Hey. You know, it really hurts. You were everywhere else when I needed you most. You pretended I wasn’t there, and I was always there for you. I had to sit alone, when you were over there laughing with them. Yet, I’m not confronting you. You just have to deal with my anger that you aren’t even here for.
I get it, friendships change, but you didn’t have to talk about me. I guess you weren’t who I thought you were because the version of you I used to know might not have done this. But, I’ll never know. Whispering secrets… About me? I should say I don’t care. But it really hurts.
it dresses the earth in wailing white and grassy green
it gives us life
but we take away from its own
the sky is filled with fire
the ground bathed in garbage
after all that it has done to us
we must save it from ourselves
we must protect our world, our home
our beginning
nature
By Jaslene Kwack, age 11, Illinois.
Jaslene writes: “I like writing, art and music. I play the piano, clarinet and I started bassoon a while ago. In my free time, I like to write stories and poems. I try to be creative using metaphors and verbs that aren’t cliche. I enjoy drawing realistic and abstract pieces of art. When I grow up, I want to be a person who combines art and writing in a creative way to entertain or help people.
“I wrote [this] poem about nature and how we are polluting and killing our environment. I want to recognize the beauty of nature and how it formed us in the first place. Sometimes, people don’t give nature as much credit as it should deserve. Without it, our world would be empty and barren. In my poem, I also talk about parts of nature all around us everyday. The wind blowing, the leaves falling from trees. Technology which is represented in my poem as “the city’s lights and sounds” is taking over our world slowly by every hour. I think because of all these new inventions and ways of life we are making for ourselves, a lot of us forget about how important nature is and how it is humanity’s origin. We should recognize nature and be grateful for this world around us. I think we should all strive to be better and protect the earth so that we can keep our world clean and healthy.”
The Kaleidoscope of Dreams and The Vase of Joy. Art by Camille Campbell, age 17, Arizona.
Camille writes:
In my poem, I write about the beautiful form of art called “silk painting” and how it connects me with my Ukrainian heritage.
For years, silk painting has captivated me. My mother, who moved from Ukraine to the United States, fondly talked of the colorful silk paintings made by artistic communities in Ukraine. Disappointed that this technique was not practiced much in the United States, I decided to change that: one brushstroke at a time. As I learned the intricate and complex process, each painting felt like a tribute to my mother’s country.
When art gallery owners expressed interest in my silk paintings, I assembled a collection of my work and was fortunate enough to receive representation by Derubeis Fine Art Gallery in Scottsdale, Arizona. With my silk paintings, I positively impacted my community by donating a few of them to the Make a Wish Foundation to raise money at their silent auctions.
When I’m doing a live art event, I always love to answer people’s questions about the process of silk painting and how it ties to my Ukrainian heritage.
Along with my poem “Colors of Ukraine,” I have included four of my silk paintings: The Kaleidoscope of Dreams, the Vase of Joy, Flickers of Autumn and Serenity. You can see more of my art at: www.artistcamillecampbell.com
Flickers of Autumn and Serenity.Art by Camille Campbell, age 17, Arizona.
People have always said life is unfair But I don’t see it that way. I think, “Where did I go wrong?” But others say, “Don’t blame yourself.”
Who else can I say did it then? Life isn’t a person nor is it a thing. More of a saying, is it not?
Now others say life is perfect. That’s because they have everything they could ever want— A two-story house, a never-fighting family, And so much more.
Now, I don’t have that luxury I have to keep on pushing, no matter what happens.
“Life” keeps pushing me down. No, don’t say that. Where did you go wrong? Find it, then fix it or do it better. Never blame others for your faults. But once again I am told this is wrong. And when I ask, “Why?” They respond with: “It just is.”
The Lure of the Extraordinary Peacockby Prachi Kothari, age 11, Mumbai, India
A blue glow
That makes everyone say “Ooo”
The peacock’s feathers when spread look like they give to the ground, blue light
Which brings to the watchers, a charming smile
When the wet rain with the ground together clap
This scene is extraordinary, incredible, fab
The peacock starts dancing exceptionally arresting
We feel around us an ecstasy fencing
Golden green rays emit from their feathers
That we can’t stop to gather
For perceiving this wondrous sight
It would be marvelous if it could take a sky-high flight
When looking at it, our eyes pounce out and magically stop
The peacock is so magnificent from bottom to top.
If it comes dancing on the road
Everything from cars to people would be on hold
It spreads out its wings with valor
In us, we need to imbibe that gleaming color.
We should not just sit and perch on the tree
Do something outstanding that makes everyone feel glee
Animals should be given importance and cared
Do not let them become extinct and rare.
Increase the number of animals and birds
Build national parks and sanctuaries where they can freely and happily run
Store the beautiful sights of the peacock in your mind and heart
So that these pleasant sights keep coming repeatedly and ever last.
Prachi Kothari is a 11-yr-old author and has published several books in her series, "The Lightning Bulbs of My Heart".She lives in Mumbai, India, and she is a blogger. You can visit her site: exemplaryprachi.blogspot.com. She is one of the youngest podcasters and runs her show, 'Extraordinary World On Earth' where she spreads excellent awareness of theenvironment. She is a YouTuber at 'Prachi Kothari' where she recites many of her poems.She enjoys writing and hopes to create a better world for all.
Lanterns bloom like flowers, the light and colour of crowded city streets.
Folded paper, a slinky of patterns,
Dancing as the candle flame flickers a pattern silhouette.
There are plastic lanterns these days, thick and rubbery with a strange smell,
Lit up with a mini LED bulb.
They come in all shapes and sizes, pop culture and cartoon designs.
Mickey Mouse, Power Rangers, Doraemon.
I remember my cousin had an Elsa once, a matching pair with her Anna-toting sister.
We met with mooncakes under a full moon,
Lotus paste sticky sweet, salted egg yolk seawater respite.
Our ancestors looked up at the same moon, and now we stand in their light—
A product of their mistakes and triumphs.
We stand tall, a proud new generation,
Eager to take on the world outside our Hong Kong,
Not knowing how much our bubble would change in the years that watched us grow.
I was fourteen when I left on a fifteen hour flight to the United States,
Creating a half-globe’s distance within my heart.
I write this at sixteen, a full lifetime for so many before me, a full lifetime for still too many.
Arkansas is American Southern, dry and green and different and not a bad place to be—
And yet I remain a daughter of the Asian East—
My bones do not feel like they belong.
I sat under the ever-present moon last Mid-Autumn, my second in the States,
Eating mooncakes gifted by my art teacher, the only other Chinese person I know in the area.
I look up to the sky, to the stars my cousins do not see, the stars drowned by neon light—
I look up to the sky, to the moon my family looked at thirteen hours ago, the moon my ancestors saw a woman’s story in.
The moon keeps me close to home. By Chiu-yi Rachel Ngai, 16, Arkansas. She adds: "I grew up in the bustling streets of Hong Kong. I moved to the U.S.when I was fourteen in order to get a better education. I am fluent in English and Cantonese. I can understand Mandarin/ Putonghua better than I can speak it. I am working on overcoming my internalized racism towards myself for being Chinese, and I decided to submit to Skipping Stones as part of my journey towards accepting myself and finding pride and joy in my cultural identity."
The Unforgettable Memories of School
Waking up in the morning was a pain,
Four more days to go, we’d say in our brain.
Oh! Those long morning assemblies,
Where we melted in summers and in winters stood numbly.
I bet we all had a teacher who was like our worst nightmare,
I will never forget all the gossip about her that we shared.
Faking signatures was an inborn talent we all had,
And making excuses was like our jam.
In lunch breaks we shared our food,
On one’s birthday to get two chocolates we argued.
We passed chits around the class,
From one end to another we would sit and laugh.
The times before the exams were filled with anxiety and stress,
Oh! Those dreadful sleepless nights, the misery we couldn’t express.
We made many friends, but the true ones stayed,
The others were good, but they eventually fade.
For the weekend we would desperately long,
The best two days of the week, oh! So, fast they would already be gone.
We stuck with each other in times of laughter and in times of strife,
Unaware of it all we made memories for life.
By Simerah Pinto, age 13, Dubai, U.A.E.
