Just Buffalo’s Annual Anthology of Student Writing
JUST BUFFALO Wordplay VOLUME XVII 2016 Cover Art & Page Design Joel Brenden
Editor Noah Falck J U S T B U F FA LO A D M I N I S T R AT I O N Executive Director Laurie Dean Torrell
Just Buffalo Writing Center Coordinator Robin Jordan
Artistic Director Barbara Cole
Grantwriter Kathleen Kearnan
Education Director Noah Falck Development Director Kris Pope
Executive Assistant Lynda Kaszubski Public Relations & Marketing Assistant Kevin Thurston
Just Buffalo Literary Center 468 Washington Street • 2nd Floor Buffalo NY 14203 www.justbuffalo.org
The Baird Foundation • Just Buffalo Literary Leadership Circle Children’s Foundation of Erie County • Cameron & Jane Baird Foundation Eastern Hills Sunrise Rotary Foundation • Garman Family Foundation Conable Family Foundation
Welcome to
R
WORDPLAY
eading this year ’ s poems reminded me of a line
from N oble P rize winning writer , C zeslaw M ilosz : “Language is the only homeland.” This quote is fitting for this year’s Wordplay due to the fact that many of the poems published here were written by students who attend schools where a large percentage of the population speak another language. When Just Buffalo places writers in schools, students are given a chance, often for the first time, to explore their lives using poetry. Some may have never been offered a creative way to celebrate who they are and where they come from. You may notice, as I did, after reading these poems, that the young poets are using language as a way of finding a sort of harmony in the chaos of their daily lives. They are using language as a tool of reflection and discovery. Just Buffalo Literary Center has been placing writers in the schools for more than �� years, and we have always believed that our writers-in-residence give students opportunities to experiment with poetry and creative writing that opens new doors and new ways of looking at their lives. We’ve always used creative writing and literature as instruments of inspiration, and encouraged people of all ages to discover new ways of embracing the world. New this year to Wordplay is a selection of poems written by the young writers who regularly attend the Just Buffalo Writing Center, an after-school creative writing space for teenagers. The Writing Center, now in its second year, also serves as the nucleus for all of Just Buffalo’s education programs. The young writers who fill the center with energy, excitement, and curiosity every Tuesday and Thursday have been exposed to a variety of creative writing workshops from novel writing to manifestos, from science fiction writing to the graphic novel, from podcasting to performance poetry. These young writers have had the opportunity to work with a new Just Buffalo teaching artist each week, along with a steady group of talented, writerly volunteers/mentors, as well as Just Buffalo’s dedicated writing center coordinator, Robin Jordan. We love what the space is doing for these young writers as well as the community at large and we think the poems captured here will share that love with you.
Noah Falck Education Director Just Buffalo Literary Center
3
TABLE OF CONTENTS
4
5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49
Salimata Sylla Marland Garcia the beauty of my country Nowsin Mesbah love letter to langston Amelia Knopf casual me Ibrahim Hussein brain Gabriel Luis Rivera mysterious land Sonia Torres maybe a celebration Paw Tha Lay the running stag Abdiel Y Ortiz Melendez the life or the death Alexis Rivera Nieves “a flower expected everywhere ” Jordan DeJac happy night Poppy Marrano i remember Rosemary Caban my eyes Leinier Rodriguez a healing flower Si Paw blowing away from the wind Alexis Gierbolini Torres my world Sa Bel Lar believe Nga Reh dangerous dragon Sangit Rai my raven poem Keishla Orta the princess Madeleine Bedenko my snowy, snowy day Mariah Santiago charlotte is magical Charlotte Colder shout out Jeremy Heredia where i ’m from Ro Hay Na Be the wren and the storm Melany Rodriguez Ferreras the boy who expresses Jonathan Chha Chhai a life Skyler Wojtusiak canals conveying clouds Megan Trawinski first time in u. s . a . Maulid Musa relaxed Drew Nash my metaphor Abdulqadir Shekh “art-temperance ” Anna Montesauti worm mead Nayeli Cotto vortex Rayan Moussa in my mind Maia Holmes if you be …… Yalexis Gierbolini Torres the future ahead of me Moe Moe Kyi shadespeare Alexis Banaszak mozambique Ixelles Amisi she just was Angel Diaz death is only the beginning Aries Peters Hernandez raining so hard Nae Meh death Anastasia Hall running Jeremiah Rowell-Brown happy birthday
the dark auras in your heart
Salimata Sylla
h a p p y b i rt h d ay
Earth in the universe that holds a black hole of truth made of aqua and magenta and back on earth we keep on moving until the black hole begins.
Frederick Law Olmsted, PS 64 Grade 3
5
Marland Garcia
t h e da r k a u r a s i n yo u r h e a rt
6
I am a silent mouse. I am a silent deer running from my shadow. I am the cloudy sky in the snow keeping me far far from the sun in the sky each day. I am the emotions in your mind running around and around if you rhyme. I am a little kitten lost in the street with no home, so I’m on my own for the rest of the night I am the pebble under the salty sea. I am the dark auras in your heart. I am the black alley cat in your street spreading bad luck all over your street, and I also get stuck in your dreams.
Herman Badillo Bilingual Academy, PS 76 Grade 5
Nowsin Mesbah
the beauty of m y c o u n t ry
I’m from a place with only Nature with the color of my eyes and things that surround me, blue, red, green and where birds sing, light winds flowers dancing, the sunsets above the oceans. We never give up at anything. We work together and that’s how we live. The birds sing, the winds blow, that’s how we know it’s morning.
International Preparatory School, PS 198 Grade 5
7
Amelia Knopf
l ov e l e t t e r to l a n g s to n
— in response to Langston Hughes’s “April Rain Song”
8
Early in the morning — Gather myself, cumulous Liquid courage And wait for you to leave home — Guard down, sleepy-eyed, no umbrella; Still disentangling yourself From the cocoon of last night’s dreams. This morning, hide the sun So your attention does not wander. Hope you hear my voice (soft) and Hope you miss me when I flee to the sidewalks, to the gutters, andintothespinof cartires.
Clarence High School Grade 12
Ibrahim Hussein
c a s ua l m e
People are getting lost ‘cause they really don’t see me, I look so baby-like on the outside of me I can act like a tough guy but that’s not really me because I just wanna be what I am, sweet. I do stuff the tough ways but they just see that I am really helpful to all people in need I am not as cold as people perceive me. I wish I could be the casual me.
International Preparatory School, PS 198 Grade 6
9
Gabriel Luis Rivera
brain
10
I am a King cobra that slithers around in the forest. I am blue sky in an afternoon of birds flying through my song. I am the master of running fast. I am a shark hunting for food. I am the brain controlling you. I am fast like a leopard. I am the volcano and you’re the water. I am a blue horse running the fields. If you’re mad, come to me.
Herman Badillo Bilingual Academy, PS 76 Grade 5
Sonia Torres
mysterious land
A dog with long flowing hair. A gold collar shining in the sun. A cave, a cave filled with water. Flowers filled with love inside. A dog looking for prey. The sun shining on the water. Explore the woods. I will be here waiting for you.
Herman Badillo Bilingual Academy, PS 76 Grade 5
11
Paw Tha Lay
m ay b e a c e l e b r at i o n
People dancing under the moonlight wearing kimonos, holding lanterns It may be a celebration it may be or may not What are the signs for? What does it mean?
12
It’s night but where are the stars? Sky and moon watching people, looking down a street, people everywhere The moon is shining It is so bright dancing all around the purple sky
International Preparatory School, PS 198 Grade 6
Abdiel Y Ortiz Melendez
t h e ru n n i n g s ta g
There’s a stag with its mouth open the lake and the big mountains the white trees and rock sculptures the blue and orange sky white and gray clouds I think the stag is running from a dangerous animal and is telling me I am safe.
Herman Badillo Bilingual Academy, PS 76 Grade 5
13
Alexis Rivera Nieves
t h e l i f e o r t h e d e at h
I am a tree and when the wind passes, my leaves feel like tears. I am a star and I live in the night, when I fall down I let my light out. 14
I am a light and I’ll always be on your side. I am a person and I see the sky blue, I run to the light, I fall in the flowers and look up to see the light.
Herman Badillo Bilingual Academy, PS 76 Grade 5
Jordan DeJac
“a flower expected — after Emily Dickinson
e v e ry w h e r e ”
All the flowers you gave me are dead, and I can’t find the courage to replace them. The lifeless petals and I have a lot in common: We may be cracked and wilted — Shattered by the slightest caress. Yet the beauty still shines through — 15
a reminder; a promise. Spring will always return, and with it, Renewal.
Clarence High School Grade 12
Poppy Marrano
happy night
16
A book holds the word Happy Birthday Lola! The Jack Russell Terrier, my dog, and my books! Aquamarine amends, Are always the best, Turquoise time to the other side of the Earth! Friendship should have the power to make people immortal. It feels like a perfect night.
Frederick Law Olmsted, PS 64 Grade 3
Rosemary Caban
i remember
I remember when I was 7. My dad came with a present in his hands a smile on his face my birthday then lake water as cold as snow picked from the ground and tossed into the lake by his strong hands scared cold but somehow happy he was there with me.
Herman Badillo Bilingual Academy, PS 76 Grade 5
17
Leinier Rodriguez
my eyes
18
There is an eagle ready to strike. There are mountains far below. There is a village with no people. There are trees with no apples. There are leaves with no flowers. There are clouds ready to rain. There’s water almost frozen. There are no cows, no milk. There are no frogs to jump.
Herman Badillo Bilingual Academy, PS 76 Grade 5
Si Paw
a healing flower
I could see myself lying in bed, strangers yelling and screaming I could see myself squirming shaking eyes whiter than white Mother holding onto my hand, praying, shivering Hoping to wake up but yearning to be in paradise I looked out the window my eyes landed on a flower, a withered flower A light appeared above it healing it Realizing, I stood still, happy, knowing what my fate was
International Preparatory School, PS 198 Grade 6
19
Alexis Gierbolini Torres
b l o w i n g a way f ro m t h e w i n d
20
You are the wind and I am the cloud and you blow me away. I go away with the other clouds and you blow the other clouds away from yourself and the other clouds get sad and begin crying.
Herman Badillo Bilingual Academy, PS 76 Grade 5
Sa Bel Lar
my world
It was a cold rainy day That time I was only four Seeing and wondering Why people are suffering making me feel so worried One day there was a tragic wave People running all around crying, in pain, heart-broken even losing their loved ones Day by day we kept moving place to place Finally in the end we moved to a place where I saw a light, a light where I’m finally FREE
International Preparatory School, PS 198 Grade 6
21
Nga Reh
believe
22
Where am I going? To a sacred place. Why am I going? Because I believe. The cruel wind makes me nervous, am I ready to go?
International Preparatory School, PS 198 Grade 6
Sangit Rai
da n g e ro u s d r ag o n
I am a flying horse flying the shiny sky. I am a god who always protects the universe. I am a sun giving energy or light. I am water falling down the waterfall. I am a lion who protects the forest. I am a sun, nine planets always around me. I am a shiny sky, people always see me. I am a beautiful song. People listen. I am a dangerous dragon. People are scared.
Herman Badillo Bilingual Academy, PS 76 Grade 5
23
Keishla Orta m y r av e n p o e m
The raven is black, sky is gray The trees are bare And the hill is yellow and white
24
And the root of the plant is brown with a little bit of white The raven is talking to me to get my attention because he is hungry I am a little rat hiding in the root to get you food. Herman Badillo Bilingual Academy, PS 76 Grade 5
Madeleine Bedenko
the princess
She walks the endless fields. The blades of grass slice at her bare feet. A gust of wind flies to her, sending her a whirling tower of virginal daisies. On any other day the Princess would feel threatened. But on this day, in this moment, she is completely at peace. She lowers her beaten shield and allows the wind to tug at her hair. She watches the flowers spin. They are dancing for her. The sun sinks slowly beneath the horizon. Something is coming.
Clarence High School Grade 10
25
Mariah Santiago
m y s n o w y , s n o w y d ay
26
I love the way the white snow goes with the dark night. I love the way snowflakes twinkle when they fall down on the white sparkly snow. I love the way the leaves fall off the trees and snow slowly lands on the tree branches.
Herman Badillo Bilingual Academy, PS 76 Grade 5
Charlotte Colder
charlotte is magical
She holds the ocean in her hand. Her favorite color is aqua blue. Charlotte feels cozy in her bed. She suddenly feels aqua cozy blue. She wonders where all the time goes. She realizes it goes into a big vortex too big to handle for she cannot live without life but “Hello it’s me,” I can fly to the end of the sky.
Frederick Law Olmsted, PS 64 Grade 3
27
Jeremy Heredia
shout out
28
Here’s to the dogs, cats, lizards, crocodiles, to sky, wind, lava deep down into a volcano that’s inside of you, smoke, heat, rocks disappearing in mist. Here’s to the sky, planets, universe and Pluto, to the moon and gravity. Here’s to the sun, the lava planet, giving us light and energy in our solar system. Here’s to my family, friends and the people who help the homeless. I love my sister, my brother, my parents, the guy at my corner store who helps me with anything.
Herman Badillo Bilingual Academy, PS 76 Grade 5
Ro Hay Na Be
w h e r e i ’ m f ro m
I’m from a place where nature rises with the sun and together we rise with thankfulness and peace we never give up and we fight for our rights light of the sun, whisper of the wind and songs from the birds Awaken everyone in peace!
International Preparatory School, PS 198 Grade 5
29
Melany Rodriguez Ferreras
the wren and the storm
30
I see a wren in a tree protecting her eggs. She has five eggs, she is protecting her eggs from the storm. She has a feather in her beak. She is a beautiful wren. Her eyes are the color black and a little white. The storm sends lightning to the little ocean there.
Herman Badillo Bilingual Academy, PS 76 Grade 5
Jonathan Chha Chhai
t h e b oy w h o e x p r e s s e s
I am blue, bluer than the bluest sky I am white, whiter than the whitest clouds I am dark, darker than the darkest night I am what I am, I do what I do I am happy, happier than the moving waves in the ocean I am the life of every living thing I am sad, sadder than the wettest day I feel light. I see dark. Moon is shining, I fall down Now I’m light, but not lighter than the beautiful smiles of families having fun. I smile with them and I fade away.
International Preparatory School, PS 198 Grade 5
31
Skyler Wojtusiak
a life
32
Books, school, education. These are things you can’t live without also food, water, and air. Pick up a pencil or a pen and some paper and dream, dream about colors — royal purple or olive green. Think about a shy writer coming by and writing I Smell Cheerios in big cloudy letters. You might feel mad or sad and maybe even start to starve but the time flies by like a bee buzz buzz instead of tick tock tick tock telekinesis is a power you have. Use it wisely because once again tick tock tick tock time flies by.
Frederick Law Olmsted, PS 64 Grade 4
Megan Trawinski
canals conveying clouds
Clouds slide down emerald leaves To meet the roots of cracked asphalt, A sculpture shaped from wintertide, Leaving canals for renewed life. Daffodils crown smiling oaks, Whose eyes are sleepy with sunlight. Shiny streets make way — For the people who lack patience. Birds sing in harmony With the roaming artist That painted the rooftops And conveyed the clouds.
Clarence High School Grade 12
33
Maulid Musa
first time in u.s.a.
34
Americans walking down the long street. They were going to the store. We live in a huge house. It was different— made with sticks there, made with bricks here, a floor made of sand there, a floor made of cement here.
Herman Badillo Bilingual Academy, PS 76 Grade 5
Drew Nash
relaxed
I feel calm but not relaxed. The tree’s growing, but not that fast. The river is gliding and it’s relaxed. Why can’t I feel like that? Relaxed is not my thing, maybe it’s yours. To feel relaxed, you have to open doors. The trees are high, the people are low. As I walk past, the river glows.
International Preparatory School, PS 198 Grade 5
35
Abdulqadir Shekh
m y m e ta p h o r
36
I am a wolf that runs with the wind. I am a hurricane that follows the earth. I am the sky that reflects off the water. I am a strong lion that breaks metal. I am a star that shines so bright. I am a planet that rotates around the sun and a blue horse that runs with the wind.
Herman Badillo Bilingual Academy, PS 76 Grade 5
Anna Montesauti
“ a rt - t e m p e r a n c e ” Virgin blue water, Naked skies Not yet plagued by drunken sailors and ambitious men. Land not yet caught Beneath the harsh spotlight of our eyes. Storms roared, mountains sang, we slept, unborn. Oh cool blue was never sweeter. Wind’s kisses carve out mountains, To show their love Delicate serenity Once was.
Clarence High School Grade 10
37
Nayeli Cotto
worm mead
38
It smelled like seaweed I was as excited as a happy puppy until I tried to throw my fishing line but it got stuck in my head the worm swam in my hair I was grossed out then my superhero dad got it out of my hair and saved me.
Herman Badillo Bilingual Academy, PS 76 Grade 5
Rayan Moussa
vo rt e x
My flag has seven sharp points. Each represents something about me. Seven things that are hidden from the outside world. The flag has colors of space— gray red, blue— with air surrounding and supporting it. It’s rushenah* around the world, spinning like my imagination. 39
*intentionally made-up word
Herman Badillo Bilingual Academy, PS 76 Grade 5
Maia Holmes
in my mind
40
I want to know who is this shadow holding me hostage. I’ve been here for days. Who’s in my mind controlling me? I can’t imagine why they would do this. Please get out of my exhausted burgundy, cherry head. Now I want to know what’s inside your mind?
Frederick Law Olmsted, PS 64 Grade 4
Yalexis Gierbolini Torres
i f y o u b e ……
If you are the ocean, I am the dolphin jumping in the waves. If you are the body, I am the heart beating. I’ll be the tiger, I’ll roar until you hear me. I’ll be the moon, you’ll be the sun. I’ll be the sea, you’ll be the sky looking at me.
Herman Badillo Bilingual Academy, PS 76 Grade 5
41
Moe Moe Kyi
the future ahead of me
42
I came from my mom I was glad that I was born That day my life began ugh! It was tragic, horrible We had to move one place to another, I saw my mom’s horrified face, my siblings were tired, Everyone was… That Day, That Night I found myself having a bad dream I didn’t know what it meant, but I saw great things up ahead.
International Preparatory School, PS 198 Grade 6
Alexis Banaszak
shadespeare
— in response to William Shakespeare’s Sonnet 98
Why does your world revolve around a person? This is not Greek mythology we are speaking of. So why do you use such words to speak foul thoughts? For these foul thoughts consume a lover’s mind. “heavy Saturn laugh’d and leap’d with him,” were the words you said. This is not a legend. This is not a fantasy. It is real. Speak no more on this subject, for my ears are bleeding of the sharp vulgar words. Do not toy with people’s minds for they are not a childish game to play. Your funny business will not do in the real world. For there are people whose minds are not in the clouds. Nothing revolves around a person. So wipe off that love struck grin, and open your eyes.
Clarence High School Grade 10
43
Ixelles Amisi
mozambique
44
Little city chickens running around kids playing outside Maputu where Grandma lived on a farm and airplanes big mountain where Grandma has a shop chips, gum, water she has a swimming pool and is happy there
International Preparatory School, PS 198 Grade 6
Angel Diaz
s h e j u s t wa s
My grandma I’m trying to remember can’t remember her features what she sounded like why can’t I remember? sad that’s just how I feel she had this giant birthmark that covered her face, it was beautiful she was awesome she just was
International Preparatory School, PS 198 Grade 6
45
Aries Peters Hernandez
d e at h i s o n ly t h e b e g i n n i n g
46
roses are red violets are blue we’re all going to die someday soon, so why not live our lives the way we want to, so if you want I will tell how I feel, I feel sad, left out, forgotten, so do you still want to listen to my poems?
International Preparatory School, PS 198 Grade 6
Nae Meh
raining so hard
Raining, cloudy you may not know the thunder might hit don’t wait just go it’s raining so hard I just wish I was home. It’s like the clouds are saying goodbye, clouds are getting dark, people are running not to be caught.
International Preparatory School, PS 198 Grade 5
47
Anastasia Hall
d e at h
48
Death is dark as the place down below Skulls disappear into thin air Black anger rises and falls Death flies through the towns Death is dark like the night
Frederick Law Olmsted, PS 64 Grade 4
Jeremiah Rowell-Brown
ru n n i n g
flock of birds leaves falling from trees hills that look as if they are erupting. Teepees and tents that don’t have any vents, cultural games that people say are lame, Japanese signs with nothing but right angle lines, when I see the clouds I look at them without a frown, the sunset is coming so let’s start running. I’m outta this poem and I’m running all the way home.
International Preparatory School, PS 198 Grade 6
49
Just Buffalo Teaching Artists Meet the talented team of writers, artists, and educators who represent Just Buffalo Literary Center through the work they do with young writers throughout Western New York whether at the Just Buffalo Writing Center, in the community, or during our creative writing programs in the schools.— EMILY ANDERSON’s fiction and poetry have appeared in a variety of publications including Harper’s, Conjunctions, The Kenyon Review, McSweeney’s, Fence, Caketrain, Black Warrior Review, and Volt. Her first book, Little: Novels, was released by BlazeVox Books ( ����). She has performed at venues ranging from the Emily Dickinson International Society Conference to the men’s room at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Chicago. She is engaged in a long-term collaboration with photo-video based artist Jen Morris; their video work has been screened in Philadelphia, Brattleboro (Vermont), and Santa Cruz de Tenerife (Spain). She holds an m fa from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago and an m a from Bucknell University. Currently, she is a PhD candidate in English at the University at Buffalo. 50
SUSAN HODGE ANNER is a poet, playwright, and essayist whose work has been performed both locally and in New York, Pittsburgh, Indianapolis, and Washington, d c . She taught Theatre at the University at Buffalo for �� years, and is now an Artist-in-Residence at Women and Children’s Hospital through u b ’s Center for the Arts Arts in Healthcare. She is the author of the blog "What I Know Right Now” and is also a certified special education teacher who has taught workshops in improving written and verbal communication skills with students with physical, intellectual, and emotional disabilities. JOHN BATEMAN recently finished a Master’s in English with a Certificate in Innovative Writing from the University at Buffalo. John works at the intersection and split of images and text, writing photographs and taking stories. His written work has appeared in
Just Buffalo Teaching Artists One New England, The Huffington Post, Glitterwolf Magazine, and the SFWP Quarterly. His first film short, “Lost and Found” (part of The Bench Project series) has screened at multiple festivals and won several awards including Best Script from The Magnolia Film Festival. JOEL BRENDEN is an interdisciplinary artist and educator working within a broad range of media including photography and bookmaking. A native of Washington State, he received his m fa in Visual Studies from the University at Buffalo in ����. He is the publisher of linoleum. Find him online at www.thelessyousee.com BENJAMIN BRINDISE is a spoken word poet and fiction writer. He represented Buffalo, New York in the ���� National Poetry Slam and has been a featured poet across the region and Canada. He is the author of I Was a Lid (Amazon, ����). His work has appeared in Tangent Literary Magazine, Down in the Dirt, Brotha Magazine, and the Enriched with Dirt Anthology. LUKE DALY writes and teaches writing at s u n y Fredonia and Daemen College. Some of his recent poetry, fiction, and non-fiction appear in Minnesota English Journal, Subtropics, Comstock Review, and Architrave Press. ROBIN LEE JORDAN’s creative nonfiction, fiction, and poetry has been published in various journals, including alice blue review, H_NGM_N, Puerto del Sol, and Paper Darts. She received her m fa in Poetry from Oregon State University and is currently working on a mixed-genre collection. She is the Writing Center Coordinator at Just Buffalo Writing Center and a founding member of the grassroots community arts project (B)uffalo (A)rt (D)ispensary. JOE HALL is an educator and the author of three collections of poems: Pigafetta Is My Wife, The Devotional Poems, and Utopia. With Chad Hardy, he wrote the book The Container Store Vols. I & II (SpringGun Press). With Cheryl Quimba, he wrote the chapbook May I Softly Walk. He lives in Kenmore, n y .
51
Just Buffalo Teaching Artists RE KATZ is the managing editor at NOÖ Journal. She is the author of an Author Collection (Awst Press, ����), the chapbook Pony at the Super (Horse Less Press), and the one-act play Undark, which premiered in Buffalo in ����. Her work recently appeared in jubilat, Ninth Letter, and Salt Hill. CHERYL QUIMBA received an m fa in poetry from Purdue University. Her poems have appeared in Dusie, Phoebe, Tinfish, Everyday Genius, 1913, and Horseless Review. She is the author of the poetry collection Nobody Dancing (Publishing Genius) and the chapbook Scattered Trees Grow in Some Tundra (Sunnyoutside Press). With Joe Hall, she co-authored the digital chapbook May I Softly Walk: The Santa Fe Journals (Poetry Crush). Cheryl is the literary editor of Free Inquiry magazine. She works for Prometheus Books in Amherst, n y .
52
SHERRY ROBBINS has conducted creative writing workshops throughout New York State and abroad for more than �� years and works with hundreds of students each year. She has a Masters in the poetics of ecstasy and two books of poetry, Snapshots of Paradise and Or, the Whale. Sherry ran her own letterpress for years, is a certified yoga teacher, and a multi-year panelist for the n e a ’s Art Works program. GARY EARL ROSS is a retired u b / e o c language arts professor. His works include the short story collections The Wheel of Desire (����) and Shimmerville (����); the children’s tale, Dots (����); the historical novel Blackbird Rising (����); and the stage plays Sleepwalker (����), Picture Perfect (����), The Best Woman (����), Murder Squared (����), The Scavenger’s Daughter (����), The Mark of Cain (����), The Guns of Christmas (����), and Matter of Intent, winner of the 2006 Edgar Allan Poe Award from Mystery Writers of America. CATHERINE LINDER SPENCER is an award winning artist and art educator. Her work has been exhibited widely in museums and galleries throughout Western New York including the AlbrightKnox Art Gallery, the Burchfield Penney Art Center, and The Castellani Art Museum. She recently completed a one-year fellowship
Just Buffalo Teaching Artists program through the New York Foundation for the Arts. In addition to exhibiting in local museums and galleries, Catherine has participated in many public art projects including “Herd About Buffalo” and “Art on Wheels.” She is represented by Studio E Partners in Washington, d c . Her work is in private collections across the United States. MAX WEISS is a Buffalo native cartoonist and songwriter whose work has appeared in Pukumber, Demonyms, and The Boston Hassle. He received a b a in English Literature and Art Education at the University of Vermont in ����. He has self-released eight albums of independent music and performs locally as one half of the avantgarde pop group Welks Mice. His first graphic novel, Papa Time was published by Hypnotic Dog Press in ����. CHRISTINA VEGA-WESTHOFF is a poet, translator, and aerialist. Her poetry and translations appear in Asymptote, Bombay Gin, Brooklyn Rail: In Translation, Exchanges, Horse Less Review, LIT, New American Writing, Tzak, 1913, and elsewhere. Christina is a registered yoga instructor and a Moment Om Arts aerial yoga instructor, and she teaches and performs with Buffalo Aerial Dance. She holds an m fa in poetry from the University of Arizona and a b a in English and Latin American Studies from the University of Wisconsin-Madison. She has worked in both English and Spanish with students of all ages. JANNA WILLOUGHBY-LOHR has been writing poetry since she was � and performing since age ��. She holds a b a in Entrepreneurial Creative Business Arts from Warren Wilson College. A Grand Slam finalist in ����–���� for the Nickel City Poetry Slam and a member of the ���� Nickel City Slam team at the National Poetry Slam, Janna is also an editor for Earth’s Daughters literary magazine, the longest running women’s publication in the country. She has been performing with her band, BloodThirsty Vegans since ����. They are currently at work on their second studio album. She also runs her own business making handmade paper and books and teaching workshops.
53
54
55
56
Just Buffalo Writing Center
TABLE OF CONTENTS 3
i n t h e b e gi n n i n g
4
ge n esis
5
a l most nat u r a l cl a m s
Xaiveria Butler
�
6
i f w e w e r e a bduct e d by a l i e ns
8
robi n ’ s dr e a m
�
Birch Kinsey
Hannah Nathanson
Sage Enderton
Alaya Kirkley
9
bu f fa l o
10
obl i v ion
11
wa ltz
12
pl ay - i n - progr e ss
13
bu t t e r f l i e s
14
c a n nons for m y gr a n dfat h e r
da nce
Eden Donelli
Ryan Fortner
Gracie Newman
Carson Feero
Cas Botello
15
t i p of t h e t i p of t h e ice be rg
16
a rt i f ici a l l igh t
17
t h e e r a se r : a br i e f h istory
18
de a d space
Hemingway Lovullo
Annera Rachuna
Kareem Haq
Aaron Lebediker
19
m a n i f e sto for sh r i n e to da r r e n
20
spr i ngt i m e m e l odi e s
21
joh n n y.
22
m a sk
Jackie Vu
Darren Cameron Robin Hill
Justin Nash
Trinity Ridout
Lucy Handman
23
gr ace
24
ol d wa l l s
25
horoscope :
26
i i m agi n e t h e wor l d a s a book
Ikuris Perry
Katie Sol Estrada
London Patterson
57
58
Xaiveria Butler
in the beginning
It's been said that in the beginning there was word it's been said that in the beginning there was nothing it's been said that in the beginning there was God but I say that all started with darkness darkness lives eternal, because even after all the lights burn out, the darkness is still there to take its place darkness is the god from which our souls became which is to say how our souls are pastures that bloom with cold and emptiness constantly trying to figure out how to let something in trying to find some sort of light or love which is why human hearts carry the curiosity of fire fire is the only thing both dark and light with both the ability to create beauty and the ability to destroy. In a world where we all try to find the light what does it say about those who shy away from its burying grace.
— created during Sherry Robbins’ “Palimpsest” workshop Oracle Charter School Grade 12
59
Birch Kinsey
genesis
�
The everything was once small nothings. Nothing was everywhere, floating. Once, two nothings collided. It happened in no time. There was no time.
60
The slight bump was the start of Everything. Two drops of everything in the primordial soup of nothing Again it happened. Another bump. And everything got bigger.
— created during Sherry Robbins’ “Palimpsests” workshop Homeschool Grade 9
Hannah Nathanson
a l m o s t nat u r a l c l a m s
Pixelated wind is turning white and our dear god is under a rolling pin, a hallowed stream of self-transformed is forcing eyelids open so that we rain animation. And our god is a comical sacrament of c-section beauty, Born to feed ducklings and fish on a dock. Sell me indulgence that your critical swirls call absolute. We are almost natural, But we keep edging ourselves off into conciliated triangles that we can learn to worship. Someday we will leave this circle and see the clams.
— inspired by Harumo Sato’s exhibition Mogu Mogu ~ Munch Munch City Honors School, PS 195 Grade 10
61
Sage Enderton
if we were abducted by aliens
62
if we were abducted by aliens one by one, then i would call your house phone as my windows were illuminated in white, i’d call you and tell you it was finally happening and i would be giddy as gravity stopped mattering to me and the red light on your answering machine did. if the red light on your answering machine flashed at you after you got home, then you would hit the play button with your elbow while you put away groceries and the start of my laughter would play over static. if my laughter played over static, then seconds would pass by and you would become the first and only person to know I had been abducted.
City Honors School, PS 195 Grade 9
Sage Enderton
if you became the first and only person to know i had been abducted, then you would drop the milk carton in your hands. if i was gone, then you would sit in your living room and stare at the night sky through the window, wondering where i was and if i was okay. if i was okay, then i would name stars after you as i shot past them and wish i had my camera with me because being taken by aliens is a prime photo opportunity. if i had my camera with me, then i would run out of film, letting exposure after exposure fall into the air and i would scribble “abduction day” across the top and continue to believe you were thinking about me. if you were thinking about me, then you wouldn’t have moved for days, wondering out loud. if you wondered about me, then they would know and white lights would shine in your windows and they would take you and tell you they were bringing us together. if they were bringing us together, then they would not make it easy, and they would open their doors and let us float to each other.
— created during Joe Hall’s “Science Fiction’s Infinite Futures”
63
Eden Donelli ro b i n ’ s d r e a m
Once I dreamed the sky was red. It was a light tinge of a color never seen even in sunsets.
64
Once I saw the moon. It was red too like blood. The red sky came seeping in staining white cotton blue. Once you felt the earth at your fingers digging, fingernails caked in mud. I hope the sky may never suffer red fantasies.
City Honors School, PS 195 Grade 9
Alaya Kirkley
b u f fa l o
�
da n c e
— for Shontavia
the dot above your i is a heart it reminds me of elementary school of when everything was easy and simple when making friends just required a name I thought everyone was my friend maybe I was wrong about that but still, I admired the girls who wrote their i’s with a heart
City Honors School, PS 195 Grade 9
65
Ryan Fortner
oblivion
A gentle breeze blows across the sandy desert. A broad collection of ancient ruins sits quietly in the distance. In the middle of the ruins stands a beautiful white tower with many windows, most of which are shattered. Brick buildings with mosaics painted on them. 66
The light has gone dark. The hum has been silenced. I saw this coming. I was an atheist since I was eight years old. If there was no time before the universe how could there be time for God.
Homeschool Grade 8
Gracie Newman
wa lt z
— with a line from Janet McNally’s “My Next Heart”
We yank the shuddering sheet down and down into the boat’s bowels until the sun is unsheathed again. Folds of (sailcloth, hemmed) with impatient stitches, swing limp from the ropes that stretch in fraying knots. 67
The gales have grown bored and fled, the creaking hull silent once more, I long for its frantic chatter, the mystery of its foreign tongue. We roll the sail, coil it like a snake that remains tense and uncharmed. Our waltz with waves is over now and the cursing motor takes us in.
Nichols School Grade 11
Carson Feero
p l ay - i n - p ro g r e s s
JOHN: Hey. BILL: Hey. JOHN: What happened to your legs? BILL: They ran away. JOHN: Really? BILL: Yes. 68
JOHN: I can’t help but feel that’s impossible. BILL: But it isn’t. JOHN: Please elaborate. BILL: It all started last Thursday. JOHN: Is this going to be an extended flashback sequence? BILL: Yes.
— created during Neil Wechsler’s “Play Openings” workshop Homeschool Grade 10
Cas Botello
butterflies
A father falls harder than daughters on their knees carving symphonies into their arms — He bleeds longer-than than his little girl screaming “I want to be happy” with tears carving failure into his chest fathers blame themselves when their daughters blame their reflection fathers will always hold butterflies to practice having to let precious things go.
Frederick Law Olmsted, PS 156 Grade 10
69
Hemingway Lovullo
c a n n o n s f o r m y g r a n d fat h e r
70
I remember the rooftop. I remember the floor of clay, an undeniable yellow color and how it was bumpy under my fingers and feet. I had sat upon the rooftop, not in the afternoon, it had been too hot then, but at night during the Celebration of Saint Carmen, when the sky was crow-feathered black and peppered bright blue with fireworks, sometimes making shapes or patterns. I remember how the citronella candles were lit to keep the mosquitos away. Sometimes there was a breeze, and sometimes there wasn’t, but I was up on that rooftop every night. I was only ten then, but now I wish I’d been old enough to think something worth writing down. As it was, my mind had been blank, then clouded. I remember the recliner I sat on and the radio playing softly as the minute hand on my grandmother’s watch crept closer to one a.m. ~ The cannons for my grandfather caught my attention. I held a bright red, or maybe pink, carnation in my hand. Years later, I would hold a rose at his wife’s funeral, rubbing my thumb against the thorn on the stem and trying to break my skin. It was too blunt, it didn’t, and only months later as I write this I bite my nails, which had been growing so well. I wonder why I didn’t ask him to tell me any of his stories.
— created during Sherry Robbins’ “Karl Ove Knausgaard” workshop Frederick Law Olmsted, PS 156 Grade 10
Annera Rachuna
t i p o f t h e t i p o f t h e i c e b e rg
Why do I feel like a container of fried rice? What is the sound of a bleeding brick building? Does a paper bag feel relief after a hard day’s work full of groceries, or does it feel used? Why does the thrumming highway sound like saddened cereal? What’s the question to the answer, or is the answer the question itself ? Would rich people buy water infused with the laughter of babies?
— created during Christina Vega-Westhoff’s “Ecopoetry” workshop Orchard Park Middle School Grade 8
71
Kareem Haq
a rt i f i c i a l l i g h t
72
The artificial light was dizzying. Maybe it had gone to my head. Every day I hope, nine or ten years later, that I was right. What didn’t go to my head, however, were the sounds coming from the space two rooms over. The sounds I couldn’t identify as laughing or sobbing, until I realized that my father had never laughed that long in this house. The stained glass windows illuminated my way across the broken, scraped hardwood floors. Never had the blue color of my living room seemed so cold.
— created during Sherry Robbins’ “Karl Ove Knausgaard” workshop City Honors School, PS 195 Grade 9
Aaron Lebediker
t h e e r a s e r : a b r i e f h i s t o ry
Long ago, in a land where foolish mistakes were frequently made, there had been many fatalities due to an uprising of the people against an oppressive government. And so, the eraser was born. Of course, no one knows who made it. Or where it was made. Or if it even exists at all. Or if we exist. Or if time is real. Or if the moon landing was fake. Of course, we do know that it can erase mistakes. Which is good.
City Honor School, PS 195 Grade 9
73
Jackie Vu
d e a d s pa c e
I am a man made of metal, stuck on a ship riding the waves of gravity. We’re lost in madness, and by we, I mean the zombies and I. The zombies are the ship’s diligent workers, and I am the captain. 74
I will call you Ishmael, and you will not fight me. We won’t stop till we fall the pale goliath. Down to the last man, my success is the crew’s success.
Hutchinson Central Technical High School, PS 304 Grade 12
Darren Cameron
m a n i f e s t o
f o r s h r i n e to da r r e n
1. Collect a pile of all video games and comic books, excluding the E.T. game and any content non-suitable for ages �� and below. Place the remaining items in piles. 2. Collect well-articulated action figures and good quality mechanical pencils. Also place these items in sorted piles. 3. Collect a dictionary. Open to page for “cadaver.” Place on floor in front of all piles. 4. Collect all Top 100 70s albums and place in large towers, each topped off with a stack of �� Oreos. 5. Construct model clay diorama of small Darrens fighting for control of Darren’s brain. Place diorama adjacent to dictionary. 6. Take an overwhelmingly large composition of coins and compose $���. If less than 60% of this is pennies, or less than 90% is coinage, then you have done something wrong. Place other junk around as border.
— inspired by Angela Veronica Wong’s “Manifesto” workshop City Honors School, PS 195 Grade 9
75
Robin Hill
springtime melodies
76
In the time of the bee, honey, lavender the seed, spring, the truth the truth whether the house has windows or the windows have glass Official, you’ve inhabited by my structure, held together bee honey lavender glass the truth
— created during Christina Vega-Westhoff’s “Translation & Multilingual Writing” workshop City Honors School, PS 195 Grade 9
Justin Nash
johnny.
The cactus told me to do it. I didn’t want to, but he made me. I didn’t want to rob that guy but it was him or me. Do you know what being pricked by a cactus feels like? NO. You don’t. Well let me tell you, it doesn’t feel great. I’m stuck in the jail cell, haunted by the thoughts of the cactus, and that damned pan flute. I hope I never get out, he might find me.
Hutchinson Central Technical High School, PS 304 Grade 12
77
Trinity Ridout mask
— with a line from Janet McNally’s “My Next Heart”
78
Girl-quiet, bright liar, you’d never know how strongly her heart yearns for destruction. Innocence is the only missing piece of her. She screams on the inside, cries out for evil. Girl-quiet is only the calm before her storm. She is raging, her winds angry and blustering. Exuding happiness however. What a wonderful fraud. You could never tell the difference between her fury and a facade of joy. Violent in her emotions, they come across as glad, but she’s waiting. To light the match and set ablaze the wood-pile of malcontent she holds inside her mind. The warm sun-storm is about to become a hurricane of mass effect. But she expresses only timid exuberance, and she smells like flowers rather than bright flame. A mask hides her beloved chaos, and you’d never know.
City Honors School, PS 195 Grade 9
Lucy Handman grace
They called me weird. Featherheaded. Birdbrained. A freakshow. When I was little, I used to ask my mom why the other kids were so mean to me. She’d just look at me with sadness glistening in her tears. She’d say, “Because” and never finish. My dad wouldn’t even look at me. Refused the moment I came out of the womb, or so I was told. We left him. Everywhere I went, I was followed, haunted by teasing whispers, sidelong glancing snickers, and too-hard staring incredulousness. I would come home every day, crying, looking at myself in the mirror, running my feathered hands across my wide blue-green eyes, down my smooth, half-beak nose, sweeping back the feathers in my hair, asking over and over. Why am I so different? I learned to fly when I was about five years old. My wings were finally strong enough, running smoothly along my thin-boned, feathery arms, the same iridescent greens and shimmering blues in my eyes. My pinky finger split into four long, thin, jointed bones, unfolding as my wingtips. I spread them wide and jumped off the roof of my house, scrambling at the air. My mom came out and screamed, but just before I fell to the earth, my wings opened fully and I was lifted into the air on a soft cushion of wind.
City Honors School, PS 195 Grade 9
79
Ikuris Perry
o l d wa l l s
80
It was an old, red and white brick house on a quiet street full of soft air and smoothly paved sidewalks the creamy color of peanut butter, and I loved it there. I loved the brightly colored laughter of the children in the afternoon. I loved the rippling memories evoked by the old walls, another crossing my mind at every turn like the crisp pages of a book. It pains me to leave. As much as this is a drastic decision, it is also an escape. A freedom, a breath of fresher air, of greener grass. Is this how the surgeons on Gray’s Anatomy feel when their patient dies but they keep on trying to revive them? After their bloodstained hands are ripped from the still-warm corpse? Is this similar to that? This contradicting feeling of both failure and relief ?
— inspired by Dinaw Mengestu’s The Beautiful Things That Heaven Bears Frederick Law Olmsted, PS 156 Grade 10
Sol Estrada
h o ro s c o p e : k at i e
"Symbiosis:" your symbol of power this year will be the heart of the star impressed on your shoulder, where in the midst of your chains you will make whole again and liberate the angels of their wings to reveal the truth. You will speak with your own tongue when you embrace yourself with all your deformities for the others, not for what they have done but for what they could be. 81
Hutchinson Central Technical High School, PS 304 Grade 10
London Patterson
i imagine the world as a book
82
A large one maybe. With pages of parchment, Rough and punctured edges, leading to the next several pages. There is no author. Just blots of ink. Some are large and fill the page. Others small, and scattered. Almost as though someone had spilled ink over it, Not caring where each blot went. Rather cruel. Plenty argue for change. Nothing happens.
— created during Sherry Robbins’ “Palimpsest” workshop City Honors School, PS 195 Grade 8
Just Buffalo’s Annual Anthology of Student Writing