El mar inclinando en los ojos de mi mamá
Los ojos de mi mamá son azul como el agua.
Las olas son como la felicidad de ella.
La corriente es como su enojo.
Las rocas son la soledad.
(Translation)
My mother’s eyes are blue like the water.
The waves are her joy.
The current is her anger.
And the rocks are her solitude.
by Liliana, 2nd grade
Photo by BN catchesthelight via Flickr
Do I have to be good? Do I have to be nice? Do I have to eat with a napkin in my lap?Do I have to behave? Do I have to talk with difficult words? Do I have to dress nice? Do I have to walk straight? Do I have to obey people? Do I have to sit with my legs closed? “Yes, you need to.” Why can’t I play like I did when I was a child? Do I have to wash the clothes? Do I have to prepare my own food? Do I have to clean house? Do I have to go to school? Do I have to learn? Do I have to go to church? Do I have to be a girl that has manners? ”Yes, mija,you have to if you want people to see you like a lady who has big plans for the future.” Oh, okay, Mom. I’ll be the lady who has big plans.
By Lesly, 7th grade
Art by Brian Andreas
from chron.com
It’s beginning to look a lot like…
holiday
madness
Moms going crazy
Kids out of their minds
Dads clueless
Some snow mixed with
desperation
Mistletoe
Credit cards
It’s beginning….
By Ben, 7th grade
Every year my mom drags us to a pumpkin patch so we can get our picture taken.
“Smile!” she tells us.
“Smile better!” she commands.
“We’re not leaving here until I get some good pictures!” she yells.
So, my brother and I show the whites of our teeth and try to look happy about being in a pumpkin patch at 8 AM on Saturday morning in October.
By Leslie, age 9
Image via Wikipedia
This poem, “My Grandma’s Hands,” is written by a 3rd grader, who was inspired by Niobi Shihab Nye’s poem “Words Under the Words” about her grandparents.
My Grandma’s Hands
My grandma’s hands know how to make tortillas
which she learned how to do in Mexico.
My grandma’s hands know how to take care of my grandpa
who has to go to the hospital almost every day.
My grandma’s hands know how to braid my hair
into a long trenza.
By Diana, 3rd grade
Image via Wikipedia
May 20th is Flower Day. Robin Reagler, Executive Director of WITS, often tells the story of her mother explaining to her what she needed to do to be a poet.
The first thing on the list? Memorize the names of 20 flowers. So, Robin got right to work: daisy, azalea, silverbell, dahlia, magnolia, petunia, zinnia, snowdrop, iris, tulip, tiger lily….
Robin learned her first writing lesson. Smart writers study, observe, and notice world around them. Smart writers find ways to become one with the world outside of them. In honor of poets and flowers everywhere, here is a piece written by a third grader:
Listen to Who I Am
I am the tiny, yellow flower that comes out in spring
I am the ghost hiding in your book
I am the moon, brighter than the sun
I am your flag singing from morning to night
I am the white paper you write your stories on
I am a balloon that goes up and never comes back
I am the old shoe that walks away from you
I am the shadow that follows you forever
I am salt like the snow in winter
I am a dream that opens and closes
I am the baseball that flies like a bird
I am the musical note that plays on the moon
I am beneath your feet
I am above the stars
I am in your soul
By Alyssa, age 9
posted by Marcia Chamberlain
Yesterday we looked at books written by a father and a son, so today I thought I would inspire you with a mother-daughter duo. Unlike Paul and Sid Fleischman, who achieved individual fame in their writing lives, Traci & P.J. Lambrecht are a mother-daughter team that publishes jointly under the pseudonym P.J. Tracy. The two have written over 25 books and sold more than a million copies.
P.J., the mom, explains that she and her daughter have been collaborating on storytelling since Traci was a child. At bedtime they would create stories together, each of them contributing a paragraph. As adults, they work in tandem with little effort. They are so in synch with each other that neither says they can remember who wrote which parts of the finished novels.
Try this:
Create a tale tonight with a child. Take turns moving the story along!
by Marcia Chamberlain, Writers in the Schools (WITS)
I see with my artist’s eyes a rainbow in the sky.
It has lots of color:
Blue, purple, pink, orange, red, white, and green.
I am at the beach. At first, the water is cold.
Then the water turns hot.
My mom gets into the water.
It’s cold for her, and then it’s hot.
Then, as we swim,
the rainbow goes away.
by Melanie, 2nd grade
Photo by tomt6788 via Flickr
This poem is featured as part of the 2011 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 learn more.
El mar inclinando en los ojos de mi mamá
Los ojos de mi mamá son azul como el agua.
Las olas son como la felicidad de ella.
La corriente es como su enojo.
Las rocas son la soledad.
(Translation)
My mother’s eyes are blue like the water.
The waves are her joy.
The current is her anger.
And the rocks are her solitude.
by Liliana, 2nd grade
Photo by BN catchesthelight via Flickr
This poem is featured as part of the 2011 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.
Un Breve Paseo a Discovery Green
El cielo era azul como un lago. La tierra era negra como una cueva, y el hielo era blanco como una ventana. Sí, había hielo, y yo estaba patinando en Discovery Green. El sol brillaba como fuego. Yo pensé que no podía patinar, entonces me agarré del muro. ¡Shwoosh! ¡Yo sí podía patinar! Miré alrededor, y vi que estaba patinando más rápido que mi mamá y mi hermano. ¡Shwosh! ¡Shwash! ¡Shwush! Yo patinaba más y más rápido. ¡Woohooo! El hielo era un trueno.
¡Chapú! Me caí. Raspé todo el hielo, y mis pantalones estaban muy húmedos. Me pusé de pie, y pensé que aún no estaba todo terminado ahora. ¡Shwoosh! ¡Shwoosh! ¡Shwoosh! Iba yo patinando nuevamente, como un pájaro que vuela y divirtiéndome como en un rollercoaster. Pero todo llega a su fin, y nosotros dejamos de patinar.
Entonces salí a buscar donuts. Caminé hasta que vi un hombre vendiendo donuts. Olía delicioso a pastrie y a azúcar caliente. Mi mamá compró los donuts. Yo tenía tanta hambre que ¡Smack! Smack!, yo comía los donuts como un cerdito mientras gritaba mentalmente, “¡Deliciosos!” Había sido un largo día patinando, tanto que hasta lamí el azúcar de la bolsa de los muchísimos donuts que comimos.
¡Broom! !Broom!, Montamos al carro, que mi mamá encendía, y luego nos alejamos del Discovery Green. Un abrazo de mi hermano cerró un fantástico día, que ahora sí, llegaba a su fin.
Translation
A Brief Trip to Discovery Green
The sky was blue like a lake. The soil was black like a cave, and the ice was as white as a window. Yes, there was ice, and I was skating at Discovery Green. The sun was shining like fire. I thought that I couldn’t skate! So I held on to the wall. Shwoosh! Yes! I could skate! I looked around me, and I saw that I was skating faster than my mom and my brother. Shwosh! Shwash! Shwush! I was skating faster and faster. Woohooo! The ice was thunder.
Chapú! I fell, I scraped the ice, and my pants were very wet. I stood up, and I thought that not everything was finished yet. Shwoosh! Shwoosh! Shwoosh! I was back skating again, like a flying bird, and it was as fun as being in a rollercoaster. But everything comes to an end, and we stopped skating.
Then I went in search for donuts. I walked until I saw a man selling donuts. It smelled delicious, like patisserie and warm sugar. My mom bought the donuts. I was so hungry that Smack! Smack! I ate the donuts like a pig. “Delicious,” I was yelling mentally. It had been a long day, skating, so much that I ended up licking the left over sugar in the bag of the many donuts we had eaten.
Vroom! Vroom! We got in the car. My mom drove away from Discovery Green. A hug from my brother closed out a fantastic day that, at that moment, had come to an end.
By Joshua, 4th grade
Photo by Troy Burwell via Flickr
I remember reading inside the cool living room on a hot summer day,
With my mom cutting fresh lettuce for dinner tonight,
With my grandmother humming an old song like a radio.
I remember reading inside the cool living room on a hot summer day,
With hundreds and hundreds of feet of damp grass in front of my eyes,
With the smooth eaves shaking as a light breeze blows, dancing on the wonderful stage.
I remember reading inside the cool living room on a hot summer day,
With my cousin playing a beautiful piano song,
With my mind calming down and my heart full of peace.
I feel there’s something around me, like a color.
Did you notice?
By Ashley, 6th grade
Photo by Chiot’s Run via Flickr
I can open my wings.
I can fly with my two wings.
I can fly to my mom and dad
I can fly with the birds
With my two wings
I can fly into the clouds.
By Amaris
Photo by dibytes (Diane Hammond) via Flickr
My memory is when I moved to Texas from England. I remember that we were in the airport and my mom, dad, and my
sister started crying because they didn’t want to leave. They were all older than me and had more to say goodbye to than me. We moved because my dad got a job in Houston. In 2003 we moved, I do like it here, but I really loved England because that’s where I was born. I could smell my house even when we were in the airport. My memory is important because it is one of the most important things that has happened to me in my life. It’s a milestone in my life.
By Laura, 3rd grade
Photo by pauline tai via Flickr
One day I had no idea where we were going in the car and my mom said it was a surprise. Then, almost twenty minutes later, we came to these big green spaces. They had white lines around them and only certain people could go inside them. Apparently, I was one of the people who could go inside the lines. Then my mom asked me to go meet a bunch of people gathered in the middle. I heard all these people saying my name and I had no idea who they were. Then I met this really tall guy that looked like he was eighteen feet tall. He said, “Feel the grass. It’s so soft.” I bent down and it really was soft and the air smelled really good because of the concession stand. Then I kicked something and it went into something that looked like a cave, but it was light inside. Then a crowd of people started cheering and another crowd of people were making a booing noise. After the surprise all the other people and I went over to have cake. The cake tasted like hot chocolate on a winter day. Then I went home tired and went to sleep.
By Madeline, 3rd grade
Photo by Jim Corwin via Flickr
Photo by Maddy Lou via Flickr
I watch my mom
cooking away,
her mind full of delicious
recipes. I find
her face full of concentration;
my own, full of delight
at the sweet smells
wafting up my nose.
I watch hungrily as
she puts in the last
ingredient and stirs it with
a wooden ladle.
She scoops it out into
a small bowl and hands
it to me.
I take it greedily,
but eat it slowly,
each ingredient rubbing
on my tongue.
By Julia, 5th grade
