Skipping Stones magazine

Vol. 15, No. 4

Next Page
Last Page

Press Room

Youth Honor Awards 2003

my History in relation to everything

We are	Pale
(cold weather people
our color	is thought
like Mexicans and Indians
Who lay their blood
In the earth:
	Profit is made from its spilling

We		too
are not touched by warm currents
Our light cut
By icy sheen
We too cherish
Our past:
	Our history is not
	in police records of
	drug cartels and 
	Killing sprees:
Though we too suffer.

We may be 
Confined only to cloud shields and ozone holes
But our race is mixed from war wounds
And our children weep at bombings
As we did

-- Alice Baumgartner, 15, Chicago.

Illustration by Emily Beckett

The Weaver Birds

A long time ago when people fought amongst themselves because of their skin tone, there were weaver birds. This bird was not like any other bird. This bird was special. The weaver birds all built their nests in one tree. Their nests were the shapes of baseballs. These birds worked together building homes not just for themselves, but for each other. The most special thing about the weaver birds was that they were different colors! Just think, if we were like the weaver birds back then, this world would not have lots of problems any more. We would probably still have a few, but not as many. I know that if we work together then we could accomplish more than what a weaver bird can.

-- Emily Beckett, 12, Eugene, Oregon.


We are different
them and us     the
Distinction made by women on three-tiered stools;
One placed in the land of the Free, home of the (white picket fence, yard, self-contained bubble etc. speaking) brave the other (same or different place) lynched and hung swinging from a tree, battered and chained to a fence, a twelve year old with a bag over his face waiting for the
the blood dried on their faces bear testament
the rivulets where the tears flowed, the
Flood that broke the weave of fibrinogen and plasma clotting
let our faces bear Noah's same standard;
we are guilty for believing our world is
balanced on the shoulders of giants.

-- Alice Baumgartner, 15, German Irish American, Chicago, Illinois. Alice wrote "my History" in reaction to the bombings in Northern Ireland and elsewhere, and "Memorabilia" in response to the atrocities committed in Rwanda in 1994.

When You Hope, Wish, and Trust

There was something that kept me on a path,
like a strong steady rope,
but what really kept me there,
was nothing more than hope.

You cannot let yourself fail,
when you hope, wish and trust,
when you give up your dream,
it's like letting your wish rust.

Like Martin Luther King Jr.,
he made his dream come true,
so I know if you don't give up,
your dream will come to you.

Sometimes the words we speak,
became real and near,
so when we hope,
wish and trust,
our dreams will
really appear.

-- Ek Ongkar K. Khalsa, 10, Sikh American, Eugene, Oregon.



Skipping Stones Magazine
Volume 15, No. 4, Page 15

homeArticlesLast PageNext Page