Poetry by Anika Rose Carlson
A healthy plant sprouts peacefully upon an
ominous praying mantis. It twitches its antennae, slowly
turning its head right, left, up, and down to sense its
surroundings. Without awakening any life, the praying mantis
is in complete camouflage.
The fresh smell of flowers treats the slow turtle
as he ducks and hides deep in grasses, safe and sound
in his shell. He waddles through the gentle breeze and
the droopy fog, a quiet day like this is the best way
to feel safe.
Folded up in damp weeds and cold, sandy pebbles
a toad sits lazily and calmly with a bumpy back and
strong legs. Still, quiet spaces lay throughout a careful
eye, always ready to spring for safety.
Wet, sticky hands cling to royal green leaves both
right ways up or upside down poses. Nothing at all can stop
the pale green tree frog from climbing shiny leaves
to escape the hungry predators among him. Spying eyes
are tools of protection and for scuttering insects.
This garden is my bed. The stone here is my
chair. The misty, colorful garden behind me can make most of
paradise. I sit in smooth vines, on a cold stone wall.
The sky, so drowsy and my tail, so fluffy. The patches
of red, white, and green sprouting flowers fall asleep upon
my glowing, hazel eyes. Fair are the houses above the tangled
shrubs and my pointed ear. Silky bushes crawl upon
stone, platformed pathways going along impossible perspectives.
The rosy pink pebbles sit there in the middle of my ornery
dreams and a thorny, bare tree. My royal, damp paws are
planted here in my spot and my spot only. This feeling
concludes my eternal right…to fade off with the lonely clouds.
This poetry was written and contributed by Anika Rose Carlson, age 10, from Paonia, Colorado.