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Colorful Zebras
by Nick, seventh grade poet

My brother’s zebras are highly paid
They’re colorful zebras that tan in the shade
They can juggle balloons filled with helium
But you have to pay high prices just to see ‘em.

The very first thing they do in the show
Is play violin without using a bow
They drag their tails across every string
And play music better than any other thing.

At this point in the show, my brother comes out
And talks about his zebras while he rubs their snout
He shouts out their names while he whispers his speech
He says, “This one’s called Charcoal and this one’s called Bleach.”

The zebras start their grand finale about now
They climb into a rocket and blast off with a POW
But when the rocket flies up the zebras go down
At first the crowd gasps then no one makes a sound.

The crowd says they are wrong but they know they are right
They say, “I don’t believe it, what a terrible sight!”
The zebras were brought down by one tiny rocket
And the crowd walked away with empty pockets.

Once the tent is taken down
My brother leaves with a terrible frown
But late that night, with smiles on their faces
The zebras leave their hiding places.

(Click here to open Nick and another middle school writer's poems.)

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Memories
by Ashkan, eighth grade poet

There, as I sat on my porch
Drinking an empty cup of soda
In last year's Halloween costume—Yoda—,
I smelled something funny.
It smelled just like cat poop,
Must have been the dog,
But that smell brought back some memories:

Like the time I was chased by a cop with no legs
Just because I was caught trying to steal some eggs.

Or the time I was mauled by a big Grizzly bear.
That gorgeous monster ruined my hair.

And when I met the world's biggest miniature pony,
I almost thought this would just be a phony.

Once as I opened a bolted door,
I had no idea on the other side was a wild boar.

Now I remember that I've caused all this destruction,
But back then, I must have thought it was all just construction!

(Click here to open Ashkan and another middle school writer's poems.)