Photo by Velo Steve via Flickr
A bird sees it as the limit,
The sun as his roommate,
The clouds as their mother,
The rain as a grandma,
An ant as something he will never reach,
A prisoner as the only light,
A house as its ceiling,
An eagle as his house,
A Christian as the door to Jesus,
Karina as a blanket,
Ashley as a beach;
I see it as the sky.
By Meliza, 7th grade
Writers in the Schools (WITS) is offering a special discounted ticket to the annual A Celebration of Story gala on November 4th. For a limited time only, the $250 seats are available for $150. Come meet Jeannette Walls, best-selling author of The Glass Castle, in a rare Houston visit.
Jeannette’s story about how she survived a dysfunctional upbringing of poverty and abandonment to become an award-winning author has inspired millions of readers to share their own stories about overcoming adversity.
Jeannette’s memoirs, The Glass Castle and Half-Broke Horses, will be on sale courtesy of Brazos Bookstore. Proceeds from the event will support creative writing programs for under-served children. Purchase your ticket today by clicking here or call 713-523-3877.
Critics have called Jeannette Walls’ memoir, The Glass Castle, “spectacular,” “extraordinary,” “incredible,” and “riveting.” It has been a New York Times best-seller for more than three years, has sold more than two million copies, been translated into 16 languages, and is being made into a movie by Paramount. Read more…
WITS has been engaging students in the pleasure and power of reading and writing since 1983. Thank you for helping us to bring the joy of writing to the children who need it most.
Photo by Steviemo77 via Flickr
If silence came to life
What would it look like?
It would look like
A clear nothing.
I can’t hear silence
Like shut windows
Blowing the curtains.
All I hear is silence
Nothing but silence.
Silence is my mother cooking.
Everything is silence.
I like silence.
Silence is cool.
By Jahmarcus, 3rd Grade
I was born here, but my parents are from Vietnam. School is harsh there. The teachers hit you with a ruler or put you in the sun all day if you do something bad. You can buy an ox to carry the stuff you grow to the market. The huts in Vietnam don’t have electricity so you can only cook over a fire. In Vietnam taking a bath is pouring water over your head or swimming in a lake.
My mom and dad didn’t want a life of misery for me so they had to move to America. My dad had to leave my grandpa in the Vietnam war. My dad now gets mad if you even talk about war. My grandma died of liver cancer. My mom gets mad if we talk about sickness.
When my parents first came to America they saw really nice people. They joined a class where they teach you how to speak English. I never got a chance to meet my grandpa or relatives in Vietnam. I don’t know what my grandpas’, grandmas’, uncles’, or aunts’ names are. My mom and dad worry about why they left the rest of my family. I worry about my parents.
by Brian, 4th grade
Image by Umpqua via Flickr
I have never met my grandparents before, but my mom told me about them. She told me that my grandpa got milk from the cow and made it into cheese then sold it. She told me that they had lots of animals, like cows, pigs, horses, dogs, sheep, and goats. When my mom was little, my grandpa gave her a horse for her birthday. Her name was Star. My mom told me once there was a fox that was trying to get in the chicken pen and eat a chicken, but my grandpa saw it and scared it away. My mom looked in our closet to find a picture of Mexico that they took with the animals and my grandparents and my mom when she was little. First I saw a picture of a pig named Gordita, and she had piglets that he sold. Whenever there were baby chicks, cows, horses or goats, my grandpa would sell them. My grandma took a picture of the dog playing with the chicken. There was some stuff in the box with the pictures. There was a sombrero and a little statue of a Chihuahua dancing the Mexican hat dance. She put the box away and started thinking about going to Mexico. It’s a gateway to a lifetime.
by Christian, 4th grade
[Photo by Jeffsmallwood via Flickr]
My mom
sprays me with the
garden hose. Overnight
marigolds are eaten. By what, we don’t know.
By Sarah Gerald
Kindergarten
Oh mom, without you,
I wouldn’t be able to get food.
I also wouldn’t have anyone
to play with.
Without you,
I wouldn’t even have my birthday.
Oh mom, how wonderful you are.
You are a wizard in the kitchen.
You are a great reader.
You cook me food.
You play with me,
you take care of me.
By Reeti, 2nd grade
[photo by mccluskey via flickr]
My mommy and I
went to the store
and bought cinnamon bread.
My mommy and I
went home.
When we got home
we ate some cinnamon bread.
My mommy makes me feel
like milk and cookies.
By Charlotte, 1st grade
[photo by nOvk via flickr]
Would you like this bookmark? E-mail jwatson@witshouston.org for more information.
En mi caja mágica, yo quiero poner
la sonrisa de mi hermana chiquita,
el sabor de un chocolate o dulce rico,
y el recuerdo de la Navidad y el olor de las galletas dulces
que mi mamá hizo para mí.
En mi caja, quiero guardar el sonido
de los pajaritos que cantan.
Y quiero guardar el momento
cuando mi mamá ganó
un trofeo en su trabajo.
By Jessica, 3rd grade
This poem is featured as part of the 2010 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 above to learn more.
Originally published on May 5, 2009.
My mom’s voice is like the
sound of rain pelting hard
on the ground. Her hair is
soft like a piece of cotton candy.
Her ears can hear from a
hundred miles. She sees
like a hawk and she looks
like pieces of sand moving
in the desert.
When she yells, it sounds like
a coyote howling in the night.
When she steps on the ground,
it sounds like a giant dog
running toward its owner
faster, faster. When she eats,
I can barely hear her
like a butterfly flying by.
By Lorenzo, 3rd grade
[photo by aimzy via flickr]
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.
I am a little girl
who lives in the sky.
My mom has a lot of children.
I am one of them.
I have many sisters and brothers.
My mom is the moon,
and we are the stars.
My dad died
so my mom has to watch
2,586,259 children.
My mom has to have
a big tub
for all of us to take a bath
one by one.
She has to read to all of us
and recites the words
over and over.
She gets tired.
By Precious, 3rd grade
[photo by Hikuchera via flickr]
I see red apple peels on the counter.
I hear my mom chopping.
I smell cinnamon and brown sugar in the kitchen.
The smell swirls around the room.
I see the crisp crust on the outside.
I know it’s something good for dessert.
It feels like a holiday when I eat it!
by Desiree, 4th grade
I’m startled. Shakespeare, whisper music
in my ears. Floating down still pond.
Singing softly to Mama’s tune. Rocking
down river. Falling asleep in moon’s
glint of sunshine. I’m still learning
to be unfortunate. Dad’s on a mission
so it’s just Mama and me. The laundry
will take a bath in the river. The baby
bear’s little claws will take some
honey. Mom mad. Oh well!
By Emma, 4th grade
[photo by Ragorder via flickr]
I am from the beach in Acapulco
that smells so fresh,
from the ice cream that melts
in the hot, hot sun,
the waves that come and go,
from the sand that people use
to build sandcastles at sunset.
I am from the food cooking
in the warm kitchen,
the barking that my dog does
when he is hungry,
from the cup of water that I drink.
I am from the bread I like to smell,
from the voices of people trying
to talk to each other,
and the bread coming out of the oven.
I’m from my Mom who I touch
so that I will not get lost.
By Maria, 3rd grade
[photo by *Widget* via flickr]
Every time my mom comes home,
she gives us a big hug.
When she cooks the tacos, she makes
them just right.
She loves us so much, as much as
100 peanuts or 2,000 fish.
When she smiles, she looks like
an angel.
When she colors, she stays in the
lines and makes the picture so neat.
When she’s finished, she hangs it in
our room so we remember her.
By Amanda, 3rd grade
[photo by sillyishrose via flickr]
