I am curious and generous I wonder why there is so much hate I hear the voices of past students I see a future that is unclear (this isn't a bad thing though) I want to help heal the city I am curious and generous
I pretend I am a best-selling author I feel the passions of my students I touch the rocks and refreshing water of Agawa Bay I worry about my students, past and present I cry when I see students coming to life I am curious and generous
I understand the more I learn, the more I don't know I say God is real I dream for a healed city I try to awaken the passions of my students I hope that they'll all be the change agents that they can be I am curious and generous
Kinship Writing Red Color of health Internal organs Nutritious food Summer’s garden Of posies, Roses and rose mallows. Red can seethe Bleed Pour out as Passion Hurled invectives Or a Gush as a Valentine’s syrupy Affections.
Redder Healthier More nutritious Two summer gardens Double hurled gushier more affections my best valentine
Cold Freezing Pure and crisp Layers the Earth Like a warm winter blanket. Oh how we love the fresh fallen snow But when springtime arrives We are glad to see it go.
Yellow
Bright Vibrant Lights up the sky Comes up with the sun Resembles a firefly When the day is done Yellow sets with the sun
I’m from a home where my mother rules as queen while the rest of us serve as her loyal subjects. I’m from a home where days conclude by sharing our highs and lows while eating chocolate covered strawberries. I’m from a home of Little Women, The Secret Garden, and A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. I’m from a home of fresh cut flowers blooming in the foyer and my mother’s “Angel” perfume permeating throughout the apartment.
I’m from a neighborhood that as I grow, the more it stays the same. I’m from a neighborhood that honors the eccentric woman, bundled in her leopard fur as she freely dances in the street. I’m from a neighborhood where the cul-de-sac serves as the baseball field, roller rink, and bike path. I’m from a neighborhood that resembles the United Nations; integrated cultures, religions, and beliefs.
I’m from a city where tall skyscrapers loom over the streets. Horns and sirens blare; a constant reminder that I’m not alone. I’m from East Side verse West Side, Giants verse Jets, Yankees verse Mets. I’m from Broadway shows, Central Park, The Met, 9/11. I’m from a place that shapes my very being.
Lollipops and hair bows little girls with painted toes the innocence of childhood on a painted wall that's made of wood. Perky, fun, and full of life, you hope they never feel that strife. the beauty of a rosy cheek and the unwelcome smile when we feel we weak. It wakes us up and takes us back to that time of happiness that the presence lacks
By: Lauren Chavenne
Presence
Here, now, in the moment Live your life as if tomorrow isn’t promised Take a minute to smell the roses Feel the music, listen to the beat Living in the past or future equals defeat Here, now, in the moment This the key Yes, but at what fee?
In a corner of the cavernous living room, amidst a sea of couches, he was uncomfortable. As the room buzzed with middle school voices, he absorbed cruelty--sucked up laughter (not the joyful kind) and allowed it to make him smaller.
The words spat at him destroyed the bones in his face.
He folded like paper--once, twice, three times--until he was a tiny square.
He was a nice kid. Bi-weekly couch sessions of Kit Kats and Mr. Pibb, of board games and movies, of a square peg in a square hole. Finally.
But he wasn't like everyone else anymore. He was only like himself again.
From not too far, I watched. Absorbed. Angry. Sad. Obligated somehow.
And so...
When I couldn't take it. When my chest hurt too bad and my eyes were brimming with his tears. When my confusion was so great as to why no adult was ANYWHERE TO BE FOUND EVER WHEN YOU NEED THEM. When I could no longer stand to be in my own bone marrow, I knew what needed to be done.
But I left instead.
I left and I sat on the cold concrete steps in the June perfection, and I cried.
Where James Lives By: Molly Ostergaard February 23, 2014 11:15 AM
James resided East of the laughter and giggles, East of the strollers and leashes, East of the hot dog and lemonade stands, East of the swings and the baseball fields.
His home fell beneath the construction cranes, And alongside the cars rushing by. It was just outside a broken building, Where hundreds of families would soon call home.
James resided at the broken brick wall In the empty dirt garden Near the cracked pavement And the rolling trash.
Like his neighbors, James was home. His wobbly cart sat there every night. He slept between his torn blanket And a mattress of dirt.
He looked out for the neighbors' cars. He knew the neighborhood dogs by name. Until the city asked James to move.
"Where does James live," I ask myself Over and over again.
Cold Freezing Pure and crisp Layers the Earth Like a warm winter blanket. Oh how we love the fresh fallen snow But when springtime arrives We are glad to see it go.
Yellow
Bright Vibrant Lights up the sky Comes up with the sun Resembles a firefly When the day is done Yellow sets with the sun
The termites eat away at the wooden steps as my schedule eats away at the hours and days of my life. Munching on the tastiest looking wood and then going on with their days. The steps dwindle down making my goals harder to achieve. I start running, trying to get over the steps but it gets harder and harder. Finally, I break through into a clearing, and again I can see up to the clear blue sky.
My paternal grandmother was the first immigrant born in America
She came from Poland.
My maternal grandfather was a part of a long line of German Quakers that extends almost to the Mayflower.
I vaguely remember my paternal grandfather because he died of alcoholism.
He was a teacher, but took off to sell drugs and party in Florida.
My maternal grandfather was a part of a long line of great people that includes an important member of the underground railroad, a senator and a professor.
I like that I am a mutt
A mix of blue blood and blue collar
Past filled with sins and honor
Both make me unique and push me to continue the messy, beautiful legacy.
I Am poem
ReplyDeleteI am curious and generous
I wonder why there is so much hate
I hear the voices of past students
I see a future that is unclear (this isn't a bad thing though)
I want to help heal the city
I am curious and generous
I pretend I am a best-selling author
I feel the passions of my students
I touch the rocks and refreshing water of Agawa Bay
I worry about my students, past and present
I cry when I see students coming to life
I am curious and generous
I understand the more I learn, the more I don't know
I say God is real
I dream for a healed city
I try to awaken the passions of my students
I hope that they'll all be the change agents that they can be
I am curious and generous
Kinship Writing
ReplyDeleteRed
Color of health
Internal organs
Nutritious food
Summer’s garden
Of posies,
Roses and rose mallows.
Red can seethe
Bleed
Pour out as
Passion
Hurled invectives
Or a
Gush as a
Valentine’s syrupy
Affections.
Redder
Healthier
More nutritious
Two summer gardens
Double hurled
gushier
more affections
my best valentine
By: Jennifer C.
ReplyDeleteSnow
Cold
Freezing
Pure and crisp
Layers the Earth
Like a warm winter blanket.
Oh how we love the fresh fallen snow
But when springtime arrives
We are glad to see it go.
Yellow
Bright
Vibrant
Lights up the sky
Comes up with the sun
Resembles a firefly
When the day is done
Yellow sets with the sun
I’m from a home where my mother rules as queen while the rest of us serve as her loyal subjects.
ReplyDeleteI’m from a home where days conclude by sharing our highs and lows while eating chocolate covered strawberries.
I’m from a home of Little Women, The Secret Garden, and A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.
I’m from a home of fresh cut flowers blooming in the foyer and my mother’s “Angel” perfume permeating throughout the apartment.
I’m from a neighborhood that as I grow, the more it stays the same.
I’m from a neighborhood that honors the eccentric woman, bundled in her leopard fur as she freely dances in the street.
I’m from a neighborhood where the cul-de-sac serves as the baseball field, roller rink, and bike path.
I’m from a neighborhood that resembles the United Nations; integrated cultures, religions, and beliefs.
I’m from a city where tall skyscrapers loom over the streets. Horns and sirens blare; a constant reminder that I’m not alone.
I’m from East Side verse West Side, Giants verse Jets, Yankees verse Mets.
I’m from Broadway shows, Central Park, The Met, 9/11.
I’m from a place that shapes my very being.
Pink
ReplyDeleteLollipops and hair bows
little girls with painted toes
the innocence of childhood
on a painted wall that's made of wood.
Perky, fun, and full of life,
you hope they never feel that strife.
the beauty of a rosy cheek
and the unwelcome smile when we feel we weak.
It wakes us up and takes us back
to that time of happiness that the presence lacks
By: Lauren Chavenne
Presence
Here, now, in the moment
Live your life as if tomorrow isn’t promised
Take a minute to smell the roses
Feel the music, listen to the beat
Living in the past or future equals defeat
Here, now, in the moment
This the key
Yes, but at what fee?
By: Chabrina Derrico
Broadside Poem
ReplyDelete"So What Now?"
In a corner of the cavernous living room, amidst a sea of couches, he was uncomfortable. As the room buzzed with middle school voices, he absorbed cruelty--sucked up laughter (not the joyful kind) and allowed it to make him smaller.
The words spat at him destroyed the bones in his face.
He folded like paper--once, twice, three times--until he was a tiny square.
He was a nice kid. Bi-weekly couch sessions of Kit Kats and Mr. Pibb, of board games and movies, of a square peg in a square hole. Finally.
But he wasn't like everyone else anymore. He was only like himself again.
From not too far, I watched. Absorbed. Angry. Sad. Obligated somehow.
And so...
When I couldn't take it. When my chest hurt too bad and my eyes were brimming with his tears. When my confusion was so great as to why no adult was ANYWHERE TO BE FOUND EVER WHEN YOU NEED THEM. When I could no longer stand to be in my own bone marrow, I knew what needed to be done.
But I left instead.
I left and I sat on the cold concrete steps in the June perfection, and I cried.
So what now?
So
What
Now?
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteBroadside Poem
ReplyDeleteWhere James Lives
By: Molly Ostergaard
February 23, 2014
11:15 AM
James resided
East of the laughter and giggles,
East of the strollers and leashes,
East of the hot dog and lemonade stands,
East of the swings and the baseball fields.
His home fell beneath the construction cranes,
And alongside the cars rushing by.
It was just outside a broken building,
Where hundreds of families would soon call home.
James resided at the broken brick wall
In the empty dirt garden
Near the cracked pavement
And the rolling trash.
Like his neighbors, James was home.
His wobbly cart sat there every night.
He slept between his torn blanket
And a mattress of dirt.
He looked out for the neighbors' cars.
He knew the neighborhood dogs by name.
Until the city asked James to move.
"Where does James live,"
I ask myself
Over and over again.
Snow
ReplyDeleteCold
Freezing
Pure and crisp
Layers the Earth
Like a warm winter blanket.
Oh how we love the fresh fallen snow
But when springtime arrives
We are glad to see it go.
Yellow
Bright
Vibrant
Lights up the sky
Comes up with the sun
Resembles a firefly
When the day is done
Yellow sets with the sun
I AM
DeleteI am I am she
A blank canvas
A4 Foolscap
The first scribbles of life
Erased tossed crumpled up
I am I am she
Start again all revved up
Been decided this time
It’s got to stick
Ignore the shadow
Threatening to become unstuck
I am I am she
Pressed pummeled
Limit reached
Redefine
Time to be...
I am I am she
Breakaway
ReplyDeleteThe termites eat away at
the wooden steps as my schedule
eats away at the hours and days of my life.
Munching on the tastiest looking
wood and then going on with their days.
The steps dwindle down making
my goals harder to achieve. I start
running, trying to get over the steps but
it gets harder and harder. Finally,
I break through into a clearing, and
again I can see up to the clear blue sky.
KINSHIP POEM
ReplyDeletePurple - by Tawanda
The colour of royalty
The color of haze
Distinguished, honorable
Peculiar power to amaze
Exotic, enigmatic
An ode to my past
Lush
Rebellious
Deep
Controversial…perhaps
yet still... built to last
An ode to my past- by Josh
My paternal grandmother was the first immigrant born in America
She came from Poland.
My maternal grandfather was a part of a long line of German Quakers that extends almost to the Mayflower.
I vaguely remember my paternal grandfather because he died of alcoholism.
He was a teacher, but took off to sell drugs and party in Florida.
My maternal grandfather was a part of a long line of great people that includes an important member of the underground railroad, a senator and a professor.
I like that I am a mutt
A mix of blue blood and blue collar
Past filled with sins and honor
Both make me unique and push me to continue the messy, beautiful legacy.
I AM
ReplyDeleteI am curious
I wonder what's around the corner
I hear native tongues, foreign to me
I see history before me
I want to become a citizen of the world
I pretend I know where I'm going
I touch the past
I worry.
I cry when this journey ends
I am an explorer
I understand more than I did yesterday
I dream of creating a masterpiece
I hope for another adventure
I am curious.