Write the World Climate Writing Awards 2023

CLIMATE WRITING

A W A R D S

Read winning work by young writers in Climate Poetry, Climate Flash Fiction, and Advocacy Writing

P R O M P T S

Write the World invited young writers ages 13 to 19 to submit their pieces in response to three climate writing prompts on writetheworld.org. From 33 countries across the world, young writers penned poems, stories, and letters all speaking in their own way to the climate crisis we are living through. This collection is composed of the winning entries and a selected finalist in each category:

Poetry

Poetry about climate change has the ability to inspire, activate, connect, “speak truth to power,” and so much more. Perhaps your poem will draw attention to climate change’s threat, bear witness to change, spark emotion, or inspire through connection

Advocacy Writing

Flash Fiction

Cli-fi (climate fiction) allows us to inspire change through our words. Pen your own clifi story in 500 words or less. What climate-related conflict will drive your plot?

Join young people around the world telling leaders how and why we need climate action now. In a letter of 400 words or less, tell a political leader, legislator or even your school principal why their focus on climate is vital to our planet and to your future

C O N T E N T S

4

Poetry Winning Entry

"To the daughter I may never have" by Starlitskies (Sri Lanka)

6

The responsibility for caring for our

and purpose.

- Alexandria Villaseñor, Guest Judge

Poetry Finalist Selection "Greenwashing and Greenbacks" by Rohana Khattak (Pakistan)

7 Flash Fiction Finalist Selection "Memory of Water" by Isabelle (Hong Kong, Special Administrative Region of China)

8 Flash Fiction Winning Entry "Swamped" by GetalongRanchWriter (United States)

10

Advocacy Writing Winning Entry

"No one mourns the dinosaurs" by Luie (United Kingdom)

12

Advocacy Writing Finalist Selection

"Dear Jeremy Rockliff" by Ninja girl (Australia)

14

Thank Yous

Q&A with Guest Judge Alexandria Villaseñor

planet has the ability to give our lives meaning

To the daughter I may never have

by Starlitskies (Sri Lanka)

For you at least, if no one else. My darling daughter,

1)

Today I drew the curtains closed at noon on a day only halfway gone but one that had begun to burn. The April sun is merciless. I wash my hair twice a day until it feels like straw. Still, the back of my head is sweating.

Darling, there is no flood at my ankles, no wildfire burning in my backyard, but the curtains can't shut out the sun for long. Soon, the warmth will seep through the fabric into the room and sitting here, I will be taught how the earth arrives at ignition point, not by a teacher or a poster on the wall, but by my own skin, slipping with sweat.

2)

In the first nature poem I read, William Blake writes of Venus in the skies of seventeen eighty three, Thou fair-haired angel of the evening, and in my heart I know how fair she shines only because I have seen her.

Darling, in the dead metal heat of the city, the sky is all I have. I want to guide your outstretched hand to the three stars of Orion's belt the same way Amma took mine. I fear you'll search for the stars to find only darkness staring back at you. Tell me, how can I watch you stand with your eyes wide open and still not see the light?

3)

4)

Behind the haze she will rise unseen

daffodils

In the first nature poem I will read to you when I say I want you to know with your heart, its golden head, open to the sun and bobbing on its long green stem. I want you to know the black-purple bruises a storm leaves on the grey face of the sky, how to watch the thunderclouds float in and out of view, like great glaciers, unmoving in the sway of the sea only to retreat at our hands

When I show you Van Gogh's darling if you ask me, How will I ever atone for my sin of holding a dying earth in my palms and doing nothing?

Starry Night, 'Amma, what was it like?'

And wash the dusk with silver. Soon, full soon, the sea will drown my island, the smoke will cloud my sky, but the greatest loss would be losing you before you ' ve ever known the stars.

Footnotes

The line, 'Thou fair-haired angel of the evening' and the line, 'And wash the dusk with silver Soon, full soon, ' are borrowed from William Blake's poem 'To the Evening Star'

The reference of 'daffodils' is from the poem 'I wandered lonely as a Cloud' by William Wordsworth which is one of my favorite nature poems.

Amma means mother in Sinhalese.

The Starry Night is a piece of artwork by Van Gogh that eternally feeds my love for stars.

Greenwashing and Greenbacks

by Rohana Khattak (Pakistan)

Your documents are stained with your descendants’ blood The inheritance you’ve left them is this mutilated mess you created Freezes and famine and flame and flood

They’ll all know you just watched and waited

Your oil and gas are the fuel

For the blaze that’s scorching the skin off of our sphere

Your refusal to agree to effective policy renewal Is sowing the soil’s parched fissures with fear

Your boardroom meetings a couple continents away Inundated over a third of my country’s land

Less than 1% of the blame is on our résumé

Yet our people suffer at your hand

When you’re trying to figure out whether to cut down on emissions

Try spending a week in a tent with rising water at your feet

Maybe you’ll find it simpler to make your decisions

When you have to rely on UNICEF to get something to eat

You only use discussion and diplomacy and debate to stall ‘2050’ just gives you time to relax

We all know you were never really bothered at all

All you deal in is greenwashing and greenbacks

Memory of Water

by Isabelle

(Hong Kong, Special Administrative Region of China)

Onceagainthewavesarerollingin,softaslacqueredcoiffure Theirplump,glowing,filmyheadsswellandslip, ladenwithlastnight’srain theirperfumeaclear,coastalbrine,crispasfresh-pickedfruit.Thechurrofbell frogsisstillfull-tonedinthegloaming.Shadowsdarkenintheeast.Ilistentothesea.

Itisnightfall.Theairthrobs,drunkandspillingoverwithdulldropsofrain,fallinginthemoonlight.Allaround me,Iwatchthewavesebb,theircurlsflowing.Onoccasions,thestirringgrowsspirited,asthoughtossed togetherinaferventembrace,murmuringsoftly,wavetowave Mydaughterstandsankle-deepintheocean I seeherrosypalmssplayedlikestarfishes,leavingwethollowsinthesand

Inside,Ibrewtea,hummingquietly.Sometimestheseaseethes,thewaterastringpulledtight,andIthinkthe wordhomemightsplitintwo.Butitremainsupright ananchor.

Momentsfallaway.Itrains,shines,rains.Eveningsarecoolnow,buttheheatwillcomeagain.Italwaysdoes.As theplanetwarms,theseagrows,bloats heavywithswallowedhomes,swallowedlivelihoods.Somewhereinthe ocean’svastbelly,bitsofbrokenvillagesdriftlikegingerbreadhouses gulpeddownbywaves.

Witheveryrisingbreath,theoceanglints.Myfathertaughtmeasachildthatwhenyoupaintwater,value mattersmorethancolor.IfIcouldpaintanything,itwouldbethis:familiesinundatedwithblueseawater, communitieswashedblueaslipsinthecold,blueasveinsknottedunderskin.Bythetimethesearisesanother inch,myhomewillnolongerexist.Itwillbeanotherchewedgingerbreadhouse,anotherswallowedcarcassin thegraveblueofthesea.

Iimbedintomymemorythewood-flooredbungalowwelivein,withold-schoolbulbsofgoldandhoney.There isthesetteeanditspalewhitelinenanditssunkenhemthatgobblesplaythings Thereistheoak-coloredpantry shelfcarryingspicesandspoons seasaltandcardamom,soupspoonsandladles Thereistheclimate Theday’s lightthatflickers,stretchesintodewdrops Rainfallslammingintotheocean,soakingourfeetandhairandmy daughter’sshriekaswespinandspin.

Upstairs,awayfromthelappingarmsoftheocean,thereisaframedphotographofmyhusbandandson.They standwithshoulderstouching,knee-deepinthesea whichhumsandglowsunderthesun’ssmite.Theberyl waterisnearlytoobrillianttobear.You’dneverknowitwasthisglittering,sun-flawedseathatstoletheirlives, washedthemawayintofrailmemory

Downstairs,acakeofbreadrisesinsoftbreaths,becominglighterasitoccupiesmoreoftheworld.Inpeople, wecallthismaturing,aging.Insourdough,wecallitproof.Inthesea,wecallitClimateChange.

Swamped

by GetalongRanchWriter (United States)

It is mid-December in Washington D.C., and the algae slurping against the sides of my boat is steaming in the sun.

I, Andromeda Hisakawa, wipe sweat from my face and lean over the edge of my splintery dingy, plunging my hands into the water, only to emerge again, clutching a bronze plaque, emblazoned with the words:

Lt. Snowy Johnson 1989 - 2013 CE: he dreamt of a better future

It's a gravemarker.

I tuck my hair behind my ears with tanned fingers, studying it.

2013, Common Era.

Common Era, as in before the Melt.

As in, before the Floods.

Before coastlines drowned

Before the world changed forever.

I sigh, chucking the plaque into the bottom of my boat with the rest of my finds, and grip my boat paddles as I push away through the shallow water.

I’m a MudSifter. This is my job: unearthing relics of the past to smelt down and make into a worthy future

A quick glance at the darkening sky tells me it’s almost Shadesdown, and my rowing speed increases. I need to get back to the Recycling Center before SunsDay ends.

The rushes and lilies around me morph into trees and palmettos as I reach the TideWalls, standing tall and protecting what remains of D.C.

Eventually, the water becomes too shallow, and my boat scrapes the trash-littered bottom as I jump out, boots sinking into the foot-deep water. I drag my boat over to the wall, which rises over my head: a hundred feet of cement, impenetrable by both hurricanes and humans.

Fortunately, I have other ways of getting in

I think, whistling loudly.

Five seconds till the curfew begins, Five seconds till power dies, and I’ll be trapped outside the city.

Suddenly, a crane arm swings overhead and a thick web of ropes plummets down and splashes beside my feet. I rush to secure the ropes around my boat and climb in.

Three seconds.

Another whistle, and I’m rising into the air and up, over the TideWall, and into the Recycling Center courtyard, dropping gently onto the pavement

Not a moment too soon.

The second I step out of the rope harness, a huge, dark shape slides across the sky, and I can feel the temperature plummet as it covers the sky. The wind rises, and the light dims. One by one, the other SunShades join it. ShadowsDay has begun.

The crane’s solar generator dies, and the operator, Cygnus, hops out of the cab and runs over, his bare feet slapping the cooling pavement.

“You’re back,” He exclaims in relief, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

“And not a moment too soon,” I sign in reply, relaxing and leaning my head against Cygnus’s shoulder to stare up at the darkened sky.

I think of the gravestone’s engraving, and everything humanity’s trying so hard to achieve

SunShades, TideWalls, algae farms, climate refugee camps, MudSifting.

All drastic attempts at solving an insurmountable problem.

Sometimes I wonder…

Is this all too little, too late?

No one mourns the dinosaurs

by Luie (United Kingdom)

Dear Prime Minister Sunak,

Please consider this honestly: what do you remember of childhood? What sensory memories come to mind? Foliage rustling beneath bird song, the sun melting into your skin? Perhaps the shock of a stream breaking to embrace you as you fall backwards. The smell of earth as you roll in a field. Ozone before a storm; petrichor after.

Our lives are sensory and more often than not, nature stands out.

You have two children, I believe. What will their memories entail? Their children's? Their children’s children's? Can you watch as your descendents are boxed further and further into burning grey with every year that passes? Memories full of heat, cold, snow in May and heatwaves, chased into walls by fire and floods.

Eighteen years old, I sound like a doomsayer. I am one. The universe isn’t afraid of extinction the way humanity is. It doesn’t flinch away from fact. The Earth once housed dinosaurs. We don’t mourn their absence so do you expect our replacement to mourn ours? Life will out so I believe something will flourish in the new Earth we are stamping, carving, burning out. Sometimes that is comforting, but you must know that, if the status quo remains, we will not be there to see what that life looks like.

I wonder how many generations after your children we will get before we give out?

That is, if you don't take advantage of your position and tackle the climate crisis now. Implement new policies, switch to renewable energy, invest in research. Renewables are now cheaper than fossil fuels, yet the proposed Rosebank oil field will produce more C02 annually than the 28 lowest income countries combined. More than 7 million people in Bangladesh need help due to climate change caused flooding; the UK last year was hotter than California. No one is safe.

I mourn, Mr Sunak. And I am afraid because I believe that the lives we are losing, plant, animal, human, are precious and I do not wish to say goodbye to them. However, I am aware that if no one is there to mourn them, they may as well not have been lost. Can you miss something you never had? If a tree falls in a forest with no one to hear, did it make a sound?

Mr Sunak, no one mourns the dinosaurs.

They will not mourn us.

Sincerely, Luie

Dear JeremyRockliff

by Ninja girl (Australia)

Dear Jeremy Rockliff,

I’m a 14 year old Tasmanian. I live in the North-West of the state, and I love the cold clean air, the majestic trees and the wildlife that I share it with. But I am very afraid that it is in danger.

Last year, we lost hundreds of carbon-reducing trees to the most extreme wind event that anyone in our area had ever experienced. Months later, we lost even more to an extreme flood event, and who’s to say we won't lose more in the future, especially if these extremes are only predicted to get worse?

In Tasmania, 21% of our CO2 emissions come from the transportation industry, and 93% of that comes from road use. This, along with agricultural emissions is one of the highest emitters of CO2 in the state. And with 85% of Tasmanians traveling to work in private vehicles, this will only get worse as the population rises. This is largely because public transport in the state is very poor. While funding for road maintenance has actually increased this year from $700 million, to $2.7 billion, the funding for our railways (which are not currently being utilized for public transport) is only $229 million, and while its possible to take a bus from one end of the state to the other, but it's inefficient. All this considered, it's fair to say it's not easy for people to use public transport in Tasmania.

I propose that your government increases the funding towards urban planning and zero emissions public transport in our cities, such as trams, electric buses and bicycle lanes. To fund this, a private vehicle tax could be introduced to people with carbon emitting vehicles who live in a close proximity to public transport. For long distance travel, I propose a passenger train going from at least North to South . By doing this, we could not only make our cities better for

locals and tourists who can’t afford private vehicles and reduce pollution in our urban areas, but we could also dramatically decrease our carbon footprint. But for it to happen, we need you. Not only to consider this proposal, but to fight for our climate in any way that you can.

Thank you for your time – my future, and the future of every other young Tasmanian is in your hands.

Kind Regards,Laura

Work cited

https://www.climatecouncil.org.au/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/FactSheet-Transport.pdf

https://www.stategrowth.tas.gov.au/ data/assets/pdf file/0007/174076/Transport Access Strategy.PDF

https://www.stategrowth.tas.gov.au/recfit/tasmanias greenhouse gas emissions

https://www stategrowth tas gov au/ data/assets/pdf file/0007/174076/Transport Access Strategy PDF

THANK YOU

Thank you to our young writers, community volunteers, guest judge Alexandria Villaseñor, and our sponsor Seventh Generation for making the Climate Writing Awards 2023 a success.

Write the World is a non-profit dedicated to developing the writing, critical thinking, reading, and communication skills of young writers (ages 13-19) to help them become global citizens and achieve success in school, career, and life.

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On finding a sense of purpose

"Sometimes I wonder why adults would ever think it’s okay to leave a world like this to their children These growing intergenerational inequities aren’t sustainable for humanity and a livable planet but the responsibility for caring for our planet has the ability to give our lives meaning and purpose. "

Her top advice for writers

"Just start putting words on paper. In order to get somewhere, all you have to do is take the first step "

Q&A: Alexandria Villaseñor

Alexandria Villaseñor is a youth climate activist and the guest judge for the Climate Writing Awards 2023