Beowulf—his name means “bee hunter”
And yet, he hunts much more than that.
Like his bees, Beowulf fights for his friends
His bravery makes him like the sky
Which never hides its face
Staring down at the earth, fearless and stoic
Despite the many terrors
Fame and money are not what he seeks
His cloudy eyes search for those who plead for help
When he finds the needy
The hero bursts from deep inside his heart
A fiery soldier without armor or weapons
Only strong but humble hands, ready for battle
He began as a small child living on a farm
Most heroes start similar to this
Like a small baby bird, trying to fly
To become a hero, one must not dwell too much on one’s past
But look into the future and disregard all flaws
The one secret is this:
Wait—I can’t tell you. Only you can figure it out yourself.
The Train of Thought
Thinking is a train
It helps you get to places
But it can sometimes be very annoying;
If you leave it for too long
It will be gone
The sounds are confusing until you
Get into the carriage
At the stations, people and thoughts
Might come on
Sometimes, a fat person sits down
Clouding your mind with bad thoughts
A beautiful he or she might
Take the seat opposite
Filling your head with joy
The journey between stops might be long
Other times, the train comes to a complete
Halt, and you can think of
The trains you board
Are not always the same
Some are slow
Some are fast
And this poem has no last line
Because my train of thought
Hasn’t reached it
What is This Poem About?
Hello there, could you please tell me
What I am writing about?
Am I writing about dogs, cats or kangaroos?
Or something deeper, like
Love, passion or thought?
Is this about me or you or hullaballoo?
On second thought, how am I even writing this
If I don’t know what I’m writing about?
You might think I’ve lost all sanity
Then again, I could be in another universe
In which poems are written like this
Is this poem even being read?
If it is, where, and by whom?
And why is this person reading this poem?
In fact, is that person, you?
A Letter to Su T’ung Po, Chinese Poet
Nature is as perplexing as it was a thousand years ago, in your time.
But time flows on, and we’re finding out more and more about it.
Our nature questions are no longer about the mountains and trees
But instead about the sky.
In the future, in my future,
The questions I am asking right now
Might be answered, as yours were answered.
I stand here in the quiet forest, thinking of the poem you have written.
Lucas Sass, Age 12, Grade 7, Packer Collegiate Institute, Silver Key