On this post you may read the last comments of the year -- original poems written by the class. Students have posted one of three selections: a descriptive paragraph about a memory, a "shape poem," or a short poem about The Kite Runner.
Descriptive Memory: My heart was pumping, pounding inside my 11 year old frame, my stomach in knots, not just harmless butterflies, but the pain of wrenches twisting, disfiguring my insides. My body consumed by heat, the bright lights baking, cooking my skin, all the way down to my blood. I could feel my throat swelling, making it impossible to utter an okay; instead I gave a thumbs-up to signify I was ready. Ready in the sense that my amp was on, plugged in and the volume adjusted. But the state I was in was anything except “ready”. Ready to throw up, faint, or even run off the stage… maybe to hide in the closet, just out the doors and passed the mass of people waiting for us, for me to entertain them with beats, rhythms and melodies. All of those things, seemed impossible to me now, as I was frozen in fear. Like an awkward, wide-eyed statue, I stared motionless into the eyes of familiar people, who now seemed so distant as they entered through those two old, wooden doors. Their loud chatter sounded like muted voices, far away, as I could only hear the pounding of my heart, echoing in my ears. I tried to swallow, to wet my barren throat, but the simple, everyday task took great effort. “How’s everybody feeling tonight?” The sea of faces replied with loud cheers and claps, but this was unheard to me; I was baffled by how Miah remained so calmed… so confident. Resembling a politician, he made small talk and introduced our first song. And in that moment, my hands quit shaking and my mind went quiet. My fingers pressed, held each string; they glided past each fret. With the other hand, they were running on the chords, in sync with the band. My thick strings added depth and soul, it was instinct. Playing now seemed more natural than swallowing had the moment before. Months of practicing, learning, feeling every note had paid off as we performed and received the acceptance of the crowd.
The Crowd was such a mess It wasn’t the best for a bus The kids screaming and the adults moaning was a fuss. Odor was all around and crept up my nose I dosed off once and a while. But I was desperate for air I couldn’t bare the stench Just hit me with a wrench Knock me out for the trip So this won’t be a fuss!
Fear of the Russian invasion, Amir and Baba have a complication. They leave the country to get away, But a soldier tells them to stay. They are finally allowed to leave But the truck breaks down and Baba’s steamed. Amir meets some friends, But they both die before it ends. Years later Baba has cancer, Amir wishes he has the answer, to cure the cancer. Amir gets married and he is happy, But soon s came the death of his pappy. Amir wrote his first book in 1988, The couple couldn’t have a baby which wasn’t so great. They wanted a baby so they thought to adopt a baby, But they didn’t because Amir’s father-in law thought it wasn’t gravy.
Television screens, text books, a sign on the all Calculators, classic pink erasers, a pad lock binding secrets Pillows podiums, a finished puzzle Computer monitors, and mouse pads Kitchen tables, matzo and saltines The hat that floats through air signaling goodbyes
my heart is racing what will happen will i beat his record can i do it if i do what will happen can i cut his kite cant think cant breath all the thoughts running racing through my head and finally... he is cut i have won im full of a feeling i cant describe i love it i have won
It was a hot summer day, Everyone bustling around. I saw her, She was something else. She was a princess. A princess, Soon to be mine. My princess… I took her for who she was, No matter of what had happened… Or what will happen. For she was mine… My princess.
W- we all gatherd for a gloryas day E- everyone was prepaired for the greatest hour D- death was close yet D- death could wait for this gloryis moment to end I- ingaging in the afairs of two couples love N- now hold each hand till death may come G- good thoughts apon this wedding for tomorrow only death may await
13 comments:
Descriptive Memory:
My heart was pumping, pounding inside my 11 year old frame, my stomach in knots, not just harmless butterflies, but the pain of wrenches twisting, disfiguring my insides. My body consumed by heat, the bright lights baking, cooking my skin, all the way down to my blood. I could feel my throat swelling, making it impossible to utter an okay; instead I gave a thumbs-up to signify I was ready. Ready in the sense that my amp was on, plugged in and the volume adjusted. But the state I was in was anything except “ready”. Ready to throw up, faint, or even run off the stage… maybe to hide in the closet, just out the doors and passed the mass of people waiting for us, for me to entertain them with beats, rhythms and melodies. All of those things, seemed impossible to me now, as I was frozen in fear. Like an awkward, wide-eyed statue, I stared motionless into the eyes of familiar people, who now seemed so distant as they entered through those two old, wooden doors. Their loud chatter sounded like muted voices, far away, as I could only hear the pounding of my heart, echoing in my ears. I tried to swallow, to wet my barren throat, but the simple, everyday task took great effort.
“How’s everybody feeling tonight?”
The sea of faces replied with loud cheers and claps, but this was unheard to me; I was baffled by how Miah remained so calmed… so confident. Resembling a politician, he made small talk and introduced our first song. And in that moment, my hands quit shaking and my mind went quiet. My fingers pressed, held each string; they glided past each fret. With the other hand, they were running on the chords, in sync with the band. My thick strings added depth and soul, it was instinct. Playing now seemed more natural than swallowing had the moment before. Months of practicing, learning, feeling every note had paid off as we performed and received the acceptance of the crowd.
Fuss on the Bus
The Crowd was such a mess
It wasn’t the best for a bus
The kids screaming and the adults moaning was a fuss.
Odor was all around and crept up my nose
I dosed off once and a while.
But I was desperate for air
I couldn’t bare the stench
Just hit me with a wrench
Knock me out for the trip
So this won’t be a fuss!
The truck stopped,
Then a soldier hopped,
the sick was not mopped,
Boba was Rocked,
Karim Drove to Black,
They waited for a smack,
A week until Baba was back,
Migs guns made a crack,
He recalled a kite,
in the senseless Night,
Before they met the light,
a man stopped the fight,
They saw it from a far,
it was like a star,
they struck, it like a par,
in spanish twas el mar.
Punching, kicking, struggling
Airways collapsing
Need air
Inhale but nothing
Call out but no one
Kite Runner Poem
Fear of the Russian invasion,
Amir and Baba have a complication.
They leave the country to get away,
But a soldier tells them to stay.
They are finally allowed to leave
But the truck breaks down and Baba’s steamed.
Amir meets some friends,
But they both die before it ends.
Years later Baba has cancer,
Amir wishes he has the answer, to cure the cancer.
Amir gets married and he is happy,
But soon s came the death of his pappy.
Amir wrote his first book in 1988,
The couple couldn’t have a baby which wasn’t so great.
They wanted a baby so they thought to adopt a baby,
But they didn’t because Amir’s father-in law thought it wasn’t gravy.
Circle Poem.
A Long locked chain that never reaches an end. Intertwined with infinite interlocking chains.
The two dimensional cheese in the sky. Never does away, only to comeback again on the other side of the sky.
The infinite number that makes up a perfect round pie.
The wheel that never stops ending and never stops rolling.
Like the clock on the wall, and the trillions of molecules that make up life.
Pig tail, slinky, tire on the side of the road, the smoke ring from the pipe, two eyes glairing
The clock says ten thirty, the ball being bounced, the snow man in the yard, the arrow hits the bullseye
Square poem
Television screens, text books, a sign on the all
Calculators, classic pink erasers, a pad lock binding secrets
Pillows podiums, a finished puzzle
Computer monitors, and mouse pads
Kitchen tables, matzo and saltines
The hat that floats through air signaling goodbyes
my heart is racing
what will happen
will i beat his record
can i do it
if i do what will happen
can i cut his kite
cant think
cant breath
all the thoughts running
racing
through my head
and finally...
he is cut
i have won
im full of a feeling i cant describe
i love it
i have won
My Princess
It was a hot summer day,
Everyone bustling around.
I saw her,
She was something else.
She was a princess.
A princess,
Soon to be mine.
My princess…
I took her for who she was,
No matter of what had happened…
Or what will happen.
For she was mine…
My princess.
Collin P said:
A Xbox 360 humming away in my living room
My car sterio light blue blinding in the night
The TV flashing while i sit sleeping
I listen to my ipod it is shiny
I put with my brand new putter the ball flys down the green plop it goes in the hole
As I sit at my fake wood desk I wounder if I could break it with a swift karate chop
I shoot a lacrosse ball 100 MPH at the goal it burned a hole right through the net
W- we all gatherd for a gloryas day
E- everyone was prepaired for the greatest hour
D- death was close yet
D- death could wait for this gloryis moment to end
I- ingaging in the afairs of two couples love
N- now hold each hand till death may come
G- good thoughts apon this wedding for tomorrow only death may await
Post a Comment