Marshmallow
White, soft
Eating, biting, tasting
It is squishy
Candy
By Reyannah, pre-kindergarten
[photo by Reem eng via flickr]
July 16, 2009
Marshmallow
Posted by Kristina McDonald under food, poetry, student | Tags: candy poem, marshmallow, marshmallow poem |Leave a Comment
July 15, 2009
The Factory
Posted by Kristina McDonald under father, formal, poetry, student, writers in the schools | Tags: factory poem, job poem, pantoum |Leave a Comment
The factory stood there, isolated from the rest.
A girl nearby was gazing intently upon it
Like a lost person searching for a place to stay.
She hoped to stay there forever.
The girl nearby was gazing intently upon it,
She could smell the wonderful aroma of sweet vanilla ̶
She hoped to stay there forever,
In the large factory everyday for the rest of her life.
She could smell the wonderful aroma of sweet vanilla
Trying to make her father proud
In the large factory everyday for the rest of her life.
So she went in and spoke to the people,
Trying to make her father proud.
And reluctantly, she got the job.
She went in and spoke to the people.
It was very different from what she expected.
And reluctantly, she got the job.
Like a lost person searching for a place to stay,
It was very different from what she expected.
The factory stood there, isolated from the rest.
By Angela, 7th grade
[photo by amandabhslater via flickr]
July 14, 2009
In my room, on the floor, lies my quiet corner I adore. It is dark and still, old but new. No one goes in it, but I cannot tell why. Maybe they are scared. It is the tiniest bit dark. Maybe they think something will pop out at them, but nothing would, except maybe my cute dog. But these are just guesses. I may never know why these people are scared.
This is my favorite spot in the house. This is where I read. This is where I take trips with the Vikings. This is where I go on a hike with the African tribe. This is where my imagination lives! It is here, in this specific corner. There is nothing to be afraid of, good people of the world! It’s just a corner. Please come in.
By Sara, 3rd grade
[photo by Nathan Griffith via flickr]
July 13, 2009
Polished
Posted by Kristina McDonald under animal, nature, poetry, student | Tags: blue butterfly, butterfly poem |1 Comment
I see a blue butterfly
It is beautiful and mystical
It glistens in the sun
It looks like fine powder
It reminds me of a precious gem:
Beautiful but not even
Polished
By Ariel, 3rd grade
[photo by Sheryl Tollenaar via flickr]
July 10, 2009
WITS is Hiring Creative Writing Teachers
Posted by Kristina McDonald under Houston, education, fiction, poetry, teaching, writer, writers in the schools, writing | Tags: creative writing job, creative writing teachers, jobs for teachers, jobs for writers, teaching creative writing, wits |Leave a Comment
Photo by Dave Rossman of The Houston Chronicle
Writers in the Schools (WITS) is looking for writers and educators who can teach the joy of creative writing to young people. Employment is part-time, typically 2-6 hours of teaching, one day a week from September – May. A yearlong commitment is required.
The pay is $55 per teaching hour. In addition to teaching, the job duties include preparing lessons, responding to student work, and compiling anthologies of student writing at the end of the school year.
We are looking for writers and educators with teaching or mentoring experience who can convey their passion for the written word in ways that are relevant for Houston-area children. In particular, we are seeking bilingual writers, but others are encouraged to apply as well.
Visit our website for the full job description.
If you are interested in teaching with WITS, please submit a cover letter, résumé, and 10-page writing sample to mail@witshouston.org or mail to:
Jack McBride, Program Manager
1523 West Main
Houston, TX 77006
Please feel free to e-mail or call 713-523-3877 with any questions.
July 9, 2009
Seasons
Posted by Kristina McDonald under Houston, nature, poetry, student, writers in the schools | Tags: season poem, seasons, summer, summer poem |Leave a Comment
In the winter,
Footprints in the snow are always lost.
The snowstorm fills the fissures with cold, barren flakes.
But in the summer,
As the foliage gorges itself on the sweet water and the yielding sunlight that
Waltzes through the fertile canopy and brushes our skin,
We grow apart, and then again grow closer,
Caught in between the gentle dawn of spring and the drowsy dusk of autumn
Then turning our faces from the vivid, heated sky, away from the future,
And into transient, loving arms.
By Sophie, 10th grade
[photo by BenteMalm via flickr]
July 8, 2009
Blue
Posted by Kristina McDonald under art, nature, poetry, student, writers in the schools | Tags: blue, blue poem, color poem, the color blue |1 Comment
12 pale silhouettes dancing
in a moonlit courtyard
glistening under a gossamer fog.
That is why the sky is blue. A rather
odd remark. The silhouettes were clouds
swaying in the moonlit courtyard of the sky.
The low, gossamer fog danced, made blue
silhouettes resembling the sky.
The sky danced in the tall, pale cedar tree
that shined like the gray chimes that
hung from it. In the magnolia tree,
flowers blooming with small petals
curling in circles like the sky in
which the blue world began.
By Zoe, 4th grade
[photo by kevin dean via flickr]
July 3, 2009
Top Posts for June 2009
Posted by Kristina McDonald under writers in the schools | Tags: wits |Leave a Comment
July 2, 2009
Webbed Jungle Gym
Posted by Kristina McDonald under imagination, place, poetry, student, travel, writers in the schools | Tags: jungle gym, jungle gym poem, playground |Leave a Comment
You’re busy making beads
and what not,
but check this jungle gym out
next time you need a breath of cool air.
Climb the checkered-rope wall,
crawl through the crazy webbed maze,
then slide down the super slippery seven foot single slide.
Oh, and you won’t believe the weather here.
It’s that cool-breezy but sunny sort of air.
Come by tomorrow, come by later, come by
whenever when you’re finished with your homework.
Only a couple of blocks from
this family-owned pizza place.
Don’t worry about getting lost,
bring a compass. Remember:
South of Germany, East of Switzerland.
Only a couple of thousand miles away from you.
By Joseph, 6th grade
[photo by A is for Angie via flickr]
June 24, 2009
Well-Worn
Posted by Kristina McDonald under Houston, memory, nature, story, student, writers in the schools | Tags: farm essay |1 Comment
Uncle Jay grabbed my arm and helped me into the beat up Chevy, its faded red identical to the rusty dirt that covered my hands. My fingers were nearly numb, tired from hours of carrying bales of coarse, golden hay.
I had calluses now. Work hands. Dad’s hands. The truck rattled as Uncle Jay picked up the speed, the dirt road coating the Chevy with an entirely new color. More of a brown.
I made sure not to lean on the door. Sometimes, it opened. I looked out the window, watching the road traveling beneath us; now would be a bad time to fall.
The setting sun nearly blinded me. I had to shield my eyes with my hands. Uncle Jay did not. He didn’t need to. He sat there, unmoving, his thick forearms almost resting on the steering wheel, tanned from years of work, and decorated with scars that he won’t talk about. He hummed some tune that I didn’t recognize. It’s funny how you can be surrounded by noise but sit in complete silence.
It was dark when we got back to the farm. My eyes half closed, I helped Uncle Jay carry the tools to the shed, making sure not to drag anything on the ground. I didn’t want to anger him again. He noticed my caution and smirked, giving me a close-mouthed half-grin. He never showed his teeth when he smiled.
Rocks had cut my bare feet, but I attempted to hide my grimaces as I walked to the shed. I refused to show weakness. Hollingsworth men are not weak.
Jay had already packed up his half of the load before I even got there. He waited for me, leaning back slightly on the side of the battered shed, watching me as I tried to remember where things went.
The grass was a relief to my bleeding feet. It was a short but steep walk up the hill to the house.
By Bryce, 12th grade
[photo by qrtr2four via flickr]
