Skipping Stones magazine

Vol. 15, No. 4

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Poetry Pages (2)


On and off color,
through the air
Lighting up grey,
white, and
black towns.
Making the sun
to show it's beautiful face
Dancing gracefully over
and skies
Into heaven as it flies . . .

-- Saul L. Boulanger, 7, Corvallis, Oregon.

Art by Nina Forsberg

Humpty Dumpty, Age 17

What if they found a way
to piece him back together?
Would the cracks still show?
Would the light shine through?

Adolescence is those pieces,
the cracks.
We are all Humpty
have all fallen.

Our parents have all tried.
Maybe they shouldn't have.
Crazy glue did no good;
the pieces didn't quite fit.

But they try to fix us,
pamper us with goods,
or stuff us full of smile pills.
And then they still turn away.

So tell me Walt,
now what?
Shall I self-medicate,
or venture away with Alice
as I slip into my own wonderland?

-- Justine Simonetti, 17, New City, NY.


The soul
Like a butterfly
Is beautiful yet fragile
The secrets of the heart
The existence of life.

The soul
Floating on thin wings
Gliding with the breeze
Soaking in the golden light
Living for the sunshine.

Harsh words
The sky turns dark
The world
Spinning out of control
Delicate wings crushed
The soul bleeding

A kind word
A heavenly smile
Darkness turns to light
Happiness flooding in
A butterfly
Soaring once again.

-- Abigail Hutchins, 15, Tulsa, Oklahoma.

Fall Leaves, Fall

I'm a leaf getting ready to fall.
I have changed color after all.
I thought it was a folly.
I thought it was a fake.
I think the next step is...
     To be swept up by a rake!

-- Andy Burns, 7, Nicholasville, KY.


Quiet is when
The world
Stands still.

Quiet is when
Words unspoken
hang in the

Quiet is when
You stare at
The cracks
In the walls,
Looking for
The crevice
That will
Take you

And quiet
Is three o'clock
In the morning,
When you're
You said.

-- Kelly Otterness, 10, NYC, NY. "I wrote this poem on a day that I was feeling sort of depressed. It was a boring weekend, and I had the flu. I put a lot of feeling into this poem, because I thought that even though words have a lot of meaning, silence is even more powerful. Usually when I write a poem I don't really plan or think about what I'm saying or why. The words just come to me."



Skipping Stones Magazine
Volume 15, No. 4, Page 29

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