Just Buffalo gratefully acknowledges the funding support essential to making our Writers in Education programs and this publication possible:
JPMorgan Chase
Buffalo Board of Education Cameron Baird Foundation Conable Family Foundation Peter C. Cornell Trust Western New York Assembly Delegation
This book is an anthology of creative writing by student participants in Just Buffalo Literary Center’s Writers in Education programs. Volume XV • Wordplay is a publication of Just Buffalo Literary Center Cover art: Lori Desormeaux • Page design: Julian Montague
Heartfelt thanks and congratulations to the teachers, principals, parents and, most especially, the students who contributed to Just Buffalo’s successful education programs in the 2007-08 school year:
Welcome to Wordplay Welcome to Wordplay 2008, Just Buffalo’s annual publication of the most outstanding student work produced during our Writers in Education programs. Each year, Just Buffalo’s writers work with over 20 schools across Western New York—public, private, parochial, rural and suburban—engaging more than 2000 students in creative writing, reading, listening and speaking to support academic achievement and active engagement in the literary arts. Just Buffalo is privileged to work with dedicated teachers and principals who are willing to open their classrooms to collaborative work with teaching artists. They understand that each student in their care learns differently and that the making of literary art truly engages students who might otherwise be disconnected from classroom learning. Too often the pressure of high-stakes testing crowds out the vital connections that creative writing inspires in students. Just Buffalo’s Wordplay demonstrates that when teachers and writers work together, students embrace the challenge to be creative, thoughtful, and unique in their expressions. Wordplay not only is an inspiration for young writers whose work may be published for the first time and for those yet to be published but also for teachers as a vibrant resource to be used in every classroom. So, too, parents, principals, and schools can join in the excitement of seeing the concrete results inspired by bringing literary artists into the classroom. Most importantly, Wordplay offers us the opportunity to celebrate the talents of the next generation and the power of the written word in our lives. Wordplay could not have been produced without the support and assistance of the Buffalo Teacher Resource Center and its Advisory Board, the Buffalo Board of Education, and the Arts in Education program of the New York State Council for the Arts. Finally, it is with deepest thanks that we acknowledge Just Buffalo’s Writers Corps, those dedicated writers who breathe life into each school residency. It is through their efforts and talents that so many young people are inspired to find their own words and voices. Laurie Dean Torrell Barbara Cole Executive Director Education Director
Akron Elementary School Buffalo Academy for Visual and Performing Arts, P.S. 192 Catholic Academy of West Buffalo Como Park Elementary School Leonardo DaVinci High School, P.S. 212 East Aurora High School East High School, P.S. 307 Emerson School of Hospitality, P.S. 302 Global Concepts Charter School Holy Angels Academy Houghton Academy, P.S. 69 Hutchinson Central Technical High School, P.S. 304 Dr. Lydia T. Wright School of Excellence, P.S. 89 Stanley M. Makowski Early Childhood Center, P.S. 99 McKinley High School, P.S. 305 Middle Early College High School, P.S. 415 Mt. St. Joseph Academy Our Lady of Mt. Carmel South Park High School, P.S. 206 St. Mark Elementary School Tapestry High School Western New York Maritime Charter School Special thanks to Just Buffalo’s Empire State Partner Schools: Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 56 Principal: Michael Gruber Host Teachers: John Blain, Maureen Castellani, Donna Duggan, Sarah Fiorella, Jim Fredo, Kim Minor, Sara Rodland Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 64 Principal: Michael Gruber Host Teachers: Carolyn Flynn, Liz Lonergan, Karen Lucas, Pat Postula, Denise Ott, Cynthia Roberts, Melanie Slisz as well as Highgate Heights, P.S. 80, our collaborative partner with CEPA Gallery Principal: Gayle Irving-White Host Teachers: Kathleen Lyons, Jennifer Arcuri, Jennifer Berg, Corey Kick
Just Buffalo is proud to partner with: Albright-Knox Art Gallery Big Orbit Gallery CAPC (Coalition of Arts Providers for Children) CEPA Gallery MUSE (Musicians United for Superior Education) Parkside Community Association Just Buffalo Literary Center is a member-supported non-profit organization. Our members play a crucial role in Just Buffalo’s success and are greatly appreciated for their support. For more information about any of our programs or to become a member, please visit our website www.justbuffalo.org or call 716-832-5400.
JUST BUFFALO Wordplay VOLUME XV•2008 Editor Barbara Cole Cover Art: “Wordplay” Lori Desormeaux generously donated by the artist Page Design Julian Montague Manuscript Preparation Chelsea Bath Writing with Light Insert Selected in consultation with Karen Lewis, Amy Meza Luraschi, Lauren Tent, and Mike Kelleher. Formatted by Amy Meza Luraschi at CEPA Gallery.
Just Buffalo Administration Executive Director Laurie Dean Torrell Artistic Director Mike Kelleher Education Director Barbara Cole Development Associate Elizabeth Lyman Administrative Assistant Lynda Kaszubski Receptionist Hallie Winter Accountant Kris Pope Interns Chelsea Bath Emily O’Leary
www.justbuffalo.org
The Path to Change
Silver Dreams Noon to midnight That’s all I see Nightmares scare me I see a train The train looks like a dragon to me the moon the light Makes the train as fast as a cheetah In the distance A faint glow Like a canyon set a glow All I can say is Starlight moonlight float with me
Change is a long path It can be peaceful as a bird Or loud as a lion. It also can be hard To change or change back. A path can be long As a river, a hall, A driveway, a street Or a pond. Change can be changed Such as a tree Changing colors every year. The path of change.
Freddi Krehbiel
Christopher Peete
Grade 4 Frederick Law Olmsted School #64
Grade 5 Highgate Heights
I Shall I shall stand When the war Has started I shall stand When the war ends I shall stand When a generation ends I shall stand when A new generation Has begun I shall be the flower Of peace I shall stand When the cold Weather has started And when the wind Is blowing me But I shall be The flower of peace And respect
Waiting He was in the school gym and he knew it was only a game that they had lost, yet he refused to take it that way. That Night he did something that he would regret for the rest of his life. The sirens were racing down the street and he just sat there, waiting and waiting.
Mariatu Baker Grade 6 Frederick Law Olmsted School #56
Ashley Budhu Grade 8 Highgate Heights
Change is a free bird and a fun play house And a round tunnel on a summer day Change is a roof, and car with snow on it Like a newborn sky with lots of snow Like a snowflake in the breeze Change is like a footstep in the snow Change is like the hot sun with melted snow Turning into water change is like a building With black and brown snow on it Change is like twenty-eight windows With the sun’s sky staring right upon it Change is like a newborn baby Crying in the hospital
Joe Davis Grade 5 Highgate Heights
Mr. Gruber You guided me Provided for me concerned When I became an Outcast Left with nothing Bad grades in school No home to go to No where to go Hit bottom Left on the rock But you never looked Down on me You kept my hopes Up You respected, provided Encouraged, guided Me Didn’t let me die In a snow Of
Delenci Brown Grade 6 Frederick Law Olmsted School #56
Failure
Filled with Respect Respect is a quiet click of a camera This picture captures a thousand words Words of trust and love That shines through the eyes The eyes of two people But loneliness and discomfort With eyes that stare pierce They lie behind backs of Disrespect Take the hands of the helpless Guide them and help them Be unlike the others who stand selfish Take someone and hold them
Kaitlyn Abel Grade 4 Frederick Law Olmsted School #64
Claire Schroeder Grade 6 Frederick Law Olmsted School #56
Because with respect we step forward We raise each other
MEET THE Writers Corps Karima Amin is a native of Buffalo, NY, who strives to preserve the art of storytelling in performances, workshops, and author visits for story lovers of all ages. From 1994-2005, her storytelling was a regular feature on WBLK-FM (93.7). In 2002, Karima was invited to share her stories in Senegal, West Africa. The author of a children’s book, The Adventures of Brer Rabbit and Friends (Dorling Kindersley, 1999), as well as several original stories which have been anthologized in African American Children’s Stories: A Treasury of Tradition and Pride (2001) and Grandma Loves You (2003), she also has produced several recordings of her retellings of traditional fables and folktales. Her CD, You Can Say That Again! (2004), earned a Parents’ Choice Foundation Gold Award in 2005. “Knowing that every culture has its stories, I believe that storytelling is a perfect medium for teaching about the customs, traditions, and history of a people…. listeners come to know that we are united by common human experiences in spite of our differences.” Sally Bittner Bonn is a poet, performer and teacher from Rochester, NY, who has enjoyed working with children in creative and academic environments for the last twelve years. Holding a B.F.A. in Theatre from Syracuse University, Sally has been featured at poetry readings in the Rochester area and throughout southern California as well as at the 2001 National Poetry Slam in Seattle. The most recent of her two chapbooks, Walking Woman, has been included in several anthologies. “It is my hope and intention to create a pandemic of joy. Joy for language and joy for the sense of community that comes from collaborating. Children need to learn to love language, their own language, and find the power of using their own voices.” Robin F. Brox is a poet and educator currently living on the west side of Buffalo, NY. She earned an M.A. in English from The University of Maine—Orono in 2005 and a B.A. in English from SUNY—Buffalo in 2001. The founder of Saucebox, a collective of women artists, Brox has produced the group’s audio and print anthologies in addition to printing handmade chapbooks and broadsides under the Saucebox imprint. She first began performing at local open mics at age sixteen, and continues to write and read her work while teaching for Just Buffalo Literary Center, Young Audiences of WNY, and as a freelance artist. “I believe that language exists inside our minds and outside our selves, as part of an ongoing conversation, across time, culture, and geography. The world we encounter provides us the raw material, but language is the tool with which we carve poetry.” Recently named the new Education Director of Just Buffalo, Barbara Cole has been a teaching artist since 2004. Barbara holds an M.A. in Poetry from Temple University and her Ph.D. in English with a specialization in Poetics from the University at Buffalo. Since 2000, she has been writing the ongoing project, situ ation come dies. The first chapbook-length section of this long work was published in 2002 by Handwritten Press and additional installments include, from foxy moron, (/ubu editions, 2004) and ear say (Belladonna Books, 2008). Most recently, Cole edited Poets at Play: An Anthology of Modernist Drama with Sarah Bay-Cheng. “My pedagogy is fundamentally grounded in reciprocity: treat students with respect and they will reciprocate. This philosophy applies as well to my relationship to language. I believe in treating words with respect and hope, above all, for my students to understand that words have power and, so too, we have power in our words.” Jerome Joseph Gentes is a Lakota-Gros Ventre American Indian. He received his B. A. in English from the University of California, Berkeley, and his M.F.A. in Writing from Columbia University. Jerome is a regular contributor to Publishers Weekly and serves on the board of the Lockport City Ballet. He is currently on the faculty of the English Department at Niagara University and is the Program Director for the Spencer Workshops at the Chautauqua Institution. “Whether the specific medium is dance, music, painting, film, writing or storytelling, art enhances and often facilitates human communication…. Art speaks because artists learn and teach their art how to speak; but, the capacity for ordinary human communication often strikes me as equally profound, as its own kind of mystery and power, science and art.” Karen Lewis is lead Teaching Artist for Just Buffalo Literary Center and a contributing editor (literature and poetry) for award-winning Traffic East magazine. A fellow of the Banff Centre’s Wired Writing Studio, an internationally-recognized arts and educational institution in Banff, Alberta, Karen also teaches adult writing workshops. Her mentor, Don Domanski, received Canada’s 2008 Governor General’s Award for Poetry. In 2007, Karen’s innovative “Picturing Poetry” project at Native American Magnet School (with CEPA gallery teaching artist Amy Luraschi) was the subject of a documentary by filmmaker Jon Hand. “I encourage my students to think of themselves as artists. They discover a new sense of freedom in writing, a freedom to use their imagination, intellect and personality to their fullest extent…. Working with “Habits of Mind” traits helps to create a truly teachable classroom environment that models Aristotle… ‘We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act but a habit’.”
Liz Mariani is a local poet who believes spoken word, creative writing and any variation of the poetry performance will bridge communities and save her city. Her first chapbook, imaginary poems for my imaginary girlfriend named anabel, was published by sempreverdi press in 2008. Her website is www.lizmariani.com. Currently, she is pursuing an MA in Global Gender Studies at the University at Buffalo.“My primary teaching goal as a poet, spoken word performer, curator and educator is to cultivate and improve the creative self-esteem of students, young and old.”
Laura Nathan received her M.F.A. in creative nonfiction from Bennington College. Her writing has appeared in numerous publications including The Writers’ Chronicle, Mother Jones, The Independent Film and Video Monthly, and the forthcoming anthology, Screwball Television: Gilmore Girls (Syracuse University Press). Previously the Editor of INTHEFRAY Magazine, an online magazine concerning identity and community, Laura has taught students of all ages and backgrounds in Houston, Austin, New York, Chicago, and Buffalo. She is currently working on a collection of personal essays about teaching. “I fell in love with writing in the third grade, thanks to my language arts teacher, Mrs. Maxwell…who represented what I think a teaching artist should be: someone who encourages students to write creatively, to ask countless questions, to think -- and write -- outside the box. Someone who facilitates a lifelong love for writing and literature and gives her students the confidence they’ll need every step of the way.” Born and raised in Buffalo, N.Y., Pamela Plummer is the author of two volumes of poetry, Skin of My Palms (2004) and Meditation on Ironing Boards & Other Blues (1994). A social worker and educator for more than 20 years, Pamela is an alumnus of Lafayette High School, Cornell University, and SUNY Buffalo, with a Ph.D. in Health Education and Health Promotion from the University of Alabama at Birmingham. A recipient of the Hughes, Diop, Knight Poetry Award from the Gwendolyn Brooks Center for Black Literature and Creative Writing, her poems have been incorporated into theatre performances in Los Angeles and Atlanta. “One of the most powerful aspects of the written word is its ability to transform our perceptions. Poetry can awaken us to new ideas—it can be the mirror reflecting aspects of life previously unknown or unexamined…. The blank page is an incredible canvas on which we might laugh, cry, question—” Sherry Robbins is a poet, teaching artist, and free-lance writer. Since 1977, she has conducted creative writing workshops throughout New York State and abroad, working with hundreds of students each year. In addition to many publications in literary journals and anthologies, she has two books of poetry, Snapshots of Paradise and Or, the Whale. Arts-in-education consultant for the University of Coimbra in Portugal and for Portugal’s Belgais Center for the Study of Arts, Sherry was named the New York State Teaching Artist of the Year for 2005 by the Association of Teaching Artists. “The mechanics are easy. Hand students some basic tools for writing a poem… Give them individual attention and time to write. Listen to the results… There is something to celebrate in each piece of creative writing, and celebration encourages further creative exploration beyond the bounds of any given class or residency. Anything can happen.” Gary Earl Ross is a professor at the University at Buffalo EOC and the award-winning author of more than 170 published short stories, poems, articles, scholarly papers, and public radio essays. His books and staged plays include The Wheel of Desire and Other Intimate Hauntings, Shimmerville: Tales Macabre and Curious, Sleepwalker: The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, the children’s tale Dots, and Matter of Intent (winner of the Edgar Award from the Mystery Writers of America). He has two plays in development, The Scavenger’s Daughter and Murder Squared, and his novel, Blackbird Rising, is currently under consideration. A member of the Dramatists Guild of America and the Mystery Writers of America, Ross was recently named playwright-in-residence at Ujima Company and was awarded a Constance Saltonstall Foundation Fellowship in Playwriting. “More than giving us a glimpse into another mind, stories connect the dots of being human and fill the chasm between cultures with the shared particulars of life.” Siobhán Scarry holds an M.F.A. in Creative Writing and an M.A. in Literature from the University of Montana, and is currently pursuing her Ph.D. in English at the University at Buffalo with an emphasis on 20th century poetry and poetics. She has taught creative writing, composition, and literature at both the university and high school level. Her poetry and fiction have appeared in Mid-American Review, jubilat, Sentence: A Journal of Prose Poetics, and Greensboro Review, among other journals. Recent honors include a fellowship to the Djerassi Resident Artists Program and poems chosen as Editors’ Choice in the Fineline Competition for the Prose Poem (2003, 2004, and 2005). “Teaching writing is a natural extension of my work as a creative writer…. My classes are at once laboratories where we study poems and their many forms, workshops where poetry gets “made,” and conversations in which student input is a vital part of the learning process.”
INDEX
Who am I?
Janae Adams: 34
Amadi Ikpeze: 13
Allyson Sciortino: 20
Jeremy Adams: 32
Lucas Jachimiak: 8
Tionna Spidell: 15
Elias Alkebulan: 18
Timothy Jackson: 36
Jackson Standard: 28
Zaina Alsadam: 32
Ryan James: 33
Jada Alston: 21
My Soul
My Name
My soul is like a
My name,
blue cloud in the
It is soft,
Alexis Stover: 19
morning.
But yet empowering.
Scott Jarvis: 7
Amanda Strobele: 30
My soul is
I am a rhapsody of sound,
Ashley Andrews: 36
Hee Jin Kim: 8
Chris Tocha: 34
light as a feather
I am a pumping heart,
Hank Balling: 26
Madeleine Lynch-Johnt: 10
Daniel Truitt: 9
on a tree of wisdom.
Ready to explode.
Asia Battle: 10
Mark Mathews: 14
Joshua Valeri: 32
My soul and my
It reminds me of love, passion,
Paige Beale: 26
Melissa Ann Mazurek: 23
Brigitte Vossler: 14
Justine Bidell: 14
James McAleer: 20
Mark Wallace: 10
Michael Campbell: 27
Damona McCreary: 24
Moët C. Watson: 7
Como Park Kindergarten Class: 9
Catherine McDaniel: 36
Emmanuel Williams: 24
Darnesha Coward: 16
Morgan McDaniel: 24
Madison Winkler: 12
Samantha Craddock: 34
Sean McGrath: 14
Madison Wojtanik: 34
Sierra Dilbert: 35
Mercedes McMahon: 11
Chardany Young: 27
Matthew Dillon: 13
Shanise McPhatter: 27
Nicole Zambito: 15
Aujajuan Donalson: 21
Julia Merrill: 36
Ashley Ann Zielinski: 15
Mary Douglas: 22
Allison Monaco: 35
Treefa Fadhil: 25
Antonio Montanez: 22
Writing With Light Insert
The rivers flowing wide over the horizon.
Like a smooth edge.
Deanna Morales: 20
Kaitlyn Abel
The extraordinary stars fade to yellow
I am soft spoken,
Janlonna Faulkner: 9
Jasmine Morgan: 31
Mariatu Baker
as the sun peaks through the darkness.
Although my name says otherwise.
Ashley Felber: 13
Alyssa Niggel: 29
Delenci Brown
Water rushing toward the rocks,
I am furious,
Dante Feliciano: 16
David O’Sullivan: 8
Ashley Budhu
wind whistling through the trees,
Plus I’m fearless,
Amanda Figueroa: 30
Miguel Ortiz: 12
Joe Davis
Berries off the bush,
My name.
Darth Freeman: 30
Jean A. Pagan: 23
Freddi Krehbiel
Catherine Galbo: 13
David Penna: 17
Christopher Peete
Samantha Gascon: 18
Kate Quinn: 22
Claire Schroeder
Alexis Gray: 33
Alyssa Remsen: 11
Griffin Green: 23
Mrs. Ruth Robson: 19, 35
Amber Hall: 28
Wildelis Rosa: 12
Azrael Harrier: 7
Richard Roseboro, Jr.: 31
Orlando Hill: 20
Raymond I. Ross, III: 33
Miles Holliman: 17
Joelle Rosso: 24
Jessica Howard: 12
Joey Ruopoli: 26
Sara Hughes: 17
Kayleen Schill: 11
Nkiru Ifedigbo: 29
Rebecca Schroeder: 25
Jillian Farrell: 16
Reflections
spirit combine like a
fury, and energy.
river, and flow across
I am an electron,
like music to my ears.
Waiting to spark. I am a mighty warrior,
Moët C. Watson
Although kind-hearted.
Grade 4 Stanley M. Makowski Early Childhood Center, P.S. 99
Getting ready to start fire.
My name is an explosion, My name is intelligent, Like a famous scholar. I am a figure,
The Story of This Girl’s Life
Of light and darkness. My name is soft,
fresh spring water flowing under my feet. Pine burns vibrant in the open fire. Lilies grow all around.
Scott Jarvis Grade 5 Our Lady of Mt. Carmel
The leaves as if they were silk on an infant’s face.
Kaitlyn Abel: 28
The water and I float away.
Monica Bonner: 15
The rush of excitement as it all fades to black.
Khala Carter: 18 Freddi Krehbeil: 33
Azrael Harrier
Claire Schroeder: 21
Grade 10 Emerson School of Hospitality, P.S. 302
Jasper Swiezy: 25
7
WHo Am I?
Who am I? Monster Am I Real?
I’m a monster, a savage
I have many problems
A black kid wreaking havoc
Am I cursed?
Prejudice every day
The family I live with is poor.
I’m lost without a Mapquest
Dream away my problems is what everyone tells me to do.
Seen as a rebellious teen
And the estate owner doesn’t help.
They don’t know what happened
The brain in my head is confused.
Bullets screamin’ RAGE
Hope is something I don’t have.
When they hit that innocent black kid
Of course I dream.
I’m a monster, a savage
The only problem is I live the life of a
A killer in madness
Slave.
Souls torn apart like People rippin’ cabbage Black kids, white kids
David O’Sullivan
Asians and Hispanics
Grade 6 Mt. St. Joseph Academy
We’re the same but different
Picture
Takin’ measures that are drastic I’m a monster, a savage
Kindergarten Class Poem I am a seed I live underground It’s dark as the night sky At midnight Tomorrow I have to go to school To learn to be a tree I am afraid of beavers But I love apples I dream of twinkling stars I need to grow a root I need water I need sunshine I want a friend To climb my branches I will give her fruit
Mrs. Lewis’s Poetry Class
I see myself sitting in the large frame of a window
A black kid wreaking havoc
towards the street of my hometown.
We don’t see the common enemy
I see blue sky and dotted white clouds
With its rash and
which look like feathers or frosting of cakes.
Watch ya life, life fade, fade from white, white to red, red
I hear sounds of church bells always ringing at noon.
Runnin’ away with lies ya heard from the feds
I hear sounds of birds and insects
Snappin’ and clappin’, tell ya boy what’s happenin’
whose names cannot be recognized by me.
Global Warming spreading
I smell incense of lavender candles
My heart is a drum.
And the Earth gets its ass kicked
and the fragrance of herbs in my small and square room.
In summer. Play. Fast
Talkin’ ‘bout the issues
I touch my skin and wonder about that
What is down
See them biodegrade like toilet tissue
I am sitting on the window frame
What is up
Lucas Jachimiak
Broken rhythms that drop like beats
Is it a dream or not.
When I am going all around
Kindergarten Como Park Elementary School
A black M-O-N-S-T-E-R
I touch a cold glass of lime-flavored water
Is what the police see
which tastes like the peak of summer.
All I see is nothing but me
But they don’t see me for
I taste summer and the heat
I am wondering when I can just be free
What I am
Which people really don’t like.
I am wondering when I can be me
But I’ll try to change the world with
I taste my Mom’s noodles
The words of this SLAM
which look like a small veggie garden.
I’m a monster, a savage
I feel life within me and from all surroundings.
A genius wreaking havoc
Untitled
Tell me Lord, when are we gonna stop this madness?
Hee Jin Kim
8
Grade 10 Holy Angels Academy
Daniel Truitt Grade 9 Tapestry High School
Kindergarten Como Park Elementary School
“What is down”
Janlonna Faulkner Grade 7 Dr. Lydia T. Wright School of Excellence, P.S. 89
9
What Do I Believe?
What Do I Believe? Nature
I Wonder Why
“Love is a rare seashell”
I Believe
I believe in water because I drink
Cartwheel flies through the air
Love is a rare seashell
I believe the scent of morning glories
it and water is the way we stay
Not knowing what to do
that only comes around once in a while
I believe the sky and the stars are not
alive. I believe in fire because it keeps
Just fly, make your
like something small that floats in a
Far from touch
us warm. I believe in Halloween
Spirit fly, the realistic
river of hope
It is what I believe that makes me me
because it happens every year. I
Smile, the arms just
believe in an alligator, and a crocodile.
Fly, I wonder why
Hatred is a knife
I believe the sight of crashing waves are really
I believe in the Moon because
The warmth of friends
that can hurt you
Waves of faith, love and mind
Neil Armstrong went on the
Come and go, I
like a magnet that pulls people apart
I think my beliefs are puzzle
Moon. I believe in the Sun because
Wonder why
Science class people can
The noise goes
Hope is a river
Dropped
prove it is real. I believe because
Up and up and up, I
that carries love and peace
I believe rainbows are the way to heaven
I go to it almost every day.
Wonder why
like a butterfly carrying pollen from
I believe color is what life is made for
I believe in a haunted house
The turning of
flower to flower
I believe the longest roads are
because I see some in movies.
A cartwheel
I believe in stars because I
Does so much
Anger is a lion
You can swim as deep as you want
can see them every night.
I wonder why
that gets mad at people many times
As long as belief is in you
I believe in grass because we
Dark and light just goes by
like an angry shark that scares everybody
I believe when birds chirp you’re close
step in it. I believe in pencils
Energy flows through the
away
To the gate of heaven
because I write with one.
Air, shapes come into Sight, maybe just maybe
Mark Wallace
I’ll stop
Grade 3 Akron Elementary School
And wonder why
Madeleine Lynch-Johnt Imperfection
Grade 4 Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 64
I believe my heart tells me who I am
Pieces scattered being picked up and
Not long if you believe
I believe challenges can be overcome
Alyssa Remsen Grade 3 Akron Elementary School
when you let your heart speak I believe what I believe
Kayleen Schill What are they missing?
Grade 3 Como Park Elementary School
Please—wake up?
With Great
The world is passing you by.
Elegance and Class,
The morning is almost gone.
Comes great
Sunset’s fading away, and the
Agony
bird’s chirping has died down.
and
The coffee has become cold,
Silence.
and even children are getting old. You’re missing the morning news,
Asia Battle Grade 9 Buffalo Academy for Visual and Performing Arts, P.S. 192
10
And in the morning paper there are movie reviews. Cut your dreams short, and go back to sleep later.
Mercedes McMahon Grade 10 Emerson School of Hospitality, P.S. 302
11
How I Feel
How I Feel Pink
Haiku
My Heart is
The feeling of Lonely
The full bloom. Strawberry sorbet.
Many times I failed
Tickled pink. Candy. Pink popsicle.
And still I bother to try
Pink flush. Taste of berries.
My Heart is a door that
of wind. Like an empty heart or one
To make my own rain
opens and closes to you.
filled with sadness. Like the smell of dry
Pink lace. Creamy peach
Jessica Howard
Sweet taffy. Sweet innocence. Pink fairy. Old world. Bridal
Grade 10 Leonardo DaVinci High School, P.S. 212
Pink. Rosy blush. Royal flush. Cherry wine. Twilight
Heart
Heart
present box. Like the taste of bitter chocolate.
blows on and off you
Like the sight of a snowman melting.
Spirit soaring through your Heart
Madison Winkler
Body
My Feelings and Motions
Grade 1 Como Park Elementary School
I am like a black rumbling tornado because half of my heart is telling me to cry and half is telling me not to. I feel like crying because my grandmother died April 9, 2008.
Feather
I am as sensitive as a little
It is as soft as a
baby. I am soft as a puppy’s
fur.
bunny rabbit. It tickles me.
It is soft like dog’s fur.
I am as tasty as mashed
potatoes.
It wants to
be a It will
I am like fresh cool air write
coming from the window.
til
I am a baby blue
it
bird chirping in the morning.
breaks.
My heart is like the ocean’s waves that come and go.
Miguel Ortiz
I am a lion roaring
Grade 2 Our Lady of Mt. Carmel
because I am sad. My legs are trembling like a dog looking for food.
Wildelis Rosa
12
Is this what lonely is like?
My Spirit is an arrow
Magenta.
pencil.
ice melting. Like the cold feeling of an empty
My Heart is a loving wind that
like a Robin
Like the loud bang of an open door followed by a gust
Grade 4 Stanley M. Makowski Early Childhood Center, P.S. 99
Catherine Galbo Grade 3 St. Mark Elementary School
My Body is an ocean that flows over sandy beaches Head My Head is a big flower on a red rose bush in your garden Hands My hands hold the Five Senses of the Body
Matthew Dillon Grade 4 Stanley M. Makowski Early Childhood Center, P.S. 99
“My heart is a cow; come milk me” My heart is a cow; come milk me farmer. My heart is a truck; put 3 tons of gas in me. My heart is a banjo; come play a tune for me. My heart is a sunflower seed; please plant me. My heart is a pillow; please lay your furry hair on me. My heart is an oak tree; please don’t cut me down! My heart is a zebra; please Mr. Lion don’t kill my young.
Untitled My heart is a winter
Amadi Ikpeze
blue sled sliding down
Grade 4 Stanley M. Makowski Early Childhood Center, P.S. 99
a hill. My heart feels happy now.
Ashley Felber Kindergarten Como Park Elementary School
13
Why I Write
How I Feel Untitled
When you are
Aggravating
To Be A Poet
It feels like the page of
sleepy you might feel
The city paints pictures of people rushing to
To be a poet
a book that splits into
your body sink into
work.
It takes time.
your finger.
the bed or touch the
The dog photographs his companion in the park.
It smells like an
light switch off. You
The hat draws the world above him.
To be a poet
old car that’s been
would hear the cars
The pillow creates dreams.
You gotta know how to rhyme.
sitting in a junkyard.
Elmwood imagines love among the people.
It sounds like
yelling get out of
Hot chocolate gets colored.
To be a poet
school bus brakes
the way. If you
The banana bread opens galleries for the world
It takes thinking and understanding.
stopping for a long time.
didn’t brush your
to enjoy.
It tastes like a
teeth you could smell
Candles sell their work to homes for comfort.
To be a poet
moldy piece of bread.
it when you yawn
Rings open people’s eyes to beautiful hands.
Don’t always rhyme but let it all
It looks like a
Seeing the dark room
Dresses develop emotion for the people in them.
Come from your mind.
tree house with nails
around you with
and wood coming out
posters on your wall
Nicole Zambito
To be a poet
of it.
Grade 10 Holy Angels Academy
Just be you.
outside, and people
When you’re waking up you could almost taste the bacon for breakfast.
Brigitte Vossler
To be a poet
Grade 4 St. Mark Elementary School
It’s all up to you.
Grade 3 St. Mark Elementary School
just as the clouds paint the moon. The water takes photographs of the rain’s emotions.
After Storm Blue Mood Candle Glow Willow Branch Twilight Sky Man in the Moon Calm Wet Grass
Hockey Haiku Black puck enters net as Coach yells and now we lose Players hang their heads
Sean McGrath Grade 5 Catholic Academy of West Buffalo
The Artist The artist paints the sky
Mark Mathews
14
The Artist
Rich Chestnut. Summer Plum. Before the Storm Black Iron Rainy Day Watery Meadow Now Sun Burst out Humming Sun
Thunder makes a dream of lightning’s masterpiece. Stars make quality of the sun as snow and hail make different pieces of a colorful work of art..
Ashley Ann Zielinski
To be a poet All you can be. To be a poet Just wait and see.
Tionna Spidell Grade 9 Tapestry High School
Grade 9 Holy Angels Academy
Mellow Yellow Slow Sundown
Justine Bidell Grade 3 Akron Elementary School
“Poetry sounds hard but it’s not. You have a lot of things in your mind and heart. Just say it.” —Monica Bonner, 5th grade, Highgate Heights
15
Do You Remember?
Why I Write Why I Love To Sing
Decisions
Too Young
Because I feel like I’ve
I don’t know.
just sprouted wings.
What should I write about?
was sick of the little backyard games and wanted so badly to join the older boys in the street, but
Time is passing.
Dad always said I was too young. I hated that. I was always too young for things. Johnny was twelve
Because I can change the beat. Because music is joyful.
I was eight years old, and tired of being told no. Baseball was the one thing I loved most. I
and allowed to play with the older boys in the road. On those warm sunny days, the neighborhood The clock ticks.
would come out and play until dinner while I sat in envy looking on from the wooden front porch.
My mind is still blank.
With each passing day, I begged knowing it was no use. One day, I couldn’t take being “the little
I’m so confused.
guy” anymore. I needed to prove myself to everyone that I was more than just a backyard player.
Because I love my sound.
I grabbed my old worn out glove and baseball bat and threw on my hat as I started towards the So many topics.
road. I played my heart out that day, but ball after ball flew over my head and time after time I was
Because singing tastes like an
Too many to choose from
struck out. When the day ended, my aching body dragged itself inside the house. The feeling of de-
ice cream sundae.
I can’t decide.
feat hurt so bad and the realization that I was in fact not ready or good enough cut like a knife. Dad was right. I wasn’t old enough for the street games, but I knew that I hadn’t backed down easily. So
Because singing smells like
Thoughts swirl around
flowers.
Choose a person, place, thing Who? Where? What?
Sara Hughes
I give up.
Grade 12 East Aurora High School
Because singing sounds like birds chirping. Because singing looks like heaven and feels like the sand
When I get hundreds on a test, it is the first to know.
Because I want to be a part
Grade 12 Hutchinson Central Technical High School, P.S. 304
If I am the President, then it is the Congress. It is the hardest working item in the world.
Ode to the Beatles Lucy in the sky with lady Madonna I am the walrus so just let it be
Jillian Farrell
Come together, right now, over me Rocky Raccoon went into his room
Poet Soup
Only to find Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band Two cups of rhyme at a different time
Twist and shout, ‘cause here comes the sun
An onion as choppy as a run-on sentence.
Dear Prudence, come and have some fun
I wanna hold your hand while
Throw in a couple of Haikus and Limericks
Stir it together with a mixing pencil.
My guitar gently weeps, Koo Koo Ka Choo
Then cook it and serve it up with a book
And then devour it with your mind.
Dante Feliciano
16
It is my number one study buddy.
Poem is lost.
Darnesha Coward
Grade 4 St. Mark Elementary School
Ode to my Pen
I can’t find a subject.
on your toes.
of the song.
the next day, I proudly rejoined the others in the backyard.
Grade 5 St. Mark Elementary School
David Penna Grade 12 Hutchinson Central Technical High School, P.S. 304
If we are in a basketball game, I’m the leading scorer, he is the assist leader. I am the wide-receiver, he’s the quarterback. If he ever runs out, he’ll be sure to have a relative nearby. If he ever makes a mistake his best friend white-out is a call away. His ballpoint tip makes every word clear and precise. He is my right-hand man; well, actually, my left-hand man!
Miles Holliman Grade 9 Western New York Maritime Charter School
17
Do You Remember?
Do You Remember? “When I think of Katie”
Ode to Sausage and Cabbage
When I think of Katie I think of the only person who always knows what I mean, and
how I mean it. I think of car rides, summer, and the beating sun. I think of how someone can have five facial piercings and look so tacky yet so perfect at the same time. I think of the smell of vanilla buttercream body spray and remember how she’d spray it in the air and jump through it as it fell through the air saying, “It smells so good!” I think of her house, I think of my roof, I think of hammocks and trampolines. I think of dressers near the staircases, fluffy yellow sheets, front stoops, the not-so-crystal lake of Crystal Lake. I think of the Freaky Friday DVD menu music playing over and over, irritating me while I rolled over in the middle of the night. I think of my real true best friend. I think of the funniest person I know. I think of her amazing ability to make me laugh. I think of how happy I am when I’m with her. I think of how much I miss her, and how I wish she hadn’t left early when she visited in April 2008. I think of how I hate that she lives in Illinois, and how I hate that I only see her once every six months…
Samantha Gascon Grade 12 South Park High School, P.S. 206
Memoirs of Us Pretty awkward silence Friendly nudge pushes us on Soon we relate On common ground Not afraid to hold hands We’re seen often You are mine Not afraid to share kisses I am yours
Elias Alkebulan Grade 12 Hutchinson Central Technical High School, P.S. 304
“Art is like how you feel. It is like a bird having baby chicks. It is a rhythm from your heart.” —Khala Carter, 5th grade, Highgate Heights
The heavy black skillet crackles, oil snapping hot My hands hold the knife weighty against the thick wooden block but I see my grandmother’s fingers as the block drops down impossibly close her crepey skin, spotted, gnarled and veiny onions, cabbage, potatoes, apples, sausage chopped and dropped into the oil and deftly turned. “This is farm food,” her voice says and almost I smell the dirt we scrubbed from the potatoes she’d dug. This is the dinner of farmers, food pulled from ground and root cellars, picked from trees, left over parts from fall butchering. This is food In work clothes and muddy boots, food with rough weathered hands. This is old food speaking in the rough German of bygone generations taught by watching. This food is a stout-legged peasant in an old apron saying “eat, eat— you look so thin.” O! I have such need of sausage and cabbage.
Reese Stover Remember when it was Christmas when my cousin was alive. Remember when we used to play the game. Remember when he say I cheated I remember when he eat all the food and play all of us. I remember when everyone said it going to be OK. I remember when everyone say don’t cry it’s going to be ok. I remember when I saw him the last time.
Alexis Stover Grade 7 Dr. Lydia T. Wright School of Excellence, P.S. 89
Mrs. Ruth Robson
18
Grade 12 Hutchinson Central Technical High School, P.S. 304
19
How I See the World
How I See the World Stars
Peace
Wake Up!
Stars, butter spread on every one
Peaceniks have tried to spread the message of
smushed in
Eternal Peace, but have been
dresses and dogs with toupees. Talking books and dancing rats…even
a moon sandwich. The sun
All but ignored. The world
overgrown kitty cats. There’s a man with muscles as big as a door, tor-
a glass of orange juice
Could change but it seems that
toises speeding across the floor. Wake up, wake up and smell the roses…
The black hole as the appetizer
Everybody likes the mindless routine of war.
there’s dinosaur models striking poses. Soda pop rain and candy snow…
but the milky way as the dessert The best part of the meal
Allyson Sciortino
Tickle-Me-Elmo’s made of Pillsbury dough. Shoes that walk without no
James McAleer
feet, monkeys and cherries fighting underneath. Wake up, wake up, you’re
Grade 7 Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 56
missing the day. Jump out of bed and shout hooray before you miss this
Grade 2 Como Park Elementary School
Wake up! Wake up Wake up It’s the year 08 Wake up Wake up There’s food downstairs, fix you a plate Wake up Wake up We’re missing the movie, now we’re late Wake up Wake up We’re going fishing, you usually get the bait Wake up Wake up There’s an election, don’t miss the debate Wake up Wake up Don’t miss who will be the next head of state C’mon get up, we don’t got time to waste
“To see the world in a grain”
Privacy Don’t check my search engine
of rice
Don’t look to see if I’m a friend
As white as snow it
would be. And a town floating on a speck of dust with wind going through the cracks. Imagine the things that you would do. . . Just in a minute that lasted an eternity
Deanna Morales Grade 3 St. Mark Elementary School
I’m throwing rocks at ya window at a steady pace C’mon wake up, it’s morning, the radio’s playing your favorite song You better wake up because life is too short to wait too long
20
Grade 7 Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 56
To see the world in a grain
By the time you wake up I’ll be bigger than King Kong
Grade 10 Emerson School of Hospitality, P.S. 302
crazy day.
Jada Alston
C’mon now you been asleep to long
Orlando Hill
Wake up, wake up. You’re missing the day. There’s tigers with
Or even my E-mail. Or chat with a female.
“Poetry is sort of like cause and effect. Once I start writing, a whole bunch of ideas pop into my head.”
Don’t check my Bonus Card
—Claire Schroeder, 6th grade, Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 56
At Wegman’s or Tops.
This invasion really needs to stop. Don’t check my address bar
Or what I search.
That’s like letting a mugger
Go through your purse.
Why are you looking at me at the ATM
Keeping track if I’m looking at it
As it’s looking back
I have nothing to hide
So stop trying me.
It’s just the common courtesy Of a little privacy.
Aujajuan Donalson Grade 10 Leonardo DaVinci High School, P.S. 212
21
How I See the World
How I See the World Are your hands clean
Life’s like a Rollercoaster
Ode to a Good Pair of Shoes
Ur Choice
Before
We have ups and downs but
Ode to the station
War
You judge me make sure you
we turn them around.
that America needs
War
HANDS ARE CLEAN
We grow up fast, it will
That I need, but do not like
There’s always war
Before
never last, we think of the
To the corporate jerks
war for Rights
You try to tell me who I am
past and we say that time
To the war for freedom
war for land
Make sure you know who you are
flies by fast. Life’s like a
To the real war that’s not freedom
In 2001 war for
Before
Rollercoaster
To the price of America
Oil
That never stops to rise
Oil
You try to dogg me take a good look At yourself in the
Antonio Montanez
To the trucks of no need
The supposed terrorists
Grade 5 Catholic Academy of West Buffalo
To the Hummer that’s ridiculous
People should speak out
To the station that America needs
they say they want
You judge me make sure you
To the dirty little nozzle
Something done but never do
HANDS ARE CLEAN
To the $50 it takes
Anything
Ya’ll wanna tell me
To the ever greater need
Anything
To the ever greater price
About It. Just Sit Back & Say
To the $110 a barrel
Everything that they want to
To the more hours to work
be done. The difference makers
To the fill-up I fear
Are the ones whom always
To the investment in a bicycle
Do
To the fact of feet
Do
Ode to a good pair of shoes.
Not say.
MIRROR
Before
how to be a betta me
Wake up on MY side of da bed and see THAT THIS IS THE BEST ME I CAN BE So once again Before
you judge me make sure your
HANDS ARE CLEAN
Mary Douglas Grade 9 Tapestry High School
“One in particular” One in particular one in general teal in red smothered jam sugar in salt water waves of not in particular, but of not in general not or of and whispers with loud voices of in particular, insistence, with let in. are or of in nothingness with something memories etch of or in general, a barren, dry desert filled with
Griffin Green Grade 12 Hutchinson Central Technical High School, P.S. 304
Jean A. Pagan Grade 11 Buffalo Academy for Visual and Performing Arts, P.S. 192
water. our names onto each other’s skin we call not in particular, not in general but of in nothingness.
Untitled
wrong, with right
My heart is a Spring raindrop
blindness, with sight
Let me drop on your garden I
color, with white
Will be your friend.
and nothing, with nothing, but with something.
Kate Quinn
22
Grade 4 St. Mark Elementary School
Melissa Ann Mazurek Kindergarten Como Park Elementary School
23
Where Do We Belong?
Where Do We Belong? The Strength in Her
Bumps and Curves
Fellowship
The strength in her
Is as hot as fire
friends
Feeling the
Burning, exploding, bottling up
Take her words and feel them
They burn
For we are in love to speak
of fearless dreams far away at times
The strength in her As hot as fire The heat, blazing, Smoke, it’s hot For she is exploding
Imagine if you were one millimeter long on a stone on
curves
like it
braille
Wearing gray clothes and going in camouflage Bring me your
of staying love
Damona McCreary
near the ocean
Grade 11 Buffalo Academy for Visual and Performing Arts, P.S. 192
All the animals in the water
The ocean shimmering faintly Just scales reflecting the water
The strength in her
You listening to
Is like fire
As hot as a burning
Saying millimeter-long person, climb me
Touch
Changing the
the
Forcing her energy To pull her high High into the dark
stories the
tells stone
of its face
color
Get up Get up…
Its body language If you were blind the stone telling you stories
Smoke clouds in the
You’re missing
From its curves and bumps like in braille
Burning heavens
The sunrise.
Imagine a little dent where you go in and
That is the strength
The new
sleep cozily
In her
born baby just opened his eyes.
A stone?
You’re missing peace getting
Morgan McDaniel
spread all over the world.
Treefa Fadhil
Grade 4 Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 64
You’re missing the newly
Grade 4 Global Concepts Charter School
wedded couple holding hands. You’re missing the young boy becoming a man.
Haiku Winter storm brewing
Get up, Get up, you are missing everything.
Flash of blue in the darkness
Emmanuel Williams
The look in her eyes
Grade 10 Emerson School of Hospitality, P.S. 302
Joelle Rosso Grade 10 Leonardo DaVinci High School, P.S. 212
24
you
Untitled Little shell you were once a home to an animal so small but you will now be free on the shore so big
Rebecca Schroeder Grade 2 Como Park Elementary School
“Poetry makes it easy to turn words into works of art, and it is something to be proud of.” --Jasper Swiezy, 6th grade, Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 56
25
Where DO We Belong? On The Ice
Where DO We Belong? Wake Up
On The Ice
Give to Gain
Her
Wake up, wake up,
Slipping and sliding
Together we stood,
As I reach for her
come out to play.
over the ice
Against the odds of society
She breaks into pieces
I’ve got our bikes,
Graceful as a newborn
We were statistics
The way I talk to her
let’s ride away
duck
And the way I walk up to her
We can go to the movies
Holding hands
Left home alone
Maybe there’s something about me
and see the funniest scenes.
begging him not to
Struggling to survive since infancy
She can’t seem to get her green eyes out me
When you are asleep,
Let
We were statistics.
We talk all night
all you can do is—dream.
Go
There just might be something about me The way I act towards her There’s just something Maybe we were just meant to be
Paige Beale Grade 7 Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 56
Joey Ruopoli Grade 9 Tapestry High School
We slide carefully
Pondering our past
dipping to the metronome
I see what we’ve accomplished
of life
No longer statistics
A moment of floating Followed by hallowed laughter
Brothers banded together
My cheeks red
Growing wiser and stronger everyday
as I sat
Success so obtainable
on the
Now I know
ice
After a long, hard journey Don’t stop believing
Three Hands and a Brain I wish they would all stop staring at me. Am I that interesting?
Shanise McPhatter Grade 10 Leonardo DaVinci High School, P.S. 212
They stare at my hands as if I hold the secret of their happiness; and give looks with such longing, praying I could end their misery. I would
Michael Campbell Grade 12 Hutchinson Central Technical High School, P.S. 304
cease happily for some company that appreciates who I am. I’m so terribly alone. They shoot glares, act disgusted, and mutter things to themselves. I’m hopelessly at the mercy of others. No free will. No free will. I wish I could make people happier, but I can only tell the truth. I see the man across the office, he checks me out, then sarcastically mutters to his friend, “Time flies when you’re having fun!” I’m sorry! I don’t control time, I just tell it. I burst with a longing for someone to talk with, all that comes out is the tic-tock-tic-tock of my three hands. The scream is only in my brain.
Hank Balling Grade 12 East Aurora High School
26
My Clean Sweet Flower
Lately I’ve noticed that things haven’t been the same—the older flower is trying to re-
gain strength, to push through. She’s been doing so well that I must encourage her to persevere. My fear is that she won’t be here for the little seedlings, not yet flowers. So I tell her, ‘You’ve got it. You’re gonna make it.” Been so close so many times we’ve had to keep her, to re-hydrate and breathe life into her. I am so scared that it might happen again, so I stay steadfast and ready so that the flower is up and about, with a nice long green stem—two seeds and a young flower pushing her along.
Chardany Young Grade 8 Highgate Heights, P.S. 80
27
Where I’ve Been
Where DO WE Belong? Cinquain Parents loving, responsible bossy, funny, caring I love these people Protectors
Amber Hall Grade 7 Dr. Lydia T. Wright School of Excellence, P.S. 89
“Poetry sizzles like bacon on a grill. It tingles like eating the best home fries on earth.” —Kaitlyn Abel, 4th grade, Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 64
Sestina There once was a man from Nantucket Who lived a simple life Every day he would go fishing And occasionally actually catch something So he lived, until there came a woman Who wanted to be with him But why choose him? There were many other men on the island of Nantucket And many that were interested in this Woman But she wanted to be in his life And he couldn’t think of something So he went fishing And whilst he was fishing he thought of her and him of the something that it could become, on the island of Nantucket Could he change his life? For this Woman But what a spellbinding Woman He couldn’t get her out of his head, so he went fishing he pondered about life and what she would mean to him Could he love her more than this beautiful little island of Nantucket And he began to think of something Then it grew into more of a something And he couldn’t resist this Woman Why had she come to Nantucket? Almost as if she was the one fishing but fishing for him And her bait was the rest of their life He enjoyed the thought of that life He would attempt to make something He would give her…him He fell for that Woman Never again would he go fishing by himself, there was another on Nantucket Now he was complete in life He had found that certain something She was just for him.
Jackson Standard
28
Grade 12 Hutchinson Central Technical High School, P.S. 304
My Mother Land, Nigeria Nigeria has a long story of victory and defeat to tell, but Cannot explain it by word. So She cries so hard it becomes a flood to sweep her pain away. The flood of tears is dried away by her bright warm beam of happiness and joy. Her people struggle, help her to carry on. Through times of despair and joy Fighting to break away from her enemies and creating difficult, yet Easy jungles and lands that only her native villagers understood To keep away the bad man Angry with her people for civil war I cannot wait to see what my sweet Nigeria Has for her future to come
Nkiru Ifedigbo Grade 8 Mt. St. Joseph Academy
Home Cardboard boxes lined the walls; some taped shut, full of books or clothes while others just hung open in anticipation. She had seen it all before: the extra large U-haul truck parked in the driveway, and her mother’s frantic footsteps as she checked for items thought to be lost. It was the same every time. Dad would get a phone call and three days later they would be packed tightly into an old, green Subaru, leaving what had become familiar and safe. An old tree was planted next to the house, where vibrant apples grew from its branches and littered the suburban yard she had come to know. For several moments she just watched the tree; how it swayed with the slightest breeze and how the fruit sparkled under the Southern sun. Gently pulling an apple away from its limb, she placed it carefully into her bag. It was comforting to know that even when apples are taken from their branch, they still remain beautiful.
Alyssa Niggel Grade 12 East Aurora High School
29
Where I’M GOING
Where I’ve Been Memoir of Arroyo (Town in Puerto Rico)
Doomed
I Am From I am from a rowdy neighborhood
A little village
Small yet big
where noise never stops
where everyone knows each other.
We’ll never win
and the music never drops.
No secretos kept.
House arrest
I am from gunshots and knives
It’s all a test
where the killers are unknown and
Where children play
A blank canvas
bodies of loved ones are seen.
Barefoot and with wild hair.
But we can’t paint
Be careful! Cuidado!
All our dreams
I am from the women
A little village
Are becoming faint
running the streets and
that everyone starts to leave.
We’re lost
the man holding down
No maps
That’s why heritage shines so bright
the block
An aspect of me that will never go away
Were there secretos?
(secrets)
(secrets)
Villanelle The passion for my heritage shines through like bright light A passion that doesn’t wane or stray
Just halls
I gain strength knowing I survived my people’s plight
The passion for my heritage shines through like bright light
The grown children
And gaps
I’m from the Mr. Do Rights
dressed well prepare to leave
No talking
where you never make mistakes
Be careful! Cuidado!
No eating
To break through the darkness of racism’s night
and everything’s okay.
Just learning
And be proud no matter what anyone will say
Amanda Figueroa
I’m from the struggle
No breathing
I gain strength knowing I survived my people’s plight
of my loved ones
Grade 12 Hutchinson Central Technical High School, P.S. 304
The clock ticks on
I’m from the hustle
The classes go by
And to express it with all my might
on the streets.
For it’s a unique heritage I grow prouder of with each passing day
Tortured
“Into what dangers would you lead me” (inspired by Virgil) Into what dangers would you lead me into what abyss would you carry my soul would you carry me to the bell that tolls that loud unhollow sound that shakes and vibrates the ground into the grave you throw all the pain that shudders me to the marrow my grave collapses in on he
The passion for my heritage shines through like bright light
Teased
I’m from bad memories
We’re here to please
that can never be replaced
No hoodies
It’s not my spirit to give up the fight
I’m from the tears
No sandals
With racist oppression in my way
my grandmother cried.
It’s all a scandal
I gain strength knowing I survived my people’s plight
I’m from the women
No gum
who loved me and it
No drinks
I’ll flaunt my passion in everyone’s sight
wasn’t my mother
We’ll need a shrink
If people would accept others ever I pray
for she abandoned me and
The staff
The passion for my heritage shines through like bright light
I found a better way
I gain strength knowing I survived my people’s plight
The rules It’s Only School!
I’m from the closed journal in which my pain lies.
who laughs and grins maniacally my casket closes, the void sets in
Amanda Strobele
I am from life lessons.
Here I lay writhing in my coffin of sin
Grade 11 Buffalo Academy for Visual and Performing Arts, P.S. 192
I am from dreams and aspirations
Darth Freeman Grade 10 Middle Early College High School, P.S. 415
30
Richard Roseboro, Jr. Grade 12 Hutchinson Central Technical High School, P.S. 304
I am from behind bars, to a loving home.
Jasmine Morgan Grade 12 Western New York Maritime Charter School
31
Where I’M GOING
Where I’ve Been Chaotic Classes
Buffalo
“What Light Through Yonder Window Breaks?”
Period of Beginning,
Buffalo is disappearing
As I walk through and down the dark and cold street
Electricity, Electrons, Electronics, Exceptionally exciting!
The place where I live
Lost in my own mind, the little man on my shoulder starts to weep.
Zap! You okay?
It says it will come
I walk with my head down, Can’t tell me nothing.
Back tomorrow
No light to guide my way.
Period of Calculation,
But it never comes back
I might as well be labeled as “STRAY”
Fractions, Functions, Factors, Frantic Fun!
It moved to Tonawanda
Keep on. Keep on.
When’s the bell? Period of Government, Parliament, Political Parties, Pandemic Problems,
Joshua Valeri
Walking keep on.
Grade 2 Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 64
Wait?? Question “What light through yonder window breaks?” My path is lighted
Boo George Bush!
From what source is this coming from??? Period of Activity,
I don’t know or really understand!!!
Run, Rebound, React, Reverse, Repeat.
I got some light I’m going to hold my head high
Where’s my deodorant?
The little man no longer cries
I am from
The label of “STRAY” starts to die
Period of Science,
I am from the clouds
Touch the sky
Chemistry, Chemicals, Compounds, Continuous changes.
that fall like tears from the sky
“What light through yonder window breaks?”
What’s that smell?
that hit the ground then come back again
Raymond I. Ross, III
Period of Language,
and help everybody and everything.
Metaphors, Metaphysical Masterpieces, Much Mood
I am from the big mountain
Grade 9 Tapestry High School
Woo Mrs. Robson.
that can even sometimes hurt you I can cause injuries
Jeremy Adams
but not all the time!
Grade 12 Hutchinson Central Technical High School, P.S. 304
I will probably not come to you.
The pendulum swings
I am from the big, enormous trees
and your future will be told.
that fall when it is autumn
Answers “yes” or “no”!
So don’t get worried,
Haiku
but I am very light and I could even change colors.
Zaina Alsadam Grade 3 Global Concepts Charter School
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Alexis Gray Grade 6 Catholic Academy of West Buffalo
Buffalo Buffalo snores at night There’s no telling what kind of moods will drop from the sky. When it’s happy it is sunny When it is sad huge tears fall from the sky.
Ryan James Grade 2 Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 64
“I comprehend now that I am art, a living poem, a breathing painting, a moving music.” —Freddi Krehbeil, 4th grade Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 64
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What Surrounds Us
What Surrounds Us Seasons
Snow
The stars dance in the night sky
The snow floats down upon us.
The wind sings a graceful song to me
Whispering in my ear telling me cold secrets.
Leaves hop off the trees in fall
The snowflakes danced, and their slippers flew into the
The sun yells while it sets
Strong wind.
Winter is yelling
They sing lovely, and their words ring like bells
Snow hops all over the town
echoing the streets of Buffalo.
Grass sleeps under a thick pile of snow Ice hangs and sings a song
Madison Wojtanik
Janae Adams Grade 7 Mt. St. Joseph Academy
Grade 2 Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 64
Divinity Cold little angels Fall down from the heavens Unique, every one Pure little angels Bless the earth beneath you Drip, drip, drip Frozen little angels Hailing from the skies above Pelting my window Please, little angels Fall down from the heavens Any way possible
Chris Tocha Grade 12 Hutchinson Central Technical High School, P.S. 304
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Locker It’s not breathing, moving, or talking about what’s inside of it. It’s not spitting out the objects placed inside. It’s not opening and closing. It’s not yellow or green, it’s not sparkly or interesting. It’s not smiling, or laughing, it isn’t feeling anything or showing any emotion. It doesn’t eat or sing. It doesn’t complain when it’s hot or cold. It doesn’t throw things at all the kids in the hallways. It doesn’t leave its home, or try to run away. It just stays in the wall, holding all my things.
Where I’m From I am from NY and I am from dirty clothes I am from home made cake I am from your empty cans that you drink from I am in people’s bodies to see their bones I am from dirt from your ground I sneak from your windows on Christmas Eve I am from desks and from Lackawanna and Mississippi and old papers I am from very very old chalkboards
Samantha Craddock
Sierra Dilbert
Grade 11 McKinley High School, P.S. 305
Grade 2 Global Concepts Charter School
Untitled Ode O! For skylarks in Spring and West Winds in Autumn For Nightingales at midnight and Joy always For wool socks in winter and summer tomatoes and soft tissues when you sniffle For pillows when you’re sleepy and sandwiches when you’re hungry and tall glasses of cold milk when you’re thirsty. O! for mother’s cool hand when you’re feverish and a friend’s strong shoulder when you weep and quests when you’re young and rest when you’re old and love when you’re lonely and Joy always. O! For simple things at right moments
Mrs. Ruth Robson Grade 12 teacher Hutchinson Central Technical High School, P.S. 304
The Sun It is not the moon reading bedtime stories to sleepy children. It is not running away from the Christmas snow that fall every winter. It is not the black sunglasses sitting on the coffee table staring at the cat wondering its next move It is not the rain that washes away the sidewalk chalk from the eventful day before. It is not the window that the little boy looks out from as the Thanksgiving Day parade goes by. It is the light that greets us everyday with a warm radiating smile.
Allison Monaco Grade 10 Holy Angels Academy
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What Surrounds Us Dust
Ode to Shoes
Dust: (noun). 1. makes you go achew!
You carry the weight of the world
2. As gray as the clouds on a rainy day. Drip.
on your shoulders
Drip. Drip. 3. As soft as a lamb, roaming and
and history beneath your heels.
grazing through fresh fields of grass.
Everything you come to,
4. As tricky as a fly, coming back
and everything you leave,
every time you get rid of it.
make imprints not only in your sole
5. Good at playing hide and
but in the soul of your occupant.
seek. 6. As dirty as a pig after
You bring things closer to the sky
his early morning mud bath. 7. Can
even when they feel sunk to the ground.
give many people allergies.
You can change peoples’ moods
They do it so people think
with a classy point or a bothersome hole
Attack of the deadly dust! 8.
at your toes.
A good poem topic for me.
You carry the weight of the world on your shoulders
Ashley Andrews Grade 3 Como Park Elementary School
A School of Spiders
and history beneath your heels.
Julia Merrill Grade 12 Hutchinson Central Technical High School, P.S. 304
I hate them they crawl they bite they poison
Beautiful Buffalo
They’re spiders!
Buffalo singing in the frigid breeze
Did you know
Its voice hits your cheek like a
they have their own school?
Kiss. Snow making winter beautiful
They do, they do,
Like a flower.
Oh, of course they do!
Trees dancing in the dark sky.
How do you think they learn to bite
Leaves jumping on trees with love.
and sneak in your room late, late at night?
How beautiful the city is that protects
So now that you know, just think
You with all of its heart.
of the thought how spiders get taught!
Catherine McDaniel Grade 5 Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 56
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Timothy Jackson Grade 6 Mt. St. Joseph Academy