New Lots Review 2007

Beautiful role models. Funny, sad, hurt, happy. welcome to Crystal’ Library. Martin Luther & Rosa. I want peace. Life goes on. I only had my mother. I am from the ghetto. Real ghetto story. True ghe to story. This is my story. a woman of many ideas, thoughts, and emotions. dip your spoon in a cloud. my coca-cola bottle shape. make people’s heads turn. CRIME MUST NOT BE THE WAY. An impeachment is what is needed. But violence is never the way. Uncaring man from a Texas Ranch. Old suited removed from reality. I am not living for today. Frosted Flakes. She tells us to read books and write them down. I wake up hoping. dreams are crushed. Pret presents (shoes). Hope to surpass this fear of hydrophobia. Hungry starving black people. Something that is called gold. Jump double dutch, do carnival, and say hi to Naynay. Young girls throwing their lives away. On the streets of the city. I was dreaming about what i would be like if Rosa Parks wasn’t born. In 1977. What would Why do you ask me? “I want to go meet God.” She’s in heaven in her yellow dress. It was my baby spirit watching over my mommy. If you moved to where I live you made a terrible, terrifying, awfully bad move. Good is gonna come for us. And that’s how the story goes that Mr. Joe told me. This is why they call him Halloween Boy. Those bee dee bees and buckshots. Dem Naps! I yelled Lord please help me. Bcuz my naps were having too much fun. Through the tun nels under the water, the dream is achieved. Just plain old love. I love to show the kids the wonder of writing. My community suffering. They made peace why can’t we. My father was the streets. 99 bullets straight up on the block. The woman I love, hug, and kiss.

Still hints fragrant rose. Spring dresses, light, weightless. Of cours that’s my fine girlfriend. Mmmm. Keep on going. Lied about weapons. There would be no 9/11. I think Karen must like children. No education, no life. Ugly presents (sweaters.) Ready to buss down some chicken and rice. Finding gold under all those clams. Love, church, marriages. Sitting in school with my white-skinned best friend. Welcome to the bloody, to the bloody ghetto. The doll said ny writers coalition Amy I’m on the first step.

A fake with fake blood and a holo 1 axpress gram of a ghost. The hair I bought on sale for 3.99. A na py bald-headed skittle. Verizon to Verizon. Mighty miracle perform ing mothers. Love is the essence of my being. My hope comes from

new lots review

2007

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New Lots Review 2007

Writing by the Kids and Teens at the Brooklyn Public Library, New Lots Branch

NY Writers Coalition Press

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Copryright © 2007 NY Writers Coalition Inc. Upon publication, copyright to individual works returns to the authors.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Editors: Angeli Rasbury, Nancy L. Weber Layout: Nancy L. Weber Photos: Angeli Rasbury New Lots Review contains writing by the 2006-2007 members of New Lots Writers (ages 8 to 15), a creative writing workshop conducted by NY Writers Coalition Inc. and Griot Reading Programs. The workshops take place at the Brooklyn Public Library, New Lots Branch in East New York, an after-school sanctuary for the young people of the community. The workshops nurture and celebrate young people’s brave and exciting voices through the art of creative writing.

NY Writers Coalition Inc. is a not-for-profit organization that provides free and low-cost creative writing workshops throughout New York City for people from groups that have been historically deprived of voice in our society. For more information about NY Writers Coalition Inc.: NY Writers Coalition Inc. 80 Hanson Place, #603 Brooklyn, NY 11217 (718) 398-2883 info@nywriterscoalition.org www.nywriterscoalition.org

Griot Reading Programs promotes literacy and educational excellence in underserved Brooklyn communities through self–esteem and self– and cultural-awareness by bringing audiences of African American children together with African American authors and providing free writing workshops for youth. For more information about Griot Reading Programs, visit www.angelirasbury.com, or e-mail rasburger@juno.com.

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Introduction My hope comes from New Lots, a community in Brooklyn, NY, where there are too many students in classrooms, where schools have too few computers, where there is a void in art and opportunities for young people to express themselves creatively and develop self- and cultural-awareness, where there is a farmer’s market, where there are positive role models, where there needs to be more positive role models, where there needs to be more art, where there needs to be more schools, where there needs to be more computers. My hope comes from Najaya, Crystal, Osas, Angelica, Kedeem, Kavita, Malik, Felisha, Tyliah and Alexandria—talented, emerging writers I have worked with at the New Lots branch of the Brooklyn Public Library.

On Tuesdays these girls and boys have been coming after school and when school is on break to explore their community, their lives, and the world. They volunteer at the library, get off the computer to write, ride the train beyond their stop to participate in the workshop. Their mothers leave work early to bring their child to the branch, buy gifts for participants, and leave the library to go to evening classes.

They love to write! They write about war and peace, mothers and fathers, sweet memories and not-so sweet memories. They write about staying strong and about life in the ghetto. They write 6

candidly and freely. They write without fear!

They tell truths and create.

Hope comes from intense desire to write, their writing, their stories, their smiles, the way they get along and respect themselves and each other and how they care about their communities—all of our communities.

It has been a privilege and honor to work with them, get to know them, be in their lives. It has been an honor and privilege to have their families’ support in so many ways. I thank them and everyone at New Lots who has been supportive of the workshop and the participants, especially Tambi John, Karen Lorde, David (TK), and Matthew (You are always there when I need you!).

Angeli Rasbury April 2007

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CRYSTAL’S LIBRARY CRYSTAL ROMAN, AGE 12 They call it The Hang Out A place to have fun, read Go on the internet!

Dozens of kids Beautiful role models Each comes in with Different personalities Funny, sad, hurt, happy Excited to be in Crystal’s Library After a few hours of fun I stop the computers Ask the kids To join me and write their feelings Some even get emotional It hurts me to see My community suffering I look to the past I saw the people who believed In me Help me to become what I am today The creator Of Crystal’s Library I love to show the kids the Wonder of writing I want to thank Angeli my poetry teacher Felisha my fellow classmate Who showed me courage My mom for being there 8

Also my mind for letting me explore the wonders Of the blue sky and life As people walk in I say Welcome to Crystal’s Library.

PEACE CRYSTAL ROMAN I want peace I want peace here, there Everywhere I love peace do you?

Martin Luther & Rosa They made peace why can’t we I want peace here There, everywhere I want peace.

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LIFE GOES ON CRYSTAL ROMAN Life goes on life goes on and on on on I only had my mother When I grew up my father was the streets and the constant gang signs that I threw up See my pops was a liar The only thing he bought me was pacifierz I stand off the playground cause I had to stay down So I think life goes on Life goes on and on on on.

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I AM FROM THE GHETTO MALIK GARNETT, AGE 12 I am from the ghetto This is my home This is my story True ghetto story This is my story Real ghetto story The ghetto is where you hear The bullets and trains Where you hear the screams and the rains This is where people get shot 99 bullets straight up on the block People lose families People lose daddys People lose mommies People always cryin’ This is the pain We are really in vain I want this to stop When I grow up I am going to walk Straight up on that block I am going to say This is my story True ghetto story This is my story Real ghetto story.

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A WOMAN MALIK GARNETT My mother, a strong, powerful, and graceful woman.

The one who gave birth to me.

The one who takes care of me.

The one who feeds me.

The one who clothes me.

The one who sacrifices her time and wants for me.

My mother, the woman I love, hug, and kiss.

The best woman I know in the world.

I will shed blood, sweat, and tears for my strong, powerful, and graceful mother.

MS. ANGELI MALIK GARNETT Ms. Angeli is a woman of many ideas, thoughts, and emotions. She is a smart and truthful woman.

She shows me the right from wrong and the good from bad. Ms. Angeli helps me increase my writing skills. One day Ms. Angeli will be a very wise, courageous, and smart woman. Ms. Angeli a woman of many ideas, thoughts, and emotions.

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HOME FELISHA BROWN, AGE 14 The sweetest place I know The farthest place away from my neighborhood the closest place to my fantasy Is my home The sweet sound and melody invites you as your footsteps passes through an intriguing palace Is my home The smell of a home cooked meal tickles your nose as your lungs inhales its presence the lovely warmth of mashed potatoes and chicken makes your stomach growls because you know you have not eaten But when you eat a home cooked meal, you know you’ll be full for the rest of the day That cooked soft pasta mmmmmm……..

Just kills your hunger as you swallow it into your stomach aaaahhhhhh………

A place where you are always welcomed never depending on your race, nationality, opinion or style Will always be and forever be my home But, so far I have not found it yet but someday it will come true.

No matter which dessert quite possible to dip your spoon in a cloud

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I AM NOT LIVING FOR TODAY FELISHA BROWN Keep on going Because wherever there Is a will there must be a way For when you are in dark Dreary areas A light will always appear Violence is never the way With crime building War going on NO NO NO CRIME MUST NOT BE THE WAY With president and his Unfair justice An impeachment is what is needed But violence is never the way With soldiers dying Bombs flying Machine guns racing What must we do but pray But violence is never the way If the United States had not trespassed Used violence Lied about weapons People wouldn’t be dying And no one would have to go on television and broadcast 9/11 There would be no 9/11 And people would not have hatred against Afghanistan and Iraq 14

NO NO NO This would not happen Violence is never the way If it wasn’t for this Uncaring man from a Texas Ranch Old suited removed from reality people In the White House and Congress Too slack to investigate the needs of the people I wouldn’t have to worry about My brother being drafted into the war Or my friends being drafted Or ME, YES, ME My precious soul being drafted I could see From the highest hills in Afghanistan To the White House With peace and harmony Every race Every nationality Every boy Every girl I could see no poverty No crime Because of no poverty I could see equal rights Enjoyed by everyone No matter what race No matter privilege or not Because of violence and wars I can’t see these things I can’t see that far I am not living for today

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SWEET MEMORIES FELISHA BROWN Spring dresses, light weightless with sheer silk flounces feather light confections are sensual harbingers of our sweet season.

Billowy textures are largely achieved whipping egg into a creamy frost Desserts almost airborne reimagined with fresh flourishes A reimagined classic “floating island� which basks in a pool of pistachio which are brightened with a refreshing flavor of green tea.

Springy chiffon cakes dipped in violet-scented icing topped with sugar blooms.

Rich cream, sweet honey, tangy buttermilk familiar even comforting Still hints fragrant rose, orange-flavor water bay leaves all absorbing being a touch unexpected Our elegant treats make a magical culmination to an intimate dinner might serve main attraction a shower luncheon, afternoon tea 16

No matter which dessert quite possible to dip your spoon in a cloud

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FROSTED FLAKES CEREAL TYLIAH THOMAS, AGE 8 Every Friday me and my Mother and my sister go to Pathmark to shop.

We pick up Frosted Flakes and milk then we pay for it.

We get in the cab.

HOME TYLIAH THOMAS When I am at home I eat When I am at home I play When I am at home I play outside Then when I am home Alone I have fun

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MISS KAREN THYLIA THOMAS I think Karen must like children She works with children She shows them good books to read She plays games with the children She watches movies with the children She does art with the children She tells us to read books and write them down and you will get something at the end of the summer She is intelligent and nice When I see Miss Karen, she says hi Then I feel good and I say hi

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DAY BY DAY OSAS OSARENMWINDA, AGE 15 Day by Day I wake up hoping My life swings another way In a path of less pain and sorrow but I am always left waiting for tomorrow I am left all alone with no family and no friends more and more pain comes my way every day when I am asked Questions I barely know what to say No education no Life I do not see a bright future in sight all hopes and 20

dreams are crushed to my life is not worth much Day by day I wake up hoping My life swings another way

CHRISTMAS OSAS OSARENMWINDA School Vacation today’s Friends family Happy Christmas Presents Singing carols Secret santa More presents Wishes Presents wrapped Everywhere Kisses Ugly presents (sweaters) Pretty presents (shoes) Countdown New Year Clean up School.

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HYDROPHOBIA OSAS OSARENMWINDA The boat is rocking and Swinging from left to Right, back and front Boy do I hate the cruise All that come across My mind is the boat Sinking all the way to The ocean ground I hope to Surpass this fear Of hydrophobia Someday But till then I ain’t Thinking about no cruising for a long Long time.

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MY MOTHER’S RESTAURANT OSAS OSARENMWINDA Hungry starving Black people They come in my Mother’s restaurant Ready to buss down Some rice and Chicken Shouting and Hollering out orders Got me running up and Down aisles like A mad dog They leave satisfied And happy And leave me with Lots of Messy dishes.

Boy do I hate those Hungry starving Black people.

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GOLD KAVITA SOOKANAN, AGE 12 As I was walking on the ocean floor I saw a chest Because of that I ran home and called my brother we ran back to the ocean When we spotted it he helped me lift it to take it home It was heavy but we managed When we got home my brother, my Mom, my sister and myself all opened it.

It had a bad smell and had a lot of clams.

But when we moved the clams we all saw something Something that is called gold.

We all jumped in glory that we were rich.

Now we could get the things we all wanted.

That was the happiest day of my Life Finding the gold under all those clams When people saw us with all Those new things they wanted To know how we got them.

We said that we just got lucky That day we all moved away Next to another ocean 24

We were so happy to be close To another body of water.

MY FRIEND KAVITA SOOKNANAN Jalina is the name of my friend. She is in the same class as me but she looks like she is in the third grade. She can jump double dutch really good. She does a lot of tricks. She also has a nephew and a niece in the same school. Her nephew is in the 8th grade and her niece is in the 4th grade. Their names are Cory and Janaja but we call her Naynay. Jalina did not come to school for Halloween but if she did it would be fun. At recess we have a carnival.

It’s a game that we made up. We sing a song and stomp our feet. Then we all run up about five steps and start shouting. We do it about three times. She is a good friend. By the time we were done, our teacher was there to pick us up. That is how our day usually goes. Jump double dutch, do carnival and say hi to Naynay.

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CHRISTMAS KAVITA SOOKANAN Christmas is my favorite holiday It brings joy and happiness to my life Mainly because I spend time with my family And we get to put up the tree and play in the snow

CITY STREETS ANGELICA WEIR, AGE 12 The Hustle the bustle of a bus, train, the shopping mall Fighting Gangs Phones Ringing Young girls throwing their life away Love, Church, Marriages breaking apart and all this is on the streets of a city.

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IN 1977 ANGELICA WEIR In 1977, when I was at lunchtime that first day in some way I wasn’t.

I was dreaming about what it would be like if Rosa Parks wasn’t born or Martin Luther King, Jr. Where would the world be without their courage or determination? Would I be sitting in school with my white-skinned best friend? Would I walk down the streets without the continuous fear of gun shots being fired at me and my family? Would I have the ability to sit where I want on the bus or train?

Would I have used old text books handed down from what whites didn’t need? What will the world be like without Rosa or Martin? Why would you ask me?

I AM FROM NAJAYA ROYAL, AGE 9 I am from your mind Your lost thoughts you left behind I can see you try to be me but it’s just not good enough I know you think I’m old So now you sold your love for popularity and you know what you get back is nothing 28

IN 1977 NAJAYA ROYAL, AGE 10 In 1977 when I was at lunchtime…

At lunchtime that first day in some way, I wasn't noticed because I wasn't born. It was my baby spirit watching over my mommy. She was turning 10. Watching her lifestyle, watching where she was going, being her conscience, telling her the right path to go, giving her a successful life. That all ended when she was 36, on January 22, 1977 at 10:53 pm. When I was born and for the last 10 years, I changed her life and filled it with different, unique and crazy adventures.

MEXICO NAJAYA ROYAL Once in Mexico there was a lady named Angie.

She was my next door neighbor. She was nice.

She loved bright colors. Her house was bright, even she was bright. One day she was in her garden planting watermelons. When I said to her, “Why are you so nice?” she looked at me and smiled. Finally, she said, “I want to go to heaven and meet God.” As the years past, she got sick and old. When she was about to pass she said, “I will watch over you.” Then she was gone. Till this day I will 29

always remember her. I bet you right now she’s in heaven with her yellow dress, eating her watermelons in her garden.

GHETTO NAJAYA ROYAL Ghetto Gone Horrible Evil Terrible Terrifying Oh, awfully bad, but something good will come for us.

These, these words tell, tell us what the G.H.E.T.T.O. is all about. If you moved to where I live you made a terrible, terrifying, awfully bad move.

But, wel-welcome to the bloody, to the bloody Ghetto. But, don't worry, worry, worry, because something, something, something, good is gonna come for us!

Come for us.

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MR. JOE’S HORROR STORY KEDEEM PHILLIPS, AGE 14 Mr. Joe told me a story that was very frightening. I told him it would be better at day for me but he likes it when it’s dark and rainy with a full blast of lightning. The story starts off with a little girl named Amy. Mr. Joe said that one morning it was Amy’s birthday and she received a glass doll from her grandmother. Amy didn’t like it so she left it in the corner. One night when Amy went to sleep she heard something calling her from downstairs. It started saying Amy I’m coming to kill you, so she ran to her mother’s room but her mother put her back to bed. The doll said, Amy I’m on the first step. Amy got scared, the doll said she was on the second, third, fourth, and fifth step. Amy went under her blankets. The doll said she was at her door, then the doll said she was on her bed. Amy’s mother heard a scream, went to Amy’s room and saw the doll holding her head that the doll chopped off. And that’s how the story goes that Mr. Joe told me.

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HALLOWEEN BOY KEDEEM PHILLIPS We know that Halloween comes once a year We all know that it also brings a lot of fear.

One boy said he wasn’t scared, he invented Halloween.

Nobody believed him so everyone said, in your dreams.

Everyone planned to scare him for fun.

They wanted to know if he was really number one.

When the boy was called for a Halloween party in a mansion.

They were going to play a lot of games and have great fun.

When the kids opened the door then they said “boo” and were scared.

But he just stared.

When the party was over the boy pretended he was dead.

His friend got scared and ran away.

It was a fake ax with fake blood and a hologram of a ghost.

They were all just toys.

This is why they called him Halloween boy.

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HAIR ALEXANDRIA TIMOLL, AGE 15 My hat covers my hair The hair I don’t have The hair that I bought on sale for 3.99 Those bee dee bees and buckshots Oh my gosh!

Dem naps Them impossible curly noncombable naps The naps that belittle me The naps that itch I am a bald headed skittle.

A nappy bald headed skittle.

A receeding bald headed skittle.

Oh my gosh Dem naps!

I stretched I pulled I straightened I permed But nothing happened cuz my whole head is a giant nap.

We brushed We combed We picked But nothing happened except The bristles fell out of the brush, the comb broke in half, 34

and the plastic teeth From the pick stabbed me in the eye.

Oh my gosh Dem naps.

I cried, I screamed I yelled Lord please help me nothing could be done bcuz my naps were having too much fun.

Oh my gosh Dem naps.

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LOVE IN A BAG ALEXANDRIA TIMOLL Before there was a bag A plain bag with no substance and No meaning. Nothing But ME Not the literal me But rather a metaphysical entry Will fill this bag to capacity With what With love Love is the essence of my being Love is the fire of my soul Love is the passion within Love will bring this bag alive It will make it mature like a Caterpillar into a butterfly It will make it sing like a Strong soprano When you open this example of A chemical reaction You will be electrified You will be swept off your feet Overtaken with chills Frozen in space Why? Because the bag we mentioned before Is now alive And filled with love Your love My love 36

Her love His love Just plain old love.

MY CONNECTION ALEXANDRIA TIMOLL We are all connected Verizon to Verizon T-Mobile to T-Mobile Cingular to Cingular A vast network of phone lines, but We’re also connected to a vast era of history to our founding fathers and our mighty miracle performing mothers.

Who had dreams, ideas and held powerful movements.

I am connected to all of these people for they shaped me.

Through the tunnels under the water, the dream is achieved At last I am free.

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Beautiful role models. Funny, sad, hurt, happy. welcome to Crystal’s Library. Martin Luther & Rosa. I want peace.

Life goes on. I only had my mother. I am from the ghetto. Real ghet o story. True ghetto story. This is my story. a woman of many idefelisha brown as, thoughts, and emotions. dip your spoon in a cloud. my coca-cola bottle shape. make people’s heads turn. CRIME MUST NOT BE THE WAY. An impeachment is what is needed. violence is never malik But garnett he way. Uncaring man from a Texas Ranch. Old suited removed rom reality. I am not living for today. Frosted Flakes. She tells us to ead books and write them down. osas I wake up hoping. dreams are osarenmwinda crushed. Pretty presents (shoes). Hope to surpass this fear of hydrophobia. Hungry starving black people. Something that is called gold. Jump double dutch, do carnival,kedeem and say hiphillips to Naynay. Young girls throwing their lives away. On the streets of the city. I was dreaming about what it would be like if Rosa Parks wasn’t born. In 977. What would Why do you ask me? crystal I want toroman go meet God.” She’s in heaven in her yellow dress. It was my baby spirit watching over my mommy. If you moved to where I live you made a terrible, errifying, awfully bad move. Good is gonna come for us. And that’s najaya royal how the story goes that Mr. Joe told me. This is why they call him Halloween Boy. Those bee dee bees and buckshots. Dem Naps! I elled Lord please help me. Bcuz my naps were having too much fun. kavita sookanan Through the tunnels under the water, the dream is achieved. Just plain old love. I love to show the kids the wonder of writing. My community suffering. They made peace why can’t we. My father was tyliah thomas he streets. 99 bullets straight up on the block. The woman I love, hug, and kiss. Still hints fragrant rose. Spring dresses, light, weightess. Of course that’s my fine girlfriend.

Mmmm. timoll Keep on going. alexandria Lied about weapons. There would be no 9/11. I think Karen must $5.00 ike children. No education, no life. Ugly presents (sweaters.) Ready o buss down some chicken and rice. Finding gold under angelica weir all those clams. Love, church, marriages. Sitting in school with my whitekinned best friend. Welcome to the bloody, to the bloody ghetto.

40 The doll said, Amy I’m on the first step.

A fake ax with fake blood and a hologram of a ghost. The hair I bought on sale for 3.99. A nap py bald-headed skittle. Verizon to Verizon. Mighty miracle performng mothers. Love is the essence of my being. My hope comes from