Posted in Young Writers in Action

Young writers in action: Cyclone Debbie

CYCLONE DEBBIE
by Anishka, 7, QLD

Rain and wind. Photo courtesy pexels.com

 

Swirling wind fills the sky,
I hope it is not a cyclone’s eye.
Suddenly the wind roars,
And rain floods the roads.
Cyclone Debbie is on her way,
And it is staying all day.
Be careful, you better watch out,
I hope you will shout!
Cyclone Debbie is on her way,
I don’t think, she’ll ever stay.
Everybody is safe, everybody is here,
Next time we will not stand fear.


Anishka is a regular contributor to Alphabet Soup — you can read all her earlier work here.

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Posted in poetry, Young Writers in Action

Young writers in action: One Snowflake for You

ONE SNOWFLAKE FOR YOU
by Lacey, Nambour Christian College, QLD

Snow storm. Photo courtesy of Pexels.comSoftly falling from the sky
Gentle, loving and divine,
Playful, happy, time is true
One is landing just for you.

Softly falling from the sky,
Gentle, loving and divine,
White and beautiful,
Clean and fruitful
Just for you.

Snowflake, Snowflake,
Why don’t you come down?
Snowflake, Snowflake,
Not making a sound.


This is Lacey’s first book review for Alphabet Soup. To send us YOUR book review, check out our submission guidelines. Happy reading!

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Posted in Young Writers in Action

Young writers in action: Mandy and the idea

MANDY AND THE IDEA
by Joshua, 8, NSW

Once there lived three children who always helped out. One was called Molly, one was called Mandy, and one was called James.

One day, Mandy looked in the store room for food. She saw a dog, but no food! At once she knew what had happened. She rushed downstairs to the fireplace where her mother was making the fire to cook the food.

When Mother heard the news she ran to the storeroom and brought the dog to the pet shop. When Mother got home there was still a big problem. There was no food!

“Mother, maybe you can see how much money you have,” Mandy said.

Mother looked in her purse.

“Ten dollars,” answered her mother.

“Great! May I have the ten dollars?” asked Mandy.

“What do you have to say?”

“Please.”

“Yes, you may,” said Mother.

“I can give you twice as much back,” said Mandy, grabbing a basket.

Now Mother knew that Mandy had an idea.

Mandy ran to the grocery shop and asked for two lemons and a bag of sugar. When she got them, she ran to the carpenter’s shop and borrowed a table.

After that, she ran back home and borrowed Mother’s scarf. Then she called the family together and said, “Let’s start a lemonade stand.”

Everyone agreed. Mother found a board and her paints. Then she wrote, “Lemonade” and the other side, “Closed.” James helped Mandy set the stand and make the lemonade. Molly found her ribbon to hang up the sign. Mandy went to buy paper cups with the last dollars.

Honey (photo from pexels.com)One by one, people came.

“One dollar, two dollars, three dollars, four dollars…. 50 dollars!” exclaimed Molly at the end of the day (when the store was closed).

“I’ll go buy some oats,” said Mother, “and for a treat, honey and milk.”

“Thanks,” said the children.

That afternoon, Mother fed them. It was Mandy’s first time she had ever had honey. Everyone, including Mandy, loved the treats.


You can read one of Joshua’s earlier stories here.  If YOU would like to send us a story, drawing, poem, or book review, check out our submission guidelines. Happy writing!

Posted in Young Writers in Action

Young writers in action: Fishing

FISHING
A first play by Gabriel, 6, NSW

Footprints in beach Sand (photo courtesy of pexels.com)[Setting: At the beach]

Dad: Let’s get fishing on the beach.

Josh: OK, Dad.

Gabe: OK, Dad. Dad, can I dig a channel from the water to the sand so the fish can swim in?

Dad: Yes, you can.

Gabe: Thank you. [Gabriel starts digging.] Dad, I caught no fish!

Dad: That means you need to make it longer, Gabe.

Gabe: OK. But I am tired and hungry.

Josh: Me too.

Dad: OK, let’s go home.

Gabe: But let’s keep on fishing for one more minute.

Josh and Dad : [sadly] OK

Gabe: I think you have got a fish, Dad.

Dad: Yes, I have. I will throw it back into the water.

Gabe: Dad, why did you throw it into my channel? But thank you, because it is mine now!

THE END


Gabriel is a regular contributer to Alphabet Soup. You can read some of his earlier work here. If YOU would like to send us a story, drawing, poem, or book review, check out our submission guidelines. Happy writing!

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Posted in Young Writers in Action

Young writers in action: A Run for the Cup

A RUN FOR THE CUP
by Lily, 11, QLD

Crack! The explosion of the official’s starter gun echoed through the air, as my heart began to pound against my chest. The quivering mount beneath me burst eagerly from the barrier gate, her sleek, black body stretching out and then springing back as firmly and powerfully as an elastic band. I could feel her energy through my seat, poised over her neck, her eagerness to demonstrate the power that lay within. I held her back, not wishing to burn out her energy, which would diminish our chance to win. She obeyed, though rather reluctantly. We were doing just fine, boxed in by a big bay stallion and a snorting black mare. As we pounded along, my thoughts drifted.

This was The Stakes, a horse race for younger thoroughbreds to earn a career in racing, by placing or winning and hopefully being snapped up by a buyer and spurred on to a bountiful racing year. I worked for a man who trained and raced thoroughbreds to sell as bigger, more successful (and hopefully more expensive), racers. He hadn’t had a whole lot of success lately, but the horse I was riding, Black Diamond, was bringing him hope. She was nearly two, and showed a lot of
potential as a champion racer. The black filly had so far won all her maiden races and my boss wanted to build up her value as well as her record. If she kept on the way she was going, she would be a very valuable and expensive broodmare by the time she retired. This was why it was so important to win.

I was angry at myself, I needed my thoughts on the race, not my boss. I was around the middle of the pack, and slowly making my way to the front. Then, we crossed the halfway point. I decided to keep Black Diamond where she was, gently slipping past the other jockeys. Her power was unfaltering, a sleek body stretching and gathering, stretching and gathering. Her strong, flexible hooves pounded and tore at the track’s turf, leaving great gashes in the soft green padding. Soon, we were coming in third, our focus on Don Primo, the great bay beast that had been dominating first place since the start.

As we galloped into the final leg, I knew it was time to go full out. I raised my legs and brought them down firmly into Black Diamond’s sides, as my whip slashed the air and I called, ‘HUP’. She responded eagerly, as if she had been waiting for this moment. Her nostrils flared and her neck stretched out, her thunderous hooves fell into rhythm with my heart — bu-doom, bu-doom, bu-doom. Black Diamond’s sweaty flank brushed past the tiring grey mare that had held second place. Her rider shook his head, recognising defeat.

Then, there was just Don Primo and his jockey to go. He would be harder to pass as we were still in position at the rail and the only way to overtake was to push
between Don Primo’s heaving side and the hard white barrier rail. I weighed up our chances. Black Diamond was beginning to tire and the gap was small. Most horses wouldn’t be able to do it, but Black Diamond wasn’t like most horses. She was smaller, craftier and had way more heart than any other racehorse I had
ever ridden. The worst that could happen was second place and that wasn’t bad at all. But it wasn’t first. I decided to try.

I let loose a little more rein and gathered Black Diamond’s strength. I leant even further over her neck and brought my legs down on her sides. I waved the whip through the air and spurred her on with my heels. That did it. She surged forwards and squeezed through the gap, my leg knocking against the jockey’s stirrup. We were neck and neck, with twenty metres to go, when Black Diamond somehow found her last surge of energy. We were a nose ahead when the unwavering duo crossed the line.

I pulled her up to a canter, then a trot, before a tired, but triumphant walk. I dismounted and suddenly caught sight of Arlo Donatelli, my boss. He was cheering wildly, tears of joy running down his cheeks, hugging all within reach. He was an elderly man in a suit, but with more strength and stamina than any other old man I know. His shocked and elated expression betrayed all his joy at our first big win in four years. That was when I realised we had won. I turned, stunned beyond words, to Black Diamond.

“We’ve won The Stakes, my lady!” I whispered joyfully.
The mare just snorted as if she had known all along what the outcome would be. All the same, she held her head high and began a prance rather than a walk as we made our way through the scattering of tired, panting horses and their rather glum jockeys. I spotted Don Primo and his jockey, Jack Dunn. Jack looked sulky and disappointed, and he glared at me as I led Black Diamond past. I didn’t mind, for nothing could mar the memory of the day when I, Tim McArthy, won The
Stakes.


This is Lily’s first story published at Alphabet Soup. If YOU would like to send us a story, drawing, poem, or book review, check out our submission guidelines. Happy writing!

Posted in Young Writers in Action

Young writers in action: The Life of a 50 cent piece

THE LIFE OF A 50 CENT PIECE
by Olive, 10, QLD

couch by pexels.comDull. Boring. Dark. Is how my life is.

“Why?” you may ask. Because I am a 50 cent piece stuck behind the couch and that was all my life was — dull, dark, boring. Until one day.

“Mum!” I heard Belle scream. (Now remember Belle, it will come in handy later on. Belle was my owner before I was lost behind the couch.)

“She is coming, Belle!” shouted Belle’s mum. “Lucy will be here soon.”  I was so glad when I heard this because whenever Lucy comes over so does her brother, Ben. He loves to sneak off and look under and behind the couch where he finds me. Ben is my hero.

Lucy is Belle’s BFF — so Ben is always over — so I am never lost for too long.

DING DONG, the doorbell rings … only seconds until I am saved!

“Where is Ben?” I hear Belle’s Mum ask. Fear prickles down my metal edges.

“Sick,” replies Lucy’s Mum.

Thoughts flow into my tiny metal skull. ‘Will I be behind this couch forever?’ Just the thought of it makes me spin.

There is a scream then a loud SMASH right next to me

Then I see her, the love of my life, roll out from under the couch — 20 cent piece. We have two children, their names are 5 cent piece and her brother 10 cent piece.

 

Years have gone by now and I am growing old and rusty — but don’t weep for me, because I am just a 50 cent piece, a slab of metal. I will never die, for I am metal.

It is now time to say ‘Good day.’


This is Olive’s first story published at Alphabet Soup. If YOU would like to send us a story, drawing, poem, or book review, check out our submission guidelines. Happy writing!

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Posted in poetry, Young Writers in Action

Young writers in action: Forest

a forest photo by pexels.com

Forest
by Kaia, 10, USA

Among the vast trees sees

Lie secrets that shall never leak peek

No human shall ever find confined

The birds can only feel conceal

The hush of the forest purest

.


Kaia has been published with Alphabet Soup previously. You can read her earlier piece: ‘Anger’. If YOU would like to send us a story, drawing, poem, or book review, check out our submission guidelines. Happy writing!

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