May it snow in San Francisco
May the fishes talk to you
May the sharks not eat people.
May the homeless have houses.
May you sleep in the clouds.
May your heart beat like a song.
May people not sweat in the summer.
May you swim in spaghetti.
May you travel in space.
May people not drown.
May your clothes glow in the dark.
When you get cut, may you not bleed.
May yams turn to hams.
May you be able to pick up a table with one finger.
May there be no guns.
May your world be full of shiny crystal pearls.
May your heart come out and see heaven.

- WritersCorps students at Mercy Services
From the anthology “City of One”published by Aunt Lute Books

Poem of the Month: December 2010

You make me feel
Like an African Queen
Who doesn’t have to lift a finger
You make me feel like a butterfly
Who is getting ready to burst out of her cocoon
To show off her beauty
Even though you are a woman who has been beaten
And didn’t say anything because you were scared
Through all that you survived
You make me feel like an African Queen
You make me feel
The way I feel

– Emauni Crawford, age 12

From “Tell the World,” published by HarperCollins
Poem of the Month: April 2009

For Chad Sweeney

The little mute girl was looking for her
Voice, in a drop of water.
Standing patiently, on the other side,
The dog grants the snow
A loaf of bread on his shoulders.
He said: The way is long,
But what you have,
Is this wave, snatched by the seagulls.
By the way, did you know that
A watermelon can heal in fifty ways?
The child was only listening,
Writing her own questions,
Clenching and opening one small hand.
You think I am speaking in riddles,
But the world only means itself.
There is nothing to throw away.
A proud voice later speaks:
I give to Chad a tulip
To thank him for teaching me
How to see.
To thank him for teaching me
How to build.

– Indiana Pehlivanova

From the anthology “Tell the World,” published by HarperCollins
Poem of the Month: December 2008

Thank you
for allowing me to see
clearly and without difficulty
You help to distinguish me from everyone else.
You give me something to
take care of, and keep clean,
as if I was caring for a child.
You bring out the beauty of
the mountains and trees.
You sharpen the color of the flowers
and sky, of the fire and water,
the pink cherry blossoms falling from the tree
at the corner of the block,
the red ketchup stain on my favorite white sweater
after eating dad’s homemade hot dogs,
the darkness invading the sky
during a thunderstorm,
the jade bracelet around my grandma’s wrist.
My glasses,
you wait for me every morning
when I wake up,
in the case next to my pillow,
always there when I need you.
Thank you.

– David Nguyen, 14

From a WritersCorps publication at Mission High School
Poem of the Month: November 2006