Author Archives:

23

Apr. ’09

Metamorphosis

Originally posted on 7/16/2008.

If Billy Collins could turn into a library, maybe he could change me into something new, a birthday cake made for one purpose—to make others happy. Or a mirror to help other see how they truly look. But they would not appreciate the mirror they look into. I am not unhappy, to say the least, but a change does not come unwanted. It could be a change for the better. Maybe Collins could change me into a raindrop or a pen, almost out of ink. Or a chalkboard. If only I could close my eyes and open them, not as a person but as a chalkboard filled with scribbled, brilliant, dusty ideas and theories. Ideas that not only will help me, but they will also teach others and help other people and students learn what I have learned in the past. I would be able to look into the faces of the students learning because of my being and smile.

By Lauren, 12th grade

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This poem is featured as part of the 2009 A Poem A Day campaign, a National Poetry Month celebration by WITS that features a different poem by a WITS student every day during April. Click on the logo to the left to learn more.

Posted by . Categories: Houston, imagination, poetry, student, writers in the schools. Tags: . Leave a comment

15

Jul. ’08

A Spiral Poem

I wish you were here.
Driving all on my own
to see the spinning gold spear
is just like living alone.
Driving all on my own,
watching gliding deer,
is just like living alone.
Makes me want to live here.
Watching gliding deer,
stopping for souvenirs,
makes me want to live here
to show you I made it from here to here.
Stopping for souvenirs,
to see the spinning gold spear
and show you I made it from here to here.
I wish you were here.

by Maya, 7th Grade

(illustration provided by Flickr)

Posted by . Categories: loss, poetry, student, writers in the schools. Leave a comment

09

Jul. ’08

A Beautiful Scene

Green trees, sandy deserts,
flowery gardens outside the houses
with men and women laughing
and playing with their sons and daughters.
Then blood drenches everything,
turning pink as it stains the tree trunks,
the orange-tinted flower petals,
the crystals of sand,
the dirty hands of the soldiers,
the children’s bare feet.
War changes everything.

by Michelle, 9th Grade

(Photo provided by Flickr)

Posted by . Categories: Houston, poetry, student, writers in the schools. 2 Comments

03

Jul. ’08

Visionary

In 3 minutes I can rob
a bank,
run to Africa from Asia,
travel the seven continents,
feel sorrowful and become extinct.

In 3 minutes I can dance
on the Eiffel Tower,
win an Emmy,
be the first lady,
rule an empire.

Take the world and make a storm.
Float as a lifeless feather.
Paint an empty room.

In 3 minutes I can read
an entire library,
jump off a building,
create a tsunami,
run and be lifeless,
float down a river,
be surrounded and feel empty.

by Leah, 10th Grade

(Photo provided by Flickr)

Posted by . Categories: Houston, imagination, poetry, student, writers in the schools. Tags: , . 1 Comment

01

Jul. ’08

Spiral

Our imagination can come alive.
Sometimes, I feel like I’m fading out,
like people can’t see me
or like I’m stuck in another dimension where there’s no light,
captured by evil darkness and trapped in a wooden box,
slowly turning me from who I am into an evil spirit.
But my good spirit overpowers the evil trying to get inside of me.
So the power inside of me bursts out
and lights up the dark
to show me the way back to myself.
I find myself touched by the light, and I become a lovely color.

by Amber, 12th Grade
Texas Children’s Hospital

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20

Jun. ’08

Volar sin alas (Flying Without Wings)

Quisiera ser un ave para volar y ser libre. Estar sola con el viento para encontrar paz y tranquilidad. Volar sin alas. Mi familia dice que a veces tengo un corazón duro pues desde que asesinaron a mi papá en Colombia, siento que no puedo querer a nadie y aunque han pasado muchos años, todavía lo extraño. Hay veces que me gustaría no tener corazón para ya no sentir los golpes de la vida. Pero sí tengo un corazón que siente y escribe como un pájaro que sueña con los cielos.

* * *

I would like to be a bird to fly and be free. Be by myself with the wind and find peace and calmness. Flying without wings. My family says I have a cold heart since my dad was killed in Colombia. I feel unable to love anyone and even though many years have passed, I still miss him. Sometimes, I wish I didn’t have a heart so that I don’t feel life’s beatings any more. But I do have a heart that feels and writes as a bird longs for the skies.

by Esthefany, 7th Grade
(Photo provided by Flickr)

Posted by . Categories: Houston, imagination, poetry, Spanish, student, writers in the schools. Leave a comment

18

Jun. ’08

The Rock

I have visited a place where the sky is cloudy, and the ocean is calm. The strange thing was that there was only one rock about three miles tall. I couldn’t understand why it was there, just one single rock, alone. Until one day I got up the courage to climb that single rock.

It was about midday by the time I climbed to the top. I sat and dreamed the whole time. It was about time to go home when I saw the light, the northern lights. Then I realized that it wasn’t why this rock was put here but why it was put here alone.

The rock became my favorite place to go and get away from the real world and just be me. Even when I did not see the lights I could still dream about them and also other things. In my dreams I found other living presences. In my dreams, the others give me clues as to who they are. The last dream I had before I discovered it was the spirits of the people who would come here and do the same as me.

by Robin, 7th Grade

(Photo provided by Flickr)

Posted by . Categories: essay, nature, place, student, writers in the schools. Leave a comment

11

Jun. ’08

Once Upon a Time…

Once upon a time…. Well, actually it never happened, but haven’t you heard of creativity? Anyway, there was a girl named Cinderella. She had two step-sisters. But who’s counting? She also had a
step-mother and a pet dodo bird. She was treated very poorly.

She went to take a walk in the woods. She came across a house. It was a very cute house.
Nobody was there, so she decided to go in. She climbed up the stairs and heard a voice.

“Hurry up, Daddy!” said the voice.
“Coming!” said another voice.

Cinderella then heard footsteps coming up from behind her. She ran all the way up the stairs
and hid behind the trashcan. She then heard a growl. Cinderella got so scared, she jumped out the
window. She ran all the way into the woods and saw a large hallway. At the end of the hallway
there was a crackling voice chanting, “Rumplestiltzkin is my name. Catching babies is my game.
She won’t guess my name for sure. Then I’ll grab the baby and run out the door. WORD!”

Then the little man popped his head around the corner. “Hi, can I accompany you on the
long journey ahead of you?” said the man. “Huh?” said Cinderella. The little man said, “There is a
witch who hates you and wants to turn you into a toad. You must find her and kill her.” “Sounds
tragic,” says Cinderella. “C’mon, let’s go!”

Sarah, 5th Grade

(Photo provided by Flickr)

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30

Apr. ’08

Wake Up

wake-up.jpg
We are one nation, a federation of
people struggling to get an education
for graduation, patients and doctors
lost in contemplation because there is
no illumination. Without conversation
citizens live and work in desperation and
vote every day for liberation. We need to
stop the hallucinations and the wrongful
incarcerations, slamming people in jail,
making the innocent hurt for one mistake.
Wake up, America! It’s time for celebration,
for we are all one—a nation, a federation with
only one chance.

By Niocca, age 16
Posted by . Categories: inspiration, national poetry month, poem a day, poetry, student, writers in the schools. Tags: , , , . 4 Comments

28

Apr. ’08

Anger

anger.jpg

When I get mad I think darkly.
Flames coming out of men.
Black, heartless, nothingness, twisters.
I feel like throwing the world into a trash can.
One man crashing everything in sight.
The black rose.
A black casket.
A cow producing black milk.
The sun falling out of the sky and the moon never coming up.
Black graffiti on every man’s heart.
The blind being able to see,
Those with sight becoming blind.

By Jaylon, age 13

(photo by FDB Graphics via flickr)

Posted by . Categories: national poetry month, poem a day, poetry, self-portrait, student, writers in the schools. Tags: , , , , , , , . 1 Comment