• Skip to primary navigation
  • Skip to main content

Blue Marble Review

Literary Journal for Young Writers

  • Home
  • About
    • Masthead
    • Contact
    • Donate
  • Books
  • Issues
    • Covid Stories
  • FAQs
  • Submit

Poetry

Lunch at Elementary School

By Albert Zhang

The lunch line, swirling

Full of anxious adolescents

Waiting to feed in a frenzy

Of hotdogs and burgers

 

Like a rambunctious dragon

Upon discovery of its prey:

A lone rabbit, helpless

 

Like me, sitting at the end

Of the long, plastic table

My black lunch box on it

Containing baozi and noodles

Wearing a red tee from

the Chinese New Year’s Festival

Trying to hide from my predators.

 

Light blue trays,

The surplus of ketchup on their hotdogs and burgers,

Neat hair,

Bright polos

Mark them as a different species.

 

I try to camouflage myself

Inching closer to the group

Pretending that I belong

In order to avoid detection

But the baozi gives me off.

 

Once I take a bite of it

Its luscious contents and savory flavor

Creamier and less sweet than ketchup

Waft out from the meatball inside

Into the noses of the predators.

 

All eyes turn to me

Like a tiger stares its prey

Before it pounces

Catching me mid-bite into my second baozi.

 

Suddenly, I’m

All alone, helpless

About to be devoured.

 

 

Albert Zhang is Head Editor for The Westminster Schools Bi-Line, the school newspaper. He is also Co-Editor-in-Chief of Evolutions Magazine, Westminster’s annual creative writing magazine. Albert attended The Kenyon Review workshop, SCAD as a Silver Scholar, was published in Celebrating Art and exhibited in Atlanta’s High Museum, Capitol, and National Fair.

 

 

 

 

Albert Zhang is Head Editor for The Westminster Schools Bi-Line, the school newspaper. He is also Co-Editor-in-Chief of Evolutions Magazine, Westminster’s annual creative writing magazine. Albert attended The Kenyon Review workshop, SCAD as a Silver Scholar, was published in Celebrating Art and exhibited in Atlanta’s High Museum, Capitol, and National Fair.

How We Talk About Juliet

By Amanda Lee

i.

Botanically: as the blushing rose named

for her, vivisected into light-shy

petals.             On the flower

-laced continuum of taxonomy

we scatter her somewhere between

inanimate object and heroine.

 

ii.

Linguistically: we assign her the word

“devoted” and move on to Romeo.

But shouldn’t we stop and debate if she, too,

can be strong? Debate if women can be

workers

breadwinners?

Only 2 women debate in parliament.

 

iii.

Mathematically: equate her relationships. Love

is the product of physical beauty. Is this

why my friends starve themselves?

Strawberry juice

is the colour of botched

skin after plastic surgery, blood

seeping through Botoxed smiles.

 

iv.

Artistically: paint her pale skinned, baby-

curled, trailing damask. We hand her

a button

for modesty. Then criticize her

for her short skirts, hot pink

binders and crop tops.

 

v.

Astronomically: hold our hands against the same

constellations            Juliet

looked up to when Romeo left her     lost

and alone. We watch the moon wax and

wane, looking for a line of best fit

through this

star-crossed path.

 

 

Amanda Lee Siu Ching is from Singapore. Amanda is a student at Raffles Girls’ School (Secondary) and a Creative Arts Programme mentee. Her work has been recognised by the Torrance Legacy Creative Writing Awards and appeared in TeenInk.

Father

By Stephen Duncanson

May I move your shovel from beside the door? Back when I was little, the street you’d clear stamping, damp layers shed, boots upon the floor; you haven’t touched it once this year.

Scrape scrape, oh how quickly you would move. My brothers too would press our noses against window glass to see what you’ve
cut through the snow, red hat and standing tall.

And now your hair gets more and more like snow; it’s melting off with every coming spring.
And grey, asphalt pebbles, where once was glow —do I need worry? Have you lost something?

Father, I moved your shovel from beside the door, now I brave the storm outside
and I need you, all the more.

 

Stephen Duncanson is a freshman at Southern Connecticut State University. He has been published once before in the Blue Marble Review as well as in Polyphony HS. In his free time he enjoys reading and weightlifting.

Solipsist

By Dana Dykiel

 

        Small towns grow big stories
in the cracks between the sidewalk, in the silence
between words, the ones we fill
with what we do not know.
        We have heard sirens call
from static, read novels
from paragraphs, built lives
out of fantasies.
        We have bloomed too bold
for tepid sunlight and gentle
breaths of earth-
        We are prodigies of steel
and sugar, the ghosts
of cities not yet seen and of
devotions not yet lived. Now,
        We find no stories left untold
and lie on our backs, sinking
into the ceiling, hoping to transform
through our own alchemy.
        An army of children, straining to grow up,
waiting for the world to move.

Dana is a high school senior who lives in Massachusetts. As a lover of language, she works as a staff member on Polyphony HS and Window Seat. Her writing has been recognized by the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards, as well as published on Kingdoms in the Wild.

Planet Blue

By Vivian Tsai

beneath the clear sky we are wide-eyed

and wee,

all dancing-and-dizzy

wherever we roam;

how lovely to spin

ourselves topsy-and-tizzy

on the brink of this marble

we like to call

home.

Vivian Tsai currently studies computer science and applied math at Johns Hopkins University. She spends her free time doodling, writing letters, and playing tennis with friends.

Death the Chef

By Emily Dorffer

Preparing blackened boy, I heat a house

with matches struck by boredom. Hungry flames

escape and gnaw the door. The boy can’t douse

the fire that licks the walls and ends his games.

 

I marinate a girl in salty brine.

As coral traps her foot, some kelp and weeds

entangle legs. A shark’s sharp teeth confine

her thrashing limbs. She trails from jaws and bleeds.

 

Methinks it’s best to serve outdoorsmen chilled.

As snowflakes season skin, the hiker slips.

The crack of bone on stone announces spilled

ingredients, and frostbite tints his lips.

 

One day, dear reader, you shall make a fine,

delicious dish, and I alone shall dine.

 

 

Emily Dorffer is a current undergraduate at Johns Hopkins University. When she isn’t busy reading or writing, she loves spoiling her cat and baking with her mom. Her works have previously appeared in Cicada, Breath & Shadow, and The Lyric.

  • « Go to Previous Page
  • Page 1
  • Interim pages omitted …
  • Page 100
  • Page 101
  • Page 102
  • Page 103
  • Page 104
  • Interim pages omitted …
  • Page 120
  • Go to Next Page »

Copyright © 2025 · Site by Sumy Designs, LLC