Poems featured on this page also appear in the 2018 volume of Cascadia, OPA’s student poetry journal.
A Winter Poem
A rough piece of wood is sprinkled with sugar.
Green grass with droplets of water whistle a soft lullaby to a child.
The whistling makes birds’ lonely cries sound like screams to me.
Trees are playing a still game of statues.
Jocelyn Burdick
Oregon Trail Academy, Boring: Fourth Grade
Tara Fagan, Teacher
Bonded Birches
In the dark moonlight, shining on
Going farther and farther away
Always cracked, torn, and fine with their life
What a purpley-blue night it was
But the one shining color was the moon
High up in the sky
So yellow and bright
With the green grass
As if there were white snow with a dusting of dirt
How a crescent moon can light up the whole wood
To guide the way of younglings
The trees a rest stop for children
To lean their backs against
To lie there in the shade
And to sleep on the grass below
What a purpley-blue night it was
Naomi Donaldson
Portland Jewish Academy, Portland: Fifth Grade
Harriet Wingard, Teacher
The Way of Swaying
Swaying,
swaying,
swaying
in the cool
light wood.
The winged rest
upon me.
I am birch.
White trunk
with slashes of brown
like blood.
Swaying,
swaying,
here, there,
swaying.
I kiss the
sky with my
limbs. Then I feel
it, the dew-wet
blade of an axe
slices into me. The pain
is unbearable. Going down
now death. The wood gone like ripped paper, over, like that.
Saul Drucker
Portland Jewish Academy, Portland: Fifth Grade
Harriet Wingard, Teacher
The Outside
Dense green trees swaying in the wind
Turquoise sky shining in the sun
branchy bark chips feel good in my hand
Roaring wind freezes me up
A dull grey car is a statue
The great sound of a slamming door
Bark chips look like ice
Hard pencils tapping
Metallic fence freezes my tongue
Cold air feels good
Beautiful farm in distance
The striped bark chips
A bird flying low makes us look up
Zac Pietzold
Oregon Trail Academy, Boring: Fourth Grade
Tara Fagan, Teacher
Waiter
“Coming in,” said Waiter Flynn
On a sunny afternoon
But Flynn was a flower wilting
That sadly could not bloom
He walked thinking, people winking
But no one glanced at him
Carrying trays and ice cream plates
In his world of dark and dim
Dreams deferred, hopes out of sight
It all changed one night
Now Waiter Flynn waits
Serving people and not his fate
Waiter in, waiter out
Waiter right, waiter left
Each path not taken
Each word not said
Kaselyn Pothoff
Ewing Young Elementary School, Newberg: Fourth Grade
Dawn Reed, Teacher
Things that Blow Me Away
Looking at the stars and the moon on a cool night.
Staring at flowers blowing in the wind, seeing all the details that you never notice.
On top of a mountain, looking, believing, that what you live on is all below you.
Hearing the wind and the waves together, crashing, shrieking, at night.
Being under a canopy of trees looking at all the shades of green above you.
Closing your eyes and listening, just listening.
Walking by yourself at night being lightly touched by the night breeze.
Holding someone’s hand and having a wind come through your mind blowing all your thoughts
into a cage and locking them up.
Things that blow me away.
Morgan Powell
Portland Jewish Academy, Portland: Fourth Grade
Megan Hughes, Teacher
the birds fly no more
wind rustles weeping willows
winter has arrived
Sunny Press
Portland Jewish Academy, Portland: Fourth Grade
James Juntunen, Teacher
A Wise Birch Tree
On a cold March morning, too much like December
A wise birch tree surveyed the moon, never looking away
Not because he was scared
But because he wanted to remember
The birch tree stood still
And let the wind tickle his branches
It felt comforting,
And he felt less alone in this world
All of his friends were long gone
Taken by lumberjacks
With their big boots and careless steps
Stomping on everything Mother Nature has created
Then a girl came and smiled at the wise birch tree
Understanding the need for a friend
With her small hands, she dug into the soft soil
And planted a sacred seed of life
“Now more will grow,” thought the wise birch tree
When I am gone, I will not be the last
This comforted the wise birch tree
He took one last glimpse at his surroundings
And knew it was his time
He smiled at the seedling,
And closed his eyes forever
Bella Robinson
Portland Jewish Academy, Portland: Fifth Grade
Harriet Wingard, Teacher
When the years of my childhood I think of is over
The painful pictures of memories attack me when I think of her
Like glass from a broken window stab my eyes
Anna’s face perfectly shone by light
I have many thoughts of childhood
But I only think of her as a summary
My best friend
I will never see again
Til I too lose my life
Moira Rusaw
Ewing Young Elementary, Newberg: Fifth Grade
Rachel Keyser, Teacher