge of the clear pond
I ran my hand through water
by Keaton C
I
A shadow is your quiet companion, always behind you but never beside you.
II
It’s born when light touches you.
III
It follows your every move, but you never hear its footsteps.
IV
Sometimes it leads the way.
V
It’s the part of you that never makes a sound.
VI
You can never touch it or hear it, but it’s always the thing closest to you.
VII
A shadow is the same as you. Same speed, same height, same look. but you two are still different.
VIII
A trees shadow on the grass never moves but tells so much.
IX
A person’s shadow does move and tells a lively story.
X
Whether it’s the improv of a person’s shadow, or the stillness of a trees. They are both so beautiful
The feelings of a shadow are non-existent. they only add to yours.
XII
The only time it leaves your side is when the dark demolishes the light.
XIII
But you always meet again, once the clock strikes 7:30 AM.
by Hazelyn S
Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Candle
I
The candle flickers
A moment of light
Hope in all the darkness
Lighting the way with a single flame
II
Propped atop a birthday cake
10 candles, loved ones cheering
“Big day!”
“Double digits!”
One wishful breath and it all vanishes
III
Color, a certain warmth in the air
The orange hue invites care and serenity
The blue undertone creeping up as it heats up
Uneasiness, sorrow, hesitation
IV
A whiff: smokey, bold
The candle brings courage, while providing a rich scent
But just a disguise, a distraction
From the odor of reality that always surrounds us
V
Crackle, crackle
Whoosh, whoosh
The candle slowly moves with the rhythm
Swaying side to side with pleasure
VI
Watching, observing
The candle knows all, matching your mood
A happy family dinner, or guiding you in the abyss
Are you lost
Or just where you need to be
VII
Fake, artificial
The faux candle tries to be what it is not
The battery running, simulating the candle’s dance
Yet only a mere sequence of movements
Not driven by feeling
VIII
As the tightrope walker sets a toe on the wire, the match is lit
Both feet are balanced, the wick ignited
The first of many steps is taken, the candle burns
The net, ready to catch them, the wax supports it
Both in tune with their movement
IX
Waiting, savoring
But patience only lasts so long
Eventually, the candle will go out
Useless, unwanted, without purpose
X
Capable of anything
All the potential in the universe
Reduced to a single wick
It desires what it can’t have
It wasn’t made for this
XI
The candle is lit
The party has started
Heads turn, gazes shift
The center of attention
The candle sets the mood
XII
Abandoned in Pandora’s box
Shut out from our world while the evils take over
Confiding with hope, learning its ways
When the time comes it gets released
It may light the way through all darkness
XIII
The light will start to dim
Flickering weakly
Slowly losing its flare
The second it was lit, its fate was already set
Bound for darkness in the end
The candle must savor its final moments before it dies out
by Hesper G
13 Ways to Look at a Star
I
The void of despair
But one shines out
A star is born
II
Twinkle Twinkle little star
How I wonder what you are
Up above the world so high
Like a diamond in the sky…
III
A lullaby sung by mom
Soothing me from my outlash till dawn
IV
Sparklywarkily unicorns
That remind me of my childhood
Unicorned cupcakes with lots of sugar
Yummy!
V
My ancestors looking from above
Thinking of me from the heavens
VI
Glass heels dropped from a foot of grace
Night sky is filled with stars Ding dong ding dong
VII
Sitting with my favorite person
On a blanket
Gossiping
The feeling of being watched?
VIII
Chirp
The crickets are chirping
Smell of the night
Fresh, dewy
The scent of pure calm
IX
Northern star to guide me
Through the hardships of life
X
Eyes glisten like stars
Seeing the future and past
XI
A brain full of wisdom
My grandpa
Spewing out words
Talking about his long life
XII
At the end of life
What do you see?
A star of hope
XIII
One more time
One more life
One more star
One last wish by Amberly
K
13 ways of looking into a mirror
I
If we see our reflections
In many other things
Then why do we still want mirrors?
II
When you see your reflection
In a spoon at breakfast
Why will you still seek mirrors?
III
And in your morning cup of coffee
You see yourself on the side of the cup
Then WHY do you still want a mirror?
IV
And WHEN you see yourself in a puddle on the sidewalk
And you jump on it so it ripples
Then WHY do you still want another way to see yourself?
V
And when you open your phone
And you use your camera
Why do you still look for a mirror?
VI
And when you look outside your window
Why are you focusing on your reflection
And not the outside?
VII
And in that picture frame
Of yourself long ago
Hanging in the hallway
You see yourself
The part of you that has grown
Yet you still look for a mirror.
VIII
And in the snow globe your mother brought back home
You see yourself
Once again
But it feels like you’re fading.
IX
And then when you unload the dishwasher
In the clean plate
You see yourself. Again.
But way less than before
And you try to tell yourself it’s the lighting
But its just you lying to yourself.
X
And the polished doorknob at your grandmother’s house
The one you used to see yourself in You no longer do
And this time, It had just been polished.
XI
And in the rear-view mirror of your car, You will no longer see yourself.
XII
And finally when you reach a mirror
You cover it
With a blanket you once loved
XIII
And when you finally stop looking for a new way of seeing yourself
You suddenly feel more happy
Because You had finally found yourself.
by Isadora O
Thirteen Ways to Look at Her
I
Acquaintance’s view
She’s so joyful
All the time
I wish I could be her
The happy one
II
Best Friend’ view
She smiles everyday all day
Nobody looks too hard
Nobody sees the pain beneath her smile I do
III
Friend’s view
She’s such a good friend
She never has any problems
She always supports me
I wish I could be her
The kind one
IV
Old friend’s view
She never opens up
She diverts the attention smoothly
She struggles
No one sees I do
V
The coach’s view
She’s such a hard worker
She never complains
She holds the team up
I wish the girls were like her
The hard worker
VI
The teammate’s view
She shows up every practice
Though I can tell it’s hard
She’s exhausted
No one looks too hard
No one sees how close she is to collapsing I do
VII
Teacher’s view
Her grades are good
She shows up to school everyday
She always looks bright and ready to learn
Such a good student
VIII
Dad’s view
She stays up till midnight
“I just need to finish” she says
And when time comes to wake up
She groans, the bags under her eyes large
And nobody else wonders
How much longer she can keep this up I do
IX
The jealous girl’s view
She is so confident
So brave
I’m sure she loves every bit of herself
If I were her I would too
I wish I was her
The confident one
X
The mirror’s view
She looks at me everyday
Somedays she looks happy
She looks like she loves what she sees
Other days she looks like she hates what looks back at her
Others don’t see how critical she is on herself
I do
XI
The spectators in the stands view
She’s so calm
To perform in front of crowds like that
To hold her head up high when they yell and scream at her
She’s brave
To take whatever comes at her I wish I was like her
The skilled one
XII
The mom’s view
She’s nervous
She’s anxious
She wants to cry and weep when they yell at her
She hates the crowd
Her friends don’t notice
I do
XIII
Her view
Life is scary
Life is beautiful
People may view me in different ways
People may not care
I could care less
Because I can view myself
And I can see me
All of me
The girl
by Cordelia P
Looking at a River
I
Hearing the drops from a distance
You know you're near a river
Splish and splash -- nonstop Is this how I hear a river?
II
Visiting the forest place surrounded With petite creatures
Beautiful wings brushed by Drinking the fresh clean water from the river Is this how the creatures see home?
III
As the river flows, it’s ever changing. Like the thoughts in mid air, They come and they go
Churning, changing, going, coming, leaving
IV
They go fast and slow
But river sings the same. It sings to the plant, sings to all of us, sings to me. River, Do I listen?
V
River can be fierce like a tigress, protecting her cubs. Will you protect me? Maybe the River is calm. Like a bird humming a tune. Will you soothe me?
VI
River, you try to run away
But your sound is carried away. A song within my thoughts
Always here. Repeating the same melody, River, will you whisper my hopes?
VII
River, will you yell my wrongs?
Or will you clean my wounds?
River you smooth the rocks. With time, your touch will soften my mood.
VIII
River, you turn right or you turn left Like a decision I dare take. I have gone right, and I have gone wrong. But you just go. So, should I just go?
IX
When the sun is so high, your coldness calls us. When winter arrives, your presence scares us. Are you a monster or are you a friend? River, do you change?
X
River your water looks refreshing Seeing all creatures approach to drink. You give life to the big and small, But you can take life from them all.
XI
River, who made you?
Small drops of rain, or fearful thunderstorms. Did ice melt for you, like dreams that never come?
River, you're like a moving mirror. I can see my reflection through the ripples. You're showing me how I am, ups, and downs. Never stopping always changing. I see.
XIII
Is this how you look at a river with a different mind or mood?
To my River, looking at you makes me wonder Are you looking at me?
Like a friend, will you be there when I come back? Or will you change like a clock that never comes back?
by Gaby L
Thirteen Ways to Look at a Blank Page
Looking down upon a blank page, as words sift like sand inside your head, waiting.
You wish for words, you wish for wisdom, you wait.
The feeling as you run your hands across the page Is like a silk blanket of opportunity. You bask in the glory of just the white. But you must write.
A carefully folded paper airplane soars across a sky of muses an unwritten story.
The paper tilted sideways is a whole new perspective. It is still blank though. Your whitened knuckles crush the paper into a ball. Crumpled up anger. It is now like a weapon.
An unfolded ball now wrinkled and worn feels thin and mysterious.
Sometimes a blank sheet of paper could be a poem, as James Wright has taught us.
Or maybe it is a secret like a drawing drawn with clear marker. You never know.
Maybe it was going to be art, but Little Miss Perfect had to slip into your beautiful brain and scatter her erasers where your words should be.
Scritch, scratch, scritch, scratch your writing is a haze. A beautiful haze.
Looking down upon the page you are filled with joy. A vast sea of words. Your blank page is now a story.
by Josephine O
Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Spider
I
I look at it scared but still holding my weapon, the shoe
It runs away at the sight of the dreaded giant above it
Little does it know we are both scared
II
The spider is a little black creature of poison
Yet it makes such delicate and intricate webs
When do we draw the line between peace and destruction
III
It crawls through the nooks and crannies of the old run-down house
Finding a little corner to lay down its labyrinth of white silk
It lies peacefully without any clue of what comes next
IV
As my mind wanders
The spider creeps in
V
A feeling on my arm like a gentle breeze
The hair on my neck stands on end
Butterflies in my stomach twist and turn
I scream so loud I’m sure the neighbors hear me
VI
She was once a majestic creature
Roaming through the wilderness
Then she was trapped by the hunters
Forced to live in a cage
Only and it
Admired by the arachnophiles
And turned away by the arachnophobes
VII
The darkness became fear
But when the light came
The shadow was merely a spider
Wandering above the mahogany floors
VIII
She packed her bags when she was only sixteen
Ran away using her legs and an old phone
She moved into a tiny apartment she could barely afford
There was a spider that always lingered around her
She feared it even though she had faced worse, but she wasn’t a killer
So she made friends with the little critter
She cried to it when she was sad
She laughed with it when she was happy
And even complained to it when she was angry
It was a part of her she could never explain
A burst of color in her black and white world
IX
It danced around the silk netting,
Its small little legs tracing the edges of a beautiful web
X
He looked at me, and I looked at it
Ten eyes locked in a stone-cold glare
I looked away to get a shoe I would use to kill the little beast
When I came back, it was gone without a trace
XI
I do not know the ways of the spider
Why does it just wait about for it to be smashed to bits?
And why do we kill?
Just for the satisfaction, or for the fake sense of safety we get from it
XII
Among the strands of emerald green grass
A small black creature crawled its way to freedom
XIII
Lost in the light, dazed by the sun’s fiery rays
The spider flees to a safer place
Not knowing that there is none
by Alexa S
Thirteen Ways of Looking at Ice Cream
Stanza I
Swirls of delicious vanilla ice cream
While sitting down in the sunlight
As time passes by,
Small drips slowly trail down the cone And drops of ice cream on the floor everywhere
Stanza II
It’s Summertime
Wanting an ice cream cone means
Debating if a cup or a cone is better
Seeing the bright vibrant ice cream flavors
In the ice cream shop
Smelling the pure sugar of the ice cream
Stanza III
Waiting outside
Watching out for the ice cream truck
And impatiently waiting for it to pass by with Delicious soft serve
Stanza IV
Not knowing what toppings to choose as there are many options
For the ice cream that’s slowly melting
But sometimes it’s better plain
Stanza V
The scooper slowly
Scooping the ice cream
Placed into the cone
A cone then handed to you
Stanza VI
At the grocery store
In the freezer aisle
Grabbing a tub of ice cream
To have a sweet treat at home
Stanza VII
Walking into a cold stone
With my family
Ordering a tasty chocolate ice cream cone
Looking at the dim lights
Happily devouring it
The ice cream dripping down to my fingers
Then they are all sticky
Stanza VIII
In a swirl motion
And very hollow inside
A sweet cold treat
Always giving me a brain freeze
Stanza IX
Deep rich chocolate
The ice cream dripping down
Hearing the loud crunch
As you’re eating the cone
Stanza X
The bright sherbet ice cream
The one I always asked for when I was younger
The multicolored creamy ice cream
That looks like the sunset
Stanza XI
Mint chocolate chip
The minty fresh taste in your mouth,
The chunks of chocolate chips
It’s not my favorite
But for some it is
Stanza XII
The tasty strawberry ice cream
With strawberry pieces
In it like it’s a surprise
And the light pink color
Makes it always stand out
Stanza XIII
Many varieties of flavors
People all have their favorite Mine’s chocolate
And it’s a delicious, tasty treat
Many people enjoy it
Well at least I do.
by Gabby O
The Lake
Dark, deep, gloomy
Swish, swash, boom
Sometimes the lake speaks
With chaos
When it’s windy
The lake has ripples
On shore it’s calm and quiet
In the sun
The water shines
In the dark
Chirps, rustle, buzz
Go the animals above and in the lake
In the dark we see a surface
Unknown Deep Mysterious
In the eyes of the girl
The lake is what killed her friend
Where her friend took her last breath
Under the surface
In the eyes of the boy
The lake brings comfort
Escape from life
The dog sees the lake
He sees sadness in the girl’s eyes
The spark in the boy’s eyes
The dog sees the lake as a place to play
To observe
Teacher sees the lake
As a place to learn
To bring his students
Swish
Swash
Rustle
The teacher
The girl
The boy
The dog
Meet at the lake
A boy rides to California
In his father’s Honda
He sees his family
He spends his day with them
Slowly he grows closer with them
He mistakes this, for the lake
The ripples in the water
The splashes of the children
The whish,
The wash
The swirl
Is what brings the lake closer to us
The boy, the girl, the teacher, the dog
Together we are stronger, they say
The lake shows that this is true
by Celina W
13 Ways of Looking at Brothers
Sometimes I play tricks on them
Like slime on the door handle
Or taking the cap off the ketchup bottle
And they cry
I always think I’ll feel
Powerful
Commanding
But I just feel guilty
Eli and I
Are twins separated by years
We have the same
Caramel hair, spun with gold
Defensive, bold, we back each other up
And cuddle on the couch
While watching Harry Potter
We are blood
Sometimes I try
Really, really hard for their attention
Like when I stole chocolate from the kitchen
And gave it all to them
And they don’t even notice
OR thank me
Boys
The house is so quiet
What a lazy summer afternoon
The clouds drape over my head like a blanket
And my heart is weighed down by the sadness inside me
And so I trudge down the hallways
My feet dragging along the floor
To beg for forgiveness so we can play together
again
Sometimes I wish I had a sister
Nah
Sisters would never play baseball in the backyard
Whooping like hooligans
While I play along
I wonder where they got it from Their sportiness
Hitting home runs, all star and championships
My dad
Their tender and tattling side
Heartfelt and sweet
My mom
Their spirit? Their chaos and attitude?
Me
Brothers are tattle tales
But when they join in
It’s the perfect crime
How else would I have gotten away
With so much?
When we play Monopoly, Caleb is always the banker
And he always gives himself an extra salary
We always take it to another level
“He cheated!”
Or
“He’s lying!”
Before my dad shuts it down
And we go eat dinner
Like nothing happened
I’m not sure if I love them
When they wink at me
And send me a paper airplane
Down the hallway that says To meet them in the backyard
In 30 minutes
And they don’t show up
Burning Play-Doh in the oven
Stings my nose and haunts my memories
Crying Ari and Eli weeping
Because Caleb beat them at baseball
And then all is quiet – like a ghost has swept the hall
What are they doing now
I don’t know if my parents are embarrassed
When my little brothers play on the swings
And run up to stranger kids and ask them to play
But they are of me
When I scrape my knee and start crying
Weird
I like it when we play Stardew Valley together
I hate it when we fight over whose at bat it is
Jeez guys
I only wanted to have fun
With you
by Naomi D
Thirteen ways to look at my dog
by Elke E
1
I sit and stare a familiar face stares back eyes locked on me watching my every move.
2 White fur litters the dark orange rug once again the vacuum hums.
3 The mailman comes delivering packages the loud bark and the ferocious growl makes him step back, and leave.
4 Her glorious smile waiting, watching for food to fall.
5
The dark room reveals a shape, chewing cunning leaping vanishing into what I thought existed.
6 The gate opened to the upstairs the dog grinning like she knew she did something wrong.
scared to go by herself the night frightens innocent
I look at her sad, she is stuck inside all day slip her what she loves, a piece of cardboard.
10 The in and out of breath sleeping soundly in her ripped bed. 11 Coffee brown eyes pleading, a silent language i will always understand.
12 A dog and a girl are one. A dog and a boy are one. A dog and a mom are one. A dog and a dad are one. A dog and a family are one.
13 My books on the ground backpack open a body big as mine, wagging her tail slobber falls grinning.
Looking at Time
by Leah L P
1. Not enough time for sleep, too much time to ponder my English grade.
2. The most valuable thing in life, more than money, more than anything.
3. It is relative, consistent yet not, always there, always not.
4. It is the bringer of regrets, the cause of a permanent 5 o’clock shadow. Yet it is also the bringer of joy, the warm glow of the sun on your skin.
5. You won’t know what you have until the emptiness hits you like a brick wall.
6. Every second is an echoing tick of the clock making it feel like an hour while you wait, but hours fly by like seconds when you are with the ones you love.
7. The clock stops, but the sun will always keep moving.
8. The train won’t stay at the platform.
9. Heavy rain, leaving behind water marks on the pavement that you can't wash off.
10. A flower’s last petal falls as a new flower emerges from the ground.
11. The sun rises and sets, but the joy of summer never ends.
12. One hourglass empties quickly, while another one seems to last forever.
13. Never waste it because, as Keith Richards said, “No amount of money ever bought a second of time.”
Thirteen Ways of Looking at Music
by Ellen S
I
Amid the silence,
A sharp cry breaks it
Ears ringing as it pierced
And changes into a beautiful tune
Returning the silence.
II
Walking through the woods, Birds chirping loudly
Causes a mishap
And the hiker trips while listening. Yet the bird carries on, and others joins its tune
With the hiker getting back up, Left wandering lost in the mist of the chirping music.
III
The guitar vibrates as my hands strum through the strings
And a unique melody comes Flooding along with the rest
Creating a simple symphony
Endearing to the ear.
Yet a single wrong stroke
Puts off the rhythm entirely.
IV
A songwriter glares at his screen
Looking at his poem, Intrigued, yet doesn’t believe. He decides to change the lyrics entirely
Tapping impatiently on the backspace button
As a small bird outside of the window
Hums to the tune of clicks.
V
The orchestra plays carefully as the impatient crowd watches With a conductor controlling their moves, strokes, and instruments
With a special stick in a repetitive rhythm.
A young child from the crowd
Watching among the other focused adults Imagines them all playing their own song Which brought them all together in the first place.
VI
A deaf person averts their eyes, They don’t know what they could hear. A mute person averts their eyes, They don’t understand what they hear. A person averts their eyes, They don’t appreciate what they hear.
VII
Do I see
A beautiful maiden, Or do my eyes deceive me? Do I hear
A blissful string of notes? I ask for my ears can’t lie, But what is spoken, can.
VIII
The gentle purring of a cat can’t overcome the merciless cries from a child, For a healing heart cannot bear another broken one.
IX
An artist is told they are wrong. They say no. And they say, “There is no right or wrong, Unless you decide your work Should be made to be judged.”
X
An artist will always be forgotten over time. Yet the art they make Will always be remembered by someone, And be carried on forever.
XI
When an artist is finally unable to create more pieces Their hard work is forgotten And will go with them to the afterlife, Where someone else will appreciate it there.
XII
My fingers move upon the white marble blocks of the piano, Every finger gently pounding, Humming their own unique tune. Yet when they come together It's better than anything else they could do alone.
XIII
As one sings in the shower, Their confidence bold, influencing their voice And they allow their songs to flow throughout the shower. Yet once they’re encouraged to sing somewhere else, Their voice falters due to judgement and fear.
THIRTEEN
WAYS OF LOOKING AT A TREE:
by Abby H
1.
Do you remember the secrets we told you? We whispered them to you, your leaves rustling with understanding. You never told a soul.
2. We didn’t have to be the first generation That told our dreams to your branches. You listened, regardless And maybe you didn’t care. But maybe you did.
3.
A single leaf trembled But you did not. You stood in silence. You watched us rush past.
4.
You were our giver of stories You knew our laughter, tears, The promises we carved into your bark. You knew us better than we knew ourselves.
5.
You had your secrets, too, I’m sure. Wearing seasons like different moods. A cloak you could take on and off.
6. A girl climbed you To feel taller than time. Would you catch her if she falls?
7.
You didn’t judge when the birds flew away
Maybe you knew they would return.
Just like we would come back to our childhood home. Once, twice then never again. You were so good at letting go.
8.
Children tied ribbons to your limbs, Bright colors fluttering like hope. You wore their wishes
Until the wind took them away.
9.
The crow’s eye was your eye It’s wings were your wings. Did you ever wish that you, too, would fly one day?
10.
A mirror hung from your branches A cat looks in it and sees a king. We tried to look into your depths
Yet we failed to see anything but ourselves.
11.
Remember when you told us: Lies speak in flower petals; truth requires leaves. How do we know the difference When our eyes are closed?
12.
How easy it was for you to disappear. We knew, even as we left, that our time with you was over. We knew that we had turned away. Birds flown from the nest. We grew up. You stayed the same
When the axe finally struck your side, you forgave it.
By then, you knew the ways of the world.
You were a keeper of secrets.
You were a witness to our forgetting
You were a dreamer, like us.
You were a shelter, even when hollow
You were patient when we were cruel
You were promised eternity
You believed it
You bent with the wind, but never broke
You held our names in your rings
You were promised something more
You wanted to be different
You reached for the sky but never touched it
You were a liar.
And in the end,
You were just like us
Thirteen ways of looking at a mountain
By: Gaia N
A monstrous shadow towers over everything as far as the eye can see
Light shines on the tall figure, making it illuminate a verdant green
As the mountains shrink, the flames become them
A lonely peak sits quietly, observing, listening, unable to speak
The silhouette, black against the blinding light of the sun
Roots, penetrating through the soft land of the mountain
A blanket of wildflowers, creating an array of lively colors over the monster of a hill
As the sun sets, it turns the mountains a hazy purple
The layers of mountains are blurry against the dim sky
A mountain watches as the sun slowly sets, and the sky turns into a display of colors
The mountain overlooks the city, tall buildings reflect light against it
A leopard makes soft prints into the snow, slowly melting into the mountain
The small roots of the flowers make a web in the soil of the mountai
Thirteen Ways of Noticing a Seashell
I
As the night goes west, The pearl hidden within the clam
At the bottom of the ocean
Reflects the ever so slight morning sun.
II
The tide carries the empty home
Once filled with life
To the blank shore.
III
The clanking of tourists sifting through broken scallop shells
Looking for the coral pink conch.
IV
The crusty and barnacle ridden shell
Concealing an elegant pearl, Few can see the beauty within.
V
Some choose to hide in their home
Scared of what may unveil, Not understanding the entire ocean is at their fingertips.
VI
A hermit crabs outgrows its shell
And leaves it to the sea, Not all homes are forever.
VII
When you put a seashell to your ear, You hear the calm, soothing tides, Never the aggression of the night Or the roaring waves.
Low tide uncovers many sea urchins, Starfish, and bright coral.
The empty clam shell goes unnoticed.
IX
Among endless coasts of beige sand
The only touch of color was the metallic of an abandoned oyster shell.
X
On the outside dirty and matte, Inside a metallic marble cyan But people only see the outside.
XI
Children run up and down the shoreline scouring the sand for shiny shells. They find none, Or so they think.
The soiled rock facing the blazing sun, Hides the polished shine.
XII
The shelves of uniform sundial shells border the gas station checkout line, All the same
None are unique.
XIII
The golden sunset bounces off the silver cowry Leaving the day behind and welcoming in the night.
Carmen
Concealed In Glass
by Avantika N
Drawing on the fogged-up window
The squeaky sound of cleaning supplies on glass
The colorful chinks of light beaming down from the stained glass
Fingers and nose pressed against the glass cage at the zoo
Sharp shards dig into deep cuts, blood streaming, tears flowing
Colliding with the floor, shattering into a million diamonds
Looking through the lens for the first time; the world is clear as glass
A little winter world covered in glass, concealed from the real world
The warm sun rays fill the room, until the skylight is covered
The steamy mirror after a warm shower
Grains of sand, intense heat, glass appears
Twinkly glass jars waiting to be filled
At 12 o’clock I run out and find a single glass slipper
Thirteen Ways of Looking at my Reflection
By Ella R
1.
Hair knotted up like a crushed spiderweb. Eyes drooped as if I had sacks in my eyes.
2.
A picture of a shy little girl bounced into mind so that I’ll never be alone.
3.
Uncertainty stares back, whispers of love and a warm embrace that tickles my heart.
4.
Giggles coming from down deep, sides and cheeks that hurt, and small streaks that stream down my cheek.
5.
Butterflies flutter, and uncertainty rises, a feeling of protection escaped my head like a robber.
6.
It was like there were two of me, two different sides but I couldn’t quite touch the other.
A spark between the images I saw kept connecting.
8.
My fingers tingled as if there were ants on them, and the room caged over me like an animal at the zoo.
9.
The room buzzed with no noise, and it made my head thrash.
10.
My heart rushed up like a roller coaster and slammed down like a stone.
11.
My throat felt as if it was a desert, and my skin felt like an alligator’s back.
12.
The reflection imitated my motions, just me and her, dancing though the rough, the pain, and the agony.
13.
The picture, just a lonely bird sitting there, waiting for someone to reflect on
Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Body of Water
By Rokia C
I
To the child, water is a playground— a splash, a dare, a place where gravity forgets.
II
In the eyes of the swimmer water is a rival cold, precise, and never impressed.
III
Water is a mirror, yes— but one that remembers every face it has ever held.
IV
The child built a moat around her sandcastle. The tide laughed and took it anyway.
V
The chlorine stung. Still, I returned— because the water was the only fair judge.
VI
A stopwatch blinked. The athlete blinked back. Time was the only opponent that never tired
VII
In the well’s dark throat, a coin waited for a wish that would never come.
VIII
A child skipped stones. Each ripple Was a question
The water answered in circles.
IX
The river remembered its birth. The ocean forgot everything but the moon.
X
The water is reflective Some see discipline Others see nothing but a space to play.
XI
A surface is not a promise. It is a mask. Water wears it well.
XII
The surface invites belief. The depth demands surrender.
XIII
A splash becomes a crown in the eyes of someone who’s never ruled anything.
Bonus stanza:
XIV
I dumped water on the floor
Jumping in it ecstatically
Looking for an idea
My parents got extremely upset with me
14 ways of looking at light
by Everly S
Light
Bouncing off walls, mirrors, windows
Always moving and changing.
A lighthouse illuminating the crystal waves
As ships solemnly pass by.
The sun peeking through rows of trees
Little diamond-shape pockets of light between the leaves.
Squinting my eyes as I drive to school
Even keeping sunglasses in the car.
Shadows
The absence of light.
The way light reflecting off water Looks like a detailed painting.
At the beach
The sunlight on the water makes it impossible to look and impossible to look away.
I’m playing piano the lights are turned off It is only me.
The piano.
The lamp. And the pages of music.
In the night the only light I can see Is the strip of glowing white on my blanket peeking through my window.
The mountains have been dyed gold by the evening’s light They almost look transparent.
Sunbeams peek out from the giant fluffy clouds I can almost feel the warmth of the rays.
When I think of light, It tastes like honey Warm, rich, and golden.
That rainbow light that gets projected onto the wall It’s not a real rainbow-only an illusion If the sun is in the right place, at the right time, reflecting off glass, It creates a beautiful trick of the light
The sun falls, The moon rises, And the sun rises again, Gifting us yet another day.
Thirteen Ways of Looking at My Dog
by Audrey D
Rolling in the grass, the dirt Running against the wind, Fast like a leopard.
Messy puddles of water near their bowl, Leaving signs that she was there. Footprints on the freshly cleaned floors, Her fur spread on every surface, Or every surface that she is allowed on.
Giving puppy eyes you rarely see, Only when you’re holding the food that she wants.
Greeting you with shoes, Or anything she can find Always with a smile.
A tail with a wag that can knock down anything Saying goodnight by asking for pets, Right next to your bed.
Always wants attention, But dodges kisses as much as she can.
The loud thud on the ground After a walk, Or just choosing to be lazy.
The one whose ears will pop up after hearing A sound she’s unsure of from outside Or just being the loyal guard who barks at passing air.
Looking back while racing, Seeing me far behind,
Trying to catch up with her while she isn’t even trying.
Always bringing joy through hard times
A bark full of happiness
Circling you with loud stomps as her feet hit the floor
A love that could never dim.
The dog who watches in the gate as you drive off Who no matter what won’t escape, But instead waits on the porch, To see you come home.
How her paw lifts high, When seeing a treat, Or asking for food.
To chase a squirrel no one else can spy. But comes back at the command of one voice, Just like she was trained.
Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Mosquito
By Grace C
I
The porch light hums soft, only one tiny mosquito dances, like a lost spark, between me and the dark.
II
I’m split three ways: swat, watch, or hold still. A mosquito lands on my arm, light as a thread that I almost don’t feel.
III
It zips through the fan’s wind, quick as a wink.
A tiny gymnast flipping, before it disappears, I think.
IV
Me, my pillow, and the quiet night are one. Then a high, thin buzz—now we’re three.
V
Do I hate the buzz more, or the tickle it leaves?
The sting that pops later, or the way the mosquito never believes I’m trying to sleep?
VI
My window’s screen has a tiny hole, frayed at the edge.
Something slips through, light as a breath, and my ankle itches. like a secret, hidden in plain sight.
Mom yells, “Close the door!” Why do we rush?
Don’t you see the mosquito flying by the coffee cup?
VIII
I know the sound of my lamp clicking on, and my pencil’s scratch. But I know, too, that high, thin voice from the mosquito, is part of that.
IX
When the mosquito flew out the open car window, it marked the end of the itch on my knee, and the start of my siblings’ “AGAIN!?!”
X
In the fridge’s white light, I grab milk. Something zips by, even the cold air can’t stop it dashing quick and shy.
XI
I held a flashlight, shining on the walls white. A tiny dot moved. I thought it was a spider’s flight. No, just a shadow, light and slight.
XII
The lake’s water ripples, soft and slow. A mosquito glides to the top, so small, I almost don’t know. But my leg itches later, so it must have been so.
It was dusk all evening, sticky and warm. I sat on the steps, and my arm felt a form of light, then gone. Now a red dot stays, like a tiny alarm.
thirteen
ways to look at tears
by Livia C
I
The scent of apple cake downstairs mutes the smell of tears that leave dark marks on the pillowcase.
II
once-wet tissues lie in a landfill-specks of sad white buried in refuse. not even the birds carry any sympathy. they’ve seen worse.
III bitter and salty, tracing your lips.
IV
the sound of ashes swirling in an urn buried on somebody’s birthday. swish, swish, swish-so dry and cold compared to wet eyes.
V
a muffled yawn in the middle of last period.
VI
small dusty dark craters lie in the dirt—once upon a time, little beads fell from sorrowful eyes to the ground.
my eyes are all watery. ‘shoot, I forgot my contacts today.’
VIII
they bloom in the corners of your eyes like flowers nobody wants. they burst free and trail down like dandelion seeds.
IX
the orange juice in the waiting room tastes funny. the wifi doesn’t work very well. it’s the day before her birthday. those things aren’t problems right now, though, as somebody is dying in the next room. when she realizes it, she will cry herself to sleep.
X
the monitor is beeping. the line is going flat. they were unable to save him. he will be remembered aug. 27 2023, around two months later.
XI
shifty eyes are waiting for the next catastrophe.
twirling flames dance uncontrollably 30 miles away. water dots the throw pillows on the couch.
my dear, my dear, your tears shine like glass in the sunlight.
Thirteen Ways to Look Through a Window
by Zara D
I
I do not know which to prefer, the window in spring, or fall
The ray of light in summer, or the snowfall on my windowsill in winter
II
In the summer the light reflects myself in the window - my reflection
My mind, wandering off into the abyss, into the land of imagination, in its own world
In winter, my window fogs up for me to create drawings from figments of my imagination, to show through to my reflection
III
I look through my window, to see the outside world change day by day
Each leaf, every step, and every single person
To realize that it will be a loop
One day goes and another comes, my window stays but outside does not My window shielding me from the fast-changing world keeping me the same But do I want that?
IV
I hope to grow up faster, hoping for the next day to come
To have more freedom, to do adult things
But I step outside, and look through my window, just to see my younger self waiting, not noticing the golden treasures at her feet
V
The seasons change just like a tree
Growing day by day
My windows may stay, but forever?
I move out, I move in New window, but same scene?
VI
My point of view on things will change through age, but I know that my window does not age The seasons and people that come back and forth, are being watched through a little window
With a girl who wishes she were just like them, behind a glass frame But little do they know, that I know who they really are and were
VII
I see a brown leaf fall from a tree Is it fall?
I see a flake of dust fall then a drop of water Is it winter?
A beam of sun peaks out the clouds Is it summer?
It is a rainbow of all the things I see through my window
VIII
A grey bug stuck on the netting of my window
I think it is a drop of rain, signaling that autumn has come Joy has filled my lungs
Ballooning me up, so I could fly up, into the festive air
IX
I see the highway through my window
Each car, every person inside, has their own lives But shared a moment together all in one place all going somewhere Branching out like tree, but who knows if they will meet again
The window can be a mirror
To show something of yourself, or to show something of someone else
The window shows the lives of other people, while they don’t know you’re watching A window, a mirror shows the changes of people, places, things, and lies
XI
The tree outside my house has been there since day one, growing each day
Little by little, I watched it through my window
Grew into something big and important
XII
The shadow I thought was the sprout of something new
But, just a reflection of something that was
Never new, just a loop
XIII
The window fogs and clouds up throughout winter, again
A blank canvas waiting for a drawing that will cut through the fog
But it won’t stay
Just a loop
Ways to Look at a Cloud
By Laurel J
A giant gust of wind, pushing a cloud against its will across the blue
Above the highway, tiny clusters of gray dots litter the sky like a seashell is to a beach
Close enough to touch, fog drifts overhead, fingers grazing a bit of that magic
Jets leaving behind a streak of white—soon becoming blurry letters to those on the ground
Walking down a great big street, and puffy shadows stretching across the concrete ground
Laying on a field, a T-shirt getting wet from the dew, a pair of eyes stare at the endless sky, a cloud nowhere in sight
Blocking the sun from looking down, shades of gray cover a sky god’s realm
Tears hitting the ground, a reminder of sadness—or a missed weather reminder
A gentle blanket of dust trailing along the stars
Looking up at the sky through the tinted glass top of a car, spotting a small sliver of light escape the walls of the dark gray above
One misshaped circle in a sea of azure—perhaps not everything is all the same
Thirteen Ways of Looking at Leaves
By: Olivia L I
Wind rustles many leaves
Sending them sprawling towards the ground
II
As the seasons change
Green slowly shifts to sienna
III
A winged silhouette dives into the towering tree
Perching amongst the many branches
IV
Sun shines through the Aspen trees
Colors altering in the light
V
Through the foggy window
A watcher observes the shifting leaves
VI
The smell of dry leaves covers the air
It must be fall
VII
Unsuspecting children run
Through the poison ivy leaves
A lonely green leaf sits below multiple pink petals
Connected only by a thin stem
IX
Under a microscope
The cells on the leaf are being picked over by science students
X
A ball rolls through the leaves on the street
Followed by the young child chasing it
XI
Hands brush soft leaves in a garden
Picking tomatoes resting on the vine
XII
The leaf is the only witness watching
As a bird captures its prey
XIII
On the concrete floor
A leaf lays crumpled beneath footsteps
THIRTEEN WAYS OF LOOKING AT STORMY
by: Amy T
I
60 million horses in the world I still chose you And I would do it again.
II
One may focus on what poor listening skills you have Or the way you devour wildlife, But not me.
III
You have helped me feel like all my problems have a solution. In days where I felt lost, You were my path.
IV
When the days feel long, Where it seems impossible for me to get above a 95%, And when people push me out of the way, Seeing you is what makes my day tolerable.
V
Though when the California sun blares And the parakeets fly, You aren’t my path anymore.
Your lack of listening And refusal to obey my directions When you don’t feel up to walking Is what sticks out about you like a sore thumb.
VII
Though you often act As if what I do or say Means nothing to you It’s physically impossible for you to irritate me.
VIII
Don’t you know how perfect you are? Don't you know the harm you cause? Don’t you know (pause) that I wouldn’t change a thing about you?
Not for better or for worse?
IX
I wish you weren’t treated so harshly, I wish you will behave better, I wish you could know how well you are doing, I wish you could hold a canter for longer than 16 strides, The constant battle between disrespect and praise, Is there an in between, Or am I just being too sensitive Or too hurtful?
I hope you can do x, y, and z: No, I hope you can stay healthy and not leave me sooner than you should.
XI
In world full of additions and losses, You are something I can’t lose.
XII
When I’m going on a trail ride It’s not the searing of the sun That I treasure so dearly, But rather the only notable things: Your soft, black mane looking as though it’s gliding in the wind, Your strides picking up and slowing down, The sound of your hooves And what once was ahead is now far behind.
XIII
Out of all 60 million, You are the most perfect one. I’m glad I found you, And I’m glad you found me.
My Sister’s Cats
By: Audrey S
I
If you look under the sofa, you will often see a pair of big eyes.
II
Often the naughtiest, yet he is the kindest. Snuggles with me in my bed.
III
Always following us around, curious what we’re about to do.
IV
No one knows why he is so obsessed with pipe cleaners. If the container is open, He immediately snatches one.
V
Very energetic at night, but opposite during the day.
VI
Scratches on the door every morning, as if demanding for food.
Whenever the cleaning robot gets to work, You will see a gray cat trailing behind it.
VIII
Always meows for food, but when food is served, he runs away.
IX
His teeth are itchy, Always attacking mom’s plants.
X
All day long, the cats play by pretending to fight.
XI
The day he got to his new home, he had already selected his best friend, a squishmallow stuffy.
XII
When we get home, you will see a shadow next to the door.
XIII
If you don’t see a gray cat running around, you will find him under the sofa.
Thirteen Ways of Looking at Pink
by Yeeko X
The skyline radiates pink at the glow of dawn. A lone swan glides through my peripheral view.
2.
I delicately step into the stream, using petals as my step stones. Water cools my lace socks, seeping into my Mary Janes. A pink spotted lady beetle almost knocks over my balance.
3.
The starlight peeks through the translucent petals of a newly bloomed blush blossom.
4.
The pink pearl softens the gaze of anyone who dares glance at it.
5.
The pink aurora borealis billows in the vast sky, as the hare plows through the fresh snow.
6.
The Cécile Brünner rose yearns for sunlight Slowly tilting towards the luminescence Just for the vase to be rotated again.
7.
Fiberglass and fairy floss. Both pink, both fluffy, both seemingly sweet. Except one gives mini papercuts Until you get wounded. Still thinking “It’s too pure for hurting.”
8.
One Lotus floating, searching for someone just like it. Oblivious to how special it is.
9.
The pink Primrose Moth glides with the air in the prairie, alone. Landing occasionally to listen.
She remembers the serene, blending panorama.
10.
The nighttime mist roars in the wind. The orchid mantis wakes up with a drop of dew by its side.
11.
The cloud blocks the pink hue of the sun. Only a few warm rays of light Manage to escape.
12.
Almost everything I own is pink.
13.
I go and brush my teeth at night. “Bubble Gum” plays in the background. I use my pink oil cleanser to wash my face, followed by a pink face wash. My pink glitter toothpaste And my pink toothbrush maintain my oral hygiene.
Thirteen ways of looking at a couch
By Penny F
Cozy velvet, Fuzzy to the touch, Relaxing… Now I’m tired.
3 We watch the popcorn explode into our bowls as we start the movie and bury ourselves in the blankets.
4 Pillows stacked way up high, Blankets everywhere, Welcoming us to our castle of cushions.
5
Tossing pillows behind our heads, lifting cushions, and finding everything but the remote.
My clothes are laid out on my bed to force everyone to sit on the couch. I head back to my room and put on my first round of outfits. I walk through the hallway, Pose, and the fashion show has begun.
7
Backwards rolls, Handstands, And bellyflops. Not even all the ways of jumping on the couch.
8 I lie back, Throw on a blanket, And open my book.
9
I lift the top cushions trying to find my necklace But instead find A pen, A coin, A spider, some hair, and an earring I thought I lost 3 months ago. I bet I will find it next time.
10
“No, no, you do it like this!” My sister tells me as she jumps onto the couch like a frog. I try and I am flying, thinking I did it right, until I ended up on the wrong side of the couch. Well, time to try again.
I take a break from my homework and where do I go? Straight to the couch. 12
I lie on the couch, stare at our shelf of games, Not knowing which to play first. Uno? Pictionary? Maybe a puzzle? I call in my family, and we have a vote. Charades it is.
13
I have so many reasons not to like it. It’s old, brown and too big for our living room, But I’ve had it my whole life And I realize, I don’t think I’m ready for a new one.
Thirteen ways at looking at My Dog
by Bb K
I
The pit-patter of his paws the clink-clink of his collar the pause as he looks into the room then trots away
II
The way he looks at my mom With his happy eyes
As she gives him loving hugs and pets That make him feel safe
III
He stops to sniff a flower
A lovely scent fills his nose He continues his walk satisfied
IV
He lays lazily and sad Left alone at home
Wondering why it’s always him to be left behind Usually energized but this time just empty He imagines the sight of someone walking towards him Ready to give him the attention he dreads for Dreaming quietly until it happens
He stares at the gate
Remembering a time
When he ran off
Knowing to not make the same mistake
VI
Under my bed bench
He slowly crawls around
Acting like a cat.
He takes two steps forward
Then one step back
He calculates his next step
Swiftly escaping
VII
The room feels emptier as he leaves
The happy and bright energy is sucked away
Everything seems to get darker
A silent moment feels louder than ever
Awkwardness fills the room
Not knowing what to do
VIII
He watches me complain
Curious what I’m saying
Curious what I’m doing
He wonders if he will ever understand us
Wanting to know more and more
Passing the mirror
He pauses and stares
His confusion makes my family tease and Laugh
This creature invading his Home
Stealing the attention
He growls and barks pacing back and forth
Frustrated this creature is copying his every move
He finally gives up and moves on
X
Playing with his favorite toy
It already ripped from years of playing
He swings back and forth
Up and down
Left to right
Until his energy is drained
XI
He ponders around
Trying to find someone who isn’t busy
Someone who can give him the attention he needs
He is defeated and decides to rest outside my mom’s room
His ears twitch as he hears my mom come
He wags his tail finally getting the love he needs
His best friend too
He hopes to go again
To this land of happines
He sniffs the food bowl and only eats the treats scattered around
Then later eats the rest
This is his daily routine
Each time with less interest
Hoping for new food each time
But never getting it
The freeze-dried chicken treats he used to love
Now is just a part of his daily meals as any other piece of food XIII
He comes back from his day
Panting and tired
Yet also happy
He saw his friends
His best friend too
He hopes to go again
To this land of happines
By Matilda R
13 ways of looking at trees:
by Katelyn L
I
Blowing in the tempo of the winds
Leaves are falling off at this time of year
II
Red, yellow, orange all around Each leaf has a different shape and size
III
The rustling of leaves everywhere I step Sounded like a mini applause from the floor
IV
Trees are all sorts of shapes and sizes
Yet this one seemed ordinary No branch stuck out
V
Leaves on the concrete began swirling It got chilly quickly after the sun set
VI
It felt nice
Leaves were falling and rustling to the sound of the wind
The trunk of the tree had many different ridges on it
When you put your hand on it, It almost felt like something sharp
VIII
As the sun began to set I could see fewer details of the tree
Like my brother as he grew older I could only know less and less about him
IX
Gone, but not forgotten
The leaves float away like clumsy dancers In strong wind
X
‘The trees are poems that the earth writes upon the sky.’ -Khalil Gibran
XI
Its bark is hard, making cuts and splinters along the way.
XII
In a concrete jungle, the buildings branch out like leaves.
XIII
Like the clouds in the sky I will shelter you and shade you No matter what I know about yo
Thirteen Ways of Looking at Emptiness
By: Ava W House.
An empty house. No shoes at the door, No more of that one deep laughter, No more coming downstairs to the smell of freshly baked cookies. It looks empty but feels even more hollow.
Glass.
An empty glass. Sometimes there was wine Sometimes there was apple juice It was always full with something, but now, it is tucked away, Sitting in the cabinet.
Fridge.
An empty fridge. No more stocked groceries, No more dinner leftovers. The only thing left in the fridge, Is the plate of stale cookies no one dares to toss.
Chair.
An empty chair. The chair is alone. Warmth is gone. The wooden frame, Holds only air now.
Bed.
An empty bed. Both sides of the pillow will forever be cold. The sheets lie flat. The bed remembers a body, Like the way the sea remembers a boat.
Voice.
An empty voice.
One that glued the family holidays together. Sometimes with bad jokes, sometimes with good jokes. But no matter what, we always laughed.
Laundry Basket.
An empty laundry basket. The only basket that never needs to be emptied out, Because it already is empty.
Stocking.
An empty stocking. Christmas, supposedly the most joyful time of the year. Not this year.
A stocking that was always full with joy, Is now empty.
Smell.
An empty smell. The smell of that citrusy, fresh scent, Doesn’t fill the car, Nor the hallways of our bedrooms.
Suitcase.
An empty suitcase. Family vacations with filled suitcases, Still leaves one at home empty. It feels like when that one last puzzle piece is missing, And you feel like it will show up one day, But never does.
Heart.
An empty place in my heart. The heart is a balloon, But with all the air gone It sits there, Waiting for the grief to pass And to one day rise again.
Box.
An empty box. It will stay empty, Maybe forever, Because it hurts too much, To pack everything of their memory away.
Empty.
A piece will forever feel empty Because something is always going to be missing, And it is irreplaceable. So, Emptiness, Will stay with me forever.
13 ways to look at hair
by Inika N
I
Tangled messes flow in the wind
II
The straightener burns my once wavy hair
Turning it into something new It smells intense like my aunts strong incense
III
The untamed curls
Drenched in gel to hold their shape
I can smell the sour tang of the gel
IV
Silky smooth brown hair
Is like a slab of onyx It feels like a soft hamster
V
The high pony of a cheerleader Flys like a horse’s tail
VI
The guy with the mullet
Business in the front party in the back It feels so rough and ridged
Glossy hair is like a sheet of glass
Asking to be broken
VIII
The cute braids of a five-year-old
Bows dangling at the very end
Smells sweet
IX
Hours of effort put into one single bun
Just to have it ruined by the end of the day
X
Waking up with a rat’s nest on your head
Unable to be brushed
XI
Mr. Cross’s bald shiny head Glistens in the sunlight
XII
The girl with green hair
Struts proudly on the sidewalk
XIII
Short, long
Black, green
Hair says a lot about your identity
13 Ways of Looking at Joy
Sadie K
I
The final buzzer sounds
And the team jumps for joy
II
A small note
Slipped in a locker
Brightens just one day
III
Running through the bright field
A child shouts for joy
IV
Every time the clouds loom over
Try to be a little sun
So everyone can feel your rays
V Knock-Knock
A warm smile
A small laugh
VI
Petting my dog softly
Reading a book quietly
Taking time for the little things
Every day
A warm mug
Smoke from the fire
Comfort all around VIII
All emotions have a purpose
But a hug
Sparks a special one IX
Working hard day by day
Helping those around you
Making the world a better place
X Every story
Lifts you up just a little
XI
You may think of a movie
With a very yellow character
But everyone has their own way of looking at Joy
There can be so much joy It overflows
Out into the open
But there will never be a limit XIII
As you read this poem I hope you think about Those happy memories
And save yourself from hatred and anger If just for a moment
13Ways of Looking at Yellow Peony
by Summerlyn J
She retreats to herself from dusk through dawn, and only opens her arms, when the dark is gone.
Like the sun, she rises slow and bright, turning the garden into light.
Like perfume drifting through the breeze, She captures hearts with fragrant ease.
Like a dancer in morning’s hue, She twirls in gold where petals grew.
Like a candle’s flame, she burns so mild, Both fierce and gentle, wild yet styled.
Like a painting brushed by air, Her colors glow beyond compare.
Like a dream that fades by noon, she’s gone too soon beneath the moon.
Like a whisper to the bees, she hums her secrets to the trees.
Like a jewel the earth once hid, her yellow gleam lifts every lid.
Like a child both shy and sweet, she blushes when the sunshine greets.
Like music soft, without a word, she sings a tune that can’t be heard.
Like hope that blooms when winter’s through, she paints the world in something new.
And when her petals start to fall, The yellow peony smiles through it all.
13 ways of looking at Blue
By Cassie D
The forget-me-nots stand out in the green field. Like fireflies.
The crystal blue pearls shine on her face, looking, taking in the view. 4 The waves crash on the sand, the color memorizing to my eyes.
The blue of the whale glistens under the waves, the water swirling around us. 6
The sapphire glistens back at me from the necklace, reflecting and changing the light. 7
The fish dart throughout the pond flicking the blue water with their tails.
The jeans hang in my closet between the white uniforms.
The crystal blue sky, dotted with clouds, shines through my window.
The blueberries on the bush, the squirrels circling them.
The sugar wraps around the stick, the blue dying my lips, the sugar melting on my tongue.
The bluejays leap throughout the tree, singing to each other.
My veins in my skin look as though they were painted on.
The butterfly floats across the sky, its wings flapping in perfect harmony.
Thirteen Ways of Looking at my Dog
by Aurora C
The sound of barking sparks the irritation of my parents
The dog stands at the gate separating the big world and the small backyard
The smell of fresh flowers and dirty dog surrounds the yard
We try to fix the bad smell, but nothing I do works
The smell is a persistent stain not leaving the fabric
She longs for someone to play with
Our guard soon gets tired and lies down
Patrolling the backyard is not an easy job for security
The monster stops moving, so that must mean she is asleep
If you touch her, she will wake up immediately and bark
The dog isn’t like other dogs you see in public
She is the ugly duckling of the flock
When you look at her she seems normal, but hidden within is a beast
Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Friend
by Elizabeth L
1.
The wind is howling. It smells like wet bricks, damp and moist. A hand reaches out and taps my shoulder. I turn around.
The corners of my mouth curve upwards. A long-forgotten smile suddenly returns.
2.
I hear a familiar voice. I duck into the shadows. There she is.
Heat bubbles in my stomach. I vow never to talk to her again.
3. Tears spill down my cheeks. I frown at realizing that I am crying While saying goodbye.
4.
A million questions flit through my head.
“Will she forgive me?”
“Are we still friends?”
They all disappear When she arrives and wraps me in a bone-crushing hug.
5.
Whenever I think about her, my hands clench. Without her at my side, I could have avoided so much drama.
I sigh contentedly. Is there anything better Than sitting on the highest branch of the oak tree, Brown leaves falling around my face, With my best friend?
7.
People take one look at me and walk away. All they see is my face. But not her.
8. My limbs ache. My bones creak. All my comrades have said goodbye for the last time.
9.
Looking at her face, so exposed, I feel an unexpected feeling. White calm exploding through my chest. I decide to forgive her, this time, rather than hold a grudge.
10.
I thought she was my friend. But I was wrong. Not after I saw her with that other person Who ditched me
The loud thump of music reaches even this remote corner of campus. I peek out from behind a pillar. There she is, My best friend, With my crush. Red spots dance in my vision.
12.
The nurse knocks on the door. I look up, bringing my sallow face into the light. He hands me a stack of thick cards. As I read them, my heart seems to burst. I have people who miss me after all.
13.
As I talk with her, laugh with her, I reflect on what it means to be close to someone. She would make me happy. She would make me mad. She would experience all sorts of emotions with me. She would be A true friend.
13 Ways of Looking at a Friend
by Ronnie H
You go over to her house
On the way home
A strand of her hair is stuck to your sweater
You’ve known her since you were nine years old
You make jokes about your old teachers
And remember the smell of Ms. Houser’s Lysol wipes
She gets you a birthday gift every year
Even though you forgot last year
Forgive and forget
You and her have eaten lunch together for the longest time
In the same spot every year
Wandering about
You told her your locker code
And she told you yours
Just in case we wanted to share
You give each other gifts
From bracelets to drawings to old stuffed animals
You don’t even know what’s yours
Her sister complains
That you’re always over at their house
Her pets are used to you
Your camera roll is filled to the brim with photos of you and her Feeling the tip of your thumb scrolling through them
Late at night
You see her waiting outside your classroom
While you and your teacher figure out a solution for your lost cause essay
She waits all the way through
The awkward silence isn’t even awkward
The silence is understanding
Not pleading
She shares food with you
A cup of Honey Nut Cheerios sits between the two of you
The sweet taste lingers long after
You have at least a thousand inside jokes
Built up over time
Only you and her get it
You could never ask for anything better
She’s the best friend you’ve ever had
Thirteen Ways of Looking at School
By: Diana K
1) The alarm clock rings. I’m still asleep, I can’t wake up, My mother screams!
2) As a crawl out of bed, My hair is a mess! My cat purrs, I smile back.
3) In halls where morning sunlight streams, We chase our goals and build our dreams. With every step and every rule, We are within our school.
The walls are filled memories, Of laughter, questions From the classroom doors, It’s here we grow with love and pride. https://www.h2oforlifeschools.org/sponsors/17 Westridge School For Girls is fundraising for clean water with H2O for Life
5) Our teachers guide us, every test, every idea. They light the path, they shape our mind, And leave no one behind
6) With book in hand We try hard Equations, poems, history’s work A puzzle waiting to be solved.
7) The group chats explode, We have too much to say Friendships bloom like flowers near, Each is harder, but we enjoy it
8) The cafeteria’s noisy, but the food’s great Where stories rise and disappear. A tray, a laugh, a shared delight, These moments linger through sports and learning.
9) Assemblies echo loud and proud, With activities presented to the crowd. We are so grateful For our schools, it’s FUN!
10) Each test, each win, each stumped face, We get smarter through failure We try SOOO hard But sometimes we get disappointed!
11) We celebrate our wins
A trophy, drawing, or a grade. I mean Westridge is amazing But you know its school, come on
12) But let’s be honest School is hard and exhausting But we must persevere For our dreams to come true.
13) So, here’s to school, our second home, Where minds take flight and hearts can roam. A place where dreams are born and thrive, The spark that keeps our hope alive.
13 Ways to Look at a Cloud
by Ellyn V
I
One mind, Moving fast while staying still. Two eyes staring Out a window, Interpreting gaps in the sky.
II
Pitch black, tossing turning. Wishing I was on A cloud.
III
One drop on my face, Ten splatters on the concrete. I look up to see the culprit.
IV Summer heat, My skin turning red. Where are the clouds now?
V Winter comes And the air is frigid. I arrive at a place Full of clouds.
My grandpa’s beard, Fluffy and white. Reminds me of a small cloud.
VII
Sun and moon, Always fading and rising. Clouds are a constant, Yet everyone seems to forget it.
VIII
Bright colors, Rigged games. Even with all those things, my body leads me to The sweet clouds.
IX
When you shoot for the moon, Can you stop to touch the clouds?
X
The morning dew on the grass. Everyone on the quad. White uniforms all together. Individually, just clothes. Altogether, a giant cloud.
XI
We are all so small Compared to the clouds.
Surrounded by trees, A river leads to a lake. The lake is still and untouched. The clouds reflect in the water.
XIII
Up in the sky, Two eyes look out a window Above the clouds.
A mind can’t help but wonder: Is this what we look like to clouds?
13 Ways of Looking at a Swan
By: Chelsea Y
I
The gracious swan
Sitting in a lake
With vibrant green round lily pads
II
Feathery soft white wings flap
The admiration in its elegant wings
Truly a stunner
III
Flies to its next destination
Soars high up in the cloudy blue sky. With its feet tucked away
Flying freely
IV
The swan’s breathtaking appearance
Astonishing long slim neck And clean mesmerizing white color
V
Fiercely protecting its young ones
Physical attacks
Against intruders
Long necks dive down
Clamping and pecking at insects
Its lively orange color
The color of autumn leaves on an oak tree branch
VII
Finding their forever loved one
Making a heart shape with their necks
Touching beaks
VIII
Cygnets glide
In crystal clear water
The powerful current pushing them away
IX
The bright yellow sun
Shines on its back
X
I sit on a bridge
Watching the swans
Feeling the heartwarming bond, they have
XI
My feet
Dangling beneath the swans
Like a diamond chandelier
Draping from a high ceiling
The swan slowly
Slowly
Gently closing its eyes
XIII
Across the flowing river
The sun sets
Almost time to say
Good nigh
13 Ways of Looking at a Tree
By Miyako V
Look at how the bright green leaves of the tree move with the wind. A truly remarkable sight to see.
2.
Listen to the bark of the tree crinkle, There may be a surprise waiting inside. An animal of some sort
Waiting for its next meal.
3.
Smell the delightful earthy scent of the forest, Look closer and see the tree, Towering over the rest of them. A eucalyptus.
Some leaves round, And others are long and pointy.
4.
Glide your fingers over the bark, But they don’t really glide. It’s more like they bounce, Over the lumps And the flakes Of the figure.
From afar you see the shadows Of something tall But also bushy. A tree.
6.
The cool breeze of autumn flows, Brushing the leaves right off the tree. What’s left? A twig.
7. Look around, The winds of autumn wiped the leaves away. Now winter has none.
8. When winter comes around, All that’s left is bare trees, Covered in snow and flakes. But in the windows of houses, Kids cheering, Seeing presents under the one pine tree.
9.
The specks of snow start to fade Into the sun of the spring. Trees are still bare, But the buds appear.
See how the leaf bud sprouts. The small leaves emerge, Slowly growing
To the full-size ones we see in spring.
11.
Mid spring hits, The trees are fully in bloom, And you see the smiles of kids. The tree looks as if it’s smiling, The trees are bright and bold, Sparkling almost.
12.
April showers, The dewiness of the leaves. The drops drip down to the tip, Landing on the flowers Making them look glowing.
13.
Spring slowly ends, The leaves go back to being dry, And duller than normal. And the cycle starts again.
Thirteen Ways to Look at Rain
by Vivienne W
The rain falls, the umbrellas open Like jewelweeds when touched
Pitter patter Is the sound Of the rain as it descends from the storm above
When it rains, the clouds are crying For a loss that nobody knows of
For a second, it seemed like It would rain But then the sky cleared Why does it rain?
The depiction of rain on the painting of the city Seemed so real I cried.
When thinking of rain, one thinks of wetness, soaked clothing But the only thing I can think of is The colorful rainbow after
The droplets on the window As I stare out At the scene in front of me
The blue dots on the weather forecast Remind me of watercolor Uneven and scattered about
Running to class
Huddled under an umbrella
Hoping I don’t get wet
Having the time of my life
Splashing in the rain
With my friends
The shiny yellow raincoat
The squeaky rubber boots
The large clear umbrella
The constant downpour
When will it end?
The gloomy sky
The sea of different brightly colored umbrellas
Never have I ever seen a more beautiful sight
13 Ways to Look at the Beach
By Lucy L
I
As soon as I get out of the car, I feel the sand crunch against my feet. Warm and rocky.
Stepping quickly.
II
I sit down, with the strong smell of salt filling me. A perfect mix of chilly water and sea salt. Having a sudden urge to jump in.
III
Lathering myself in goopy sunscreen
Trying to protect myself, But we all know I am going to be red and crispy anyway.
IV
Finally, my feet reach the cold water. A wave takes me out at first, But I stand back up Stronger than before Trying to ignore the water in my eyes feeling like lemon on a fresh cut.
V
The wind blows my towel across the beach
Taking it on an adventure. Eating a quick sandwich I get back to the salt and fish.
As seaweed wraps around my feet, My mind echoes when a dangerous creature comes in mind. Salmon making a rainbow around me.
VII
Finally getting tired of the waves, I find myself on my sandy, wet towel
Drifting off to sleep.
VIII
I wake up abruptly to the slight caw of the seagull. Volume going higher like a hot air ballon slowly floating up. It is not annoying, more like the beautiful melody of a choir.
IX
As the sun blared on to my face, I took a moment to think
To let joy fill my mind.
X
The picnic blanket folds up. Sand flying everywhere! We all get dry.
XI
The way back to the car back up Is the same. Warm and rocky
Stepping quickly But more peaceful.
As I finally got into the car, I start to remember
All the great things from this trip And my mouth starts to curve with happiness.
XIII
I see kids at the entrance. They are sprinting
Trying not to burn there feet
Excited for a fun beach day. That was me.
13 ways of looking at the beach
by elsa r
seagulls cry out above as the waves come in as rhythmically as music.
II the sand grains on the kitchen floor the sand grains on our shoes on the welcome mat the sand grains in the white bedsheets.
III at the beach no more sneakers just sandals and bare feet.
IV collecting stones round ones knobby ones ones that remind of old memories.
V in january it's raining outside and i'm flipping through the island travel magazine.
early in the morning walking on the sand it's dark but the air is warm the air smells like chlorine and plumeria.
VII
when the swimsuits are hanging outside to dry when there’s sand in the shower when the children are not watching tv they're playing at the beach.
VIII in the cold lonely night the only sound is the whale's song.
IX late afternoon on the sailboat playing music and eating sandwiches with friends life is good.
X opening the window at the hotel seeing the view of the water that’s my favorite part.
having a picnic at the beach a seagull comes over 30 more join him oh no.
XII sitting in the bay window looking at the storm come in rain and thunder on the flooded dunes.
XIII swaying in the surf like seaweed the feeling when you're trying to fall asleep after a day of swimming.
Thirteen ways of looking at an Iceberg
by Emily Z
1. Bright white spikes, floating among endless blue glass. Blinding glimmers shining up into the sky.
2.A melted candle, imperfect and rough. Yet it’s so pretty and calm.
3.Seems so towering while more hides underneath. In emptiness, only the Iceberg stands.
4.Birds are hidden, and even the bears are gone. The only sound is the quiet hum of the air.
5. In the center of the quiet peace, there stood a giant blue tree. Every branch is untouched.
6. Under the fiery sky, an Iceberg stays untouched. If the fire never dies, will the Iceberg still stand?
7. A bright red sphere is leaving the sky, their glimmers start to die down.
8. Every day, the Iceberg watches, as the world begins to calm.
9. Cotton clouds leave their sight, dark gray hues start to appear.
10. Still alone but now in dark, a lonely Iceberg watches the sky.
11. At dusk, the chill grows. Even the air starts to freeze.
12. To see it grow, is the same as watching a fire melt.
13.Even when the Iceberg is gone, The imprint, the contents, and the place of it, will never become lost.
Thirteen ways of looking at the Ocean
By Zoe S
Footprints are washed away from the rolling waves
Seashells are brought to the shore
Memories are carried out to sea memories are born
The sun is born above the ocean
The rays of light dance on the water
And how the moonlight glistens over the waves
The sun dies in the horizon
The scent of the ocean brings many things to mind
One is home
The smell of summer
Running across the sands of many colors
Diving and checking if a shell is alive or not
Jumping through the waves
Late night dinners while sandy
The ocean is represented as peaceful
Often a symbol of tranquility
A place where balance is reborn
The tides can turn quickly
Waves thrashing over heads
Getting caught in riptides and having to get pulled out
Dangerous marine life
Lives lost
The ocean flows all throughout the planet
The feeling of wind blowing against your face
Diving into the ocean and the struggle of getting out
You can get to one place from another It connects the entire world
The ocean reflects like a mirror
Reflecting the sky
The ocean is constantly changing
Yet it always reflects something greater than itself
The ocean is wild and unpredictable
Full of danger and beauty
Almost like the randomness of life
The colors change from blue to green to somewhere in between
As thoughts change in the mind
Although known by different names
The water is universal
Time is measured in waves
One wave after another going at different speeds
The tide is faithful and reliable
The ocean is history
Every sand grain has been there for thousands of years
The ocean has every sunken ship War and marine discovery
The ocean writes it down in a secret diary
Through war and peace, the ocean maintains Happy times and sad ones
From generation to generation It is the one constant
Thirteen Ways of Looking at the Ground
By Nora K
One step, two steps, three steps. After a certain point, I stopped watching the ground, unconsciously registering the comforting thump of my feet hitting it, only noticing the sound when it was gone.
Four steps, five steps, six steps. I clutched the ship’s railing tightly as my stomach heaved, rolling and dipping. How I wished for the ground again, steady and reassuring.
Seven steps, eight steps, nine steps. I didn’t dare look anywhere but the ground, for it would be too hard to summon a smile to mask my fear. I tensed as I prepared for what was coming.
Ten steps, eleven steps, twelve steps. My breath escaped me as I perched on the roof, exhilaratingly free from the ground, watching the trees sway and the sun slowly dip beneath the horizon.
Thirteen steps, fourteen steps, fifteen steps. I smiled as grass tickled my arms and legs feeling the earth beneath me, closing my eyes and forgetting everything for a moment.
Sixteen steps, seventeen steps, eighteen steps. My foot bounces on the ground as I stare out the window and wonder.
Nineteen steps, twenty steps, twenty-one steps. Footsteps pound on the ground down the hall.
I have heard them enough times to know whose footsteps are whose.
Twenty-two steps, twenty-three steps, twenty-four steps. Little muddy pawprints traipse across the ground, leading a direct, dirty path to an excited little friend.
Twenty-five steps, twenty-six steps, twenty-seven steps. Every tree, no matter how tall or mighty, always has their roots in the ground.
Twenty-eight steps, twenty-nine steps, thirty steps. The ground gave a slight tremor, barely noticeable, a mere remnant of an earthquake miles and miles away.
Thirty-one steps, thirty-two steps, thirty-three steps. I watched, lips parted in horror, as the plate smashed to the ground.
Thirty-four steps, thirty-five steps, thirty-six steps. A yellow leaf, drifting down to the barren ground, the last of its kind. All that was left was a tree as bare as the winter sky.
Thirty-seven steps, thirty-eight steps, thirty-nine steps. I had not paid attention and had not been looking at my feet. A grin dropped into a gasp of fear, lips parted as I plummeted downwards, the ground having dropped out beneath me.
Thirteen ways, thirty-nine steps, and many more to come
13 Ways of Looking at a Hamster
By : Sloane
I
Somewhere in the cages of a pet shop
A lonely hamster lies in silence, motionless
Deeply longing for freedom from their prison
II
In the wilderness
A silhouette foraged for food
Tiny paws crunching against the leaves on the floor
Then burrowed underground
They were free
III
At home the hamster lies still
Calm and sleepy
So innocent seeming as it slept peacefully
Within the comfort of their warm blanket
IV
In the darkness of the night
A shadow moved up the walls of a cage
To escape their unfitted environment
They were in a prison
V
Bouncing with energy
A hamster ran non-stop on their wheel
Running all around, eager to exercise
VI
After a long day,
The rodent burrowed far within their fluff
Falling into a deep slumber
VII
Early in the morning a hamster ran to the side of their cage
Happy at the smell of their owner
Boldly eating treats straight from their hand
Not having a care in the world
VIII
New and adjusting to their surroundings
A skittish hamster ran away at the slight movement of their owner
Every time a hand reached down, they hid
Afterall, they were prey
They must always be extra cautious
IX
A lonely hamster longed for company
Anything to keep itself from being alone
All they wanted was a friend
X
At the sight of another hamster, both grew angry
Causing violence and disruption
An invisible yet clear barrier between the two beings
XI
The luxury of living inside a cage
Not worrying about food or water
Everything is provided
A lucky hamster lives
XII
Outside the walls of a home,
Wild hamsters have the freedom of roaming wherever
Still, they must forage for food,
But is the trade for freedom greater?
XIII
The remains of a hamster
Their tiny body imprinted inside the fluff
Gone like a shadow disappearing into the dark
13 Ways of Looking at Candy
- Romy S
Stanza I
As I look up from my homework, my eyes wander around to the candy. I stare and stare as if it’s begging to be eaten.
Stanza II
When Halloween comes around, I feel giddy with joy. Thinking of all the snacks and sweets I get to take, My mouth already watering as I think of how much I’ll eat.
Stanza III
I look at all the bears, all different shapes, sizes, and colors. They’re like a family, each of them having their own roles to play and personalities. My mind goes to the green apple one, thinking that it might be the toxic sibling. And then I think about the cherry one, as if it might be the always cheerful, always happy sibling.
Stanza IV
My mouth starts to water the second the gooey caramel hits. I hear the sound of a *crunch* as I bite into the cookie, The rich chocolate melts into my mouth, overlapping my senses with delight.
Stanza V
Red and white swirls are everywhere. Peppermint, wintergreen, sticky and sweet, Making their minds go insane.
Stanza VI
The bowl, Filled to the brim, Is just sitting there.
Stanza VII
I smell, The delicious, delectable taste. Wafting through the air.
Stanza VIII
I couldn’t bear to face my mom after I saw the grade I got, So, I stretched the truth. Like a taffy pull.
Stanza IX
I watch, A nose wrinkle in disgust, As I think of all the flavors of a jelly bean.
Stanza X
Worth 100 Grand, I hide the bar. Hoping my sister will never find it.
Stanza XI
It’s too addictive. “I want more!” That’s all I think about.
Stanza XII
The sugar rush is happening, The kids are bouncing off the walls, An aftereffect of the sweets.
Stanza XIII
The pile was massive earlier, Now there are only a few pieces left. I’ve eaten too much.
Thirteen Ways of Looking at Anger
- Zetta
I
A child is hurt, Anger must be brewing.
II
Eyes dilated and bloodshot, Defensive posture, Clenched fists, Then sudden rigid stillness.
III
Rage, A volcano in your chest, Magma rising and falling, Just simmering right below the skin, Waiting to blow.
IV
Steam flowing, Skin hotter than the core, Bright red faces, A dangerous soul sweeping over a newly evil heart.
V
There is absence in even the most chaotic moments. All your emotions bundled up into one mess, Words are like shattered glass, And you don’t know how to piece them back together.
VI
Emotions stored in a jar, Deep deep down. You wish they would evaporate.
Above all anger is blame. You always need someone to say it’s their fault. You always need to point fingers.
VIII
An emotional release, Stress fading yet rising. Somehow you feel better and worse at the same time.
IX
Vision ablur, People just colors, Words spilling out, Hearts broken.
X My teammate yells, And I yell back. She says to “deal with my own problems.”
XI
Yelling, screaming Played on repeat.
My head spins and spirals after what’s done is done. I lay in bed, Regreting my actions.
“I shouldn’t have yelled.”
“I shouldn’t have said what I said.”
XII
Slammed doors echo through the house, And crying can be heard through the walls. Your mouth tastes bitter and dry.
XIII What is anger Is it 1 thousand cuts till you bleed out Or One huge gash through the heart.
Thirteen ways of looking at a German Shepherd
By Kaira D
By the door, Something visible, An animal, The Shepherd
His Ears Stand tall, Always alert
Barking can be heard From the house down the street
His black fur, Hiding him from the night
His brown fur Like the wood of the trees outside
He follows her around, Not you Not him Not them, Her
Climbing the tree, Trying to catch the prey,
The wet fur, A bear
Velvet snout, A wealthy king Hidden inside
Stares into the eyes of the coyote, Not moving a single muscle, Not making a single sound, Yet it still runs away
Always looking behind, What is behind, Why does he look, Making sure we are OK
Leading the pack, Leading the way
The thick mane, Fierce, Feared
The lion
What is trapped behind those Amber eyes
13 ways of looking at a pumpkin
- Maddie B
Everyone sees me From people in costumes to parents stealing their kid’s candy. People see me.
There are many things I can be, From jack-o-lantern to gourds. You will see me.
I can wear masks or be carved. Some people even dress me up. Happy Halloween.
When you see me, I’m probably going be With bats and skeletons and witches. How fun it will be.
Skeletons and bats are one. Pumpkin, bats and skeletons are one.
As I sit on the ledge of the house and watch kids giggle, It reminds me of when I was a little seed. Before I went through my surgery. “Getting carved.”
When I was in my surgery it looked like the kids were having fun. As I sit and think about moments of my life I notice, a squirrel. Perched on the top of the tree.
“Ooh a yummy pumpkin why is it looking at me like that? This is going to be a yummy meal.”
As the pumpkin and squirrel watch each other, They think about all the kids that are watching them look at each other.
I’m not only a Halloween spook, I’m on your fall front stoop.
I’m autumnal beauty on your Thanksgiving table. I’m the spirit of the season, not just a fable.
I’m round bumpy, and lumpy And on mischief night they like to dump me.
I’m the spirit of the season Right before Jesus is the reason.
A sign that Christmas is coming soon. Here’s 13 ways of looking at you.
13 Ways of Looking at a Horse
Written by Maeve
I
Big, tall animals are all people see
They see danger for the rider
II
But I see their soft eyes, their unique personalities
Like people
III
The soft neighing when I come near, it fills my heart with joy and warmth
IV
To me, horses are different than other animals
You can’t tie them up on a leash and expect them to follow your every command
V
They’re powerful yet kind
Loving yet unpredictable
Who would have thought that horses could be so special to a person
VI
When you get to know a horse, you learn how well they notice every little detail like a squirrel climbing a tree or someone opening a bag
You learn how sensitive they can be by how you feel
VII
Huffing and puffing after rides
Loud pounding of hooves against the ground
It’s all normal to me but sounds different every time
Even when all I see are the back of their ears
They tell you much more than what you see, if you pay close attention
IX
Seeing their joy when we do things they love
Like a shower after a hot day
Letting them stretch their legs and be free
X
I watch them go out everyday
They are focused
They always try their best for us
XI
Opening my trunk with the sweet smell of apple cookies filling the air
Turning their head around to look at me as if asking for the treats and then pawing at the ground when they don’t get them
Horses really are funny animals
XII
Rustles in the trees
Suddenly they perk up
Staring straight ahead, locking their eyes and not taking them off
Horses really are funny animals
XIII
Rubbing on you when they are itchy like a cat
Prancing and huffing like a dragon when they are scared
Horses really are funny animals
Thirteen Ways of Looking at The Sky
By Sadie L
A gradient of oranges, yellows, and pinks as the sun rises. A memory I’ll never forget.
II.
As I look through my window, vast black clouds fill the sky, A sign of rain.
III.
The reflection of the sky on a summertime morning, Glistening over the still ocean.
IV.
A large V shaped formation flies amongst the big sky, Looking for someplace warm to stay.
V.
The sky looks like it could go on forever and ever, never stopping.
VI.
Everything is dark beside the stars that twinkle in the night sky.
VII.
The weather is always changing, but never the sky. It never takes a break from its watching, it’s always there.
VIII.
The light slowly comes back to life as the sun makes its way through the sky.
The sky is like a canvas of different shapes, colors, and sizes.
X.
When the sky darkens when it’s not supposed to, when everything is aligned, An eclipse is happening.
XI.
As the sky darkens faster, You know winter is coming.
XII.
When the sun comes up after rain, so do puddles, rainbows, And an earthy aroma that fills the air.
XIII.
Streaks neon of light fills the night sky During a meteor shower.
13 Ways To Look At Nature
The ways nature can appear, in roads, on fences, in poles.
Nature can shine into your day.
9
The weeds that poke out of the concrete
Slowly dying as you walk carelessly
Not taking the time to even look by.
10
Smell the fertilizer that you say stinks.
Told not to tell people their food smells
But when it comes to plants you don’t care.
11
Taste the apples that fall from the trees
They’re not any less than the ones in the grocery stores
Just because they aren’t in the spotlight doesn’t mean they aren’t just as good.
12
Watch as the water in the waterfalls gushes down and touches your face
Breathe in, you’re next to something many dream of
Clean or not.
13
Think as you carelessly pull-out flowers, grass, and stones
Not knowing how long they have been there for
Maybe it has been growing up with you all your life
You never know.
Thirteen Ways of Looking at My Brother
By Maddie C
I.
He was already there when I showed up. Loud, bossy, and sticky. I stared at him like, "This is what I have to live with?"
II.
He told me not to touch his stuff. So, I touched all of it. With a banana in my hand.
III.
He made everything into a battle. Race to the car. Race to the fridge. Race to breathe first.
IV.
He played video games like it was his job. He shouted at the screen. I peeked in like it was a movie.
V. He built LEGO cities and said I couldn’t help. So I became a natural disaster.
VI. He did his homework with his head in his hands. Groaning like the world was ending. It was just spelling.
VII.
He said he needed "peace and quiet" to study. Then blasted music for two hours. I looked at him like he was insane.
VIII.
He tried to cook once. Burned the toast, the eggs, and somehow the microwave. I watched from a safe distance, holding the fire extinguisher.
IX.
He told me not to embarrass him at school. So I waved with both arms and yelled his name extra loud.
X.
He said he was “working out.” He did five push-ups and ate three slices of pizza.
XI.
He said he was too old for cartoons. Then watched three episodes when he thought no one was looking.
XII.
He claimed he cleaned his room today. I looked under the bed. The smell burned my eyes, and I think something blinked at me.
XIII.
Lately, we’ve been laughing more. Playing dumb games, sharing snacks, making fun of the same things. I still look at him sometimes, not to bug him, just to remember how cool it is that we’re finally having fun and being siblings at the same time.
13 Ways to Look at a Life
By: Rachel Y
I. A child crying, a mother smiling, A perfect harmony, of sadness, And happiness.
II. A child’s laughter, a mother smiling, A father, pushing her down the slide. Only the sound, of wees and yays remains.
III. A child at her desk, focused deeply, As her father explains. Hard math concepts Suddenly become easy, and in her brain, “Dada is the smartest.”
IV. A test in disguise, nervous parents waiting, Kids talking and chatting to each other, The school admissions process has begun.
V. First school, walking through the gates, The sound of talking everywhere, bronzed statues Loomed over me, school has begun.
VI. Already talking to new friends, School is fun, but mass is not. Twice a week, Sitting through three hours of church, Yeah I need to re-think my life choices.
VII. COVID has hit, a new but rising virus. Lao Lao has already died, who’s next?
VIII. Finally back to school, More pressure than ever. I have to Get in.
IX. The room is eerily calm, The computer screen projected one thing, A letter from Westridge, wait-listed.
X. Another year, trying again for Westridge, But this time, with a whole personality change, Maybe this year is finally the year.
XI. I got in! After so much preperation, The all girls school I dreamed of is here. The smell of old wood and the feel of The chipped walls on my fingers.
XII. Sobbing, my mind is blank, Coconut, our cat is gone. After five years, We had to get rid of him.
XIII. Coconut is gone, but at least, I have two feather-y companions Instead. Welcome, Aphrodite and Ares.
Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Stuffed Animal
by Stella W I
It's a Thursday in September, the sky is bronze, and the air is crisp A mother and her daughter wander through the aisles of a toy shop. High on the top shelf
A brown bear, sewn from cotton and fleece sits And waits to be seen
II
The young girl with eyes full of hope and innocence meet the bear’s “eyes” And even though they’re just buttons, she feels a warmth and comfort that fills her. The little coat draped across its shoulders reminds her of her grandfather.
III
Moments later, the bear is in the girl’s arms
Her mother gives her a quick smile before she returns to a conversation with the saleswoman. The girl pulls the bear tighter and whispers in its ear, “I’ll love you forever and ever.”
IV
Years pass, and the bear is still there, Now a little faded, its seams pulled tighter with time. But in her heart, it's just the same as the day she got it. A constant through the quiet chaos of growing up.
V
On her fourteenth birthday, She stands before a screen, her gaze fixed on a video. Meanwhile, her mother is going through her room. She lifts the bear that was once cherished, And tucks it into a box labeled: “Donations.”
In the donation box, the bear lies forgotten among shirts too small, old dolls, and frames that once hung the girl’s paintings high upon the wall.
VII
When the box is opened, the bear is placed once again on a shelf, but the atmosphere is different, for it is the only toy on the shelf. Its fabric is rough, and its eyes are dull and worn out.
VIII
A young boy and his mother walk in the store
The boy no older than four has a crown with the words, “Happy Birthday, Anthony!” Plastered in glitter glue and rhinestones. He darts across the store, his mother frantically chasing after him. He stops in front of the toy aisle. In front of him lies nothing but the bear.
IX
The minute he sees the bear; the corners of his face perk up. To him, the bear is not worn, not old. Instead, its a new person to keep him company. A friend to carry through his adolescents.
X
The boy speaks to the bear in soft whispers As he sits beside his sick father's hospital bed. The bear listens to stories of courage and love. Stories only a child can come up with.
Three years have passed. The boys' father is gone. Everyday, he walks to his father's grave. One hand holding flowers, the other the bear.
The bear has now become a witness to silent grief. The boy no longer shares stories, instead he shares a weaker side of himself, Something the bear never thought he’d see.
XII
The poet stops for just a moment, She fixes her gaze on her own stuffed animals. The red fox with an eye missing, She had gotten that the day she turned 6, The first stuffed animal that she’d ever gotten that was truly hers. She looked at her grey tiger whom she named “Tigery”, The last gift her father ever gave her.
XIII
She shuts her computer and turns off the warmly light lamp. Just as she is about to doze off, She grabs her two stuffed animals, and holds them tight.
Thirteen Ways With the Night Sky.
By Rivenka T
I
The poet looks up And sees the night sky
Stars that twinkle just as bright
As the poets’ dreams.
II
The pitch-black void
Stares back at the poet
The poet hums, breathes, wanders, But can’t ever escape from the sky’s dark black eyes.
III
The dark clouds
Obscure the white dots we call stars
The poet wonders And starts writing away in her journal
She writes
The night sky has no more stars
But it seems so calm Why is that?
The poet hums in satisfaction And grins like a child.
IV
The poet looks up one night
And she sees the Milky Way
Just as the name describes It’s a small child that spilt milk on the floor.
V
Nyx looks down on the poet
Disdain evident on her face
The poet looks up
Scared, shaking
But smiles anyway
And shows Nyx the beginning of her poem.
The moon shines brightly
But it’s faux light
The moon uses the sun’s energy
Like a two-faced liar
And sometimes, like the poet too.
VII
The song is titled “The Night Sky”
It starts playing calm music
But the poet disagrees
The poet starts writing
About the chaotic world
Called night
VIII
The night sky goes away at dawn
And the night sky sees the morning light shine
The sunlight falls
On what used to be soaked in moonlight
The night sky ponders
If we are opposites
Then what does the poet see?
IX
Pollution in the air
Covers up all the stars
The poet waves around her pencil and paper
As if hoping to clear the air
With a mere pencil and paper.
X
The night sky looks at itself And sees
All sorts of stars
Red ones
Blue ones
White ones
Even a tiny orange one
One big
One small
One in the middle
The poet sees this And makes a small spectrum
Of all the different stars.
XI
As the poet writes and talks
The stars reach for the words she writes Slowly, slowly, They linger for a few seconds
Then the words and the stars link hands And slowly ascend to the night sky
Their magic embedded in the sky
Forever.
XII
The sun wonders
What is so great about night?
Cold, dark, and clammy.
The poet says to the sun
Sun, you haven’t experienced nighttime, so how can you critique the night?
The sun ponders And stops talking.
XIII
The poet looks up at the night sky
She sees all the beauty in the sky
The Milky Way
The Stars
The Moon
The poet wonders What is she, in the vast expanse called the night sky?
