COMPAS 2013-14 Young Writers Anthology: Punch At The Wild Tornado by COMPAS

Punch at the Wild Tornado

Punch at the Wild Tornado Selected Works from the COMPAS Arts Education Program

Edited by Daniel Gabriel Cover Art by Dennis Lo Interior Illustrations by Emily Isenberg

COMPAS Arts Education Programs 2014

Publication of this book is generously supported by the Lillian Wright and C. Emil Berglund Foundation, dedicated in memory of C. Emil Berglund. COMPAS programs are made possible in part by grants provided by the Minnesota State Arts Board, through an appropriation by the Minnesota State Legislature. Additional support has been provided by many generous corporations and foundations, which can be found at our website www.compas.org/pages/artsedfunders.html. As always, we are grateful for the hundreds of excellent teachers throughout Minnesota who sponsor COMPAS Arts Education activities. Without their support and hard work, the writers and artists would not weave their magic, and the student work we celebrate in this book would not spring to life. Book Production: Huong Nguyen, Emily Isenberg and Daniel Gabriel, COMPAS staff Book Design: Emma E-M Seeley, COMPAS Staff ISBN 978-0-927663-48-9 Cover art 2014 by Dennis Lo Interior Illustrations 2014 by Emily Isenberg Music, Additional Words, Arrangements 2014 by Charlie Maguire and Mello-Jamin Music Text 2014 COMPAS “My Name,” from The Spiders 1979 by John Minczeski All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reprinted or reproduced without the prior written permission of COMPAS, except for brief passages cited in reviews. COMPAS 75 Fifth Street West, Suite 304 St. Paul, Minnesota 55102

Dedicated to the fire and spirit of longtime COMPAS Roster Artist John Caddy— who not only helped lead the COMPAS charge into classrooms during that first fraught winter of 1968, but shared his wisdom and poetic vision with generations of Minnesota students across the following decades. John’s teaching, as well as his own poetry, demonstrated repeatedly that “shared pain diminishes; shared joy multiplies.” Member of COMPAS Artist Roster, 1968-1996.

IN MEMORIAM

COMPAS acknowledges with sadness the passing of this fine Teaching Artist: Jerry Blue, storyteller, librarian, and fount of wisdom. Member of COMPAS Artist Roster, 1992-2014.

TABLE OF CONTENTS Foreward Introduction

Sally Thompson Daniel Gabriel

xi xiii

1: Poetry Is a Lake Deeper than You Can Think (joy of language)

It Will Make You Clueless Ode to a Pencil

Leo Fridley Michael Thompson

2 3

The Storm I Am I Don’t Know What to Write Street Flow My Life Minnesota Sound

Ethan Schaner 4 Paige Indritz 7 Olivia Grieco 8 Mike D. 10 Samia Shoble 12 Brimhall Songwriting Group 14 Ms. Peterson’s Class 15 Ginger Thompson 16 Katie Dirks 17 Ruth Nyabuto 18 Kate Van Meter & Maia Kelly 19

Summer Is the Best Thing in the World Crimson Tiger Was Made I Find Garbage Seemingly Endless Words . . .

2: Voice for the Voiceless (speaking out for others)

A Voice for the Voiceless How We Raise Ourselves Untitled Be Proud Walking in My Shoes

22 24 26 27

Once

Hibaq Mohammed Letao Chen Jack Sipe Sophia Rapacz Meghan HallbackKettner Annie Bush

Never Good Enough

Sagal Abdi

29 31

Mystery Poem

Zach Dyar

(The Right to) Love Poem

Leo Montie, Carly Grande & Ben Johnson Bikrim Tamang Tay Ber Ms. Benedict’s Class Sagal Abdi

37 39 40 41 42

Walk a Mile in My Shoes Walk a Mile in My Shoes Making a Home I Am Not Those People

3: Our Bodies Are Oceans (the natural world)

Our Bodies Are Oceans and Streams I Am the Waterfall In the Summertime

46 48

Walking in the Woods Animals A Day in the Four Seasons

Adna Osman Jewels Amundson Central Park Songwriting Group Tanner Otto Ms. Meyer’s Class

49 50 51

Snow Crazy Weather Spark of Light in the Darkness Spell for the Night A Guide for Everyone Dig! Dig! Dig!

Kenzi MarroneLloyd Mrs. B’s Class Mr. Crosby’s Class Claudia Russell Greta Mielke Alejandro Garcia Mrs. Etter’s Class

52 54 55 56 57 58 59

Untitled Thirsty All the Time

Callie Anderson Ramzi Geraldo

61 62

4: Perfect in My Eyes (relationships)

Chris Dares and Tricks My Sister’s Birth

Annabelle Bond Jackson Gunnell Timo K.

64 65 67

Billy’s Ankle

Anna Rademacher

Annabella Finds Her Way in Math

Nikki Nangia

Loggers Saint Pius X Song

Mrs. Fillman’s Class Mrs. Munsinger’s Class Jayden Acker Thomas Lechnir Kira Greenfield Sagal Abdi & Bisharo Dahir Victoria Menge Ms. Winther’s Class

Hair My Dreams Never Come True Behind the Lilacs Our War Friends and Storms Elementary Memories

5: Nothing Could Capture Time (adventures)

73 74 75 77 79 81 83 85

How I Time Travel Voyageurs The Tale of Aldemar: A Great Adventure

Anna Lampron 86 Ms. Sweeney’s Class 88 Jacob E. 89

Miranda’s Adventure Walking into Sheng Vhanag Secrets Pendrick and the Serum The Leprechaun Mudflap Shooting Star A Letter I’ll Never Forget

Halle Duray Benjamin Walther Peter Turek Ethan Park Daisy Johnstun Ms. Bastyr’s Class Mohamed Warsame Sadie Lorraine Swift

91 93 95 96 98 100 101 102

Spooky

Abdi Haji

110

6: Without Its Roots the Tree Is Nothing (hopes for future) The Earth Is Always Turning

Let Us Go

111

Jaylin Schumacher, Moira Miller & Sarah Miller 112 Jr. Girl Scout Troop 55640 115

Beautiful Essence

Kate Wensloff

116

Untitled Who, What, Where, When, Why and How? Peace . . . Why Do I Hear the Cries at Night?

Ahmed Mursal Korina Lee Max Menke Fadumo Khalif

117 119 121 122

Dream On Unleash

Leo Proctor Pranavi J.

124 126

7: COMPAS Teaching Artists Write Back

127

My Name Under This Face Under the Full Moon The Night some leaves fall elephant, thou Excerpt from Canoeing with Jose

John Minczeski Joyce Sidman Marie Olofsdotter Marie Olofsdotter Dana Jensen Dana Jensen Jon Lurie

128 129 130 131 132 133 134

Art Space

Susan Marie Swanson Julia Klatt Singer Julia Klatt Singer Kyle “Guante” Tran Myhre

When words no longer How to live in the modern world Reach

137 138 139 140

Index by Student Writer

143

Index by School

145

COMPAS Roster Writers

147

COMPAS Manifesto

148

COMPAS Staff

149

Expanding STEM to STEAM

150

Lillian Wright Awards for Creative Writing

152

Minnesota Legacy Amendment

153

FOREWARD The Lillian Wright and C. Emil Berglund Foundation has supported COMPAS since 1984, helping to make this anthology possible. Our foundation has donated nearly $100,000 over the last 30 years to showcase the impressive writing of Minnesota students. As COMPAS teaching artists work in schools, they hear again and again that students are motivated by the possibility that their writing could be published in the anthology. And what is more thrilling to a young writer than seeing one’s work on the printed page, bound in a book? Our foundation is pleased to play a role in inspiring and honoring thousands of student writers over the years. Another aspect of our support to COMPAS is the Lillian Wright Awards for Creative Writing, which we have underwritten for 21 years. Award winners receive a $100 check, and $75 is granted to each student’s school library. In general, our St. Paul-based foundation supports children and young people, with emphasis on literacy and education, culture, recreation, and the environment. Members of our board of directors are volunteers from the community. The Lillian Wright and C. Emil Berglund Foundation occupies an unusual position among foundations, in that we are a family foundation with no family members. Our founders Lillian Wright and C. Emil Berglund were long-standing members of the St. Paul community. Each left their estate to the foundation, which Mr. Berglund established in 1974. Mr. Berglund was born in Stillwater; his parents were Swedish immigrants. He operated a fine goods lumber company founded by his father, Sven. Berglund Lumber Company was located in St. Paul, near the Minnesota State Fair. The firm manufactured and installed high-quality interior woodwork. Its woodwork graced many homes on Summit Avenue in St. Paul and was installed in buildings around the world. Mr. Berglund and Miss Wright met when they were neighbors in the Summit-Grand area of St. Paul. Although they didn’t marry, they were inseparable companions for many years.

Miss Wright was a devoted teacher and principal in the St. Paul Public Schools. She started as an elementary school teacher after earning her teaching degree from Winona State University. After teaching for many years in St. Paul, Miss Wright was promoted to principal, first at Linwood School, then at Webster Elementary. At Linwood, she started the first elementary school library in St. Paul, reflecting her belief that reading is the basic foundation of education. Miss Wright’s passion for literacy spurred our foundation to establish the COMPAS writing awards in her name. Our foundation is pleased to partner with COMPAS to carry forward our founders’ firm belief in the importance of literacy in young people. —Sally A. Thompson, President of the Lillian Wright and C. Emil Berglund Foundation

xii

INTRODUCTION The modern world may be infatuated with the digital realm, but there’s nothing like a solid, printed book to provide a direct link to the past 5,000 years of writers at work. The finest repositories of human cultural heritage are these simple paper rectangles that reveal so much of our highest and deepest aspirations—to say nothing of just plain adventure, and humor, and musical high spirits! Year after year, COMPAS produces another Anthology of Student Writing. This is the 36th volume in a set that began back in the late 1970s. And year after year, I wonder if our talented authors—who are Teaching Artists on the COMPAS Artist Roster—can find anything new from the eager young writers out in the field. Sure enough, they always do. The material in Punch at the Wild Tornado spans a wide spectrum of moods, perspectives, and hopes for the future. If you ever doubt the budding capability of the rising generation, just check out what those folks are already telling us. (And if you’re wondering where that title came from, read “Spooky” by Abdi Haji, which ends Section 5, “Nothing Could Capture Time.”) As I worked my way through the manuscripts, every piece in this book spoke to me in some fashion or another. Plenty made me laugh (always a good thing), and several made me cry, which I’d rather not admit. What’s particularly wonderful to me is that everybody included here has something valuable to say, no matter where they live, or their age or ethnicity or social status. The distance from Tanner Otto’s “Walking in the Woods” to Mike D’s “Street Flow” may seem insurmountable, but both pieces brilliantly reflect their environments and both use clear, effective images to take us there. A number of these pieces are written by firstgeneration immigrants to this country—a great balance to the perspectives of students from long-settled populations. (Speaking of which, students at Lincoln Elementary in Hibbing include a song harking back to earlier immigrants: “Making a Home.”) I also can’t resist pointing out these special facts: There are several pieces from students at Oak Hill Montessori—and all of them are collaborations. Notice how the intertwining of their different voices deepens the rich tapestry of effects. Sadie Lorraine Swift (“A Letter I’ll Never Forget”) has written one of the longest stories ever to appear in a COMPAS Anthology. xiii

As an old coin collector, I was particularly impressed by her clever inclusion of 1943 copper pennies! And a special hats-off to Sagal Abdi of Rochester STEM Academy. She is the first person ever to place as many as three pieces in a single Anthology. Really, which one could you omit? The dedicated members of the COMPAS staff (check our listing in the back of the book to see who Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m talking about) read these pieces aloud at staff meetings, post them on our website, share them with funders and other school sites, and shake our heads in amazement at the quality of the work produced. We fully expect to hear more in the future from these rising voices in our communities. â&#x20AC;&#x201D;Daniel Gabriel, Editor

xiv

Section 1: Poetry Is a Lake Deeper than You Can Think

Punch at the Wild Tornado

It Will Make You Clueless Poetry is a whale swimming through the sea as happy as can be, a rose that makes bees come in to see what’s inside— they find a surprise, a meadow where children run and play, a junk drawer, you have no idea what you are going to find, a sun shining so bright, it’s so good it’ll make you blind, a dream that is too perfect to escape you will never want to leave, a lake deeper than you can think.

Leo Fridley, Grade 3 Valley View Elementary School, Columbia Heights Teaching Artist, Dana Jensen

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Ode to a Pencil Balancing the world On a tip The pinnacle of creativity, A wooden cylinder Sharpened into the claw of humanity Dressed neatly in its yellow uniform A soldier of an endless army Of creation As living as the god using it Branding the blanket of white parchment Through every age. Beautiful pencil When the bombastic music of war Reaches round the earth Your quiet strokes Swift as the fleeting sparrow, Ring louder than the lionâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s roar! And yet pencil, You whisper the quiet love letter From one beating heart to another. A reminder That through all chaos You will always have a place.

Michael Thompson, Grade 11 Tri-County Secondary School, Karlstad Teaching Artist, John Minczeski

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The Storm Cold, cold, cold am I, sitting in a dark damp closet, just waiting, for another boom of the storm happening outside, the fear kept me frightened and still, but safe from the storm a’comin’, from outside my closet door, my safe zone, my center. My darkest fear started when I was nine, man, and I was just fine, but out of the blue, someone I loved came crashin’ down upon me, with all their hatred, I was so surprised and so agonized, I ran, ran ran ran as far away as I knew, I found my closet, my safe zone, my center, right in front of me. Again, cold, cold, cold am I, shiverin’ from the darkness, and fear, and the tears streaming down my face, those are the things that make me feel somewhat safe, to know I’m still here, to know I’m still alive, 4

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to know that I’m not havin’ a dream, that this is real, to teach me the things in life, that will make me stronger, to let me just have the experience, to sing, to act, to tell, to all the other generations, to come. The same kind of wind has torn apart many families that were meant to be, and has wounded those children, even though just like me, they hide in their closets, their safe zones, their centers, but they somehow get swept away, and sometimes aren’t found till years later, that storm can happen anywhere to anyone at any time. The lightnin’ and the thunder rip people apart, bone by bone, piece by piece, whenever I hear that boom I know there is a family out there, somewhere, that has been wounded, and a child that will never recover, from the pain and the sufferin’ they’ve gone through. Now when you’re out and about and you suddenly hear the storm, you see in your mind a lonely child, falling, falling, falling, then hitting rock bottom,

Punch at the Wild Tornado

you see him sitting there crying and crying, you want to comfort him, but you can’t, an invisible wall is stoppin’ you, then you start to feel sad, that you couldn’t help, that you couldn’t comfort that child, so you start falling, down, down, down, past where you thought rock bottom would be, then somehow you fly, higher than the clouds, you see the child that you couldn’t save gliding right by you, then you realize that the bad eventually will make you stronger, and down, down, down, will you go no more.

Ethan Schaner, Grade 7 Anwatin Middle School, Minneapolis Teaching Artist, Frank Sentwali

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I Am I am a place to be me I am Minneapolis, Grand Marais and St. Paul I am garlic pasta, too much garlic, too much sauce not enough noodles Sometimes it looks green, and sometimes it looks yellow Sometimes it is burnt I am Chex mix, cereal and spices baked to perfection enjoyed when watching Unstoppable I am the color black Some people think it is “dark” but it has power People describe it in ways that might make it seem bad Like black is an angry color I am a shadow, black and long It shows who I am without telling too much I am red hair, like fire It sometimes glows, sometimes it is wild if you put water on it, it comes back even wilder Sometimes it fades but it always comes back I am “good night, sleep tight” I am a dream, a dream to be a chef In Singapore, cooking all day breakfast, lunch, dinner I am taste and color, bursting in my mouth I want to share my talent so the whole world can stop and savor

Paige Indritz, Grade 6 Saint Paul Academy, Saint Paul Teaching Artist, May Lee-Yang

Punch at the Wild Tornado

I Don’t Know What to Write I don’t know what to write. What could I tell you about the fight, about the struggle? From my bubble, hey, everything’s alright. My complexion’s light so when I walk out at night I’m just walking I’m not walking suspiciously whether I’m talking with friends or walking alone whether I’m sober, drunk or stoned, I’m just walking and I don’t know what to write But that’s the thing about being white—I don’t have to explain myself I can take what I need right off the shelf and my privilege is packaged neatly and wrapped up in pictures of people that look like me so if I want to I’ll just see what I want to see and keep walking down the path of ‘hey that’s just how it is’ cause that’s what history made for me and I don’t know what to write Oh it’s too easy to sit back, my seat is soft, and from here I’ll talk about equality no, none of this seems real to me, it’s like I’m watching on a TV screen, and I’ll say yeah, I get it but try to call me on my bullshit I’ll plug my ears God forbid I should ever hear about my own ignorance, no, I can’t take that shame; there’s gotta be some way forward where I’m not to blame, right? all I ever did was sit back and claim to be neutral on a moving train and I don’t know what to write I’ve grown fat from this institutional catering to my every need I’m too fat to fit through the pipeline but I don’t see that I’m half blind, I wear these shades society made for me custom fit to cut my vision so I can’t see the people I’m standing on

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I’ve got a voice and a platform to speak from but my eyes are dim and my brain is numb. I’m a puppet that moves at the hands of those who understand how to profit from oppression I’m pumped full of their purpose and full of their prejudice. I’m sick. My eyes hurt, I took my shades off. It’s a little bright still but I’ve stopped taking that pill to program me to think that this is right. I haven’t cleansed my system yet, I’m still sick, forgive me if I puke some bullshit but this time I’ll listen and this time I’ll try to see I have a voice but not every platform is for me so I’ll step back and write myself on the right side of history

Olivia Grieco, Grade 12 South High School, Minneapolis Teaching Artist, Frank Sentwali

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Street Flow No lockin’, homie, that’s all I hear as I put my ears to the street’s grapevine, as I emerge from the crack swerve whipped-up rocks bagged up like fresh produce at Cub Foods, cooked up from the D-Boys of the block. “Why you sell that?” I say. I can tell by his rose gold wrist & his pistol that he clenched. Princess cut diamonds dancing like ballerinas. “Because it’s white gold, lil’ man.” Knowing that as the Street Pharmacist he prescribes the fiend’s every need, & to my mama this white gold he feeds. She once had a soul until this white devil took it from her. This bundle of joy my mom had has slowly churned into a street hooligan. The sweet smell of her Estee Lauder carried me to the Street Pharmacy as if I was in a cartoon. What you need? The dope doctor asks me as he whips cocaine like scrambled eggs in the A.M. “I want my mama,” I say … my mom gets her daily dose, as I stare into the smoky eyes of the White Beast. She slowly walks towards me. “I know what the Street Pharmacy prescribes; I ain’t stupid,” I say. 10

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Her eyes as weary as a 90 yearold man … no response … As we walk home into the heat of the night, I see her soul in her eyes. She is clearly sick & tired, & I know she’s sick & tired of being sick & tired. She cries a river as she tells me how she regrets seeing the Street Pharmacist. I know this is her last. 8 years have passed now, & Mama been clean. As I walk out the house, a kid asks me why you sell that? as he looks at my rose gold wrist & the nine-ah that I clench. “Because I’m a Street Pharmacist.”

Mike D., Grade 12 Fairview Alternative High School, Roseville Teaching Artist, Kyle “Guante” Tran Myhre

Punch at the Wild Tornado

My Life My life I lived in a small village I carried branches on my head. I carried the rice on my back. And carried water with my hands. My life University of Kakuma. I wish you were there I survived the dust High temps, large floods, and windstorms. Scorpions, spiders, thorn snakes and all the stress of Kakuma. My life I heard the fear in her voice. When my mother told me “it’s a new start, better life” I should be relieved that I’m leaving this place, that I’m going somewhere safer. It is so hard not knowing where I’m going but knowing where I came from is much worse. My life I wonder who I’ll be or who I’ll meet. Will I make any friends?? Where will I sleep? My life Why am I so frightened of what is supposed to be a better life? Why am I so far from home? Why did I leave the place I roam? Why do I hear cries at night? Why am I far from the light?

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My life I am a coward Running away from my fears! I’m running away from the only thing in my life I have. No, I’m not a coward. I am brave I am turning away from the wrong I am doing what’s right. FOR MY LIFE!!!!!

Samia Shoble, Grade 11 Rochester STEM Academy, Rochester Teaching Artist, Frank Sentwali

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Minnesota Sound You can see the floats go by, on a hot summer day It’s raining candy from the sky, you can hear the trumpets play Lots of people in the street, waving flags all over town They are moving to the beat of the Minnesota Sound There goes the baseball team, they want you to sign up now There go the fire trucks saying there is an “Open House” Lots of people on the street, customers for lemonade Unicycle tires going round and round to the Minnesota Sound Honking on their rubber horns, let’s hope they’re not insane Horses clomping down the street, pulling their carts downtown Their tails are swishing to the beat of the Minnesota Sound. Now all the floats have gone by, the sun is sinking low People getting up to leave, but I don’t want to go Across the street the moon is high, shining on the ground Fireworks and cricket chirp—that is the Minnesota Sound

Brimhall Songwriting Group (T.J., Lily, Nick, Sam, Levi), Grades 4-6 Brimhall Elementary School, Roseville Teaching Artist, Charlie Maguire

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Summer Is the Best Thing in the World Summer is the best thing in the world I can’t wait to go to the beach and play Summer is the best thing in the world I can’t wait to go to the beach and play Playing with my friends, volleyball too This has been the greatest day! Summer is the best thing in the world I can’t wait to jump on the trampoline Summer is the best thing in the world I can’t wait to jump on the trampoline Softball, basketball and soccer too I can’t wait to play with my favorite team! Miss Peterson’s Class, Grade 4 Mississippi Elementary School, Coon Rapids Teaching Artists, Joan Griffith and Connie Evingson

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Crimson Crimson, the color of blood dripping Through your veins. The color of sparkling Rubies surviving in the darkness, the Color of the robins flying brave through The icy fog. The color of fire burning Brightly long after it is deserted. It is The color of Mars shining far in the Heavens, further than man could ever Reach. While others follow the yellow Brick road to find home, I follow the Crimson road to find adventure. It is the color of misfortune, the Blood of centuries before us. It is the Color that gleams in the teeth of A no-longer-hungry shark. It might Hide in the shadow of the devilâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s horns. But in all peace there is tragedy And we must learn there is No avoiding the dark side.

Ginger Thompson, Grade 5 Tanglen Elementary School, Hopkins Teaching Artist, John Minczeski

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Tiger Was Made The tiger’s soul was gathered from the sweetness of cherry blossoms, her eyes from the drops of dew, honey from the bee’s hive and the pearls of clams. Her fur was collected from the prairie grass near the river and her stripes from a swimming koi’s pattern. She reclaimed her roar from the sweetness of her cub’s touch and sharpened her claws from the smell of hunters in the air. Her ears were claimed from the tails of rabbits running wild. Her strength came from the wild growing spices near the villages and her tail from a generous land snake. The tiger was made.

Katie Dirks, Grade 7 LeSueur-Henderson Middle School, LeSueur Teaching Artist, Dana Jensen

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I Find Garbage I find garbage concealed underneath the soft couches and snuggling with mites under rugs. I find garbage lurking under beds, flying through airshafts clinging on dust for life. I find garbage in cracks, giving shelter to ants and making a desert on the floor. I find garbage trickling out of peopleâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s mouths, garbage that wounds others. Most of all, I find garbage in the trash. And there it should stay.

Ruth Nyabuto, Grade 6 Oak View Middle School, Andover Teaching Artist, Joyce Sidman

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Seemingly Endless Words . . . I space l-o-v-e space b-i-g space w-o-r-d-s exclamation point. we love big words! Don’t call us nerds we have simply fallen in love. supercalifragilisticexpialidocious even though the sound of it is something quite atrocious phosphorus para-phrastically XENOGLOSSIA metamorphosis antidisestablishmentarianism (PAUSE) PNEUMONOULTRAMICROSCOPICSILICOVOLCANOCONIOSIS Bamboozled? I space l-o-v-e space b-i-g space w-o-r-d-s exclamation point we love gargantuan words. Don’t call us nerds We have merely fallen in love

Punch at the Wild Tornado

haberdashery Onomatopoeia Acclima-tization Flocc-ina-ucini-hilip-ilification HIPPO-POTO-MONS-TROSES-QUIPPED-ALIO-PHOBIA Definition—phobia of long words long words can be scary … and they’re a little out of the ordinary I space l-o-v-e space g-a-r-g-a-n-t-u-a-n space w-o-r-d-s exclamation point we have an endearment toward colossal words don’t call us nerds we have completely fallen in love

Kate Van Meter, Grade 8 and Maia Kelly, Grade 7 Oak Hill Montessori School, Shoreview Teaching Artist, Frank Sentwali

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Section 2: Voice for the Voiceless

Punch at the Wild Tornado

A Voice for the Voiceless Gambling, drugs, trippin’ in the hood, sister watches her brother like she should, but he keeps on takin’, addicted like his bro, she’s screaming and screaming, until she’s not in the mood, because she tried as hard as she could, and her cries felt useless, she is a voice for the voiceless … He’s chained and enslaved he can’t move, all inside he’s broken and bruised, but his father doesn’t stop with the bruising, his words keep lashing, a whip so hard it’s crashing, but he’s still standing, remembering the memories of laughing, and … he came back to reality and he is screaming, trying to find something, but he can’t scream, it’s like a lisp, he is the voice for the voiceless … A mother screams at her child, pleading and asking why, homicide says it’s suicide, but they lie, she looks at her son’s body and cries, knowing that nothing is going to be alright, and she remembers the times she sang soft lullabies, through the night, she’s speechless, then she rewinds and makes choices, promising to be the voice for the voiceless …

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Try to be strong, try to be free, be who you always wished to be, scream all you want, then flee, inside of you will be happiness and glee, from the anger trapped within, shout then listen, to the echoes of your voice and sound, it will be joyous, and you will find out it is not pointless, to be the voice for the voiceless â&#x20AC;Ś

Hibaq Mohammed, Grade 10 Rochester STEM Academy, Rochester Teaching Artist, Frank Sentwali

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How We Raise Ourselves At some point in our life we get told, We’re not good enough, We know we’re powerful, Still, Those words leaked in, Like water stuck in your ear, Almost impossible to shake out. So we listen, Always trying to agree, Telling ourselves they’re right, We’re wrong, Repeating and repeating, Everything, Before and after the bell rings, Those words are stuck, Forever and always, Tried to push them out, But we know when something gets to us, Never thought words hurt so bad, More than physical pain, Like a needle poking at your skin, Just waiting for you to give in, And what’s worse We blame ourselves, We try to change, Bullying only “us,” And nobody else, At the time, We think those words come from them, Parents didn’t know what was wrong, They tried to help, But instead, 24

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We take the anger out on them, Completely shut out the world, And blamed it on everyone else, We think others are judging us, Like eyes staring at the back of your head, Watching every single move you make, But, The truth is, Everyone is extremely busy worrying about themselves, And how others will judge them, To take the effort And judge you, Why do you think some people dress to impress, Sure you can say they want to look good, But for you or for them, For most of us beautiful equals confidence, But for some confidence equals beautiful, Looking back I realized, We’re powerful, But never enough, We can overcome fear, But it will always be there, Because of that we push down nobody but ourselves, Because we raise “us” that way.

Letao Chen, Grade 8 South View Middle School, Edina Teaching Artist, Frank Sentwali

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Untitled He whips out another joke from thin air and tells his clique, as if they’re hyenas. They howl and wail at the other kid who sits in the corner, emptying buckets of water, acting as if there’s no tomorrow. As I stand there watching all this, I think to myself. I can show this kid that there is sunlight. That there are 364 days left on the calendar. That he can stand up and make the world turn over with the tip of his finger.

Jack Sipe, Grade 7 Northdale Middle School, Coon Rapids Teaching Artist, Kyle “Guante” Tran Myhre

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Be Proud I grow weary of the stereotypes that confine us. Tired of the one-thing phrases that wrongly define us. You can be pretty and smart, Follow rules and play pranks, Like math and like art, Be free from these ranks that try to tell you what to be. Be unique, Be free. Don’t be part of the fad, Don’t follow the crowd, Try to stand out, Be proud. It’s not about how you speak, It’s what you say. Don’t try to fit in, Don’t live that way. It’s not about what you wear, It’s where you stand. It’s not about how you style your hair, It’s how you give someone a hand When they need it. Keep your smile bright, Keep your brain lit. Do things important to you, Not your (quotes) “friends.” Don’t be part of a clique, Find different ends. No one can be defined by one word alone. Humans are not made by machines, We are grown! So don’t try to sort us to that bin or this. Uniqueness is something you don’t want to miss. Punch at the Wild Tornado

No problems are solved by true love’s kiss. Listen to your soul, Keep yourself whole, Share your findings, Be free of your bindings, Don’t be part of the fad, Don’t follow the crowd, Try to stand out, Be: Funny, Smart, Serious, Crazy, Kind, Energetic, Quiet, Cautious, Bright Brave Beautiful Loud, Be proud.

Sophia Rapacz, Grade 7 Anwatin Middle School, Minneapolis Teaching Artist, Frank Sentwali

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Walking in My Shoes I bet your feet would be too small for my shoes because in my short life I’ve walked so far. No matter how fast you run or how far you walk, you’ll never catch up to me in my shoes. My friends have been through some, but my shoes have been through everything. On those days when I wanted to just stand in one place and let the world hit me with all it had my shoes made me move from the fire so I wouldn’t get burned. My rain boots kept me afloat when I wanted to cry an ocean. They sailed me to a better place. But before you judge me, look into my soles— not only in my heart but on my feet. Sure, they may be worn down but the memories are still there. But if all you see is dirt on the outside, look deeper ask questions, That’s how you get answers, though I might not have them all. Not all days are walks in the park. Some days it’s like climbing Mt. Everest and others it’s all downhill.

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So before you judge someone why don’t you take a walk in their shoes, See what they’ve been through And what they go through every day. So slip on Cinderella’s glass slipper and take a stroll down memory lane. Just try to walk in my shoes. See how far you’ll go without falling. Because I didn’t even make it two steps. Because walking in my shoes sure isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Because sometimes I need to paint on a smile to reassure my friends and myself.

Meghan Hallback-Kettner, Grade 6 La Crescent Middle School, La Crescent Teaching Artist, Kyle “Guante” Tran Myhre

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Once Author’s text notes for vocal delivery: Grey: action Italics: quiet Bold: loud Underline: emphasis on specific words Dedicated to: Theresa Scheter, aged 11 (Holocaust, shot in Nazi Germany) and Maezol Khan, 8 (Pakistan explosion), Mabrook Mouqbal Al Qadari, 13 (Yemen drone attacks), Francine Murengezi Ingabire, 12 (Rwandan Genocide—hacked with machete) There once was a girl Who had the whole world Within the palms Of her hands She was at peace And at ease Never seen without a smile But, meanwhile … Society had turned its back Her world was soon under attack Gunz blazed and bombs burst The world was at its absolute worst Her mother cried Her brother shrieked Civilians were being gunned down in the streets Invaders destroyed without defeat Crimson blood spattered on the concrete

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Soldiers came wielding Guns and knives Taking away children, Husbands and wives The once peaceful village had become so abhorrent The girl could not abide any more torment Then one day too late, the guns stopped blazing The dust lifted and left the girl gazing upon the Desolate, disheartening desert of dead Filling her slowly with sadness and dread Corruption and injustice had seized her whole being And the sadness that crept in was never fleeting Her sister and brother were taken away Her mother and father were left to decay But while she looked at the damage That lay ahead She did not see the soldier fire A bullet through her head And through this endless cycle of suppression Aggression, oppression and no discretion Comes generations with stalling regression And civil rights then seem like a recession Bet there once was a girl Who had the whole world Within the palms Of her hands But war and corruption And civil injustice Took everything She had 32

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That girl never grew old Nor experienced love And never tasted freedom again A victim of corruption Because of her beliefs Or the color of her skin Killing anyone, regardless of appearance or religion Is a crime against humanity, an infraction, a sin That girl once so innocent Faded very fast With no one left to mourn her She was a memory of the past The troops attempted to conceal her death Being one dead among millions But what she didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t realize As she faded into oblivion She was a loss to the global community And though we can offer no one immunity We can hold her in our hearts And ignite the fire that she sparked

Annie Bush, Grade 8 Lake Harriet Middle School, Minneapolis Teaching Artist, Frank Sentwali

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Never Good Enough I’m a walking fraction of who I used to be (Singing) You came along knocked the air out of me Little girl only seven years old She got the whole world on her shoulder Can’t fathom why the world is so cold Why she can’t have a perfect little home She doesn’t know what she is feeling Cause they’re too busy bickering She got a younger sister, gotta defend her innocence She’s feeling lost and confused The bruises don’t help the picture Someone help her Take that burden off her She’s yelling Aabo, somebody please help her I can’t understand how he looks over her I see the pain in her eyes Hear the sadness in her voice Whips on her back like a map of fury She can’t cry Because she got no tears left She’s feeling tired and exhausted Blaming the world He looks at her with disgust Wondering what he did wrong If only he could go back in time If only he had a son 34

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Ah, she gets it now The reason for her pain The only thing she can never change Herself She can’t change her looks She can’t change the high pitch in her voice She can’t change her delicate hands She has her mother’s figure Her grandma’s eyes Soft features she can’t hide But most of all she can’t change that she’s no heir To the throne She’s no prince No one knows how she feels Being her father’s daughter Having his blood toxically run through her veins Knowing she is never good enough Being reminded every day of her worthlessness Little girl only seven years old She got the whole world on her shoulder Can’t fathom why the world is so cold Why she can’t have a perfect little home

Sagal Abdi, Grade 10 Rochester STEM Academy, Rochester Teaching Artist, Frank Sentwali

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Mystery Poem I am stronger than you, But you can still pester me Like a younger brother. You sound like a person mumbling, But screaming inside to be let out. You smell like a college dormitory the morning after homecoming. You taste of saving elixir that sustains, But never heals. You feel like poisoned water, Cold at first, Then burning hot when you learn the consequences. You took her from me, but we took her back. I was lucky, Many people get too deep before they realize that you are taking them, and they disappear. You have shaped me and changed me, and I love you for it. You made me stronger, even though it almost killed me. I am a better person because of you. You are Alcoholism.

Zach Dyar, Grade 6 Saint Paul Academy, Saint Paul Teaching Artist, May Lee-Yang

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(The Right to) Love Poem There is an idea that circulated through Christian media That “God loves the sinner, but hates the sin.” If God really only hates the sin, Why does some of our society Feel the responsibility to hate both? Everyone can hold their beliefs but don’t let that blind you, people are people … with minds, hearts, souls … and love. Whether it be for men or women. No matter if there is a God, are Gods, or no God at all, everyone is equal Hate leads our communities, It brings us together Like any community does But not to support something good … We need to work together to become aware of the people around us As we grow an immunity towards the words that we say Why must the lives of gays be made into hell on Earth? These people go through a repeated cycle of bullying and hate These people didn’t choose this. They are this. Part of a group That is hated, Berated, And ridiculed As the signs of disgrace Are shown in the face Of the ones who are different We know that it’s wrong The fear of the hate makes them feel like they don’t even belong There is no going back And are accepted like a hand’s Cold, hard smack Punch at the Wild Tornado

Alex, a 14 year-old gay youth, says “Many times I would take a kitchen knife and press it against my chest, wondering if I should push it all the way in.” “Marriage” has the power of love But some don’t have that right … they are being attacked, and shut off … Everyone has the right to love. This is HUMAN RIGHTS. In some places this is no longer an issue But in many places That law is not in text HUMAN RIGHTS Marriage is a ceremony … everyone must be allowed the benefits of civil union. Marriage is a decision of the people … not a universal law Why are gays being punished by having their rights stolen, when They have the burden of society’s hate They didn’t choose this. They are this. You wouldn’t choose to be gay. I wouldn’t choose to be gay. Who in the world would straight up choose To be part of a group That is hated Berated And ridiculed? Love is love And if God only hates the sin, Society sure hates the sinner enough to make up for it.

Leo Montie, Grade 8, Carly Grande and Ben Johnson, Grade 7 Oak Hill Montessori School, Shoreview Teaching Artist, Frank Sentwali

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Walk a Mile in My Shoes Walk a mile in my shoes: I was born in Nepal in a small camp. We built a bamboo house and we worked together in any kind of weather. I lived in Nepal. It’s beautiful like a flower. Walk a mile in my shoes because my father began a hero and then I became a hero. We went to school in Nepal and we learned English. Walk a mile in my shoes: I made a friend. When I was small nobody cared about me, that’s why I am a hero. In my country we make delicious food and then we eat with a parent. Walk a mile in my shoes. When I went to school my friend fought with somebody and my friend called me and then we went to fight like soldiers. Walk a mile in my shoes. I lived in a small camp in Nepal. We didn’t have money to buy meat. That’s why I came to the USA. To be a good man, and I wanted to help my father. When I lived in Nepal there was a cool place. It is beautiful like a forest; there are big mountains and hills. There are many animals. Walk a mile in my shoes. We see a lot of people enjoying time with their family. I like to learn in school but teachers cannot teach better. Walk a mile in my shoes. In the USA I am strong like an animal. Walk a mile in my shoes.

Bikrim Tamang, Grade 12 Fairview Alternative High School, Roseville Teaching Artist, Frank Sentwali

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Walk a Mile in My Shoes Walk a mile in my shoes: We have to run from the Burmese because they want our land. Walk a mile in my shoes: My mom and my dad have to run in the forest. We donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t have food to eat. Walk a mile in my shoes: Many people died in front of me. When they didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t run they got killed. Walk a mile in my shoes: We have to run to the border. Then they put me and my family in the refugee camp. Walk a mile in my shoes: Me and my family lived in the refugee camp, like jail where you have no chance to go outside. Walk a mile in my shoes: I went to school and then made a friend. Walk a mile in my shoes: Because I want education to help my mom and my dad. Walk a mile in my shoes: My name is Tay Ber. Walk a mile in my shoes.

Tay Ber, Grade 12 Fairview Alternative High School, Roseville Teaching Artist, Frank Sentwali

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Making a Home I’m making a home, I’m making a home I’m making a home, I’m making a home I’ve come from far away And I am here to stay I’ve come here on a boat With nothing more than my coat (Chorus) I miss my family, But I see “Lady Liberty” With her torch so high It touches the sky (Chorus) I need to learn a lot A new language needs to be taught Those figures of speech Are tough for me! Capice? (Chorus) I need to find a job So I can get a home Then I’ll have some money And not live alone (Chorus) It was a lot to pay For me to come and stay I made it across the sea All for you and me (Chorus) Ms. Benedict’s Class, Grade 3 Lincoln Elementary School, Hibbing Teaching Artist, Charlie Maguire Punch at the Wild Tornado

I Am Not Those People I am not those people In the hot desert with bombs Strapped around their chest I am not those people Lying about jihad As they exhale their last breath I am not those people Who use Islam as a way To spread discrimination and hate I am not those people Who use ignorance as their pen And racism as their book to Write bullshit lessons on Someone elseâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s holy book I am not those people Who are too bigoted to open up Their minds to see the truth Afraid that white America may come down too I am not those people Who handcuff and shackle those that are different As they bind them by their hands and feet And gag them by their throats Whispering they have no hope I am not those people I am simply me

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I am the blood and sweat of a single mother I am the future for my generation and people I am the love glue that will Stick us together I am the light for the uneducated I am the keys for handcuffs & shackles for those that are â&#x20AC;&#x153;Differentâ&#x20AC;? I am the friend for the outcast I am the shoulder for the untouched I am the reason you will be wrong Voices joined by many as we sing our songs I am Freedom I am Strength I am Colored I am Muslim I am Sagal (:

Sagal Abdi, Grade 10 Rochester STEM Academy, Rochester Teaching Artist, Frank Sentwali

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Section 3: Our Bodies Are Oceans

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Our Bodies Are Oceans and Streams The horizon line that met the Earth and sky seemed to detonate a vast amount of colors of orange and red, and the ocean current pulled me closer and closer to it. Lying on my surfboard staring into the sky, I pushed myself off the edge of the board, pulled on a pair of goggles, and decided to see what lay below. It was amazing how many colors and creatures populated the waters off San Diego Beach. The natural beauty of it just popped, and calling it pretty would be a terrible injustice, but being the ignorant eleven year-old that I was, that was the only word I had to describe it. Now I am a fourteen year-old middle school student, and recently in my English class an author named Jon Lurie joined our Writers’ Workshop. Excited as I was, to have an actual author giving my classroom tips on writing, the idea also seemed intimidating. On the day he arrived everybody had the opportunity to ask Mr. Lurie questions. He gave us reasonable and clear answers, but what caught me by surprise was that instead of learning to edit, or learning the difference between a subordinate clause and independent clause, we would be learning about water. Absurd as it sounded to me at the time, he suggested we have an “open heart” and an “open mind.” During each class with him I began to get more and more intrigued with his fascination with water. He explained to us the importance of the resource and how companies and individuals ruin not only our oceans, but the water we drink. Soon I began to remember that day when I was eleven, remembering the beauty of the ocean. Now I pictured it destroyed by oil and pollution. I learned from Mr. Lurie that the water that runs through our bodies is no different from the water in the ocean or a stream. When we take care of our waters we take care of ourselves, our families, and our world. We the people need to get our heads on straight and stand up for our water, because only we have the power to stand up and stop its destruction.

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It doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t matter how young I am, Mr. Lurie taught me. The water belongs to all of us, and we all have the right to stand up, claim our voice, and protect our waters, and ourselves.

Adna Osman, Grade 8 Columbia Academy, Columbia Heights Teaching Artist, Jon Lurie

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I Am the Waterfall I am the waterfall washing the air. I am as blue as the sky. I wish I could be a water slide. I go fast and if you go on me you will fall down fast. Sometimes I fall on the rocks. I have fish in my water. I am loud, just like thunder. I am light blue and I am dark, too. At the bottom, I am like a wave. I splash loud! I have clouds above me.

Jewels Amundson, Grade 1 Aquila Elementary School, Saint Louis Park Teaching Artist, Susan Marie Swanson

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In the Summertime I like the sun, I like the sun on the water in the summertime Wakeboard, swimming, tubing, diving, splashing, it’s all fine June, July and August, those months are all mine I like the sun, I like the sun on the water, in the summertime I like the rain, I like the rain on the window in the summertime Streaky, droppy, drippy, soaky, windy, it’s all fine June, July and August, those months are all mine I like the rain, I like the rain on the window, in the summertime I like the stars, I like the midnight stars in the summertime Sparkle, twinkle, sprinkle, winkle, it’s all fine June, July and August, those months are all mine I like the stars, I like the midnight stars in the summertime I like the birds, I like the birds in the trees in the summertime Bluebird, bluejay, blackbird, eagle, they’re all fine June, July and August, those months are all mine I like the birds, I like the birds in the trees, in the summertime I like it all, I like it all in the summer, in the summertime Sun, rain, midnight stars, birds, it’s all fine June, July and August, those months are all mine I like it all, I like it all in the summer, in the summertime Choreography: Sun: Hands up, move side to side Rain: “Trickly” fingers falling down, palm on hand Stars: Shoot up, fingers open Birds: “Wings” flapping All: Circle head with arms Central Park Songwriting Group (Katie, Joy, Jake, Eve, Emma, Levi), Grades 4-6 Central Park Elementary School, Roseville Teaching Artist, Charlie Maguire Punch at the Wild Tornado

Walking in the Woods The worms hiding under leaves in the black soil. The deer snorting and blending into the trees. The chipmunks chirping in the tree tops. The trees creaking in the wind. The feel of the wind blowing in your face. Bears yawning and waking from hibernation. Geese honking as they fly overhead. An old hidden deer stand in the treetops. The yips and yaps you hear from a fox. A rabbit running and hopping away, trying not to get caught. The surprising sound of gobbling turkeys. A pack of wolves taking down a helpless moose. The sight of water rushing past rocks in the river. Fish swimming in the pond, looking for food. The sound of a woodpecker driving its bill into a tree trunk. The caw of a majestic eagle in the distance. The smoke coming out of a chimney on an old shed. Squirrels perched on a tree, eating nuts. My dog by my side trying to catch grasshoppers Hopping and gliding in the wind. The coyotes howling at each other. The sound of leaves rustling as I walk home.

Tanner Otto, Grade 7 Roseau High School, Roseau Teaching Artist, John Minczeski

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Animals Do you know where the animals live? The animals live, the animals live Do you know where the animals live? All around the world. Down on the ocean, down on the farm Down in a cage, or in a barn Down in the zoo, or a hollow log Or just at home like your dog. Do you know what the animals drink? The animals drink, the animals drink Do you know what the animals drink? All around the world. Drink from the river, or a pond Drink from a birdbath on your lawn Drink from a puddle or a dish They need water just like a fish Do you know what the animals eat? The animals eat, the animals eat Do you know what the animals eat? All around the world. Eating on hay, eating on beans Eating on carrots or on meat Eating on fish, or on corn Animals like to eat, after they are born. This is how the animals live The animals live, the animals live This is how the animals live All around the world! Miss Meyerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Class, Grade 1 Washington Elementary School, Crookston Teaching Artist, Charlie Maguire Punch at the Wild Tornado

A Day in the Four Seasons 1. Summer The soft blades of grass tickle my skin the breeze confines me big trees shade me from the sunâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s rays my popsicle drips down and stains my lips chills me inside and out 2. Fall The leaves crunch under my boots as I glide down the sidewalk the trees have blossomed into vibrant clumps of red, orange and purple the sky is gloomy with low-hanging clouds the air is fresh with pine needles and baked goods the cold wind calls me home leaving the trees to fend for themselves 3. Winter My skin is frigid even under my heavy jacket sharp winds slap at the uncovered skin my fingers and toes are hibernating in gloves and boots 52

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the sun bounces off the ice and blinds me for a brief moment ice crashes underneath as I run home 4. Spring Rain patters against the window pane it melts away the snow and streams from the edge of the road water laps against my rain boots a slight breeze circles my body I jump in puddles that slosh up into the air and plunge back to the earth

Kenzi Marrone-Lloyd, Grade 5 Royal Oaks Elementary School, Woodbury Teaching Artist, Joyce Sidman

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Snow SNOW, SNOW, SNOW SNOW, SNOW, SNOW! Beautiful crystals that don’t last long Falling from the sky Beautiful crystals white and bright Let’s have a snowball fight! Geese fly south for the winter They fly far away They don’t want to shiver On a snowy day! (Chorus) Snow is fluffy On the ground It looks like frosting All over town We could build a snowman Or build a fort We could go sledding Lots of winter sports! (Chorus) My dog is white, He blends right in When he goes out I can’t find him Rabbits turn white in the winter Hamsters do the same I used to have a sled dog Keegan was his name! It’s Cold! Mrs. B’s Class, Grade 3 Saint Pius X School, White Bear Lake Teaching Artist, Charlie Maguire 54

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Crazy Weather We’ve got crazy weather all day We’ve got crazy weather all day Morning, noon and night We’ve got crazy weather First it snows, then the sun shines First it snows, then the sun shines Then the snow comes back again We’ve got crazy weather Winter lasts a long time Winter lasts a long time You will think it will never end We’ve got crazy weather Too many cloudy days Too many cloudy days When you look outside, you can’t tell the time We’ve got crazy weather Put on a layer or two Put on a layer or two Or the ice and snow will get you! We’ve got crazy weather! Mr. Crosby’s Class, Kindergarten Saint Anthony Park Elementary School, Saint Paul Teaching Artist, Charlie Maguire

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Spark of Light in the Darkness Oh, you mother bird, your song gives music to the world. Oh, you blossoming tree, you open up your petals and bring color. I appreciate your kindness. You bring light. Oh, you gleeful morning breeze, you touch my face like a greeting card from heaven. Oh, you give me the urge to whirl, whirl around and then fall in the grass. Without you, I think of the deer, unnoticed, falling, drifting away from life. All my best memories fall like glass, shattering on a concrete floor. I cannot live without you. DonĘźt leave me.

Claudia Russell, Grade 4 Meadowbrook Elementary School, Hopkins Teaching Artist, Marie Olofsdotter

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Spell for the Night Be dark as a blackout with no power, No energy, just the faintest light. Be sparkly with glittery stars. Reflect the moon off The water, make the night beautiful. Make constellations— Big Dipper, Little Dipper. Fill The night with them. Don’t bring the sun up, it’s your enemy. Keep the sun Away. Bring the moon, your best friend. You will Always be friends with the moon. Don’t let the light take over the darkness. Darkness is Like the deep ocean where fish hide from sharks. Be alive with wolves and other beasts of the night. Don’t let the morning birds make the morning. Let the night owls catch their food. Let the wolves Howl at the moon. Let no light shine besides the stars and moon. Be glossy black as a black lab’s coat, playing In the grass with a ball. Don’t let lights shine without permission. Try not to scare people. Let the children of the world sleep in peace. Let dreams start—some wild, some sad, some surprising, Some scary about school and a lot of homework. Try to be loved and not hated like bad movies. Let little kids imagine. Be the everlasting night That everyone knows and loves.

Greta Mielke, Grade 5 Tanglen Elementary School, Hopkins Teaching Artist, John Minczeski

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A Guide for Everyone Oh, star, itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s hard to watch you come and go, but if I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t, I lose a chance forever. Oh, star, how far away are you? Oh, star, how many of you are there? It seems there are 1,000,000,000,000,000, 000 of you. You are a guide for everyone.

Alejandro Garcia, Grade 2 Oak Ridge Elementary School, Eagan Teaching Artist, Susan Marie Swanson

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Dig! Dig! Dig! Dig, dig, dig, you get some iron ore Dig, dig, dig, you get some more Dig, dig, dig, you get some iron ore Dig, dig, dig, you get some more Hibbing is built, is built around a mine They are working all of the time In the Grand Canyon of the North You see trucks go back and forth (Chorus) You drill those holes in the rock Drop down the explosives in a block Then you watch the weather until it’s right And when it blows—the smoke is black as night (Chorus) Those trucks weigh a million pounds They have big wheels that go round and round They drive that truck right up the road To the plant and they dump their load (Chorus) If you want to be a miner, you have to “Concentrate” You have to Pelletize and be safe We are making taconite And we are doing it right (Chorus)

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Buildings, bed frames, buses and bikes Trains and trucks and tracks and trikes You shape it square, you can shape it round After it comes out of the ground! (Chorus) Mrs. Etterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Class, Grade 3 Lincoln Elementary School, Hibbing Teaching Artist, Charlie Maguire

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Untitled In a metal creature with four wheels, we drive by flying feathers, velvet antlers, and swimmers with gills, but we don’t think about that. We are killing their green palace by spraying gas out of the back of the creature like a skunk, and digging holes for oil like a mole for worms, just to ride in our metal four-wheeled creature. We do not think we are claiming their land: gas stations, malls and grocery stores— like a wolf in its territory, and taking water for our homes like a beaver blocks a river with its dam. We do not think about that. We are slowly attacking them as a hawk grabs its prey. I’m not saying we should get rid of all these things, but like nature we evolve.

Callie Anderson, Grade 7 Northdale Middle School, Coon Rapids Teaching Artist, Kyle “Guante” Tran Myhre

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Thirsty All the Time As a boy growing up in a small town called Kpota in Togo, West Africa, I loved water. We all do. It is a resource essential to life. But I felt the urge to drink water day and night. I thought about water all the time: while I was using some to clean my family’s dishes, and while I was feeding the chicken and duck that lived in our house, getting fat so we could eat them. When I shared some of my water with the animals they were happy, which made me feel happy too. In Togo, drinking water was very expensive, costing up to $5 a gallon. I had to walk about a half mile to buy water, and since it was so expensive and heavy I could not always get as much water as I wanted. And so I was thirsty all the time. In my house there was a deep well that had been dug by my dad’s friend. It was so deep that it was exhausting to pull water out of it. But it was worth it because it provided us with water for cooking, taking showers, cleaning dishes, and feeding the animals. But it was too dirty to drink. Unlike many families, at least we had a source of water that didn’t have to be purchased. My dad lived in America. He would send money so we could buy water and the other things we needed. He had moved to America before the rest of us. Togo is a very poor country and many people, like my father, long to move to places like America where they can make better lives for themselves and drink all the water they want. Togo is overpopulated and some people there are starving for food and water. Today I am a young adult of fourteen living in Minnesota, where water is cheap, abundant and clean. I love water even more now. I am still thirsty all the time, but now all I have to do is turn on the tap and I can drink as much water as I want, whenever I want. And that makes me very happy.

Ramzi Geraldo, Grade 8 Columbia Academy, Columbia Heights Teaching Artist, Jon Lurie

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Section 4: Perfect in My Eyes

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Chris Remember you taught me how to ride a bike? When you gave me my first guitar? I remember. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s written in my brain like a scar that never goes away. I would know your strong hands and freckled arms anywhere. Your smiling face. Your skates whipping around the ice like a cat running all over the place, not even stopping to catch its breath. The way you try so hard to be perfect at everything and most of the time you do win. You are perfect in my eyes.

Annabelle Bond, Grade 5 Saint Paul Academy, Saint Paul Teaching Artist, Joyce Sidman

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Dares and Tricks It all started when my brother pushed me into the pigpen. We had three pigs—Ichabod, Bacon, and Morris. My brother dared me to try riding one of them. “Get on with it, David,” he laughed. I hopped onto Bacon. “Yee haw!” I yelled. “Whoa!” I slipped off. Bacon was looming over me and Morris charged me from behind as I crawled out. Oof! I had face-planted in the mud with the force of the hit. I ran up to my brother and said, “Your turn!” and pulled him onto Morris. Morris went wild! He bucked and ran as fast as he could and WOOMP! My brother landed on his butt! “Hahahaha!” I laughed. My brother jumped over the fence and ran into the house. I could hear him getting yelled at by my mom for tracking mud into the house. “Great,” I said to myself, knowing my brother would now have a grudge against me. That night at dinner he didn’t talk to me. Then the next morning I went to feed the pigs, and when I was reaching over the fence to put the slop into a big bucket for the pigs, my brother sneaked up behind me and pushed me into the pigpen. I landed flat on my face in the mud and I could hear my brother laughing as he ran away. “You stink!” I yelled after him. My face was brown as chocolate. I went inside to tell my mom what happened and to wash off the mud. When it was washed off, my mom called my brother in, but he said he hadn’t done anything. Mom told him he was to go sit on his bed anyway. Then I went outside to the horse corral to ride my horse, Bennett. He was hazel-colored and very friendly. I loved riding him. We rode around for about an hour and then I went in for lunch. Later I went into my brother’s room. “Damien,” I whispered. "Sorry for pushing you onto Morris.” “It’s OK,” he said. “It was actually kind of fun.” The next morning we went outside together. “Hey, Damien,” I said, “let’s both ride pigs at the same time.” So I rode Ichabod while Damien rode Bacon.

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The next day was April Fools’ Day, so I put ketchup on Damien’s cereal. But my mom saw what I had done and made me eat it instead. But the fun wasn’t over yet. Mom was in on it, too. She knew we liked mayonnaise sandwiches, so instead of mayonnaise she put toilet paper on the bread! From that day on I never ate without looking first and I never took any more of my brother’s dares. Jackson Gunnell, Grade 4 Roseau Elementary School, Roseau Teaching Artist, Stephen Peters

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My Sisterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Birth I remember the day my sister became alive She was very, very small Her head was as big as my hand I sat in a chair and held her She was very light her tongue out and she just barely opened her eyes It was almost as if they were sparkling Her name is Aili

Timo K., Grade 5 Royal Oaks Elementary School, Woodbury Teaching Artist, Joyce Sidman

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Billy’s Ankle One lovely summer day, Billy Green and Sami Norkes took a trip down to the ball field. They would do this every day of the summer. Sami just got a new mountain bike last week and wanted to try it out. So she said, “Hey Bill! Do you want to ride your bike to Lion Park?” “Sure!” Billy said. So they got the balls and bats and were on their way. About halfway there, they came across a big hill. Sami wasn’t on the right gear, so she wobbled and wobbled all the way to the bottom of the hill. When the two best friends got there, the bases were wet and slippery. They didn’t have any helmets with them, so they had to be careful. When they were all set up, Bill got his bat, and said, “Hurry up! My great-grandma is faster than you!” “Oh, you be quiet!” Sami said. So she got onto the field, and got ready to play. The next thing you know, the ball was out of the park! Billy shot off for first base! Then he started for second base! But on his way to third base he fell and twisted his ankle! Sami forgot about her favorite ball, and rushed up to Billy. “Are you hurt?” Sami said. “Duh! I think I twisted my ankle!” Billy screamed. They looked around for someone that can help, but no one was there but the two of them. Sami called her older brother, Mason. Mason shot up to them, and then yelled at them. “Sami go grab the bandage wrap from the bag on my bike! I’ll call Dad! Hurry!” Sami came back with the bandages and their dad. “Dad brought the xray machine with him,” she said. They found out that Billy’s ankle wasn’t just twisted, it was broken! “It’s BROKEN? You’ve got to be kidding me!” Billy screamed. Sami called the ambulance, and Billy was taken away. Both families arrived at the hospital. “Oh, my dear son!” Billy’s mom hooted. She was totally freaked out. But it was strange because she didn’t seem angry at Sami.

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The hospital was so cool! Not that it was a good thing to be there. What if he can never play outside again because of me? she thought. “What if our friendship is over forever?” Sami said under her breath. The next day she came back with some homemade cookies for Billy. “I brought you a jar of homemade cookies,” Sami said as she entered the room. “Are you mad?” Billy said nothing to her. She was very worried. A couple of months passed of sorrow and shame. “Billy gets out of the hospital today!” Sami said. But at the same time she was happy, she felt a little scared. Finally, she got the confidence to go over to Billy’s house. Will they still be friends? Sami slowly walked up and down the sidewalk all the way to the end of her neighborhood where Billy lived. Her heart was pounding. It felt like her heart was going to pop out of her chest! She rang the doorbell with a full amount of courage. She took a deep breath as the door cracked open. Out popped Mrs. Green. Sami noticed that Billy wasn’t in the house. “Where’s Billy?” Sami said with wonder. “Why he’s out looking for you!” Mrs. Green said with joy. Sami turned around and there was Billy. The two kids wrapped their arms around each other with glee. They lived to be best friends for life.

Anna Rademacher, Grade 4 Hilltop Elementary School, Henderson Teaching Artist, Stephen Peters

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Annabella Finds Her Way in Math Annabella Whiteman was sitting at the kitchen table, studying for her next day’s Math test. “Mom,” she said, “Math is feeling a bit harder for me these days. I don’t know why!” Her mom smiled. “You probably are just having trouble with your topic. What are you studying?” “School just started,” Annabella said. “We are doing third grade review.” “Oh!” said her mom. “Just keep studying. You have a swimming lesson soon.” With that Annabella perked up. After the swimming lesson she came back, had a warm dinner and went to bed. Annabella lived in a city called St. Paul, Minnesota, in a big apartment with her dad, mom and cat Percy. She was a great swimmer, but had been struggling with Math lately. Her best friend Annie lived nearby. Next morning, Annabella and Annie walked to school. They were talking about the Math test. Annabella told Annie that she had trouble with studying for the Math test. “What do you mean it seems hard?” asked Annie. “It didn’t seem hard to me! Besides, we are not even doing fourth grade stuff yet. We are just reviewing the third grade. Maybe you are having trouble at school. It happens to a lot of fourth graders. It happened to my sister Darlene.” “I don’t think so,” said Annabella. “Math always has been so easy for me.” That day, they had the test. Annie got an A+ as always, but Annabella got a C-. Annie and Annabella both were shocked. At lunch, a new girl named Mandy sat right next to Annabella. She asked Annabella with a nasty grin, “So, what grade did you get? I got a perfect A.” On her way back home, Mandy kept teasing Annabella. Finally Annabella had had enough and she yelled, “WHY DON’T YOU JUST STOP?”

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Annabella decided she was going to do something about her math problem, and she was going to go for some extra help. Every day she was going to work on math problems with her mom’s help. Annie and her teacher also helped her at school. Soon it was FALL. Leaves were turning red and yellow and orange. It was beautiful outside. Annabella knew she was getting better in Math and Mandy’s teasing didn’t bother her much. On Halloween, they had another Math test. Annabella got an A+. When she got back home, her mom had planned a surprise for her—a Halloween party. Annabella felt happy again.

Nikki Nangia, Grade 4 Bailey Elementary School, Woodbury Teaching Artist, Stephen Peters

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Loggers We are loggers, we live in the woods We don’t take a bath and that is good We sleep in the bunkhouse, we eat in the shack We drink “Swamp Water,” and drink “Blackjack” Chorus Trees give us oxygen And an animal a home Shade as cool as an ice cream cone And we are the loggers who live in the woods “The Dentist” makes our saws so good When it’s time for lunch the “Swingdingle” is here We eat beans every day of the year We eat flapjacks and “Shoepac pie” And it’s so good we’re not going to lie (Chorus) When we come home, it’s dinner time We ride on the sled with wooden sides Pulled by horses through the snow And the “Road Monkey” cleans up as we go (Chorus) We sing songs to each other We tell stories to one another When the “Push” is gone, we get free time And it doesn’t cost a dime Mrs. Fillman’s Class, Grade 3 Lincoln Elementary School, Hibbing Teaching Artist, Charlie Maguire

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Saint Pius X Song Everybody knows everybody Everybody knows your name Everybody knows our faith in God And everybody feels the same Saint Pius X was a building In ’55 they dug the ground Now it’s 2014 that’s 59 years A long time to be around (Chorus) There’s a statue down by the church And it does say “To restore all things in Christ” Is the Saint Pius way (Chorus) Saint Pius X to us Is our home away from home It feels like second nature Where people never feel alone (Chorus) Saint Pius X started— The years have not gone slow It always will be with us Wherever we shall go (Chorus) —Final Verse, repeat last line slowly— Mrs. Munsinger’s Class, Grade 5 Saint Pius X School, White Bear Lake Teaching Artist, Charlie Maguire Punch at the Wild Tornado

Hair My hair seems to have a mind of its own. Sometimes my hair says, “You know what? I’ll have a cowlick today. Won’t the boys just love that?!” and I say, “Um, no, they won’t actually,” and I start my long process of straightening my hair. Sometimes my hair says, “I’m tired. I’d rather just stick right here, flat on your head. How ’bout that?” and I say, “Well, you better wake up because I don’t want you showing people how droopy and tired I really am,” as I try to pump it up for 6:00 a.m. “prep” for zero hour. Sometimes my hair says, “Today, I’m feeling like looking good. I guess I’ll try this time.” and I say, “Thank you. For once, you’re actually thinking about others instead of yourself.” Sometimes, my hair says, “These baby hairs are just going all out today, and I mean OUT,” and I say, “Oh no, they’re not,” as I take my wet hand from under the sink and push down my fly-aways. Sometimes my hair says, “I’ll just let the ends flip out just a ‘little bit’ . . . OK, a lot.” and I say, “Hair, why do you do this to me?!” When I was younger, my hair was the least of my problems. I would put it up in a pony, and then I would run off and play. My hair wouldn’t say a word. No complaints whatsoever. But now my hair has conversations with me all the time. All it’ll do is talk and talk and talk and talk . . . and now it never stops chatting, because my hair has a mind of its own.

Jayden Acker, Grade 10 Roseau High School, Roseau Teaching Artist, Louis Porter II

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My Dreams Never Come True Why does he do that? He always seems to stand by the window when he counts his money. It’s like I’m the dog and he’s my owner, dangling a piece of meat in front of me. I want to grab it so badly, but it’s just out of reach. I say to myself: maybe the next or the next, but that day never comes. I’m still waiting for something to happen, but I don’t know when. What if he were down here and I was dangling that piece of meat in front of him? But my dreams never come true.

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I’m still waiting for something to happen, and I can taste that juicy, tender steak. It’s right there and I can smell the seasoning as it falls onto my snout. I yelp and pick up a large rock and lunge it right through the air. It hits him square in the head, and he drops the piece of meat and I lunge for it, leaving a big bloody puddle all over the floor, and the sounds of sirens a mile away, but my dreams never come true.

Thomas Lechnir, Grade 6 La Crescent Middle School, La Crescent Teaching Artist, Kyle “Guante” Tran Myhre

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Behind the Lilacs Water beats down on my eyes, blending with my salty tears. I cry in the shower, a tradition I’ve kept for years. I’m 14 years old, in the 8th grade, and living in a simple house with beautiful lilac bushes out front. I love those bushes because they remind me of myself. They are stunning flowers that cover up horrible secrets. Those bushes block the view of my house like the make-up on my skin blocks the view of me. I keep my true colors, who I really am, hidden beneath my attempts to paint society’s definition of beauty onto my skin. I try to become someone I am not, by putting on make-up and a Barbie attitude. I smile no matter what, become plastic. Today, when I got home from school, I could still hear the cruel echoes of my peers. I don’t really understand why they pick on me. I don’t look that bad, do I? The one thing that hurts me most is when they come up to my face and have the nerve to ask why I look the way I do. They think it’s funny. I just don’t understand. I walked into the living room. I heard my dad close the door in the basement, avoiding me like always. As usual, I found my mom asleep on the couch, the faint smell of liquor still on her breath. To me it smells like broken promises and empty words. Some days, when she’s awake enough to open her eyes, she pretends she wants to listen. But I know she doesn’t. I sat down on that broken and stained old smelly couch and told her about my problems. I told her the part when my “best friend” joined in with the kids who bully me. If my mom was sober, she would have seen a girl, simple and confused on the outside, yet twisted and broken on the inside. But she wasn’t. I don’t care if my mom doesn’t want to listen to me. Well, I really do. But she can’t know that. Lately she’s stopped asking why I always wear sweaters, even on warm days. She should know; it’s really rather obvious. My mom doesn’t care about me. Well, if she does, she sure doesn’t show it. Water is escape from my living hell. When I feel like I’m on the edge of a cliff, waiting for all of this pain to push me over, I take a shower. The Punch at the Wild Tornado

water doesn’t just clean me physically, it helps me drown my emotional pain. When I’m under the water nothing really matters. I let the make-up and tears mix together and they run down my cheeks. I let my hair fall wherever the water takes it. Under the water I feel free. I don’t know why this shower was any different from all the showers I’ve taken these past fourteen years. But I do know it changed me. Something inside me snapped. My old broken soul seemed to wash down the drain. I understood that I have no control over my mother, my father, the kids at school. I knew it was time for a change. I let the water wash over my scars, and let the past go. I felt my skin being sliced open by the water, cutting into me like broken glass. I had finally found myself beneath that ocean of lies, scars and tears. Recently I showed this piece to my mom. I’ve always had a hard time trying to express how I really feel, especially with her. I felt as if my writing could be a way to show her how she has been affecting me. “I don’t care what you think,” she responded. “Say what you want.” My mom’s words broke my heart. I knew it was a risk to show her, but it just made everything worse. I know I won’t ever be able to forgive her completely, but I can try if she’s willing to work it out. Maybe someday. I’m waiting for you, Mom.

Kira Greenfield, Grade 8 Columbia Academy, Columbia Heights Teaching Artist: Jon Lurie

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Our War I heard about this war that started decades ago Actually I heard about it from the mother whose son died from it I saw it in her eyes as she laid him to rest I heard that war is evil War is spread by the devil War of religion and war about politicians But our war isn’t about religion nor politicians Our war is overseas It starts in our homes In our neighborhoods It starts with you and me This war is secret nobody sees it cold and heartless This war does not look like war It’s wrapped up in a pretty little package This war is unforgiving and won’t let us go This war needs fuel So our hatred it is using This war needs soldiers and our brothers it is calling This is gruesome and deadly It makes wives and children crazy Abdi from Muqdisho hates Abdi from Boosaaso For no other reason but what his clan name is Brother vs. brother Husband vs. wife Darood vs. Haweeya A tribe is there to know one another Punch at the Wild Tornado

Not distance ourselves from each other What happened to the time When we all loved each other It seems like our morals escaped us And our deen thrown away Our blood has been tainted And our minds corrupted I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t even know what we are anymore but this isnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t us Innocent children showing signs of this vicious war And we wonder why this is so, even though we came to a new land to start over Just because we changed the soil beneath our feet Doesn't mean our hearts evolved But we are still the same old people With the some old scars They say old habits die hard

Sagal Abdi and Bisharo Dahir, Grade 10 Rochester STEM Academy, Rochester Teaching Artist, Frank Sentwali

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Friends and Storms “Come on, let’s go!” Marissa yelled, loving the intense feel of the wind in her hair. She had to shout to be heard above the wind. The water glistened beautifully next to them and Ellen pumped the pedals furiously, trying to keep up. How she wished they hadn’t come here, so close to the freezing water. Ellen shuddered at the thought. “I’m—caught—up—already,” Ellen puffed. She knew she was scared, but she had to prove herself to Marissa. She needed to. “Marissa!” Ellen yelled. “Why would you bring me to a place where you know I’ll be terrified? I thought you were my friend.” It didn’t sound to Marissa like Ellen was only yelling to be heard above the wind. “Ellen, wait!” Marissa called out desperately. But it was too late. Ellen had already pedaled away down the path. Tears sprung into Marissa’s eyes. They flew away as she exploded back home faster than a cheetah. It seemed like both of their lives were over. A little while later, Marissa’s mom came in with some lemonade. “Hello, Marissa,” her mom said, handing her the lemonade. “Ellen’s mother called, and I thought it might help if we talked about it.” “OK, Mom,” Marissa sighed. “I didn’t mean to make Ellen upset. I know she’s scared of storms and water because of how her dad died, but it was a really cool biking path and I just thought—” Marissa broke off and sobbed into her mom’s shoulder. “There, there, Marissa. It’s OK. Let it out.” After Marissa had finished crying, she sniffled, “Can I be alone now?” “All right,” her mother said. “Call for me if you need anything.” Marissa sighed. It was going to be a long night. Meanwhile, Ellen threw a pillow across the room, then crumpled down onto her bed. She couldn’t get herself to be mad, even though she really wanted to. She missed her dad. Everything had been fine that day. But then her dad had gone out on the water. A storm rose, and lightning struck the boat before he could get back to shore. Ellen had been only seven. In an effort to comfort herself, she sang a song her father had taught her when she was little. It gave her wonderful memories of her dad. Punch at the Wild Tornado

Sleep, sleep, my darling girl, I will keep you safe. Sleep, sleep, my darling girl. No need to wake. Ellen sighed and went down to dinner. The next day at school, Ellen and Marissa bumped into each other. An awkward silence ensued. They hurriedly put away their things and went into the classroom. Ellen rushed out as soon as the bell rang. That night, Ellen tossed and turned. Floating up from the TV room, she heard the weather forecast. Rain, rain, torrents of rain, with thunder accompanied by lightning. She hoped there wouldn’t be school tomorrow. Ellen couldn’t face Marissa after what she had done to her. Suddenly, Ellen sat bolt upright. She could! She had to! Ellen could barely sleep that night, she was so anxious. The next day, Ellen woke up with a blanket of apprehension and a nervous grimace that quickly turned into a frown as she heard pounding on her window. “The storm!” she remembered! Ellen mustered all the strength she had and got on her bike. It was time to face her greatest fear. Rain poured down around her, and she could barely see, but she knew the way to Marissa’s house by heart. Ellen shivered from the cold and her morbid terror of storms and water. Still, she pedaled on, racing to apologize, before it was too late! Finally, she arrived at Marissa’s house, sopping wet and scared. She had to ring the doorbell seventeen times before someone answered. “Hi, Marissa,” Ellen said weakly. “Listen, I’m really sorry about what I said. I was being stupid and—” Ellen broke off as Marissa came out into the storm and gave her a huge hug. “I’m sorry too,” Marissa said. Suddenly, Ellen realized something. When Marissa had come outside, Ellen hadn’t felt scared of the puddles anymore. Thanks to Marissa, Ellen wasn’t scared of storms and water anymore. She had never felt better!

Victoria Menge, Grade 5 Meadowbrook Elementary School, Hopkins Teaching Artist, Stephen Peters 82

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Elementary Memories 1. Had a beach party in the winter, it was fun at school I stapled my hand in the classroom, that wasn’t cool Remember book buddies, we played outside? I remember the food I was nervous in Kindergarten, I didn’t know what to do Refrain Elementary memories, we’re leaving soon But no matter where we go, we’ll remember you! 2. I learned not to bully people, because it happened to me I learned that everybody has responsibilities How to respect others, is an important thing to know Not running in the halls, just keeping it slow (Refrain) 3. Playing tag every day, being happy with a smile In 2nd grade we’ve been here for awhile Grains and vegetables; Fruit and dairy and more Learning healthy lifestyle choices, every time we open the door (Refrain) 4. I drew suns with faces, played with Legos in class We took the MCA’s—it’s a good thing that we passed! We did lots of activities, and they were fun Like poetry and fossil hunting, outside we liked to run (Refrain) Ms. Winther’s Class, Grade 5 Highland Park Elementary School, Saint Paul Teaching Artist, Charlie Maguire Punch at the Wild Tornado

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Section 5: Nothing Could Capture Time

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How I Time Travel My Canon Power Shot, When I got it in 4th grade, As a birthday present That I didn’t particularly want, I didn’t know the power of pictures. I thought that a camera could only capture images. (Hard “c” sound) Nothing could capture time. But when I look back on my pictures they’re not just pictures anymore. I took a picture of a candle burning, early on Christmas morning. (Repetition in next stanzas) Now I smell its apple-cinnamon aroma that filled the room as my dog sorts through discarded wrapping paper covering the floor. I took a picture of a cloth stained with juice from the wild grapes. Now I taste the tart drink that we squeezed from them And I see my brother’s face crumple like paper. (Smile with “like”) He tells me it’s too sour. I took a picture of my lonely mountain bike leaning against a tree in my yard. (Personification of the bike) Now my hands clench, recalling how the rubber grips on the handlebars felt as I sped down a huge hill. I should have seen the bush at the bottom … I took a picture of the smoke rising from my grandma’s cigarette as we sat on her porch. Now I remember how late we stayed up that night, and I hear our blissful laughter as we talked about politics and science and the future over ice cream and homemade rhubarb pie. 86

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I took a picture of the past. In today’s world of flashy smartphone cameras we take our photographs for granted and we just look at them. We don’t go back, we don’t time travel. When I look at photographs I try to remember so that when I look at the picture I smell feel hear taste and of course, see the moment that I have captured. I wish that everyone else would take the time to think and travel back to their past using pictures. Because why would you look back if you can’t be there again? Well, when you time travel, You can.

Anna Lampron, Grade 8 South View Middle School, Edina Teaching Artist, Frank Sentwali

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Voyageurs We are the voyageurs! We are paddling for fur! We are paddling a canoe We are coming to see you When we get there, we will say Do you want to trade today? Yes I want to trade, I do! Here is what I’ll offer you! Beaver, fox, wolf and bear Badger fresh from his lair They are soft, they are nice They will keep you warm tonight Spoons and forks, pans and pots Beads and buttons, glass and cups I’ll trade you this, I’ll trade you that And we will make a beaver hat From Mackinac to Duluth It’s a great route for you We paddle a long, long, way It takes almost five whole days Blisters, bruises, bunions too The sun is beating down on you Pulling tents, putting them down Throw them in the boat and take them to town! Ms. Sweeney’s Class, Grade 3 Lincoln Elementary School, Hibbing Teaching Artist, Charlie Maguire 88

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The Tale of Aldemar: A Great Adventure Aldemar, a young Julianus of Eldos, Hogor, loved adventuring. He loved books, too. He watched boats and drew pictures of them. One day, a large sailboat landed at the dock. It was for sale. Aldemar’s family was poor. He grabbed his horse, Julius II (named after the king), and rode to Eldos. He got a job as a blacksmith, but was fired. He sat at the pub, drinking ale sadly. Two men at a table were fighting over who would be the captain of the ship Aldemar wanted. They arm-wrestled. One man flipped the table over. Aldemar walked over, “Ahem,” he said. “I could, if you’ve got the sails.” “You want my shells, boy?” asked the man. “Well, you ain’t getting ’em!” Aldemar put his hands on the man’s shoulders. He threw the man to the ground. Then he stole the shell and ran out of the pub. He bought the boat, and ran to the helm. “Where to?” asked Aldemar. “The Newlands,” answered the new co-captain, Lucidius. “The natives call it the land of Unknown.” They traveled a long way. Eventually, they came to a foggy ocean. “I can’t steer!” said Aldemar. They could barely see a thing. The boat rumbled, a screech filled the air. “It’s a dragon!” shouted one of the sailors. Everyone was filled with dread. Aldemar’s father would tell him stories of the dreadful dragons of unknown lands. The dragon of the sea had come. It had scaly red-andyellow skin. It flew over the boat and knocked over the mast. The sailors were prepared and pulled out a large cannon. “Ready … aim …” said one of the sailors. The dragon was heading straight for them. “Fire!” he shouted. The cannonball shot at the dragon and found its mark. The dragon fell dead into the ocean. No one had ever defeated the sea dragon. It had sunk hundreds of ships. After a while, the fog lifted and they finally reached the Newlands!

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“I shall name this land Deltham,” said Aldemar. They built a camp with the help of Mangar the wizard and his friends. They built a bridge to discover more of Deltham. They named many places, and built many kingdoms. They fought orcs and other strange creatures. Aldemar named a place after his home, “Eldos.” The descendants of Aldemar built a statue in his honor.

Jacob E., Grade 3 Park Elementary School, LeSueur Teaching Artist, Stephen Peters

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Miranda’s Adventure One day a long time ago, Miranda, a girl with long flowing blond hair, went for a walk into the deep, dark woods. There was a path leading to the deepest part of the woods and she went on that trail. When she got further into the woods, she met an old man who looked at her as if he were really mad. She walked past him, and he said, “I would turn around if I were you.” She asked him why. He told her that a cranky old woman lived nearby, but she kept on going. It started getting dark when she came to an abandoned house. She went inside and a metal cage fell over her! She looked around at the dark, mossy place with a hint of mold, and noticed an old woman walking toward her. Miranda started to panic. The woman asked why she was there. “My mom told me to pick the reddest, most delicious apples nearby, which are in the deepest part of the woods,” Miranda told her. “Beware, there is trouble ahead of you,” said the old woman as she let Miranda out of the cage. As she went on, she met a little old man. “Hello, miss. How are you today?” he said. She said she was all right. “I am going to pick apples from the deepest, darkest part of the forest.” The old man told her to be careful to watch her surroundings at all times because by midnight wolves would come out. “They are white with orange spots and their teeth are pearly white with a hint of red from blood. The pack leader has pure red teeth and spots of his fur are stained with red.” “I will watch out,” said Miranda. She was scared, so she reminded herself of her mom. She thought about climbing into a tree to sleep, but she kept going. After a little while she heard a growling sound like this— grrrrrrr. She looked around and she saw eyes. She screamed and ran. Behind her she heard cracking and snapping noises on the sticks and leaves. Then she saw a low tree limb and climbed up it. She put her basket on a branch close by. After a while she started yelling at the wolves. “Shoo! Get out of here!” she yelled. Punch at the Wild Tornado

Later she fell asleep and when she woke up, she jumped out of the tree, making a big thud when she landed. She climbed a hill and saw the apple trees on the other side. She picked as many apples as she could for her mom and then some to eat herself. When she got home, her mom told her to go and get some rest and then when she woke up her mom gave her a slice of delicious apple pie.

Halle Duray, Grade 5 Karlstad Elementary School, Karlstad Teaching Artist, Stephen Peters

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Walking into Sheng Vhanag My name is Lamar. I was running away from a tornado. It was fast. So it caught me. It took me to a mysterious place that I never knew of. People were different. Cars were different. Buildings were different. Even the language was different. So I ran into the forest and hid. The first animal that I saw was very cute. It had pink fur and big eyes. I reached out my hand and petted it softly. The animal made me feel warm and safe. It looked at me and used its magic to turn me into one of the people of this mysterious place. I looked just like them now. So I went to the library to learn the language of this strange new world. I also learned its name (Sheng Vhanag), and how it is pronounced and what its dangers are. I learned about food. I was so glad to find a library! The library had a Wizard Workshop, and I asked the wizard to put me in a portal to send me home. I was speaking Sheng Vhanag’s language. The wizard said, “If you want a spell, I will take your soul as payment.” I said, “I just want to go back home. I want a spell that will bring me back home.” Unfortunately, the wizard was a trickster. He did not put a spell on me to take me home. The spell was to force me to become his minion! But I did not know it was a trick, so I bought it. Then the wizard said, “You can’t leave.” And I couldn’t leave. I had to obey. So the wizard went on a rampage. He said to me, “Go get my brother the good wizard and capture him.” So I went to kidnap the good wizard. But the good wizard was smart. He did a trap. The trap was for me to step on a piece of rope which was attached to a bag, and then I would be in the bag! When I activated the trap, I was caught. Fortunately, the good wizard was really good. He saw I was under a curse and he reversed the curse. “Where . . . am I?” I said. The good wizard said, “I will train you to become the Wizninja.” We trained for months. Punch at the Wild Tornado

Then the good wizard said, “Time to practice making spells.” So when we were done with everything, the good wizard told me I was ready. “Now you are ready to fight,” he said. So I went back to town. Everything was different. And I knew who was ruling and ruining everything. The wizard. “Come down and fight me,” I called to the wizard. The wizard knew it was me. “Why should I fight a piece of glob?” he said. But we fought anyway. We had an epic battle. It was hard to know who was winning. Me . . . the wizard, me . . . the wizard. Then the wizard was hungry. I pretended to be hungry too. The wizard said, “Let’s take a break and go to McGobbles and eat something.” So we went. When we came back, I noticed that the wizard ate too much. So I quickly did a spell that would make him barf. The wizard barfed and barfed up everything—even his evil spirits. Now he was just an old guy. He had been possessed! The evil spirits went away forever. I said, “Bring me back home, or I will tell the people all the evil things you did while you were possessed.” So the wizard did. When I got back home, my mom was so happy to see me. And we had a happy life.

Benjamin Walther, Grade 3 Chanhassen Elementary School, Chanhassen Teaching Artist, Kelly Barnhill

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Secrets I hide my secrets between the fangs of dragons and the fire they make I hide my secrets below the belly of a slumbering bear Secrets live on the spears of soldiers ready for battle Secrets live in the bones of the dead Secrets hide in the rays of a rainbow Secrets dwell in the roots of a mountain Secrets dwell in the moan and screeches of the undead I hear my secrets in the sound Of a babbling creek I hear my secrets from the rock I kick on my way home I feel my secrets being taken by the cold air as it saps my energy dry I feel the secrets taken by a nightmare that invades the dream

Peter Turek, Grade 7 LeSueur-Henderson Middle School, LeSueur Teaching Artist, Dana Jensen

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Pendrick and the Serum Even before he was on the run, Pendrick Barlint wasn’t having a wonderful day. Earlier in the day his hamsters had made a run for it through an air vent. Then he was stuck at home with homework. Now he was being chased from his home in New York by a gang of criminals. Pendrick was a fifteen-year-old boy with a knack for science, especially chemistry. A couple weeks ago Pendrick had been just playing with his chemistry set when his vial glowed neon blue and a drop fell onto his pet albino ferret, Nico. Nico then changed colors to a light brown ferrety color. Pendrick told his dad about the strange case of his ferret and his dad called the local TV news channel. Pendrick was now famous all around town. When Gregor Luthger heard about Pendrick’s serum, he thought that Pendrick’s serum was the answer to his problem. He was also an albino and a notorious criminal. If he could get the serum, he could blend into a crowd and be a real threat. Since Gregor had no pigmentation, his skin was extremely pale and always stood out in a crowd. Gregor Luthger visits the apartment where Pendrick lives. Pendrick recognizes Gregor as an infamous criminal but still politely asks, “How can I help you?” He realizes he might be in danger. Gregor says, “You know what I want—the serum.” Gregor tries to grab Pendrick, but Pendrick quickly turns, grabs his vial from the kitchen table, and scampers to the fire escape. He jumps out into the street. He gets onto his skateboard and kicks back with all his might. Gregor and his men follow close behind on foot. As Pendrick makes a sharp turn, one of the skateboard wheels pops out. Gregor and his men catch up. Pendrick is caught. Pendrick wakes up in a bright room. Gregor and his men are examining the serum. Now that Gregor is aware that Pendrick is awake and watching, he says, “Want it? Come get it!” Pendrick lunges for it, but not fast enough. The serum is going down Gregor’s throat. Gregor sidesteps. Gregor starts shaking violently, but laughing. He stops laughing when he sees his skin changing colors—but not the right way. He sees dots of 96

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rainbow on his arms and hands. Gregor screams, “What’s happening to me? Noooooooo!!” At that moment, the police storm in and clip handcuffs on Gregor and his men. Pendrick’s parents, who figured out their son was in danger and called the police, rush in and hug Pendrick. Epilogue Gregor and his men were sentenced to life in prison. Gregor remains polka-dotted. Pendrick is even more famous for the exciting episode with the crooks.

Ethan Park, Grade 5 Bailey Elementary School, Woodbury Teaching Artist, Stephen Peters

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The Leprechaun Rebeccah did not know what was so special about this two-story house anyway, so she decided to explore outside. Her house was almost completely hidden by trees in the back yard. The trees made a U-shape in the back yard. BAM! Rebeccah had not been looking where she was going and walked straight into, um, into . . . What exactly did she bump into? “Oh,” said Rebeccah, “a playground.” But not just any playground. A boat! No, wait! Scrap that. A pirate ship! “Cool!” Rebeccah said. She almost went aboard, but then quickly went for her brother and sisters. They came and Rebeccah was the captain with an annoying little parrot. “Keep the mast steady!” shouted Annoying. “Pirates! Pirates are going to raid our ship!” And raid it they did. One of them, his name was Cade, pushed her off the ship. “Aaaah!” cried Rebeccah. “Braawk!” yelled Annoying. Rebeccah’s world suddenly disappeared. It does that, you know, when a person is sad who is making it up. It dissolves. Rebeccah ran into the house clutching her right arm and sobbing. “Mom! Mom, Cade pushed me off the trampoline and my arm hurts!” Mom told her to go lie down on the couch. Later, after dinner, Mom drove her to the emergency room. They put her in a room with lots of tools. “We can’t yet tell if it is broken,” the doctor said, “but we can make an appointment for you to see if she’ll be OK.” So the next week they went to a different hospital. She got loads of xrays done. Then the doctor told her mom the grave news. “She has broken her right elbow almost clear through. She can’t jump on the trampoline or anything like that. And,” continued the doctor, “her right hand will probably never be as strong as her left hand.” So Rebeccah returned home with the grave news.

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For the rest of the summer Rebeccah couldn’t play outside or lift lots of things. Her arm was always in a sling. In the fall she went to school proud. Her sling was off and she had missed most of the summer break, but she was healed. The next summer she played outside with her brother Cade and saw something shimmer and glimmer. It was a piece of gold! It just so happened that she was carrying a basket, so she plopped the gold coin in the basket. Rebeccah followed the line of the woods, and her brother came too. She found more pieces of gold and plopped them in the basket. It was a trail of gold! She kept following it until the basket was half full. Then Rebeccah and Cade found a rainbow, too. They followed it and came into a clearing and saw a pot of gold! She looked around. It was a pretty place full of flowers. She went over to one and smelled it. Mmmm. It smelled like freshly baked cookies. She knew the beautiful white flowers and the yellow middle. It was a daisy! She looked over and saw that Cade was trying to eat a lilac flower. Rebeccah giggled. “Cade, how do you know if that’s poisonous or not?” “It tastes too good, Rebeccah,” said Cade. Then, out of nowhere, popped a green man. “Howdy!” he said. Rebeccah, who knew this was a leprechaun, was surprised. “Do all leprechauns say ‘Howdy’?” asked Rebeccah. “No, but you followed the rainbow and I see you didn’t have fun last summer,” said the leprechaun. “So you can have my gold.” “Great!” said Cade. It turned out that the gold was chocolate, so they shared. And the kids and the leprechaun became friends.

Daisy Johnstun, Grade 4 Roseau Elementary School, Roseau Teaching Artist, Stephen Peters

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Mudflap One day Mudflap got lost in the woods. “Hello,” he said to a snake. “Ww-w-woof!” The snake grabbed Mudflap’s feet. “Don’t eat me!” whined the snake. Mudflap shook his hat off because he shook so hard trying to get the snake off. “Help!” he screamed to the snake, and he jumped. The snake got bumped on the ground. “No,” whined the snake, “not after you bumped my head.” Mudflap jumped up into a tree. He was scared of that snake. The snake said, “I’m going to come up there and bite you!” “Please don’t eat me,” cried Mudflap. “I only want to go home.” “OK,” said the snake. “I won’t bite you.” So Mudflap came down from the tree, but the snake started to bite him. Mudflap ran as fast as he could. He ran like a speeding cheetah driving a lightning bolt! And he didn’t stop until he got to his house. Ms. Bastyr’s Class, PM Kindergarten Highland Elementary School, Apple Valley Teaching Artist, Stephen Peters

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Shooting Star Shooting Star, I remember when I was playing outside, and I saw you shining so bright, like a golden monkey. How big are you? Are you 100 million years old? You look as small as a baby tadpole. Can I keep you with me every day and night? You are still so bright.

Mohamed Warsame, Grade 1 Peter Hobart Elementary School, Saint Louis Park Teaching Artist, Susan Marie Swanson

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A Letter I’ll Never Forget “Are you sure about this?” my mom asked my dad in uncertainty. Dad had just called a family meeting and my family was sitting around the table in the dining room. My dad announced some news I wasn’t very happy with. He had started with “OK, everyone, I think it’s time for a family camping trip!” “Err!” I groaned. Every family meeting didn’t end well. Plus I hated camping. Sometimes I would go with my friends on weekends but this was different. I had to be stuck with my family in a tent too small for a fairy. OK, maybe that was an exaggeration but the tent is not big enough for all of us. “YEA, CAMPING!” my younger twin sisters shouted in union. I guess they don’t understand that this means no phones, friends, showers or space away from family for a whole weekend. They were thrilled. “Camping sounds fun.” My older brother Brandon sounded as if he didn’t care either way. No one agreed with me. “What do you think about camping, Paige?” my dad asked me, and in his voice I knew he could guess my answer. “Why would I want to go camping?” I said, maybe a little too angrily. “Paige Henderson, lower your voice!” my mom scolded at my reply. “Can we pleeeaase not go camping?” I asked, with a lot of doubt that my dad was going to happily change his mind and not make us go camping. “I’m sorry Paige, but I have already picked a spot and we are leaving on Friday.” “Friday?!?! But it’s already Wednesday!” I exclaimed. “Paige, I know you don’t want to come, but we are a family and we will all be going,” Mom stated. “Fine!” I shouted, throwing my head back and flailing my arms. This was going to be a long weekend. And not the fun kind. On Friday morning we were ready to go. The car was packed and I think Dad was a little overexcited about the trip considering there was barely enough room left for us. Once we squeezed into the car it was as tight as 102

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pants that were two sizes too small. The car ride was long, but we managed to get there. When we arrived it was already noon, so we had a lunch of turkey and cheese sandwiches that reeked from the car ride. They smelled like Brandon’s dirty gym socks. We ate up and my dad attempted to set up the tent, which took him about three tries. I was sitting by a log next to the “fire” Dad had made, when I heard a strange sound. It almost sounded as someone wailing or crying. I couldn’t help being curious. “Mom, could I go on a walk and explore a little bit?” I asked, looking away at the woods. “Sure honey. Just be back soon,” my mom replied. “OK, bye.” I yelled back as I walked into the woods. There were lots of trees and rocks everywhere. I heard a stream flowing in the distance and there were birds chirping in the trees above. I walked for a while until I saw a big boulder and a piece of paper sitting on top of it. I guessed that it was just some litter left by a hiker but I kept walked toward the boulder and the closer I got the louder the crying became. Once I reached the boulder I realized that the paper was an envelope. At that point the crying was louder than ever. I looked around but didn’t see anything. I picked up the envelope and there were two things I noticed right away. First was that the envelope was sealed and looked new. Second was that in black ink cursive letters was my name. Paige Henderson I decide that because it had my name on it I might as well open it. I slipped my finger under the flap and opened up the envelope. The crying had completely stopped. When I opened the envelope a letter slipped out. The letter started with: If you are not Paige Henderson put down this letter and forget about it. I was shocked that this letter was meant for me, but who sent it? And why was it in the middle of the woods? I had questions that needed answers, so I kept reading. Paige, you are the one that needs to find your family’s rightful treasure. On this adventure you will have to have some help. This is Punch at the Wild Tornado

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dangerous business that only you can be a part of. We will provide you with someone to help. I didn’t notice that I had started to softly read aloud. I was so scared. My nerves started to overflow out of my body when someone stood up from behind the boulder. It was a boy a little older than me and he said something in a deep voice. “And I am that someone,” the boy said. He looked as if he had been crying. I knew right away that he was the person I had heard crying. I think that he saw how scared I was and told me that I didn’t have to worry about this and he knew exactly how to find it. I wasn’t sure if I should trust him and I didn’t know what he was talking about, as in “it.” “What d-do you mean b-by it?” I asked, stuttering a little bit. “Wait, you haven’t heard about it?” he looked very shocked at the fact that I had no idea what was going on. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stated. “It is something your great-grandma left for your family before she died.” He said this to me trying to make eye contact. I was too busy staring at the ground to look up at him. “We can chat later, but we have to get going. Come on, it’s this way,” he said, motioning for me to follow. I didn’t know what else to do, so I ran to catch up with him. “Where are we going?” I asked. I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to follow him but it seemed like I didn’t have a choice. “I am taking you to find the treasure,” he said, not even looking back at me. It seemed like he was trying to remember how to get there and which way to go. I didn’t know what to do or say, so I said what was on my mind. “Can I trust you?” I asked, thinking what was going to happen if I did find the treasure. Would I be able to be back to my family in time? This was too much for me to handle. I was going into fifth grade and barely passed the push-up test at the end of last year. Now this boy I had never seen in my life was telling me to come with him on some dangerous adventure. What was I supposed to do? There was a long pause before he answered my question. “That’s for you to decide.” He finally made eye contact with me. I was shocked at his reply, but deep down inside I was hearing Mom’s voice: 104

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Remember don’t ever talk to strangers and especially don’t follow them if they tell you to come with them. That’s exactly what this boy was doing. “Why were you crying, and what is your name?” I asked in curiosity. “I was worried that you wouldn’t come get the letter and my name is Marcus,” he said shyly. “Why would you care whether I got the treasure, or not?” I asked him. “My boss told me to make sure you got it and I don’t like to disappoint him,” he said sternly. “Oh.” I was a little confused. We walked for a while without talking until we reached the stream I had heard. “We are going to have to build a raft,” he said, sounding worried. “Can we just go around it?” I asked. I was seriously starting to regret letting my curiosity take control. “No, it goes all the way to the end of the forest.” “Oh, OK. Well, how can I help?” I asked. I didn’t know anything about building a raft. “Just go get me some logs and sticks. Hurry—we don’t have that much time,” he snapped at me. I went to go find some sticks and came back with a handful. Marcus came back with a stack of about seven giant logs. How in the world did he find all that? I thought. In less than ten minutes Marcus magically made this big raft that both of us could easily fit on. “OK, you get on first,” Marcus said to me. I had no idea how to get on so I awkwardly hopped on. When he got on the raft started to wobble a little bit, but it steadied out. Marcus used the paddle he had made with a big branch and a pocket knife to get us to the other side. The current was strong and it was hard to control where we were going. Once we got to the other side Marcus climbed up first and helped me get off after him. He tried to grab the raft out of the water but the current washed it away before he had time to grab it. “Oh, well,” Marcus mumbled under his breath. I followed behind Marcus until he suddenly stopped. I had no clue what he was doing but I could tell he was nervous. “Why did you stop?” I asked him, not really caring.

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“Sh-sh!” he yelled at me. Then I knew why he had stopped. Right in front of us there were a lot of bushes and woods and hiding in the bushes was an animal. It was big and brown and its paws were crunching on the leaves below. Then it came out of its hiding place and what other animal could it be—a big, hungry grizzly bear. When it saw us it looked surprised but it was ready to attack. It got up on its back legs. It was about seven feet tall and was humongous compared to Marcus and me. It was as if a giant was looking down at us ready for a snack. My heart was pumping so fast and loud I thought it was going to pop out of my chest. Before I could respond, Marcus grabbed my arm and pulled me behind a boulder. We could hear the bear walking toward us and to our luck a fox came darting in front of the boulder. The bear was interested and ran into the woods after the fox. I was so relieved it felt like a hundred pounds of bricks were lifted off my shoulders. “That was close,” Marcus said, out of breath. “It was too close. We need to be more careful.” This time he said it a lot more sternly then before. “At least we are alive.” I was catching my breath. That was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life and I was glad it was over. We kept walking, and after the crazy bear experience I stayed right next to Marcus and tried not to fall behind. We started to climb uphill a lot more until the hill became a mountain. “We are very close,” Marcus said, looking at the sky. “But we need to hurry because it is going to get dark soon.” I joined his gaze up at the sky and noticed that he was right. It was starting to get dark and the animals had all stopped their noises and the birds weren’t chirping. “It’s this way,” Marcus said, pointing his finger toward the right side of the small mountain. “One second,” I said. “I need a break.” I sat down on the mountain and looked at the view. It had been a long journey and the way back wasn’t going to be much easier. I could see the stream we had crossed, the grizzly bear’s hideout, the boulder where the envelope sat, and my family’s campsite. Of course there were other campers in the area, but ours stood

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out the most. With the bright orange tent my dad picked out there was no missing us. I looked to see my family but there were only four people I could make out in the long distance view. It was my two twin sisters, Kate and Kristi, and my older brother, Brandon. But there was one person that I hadn’t seen before. He was wearing a hat and uniform and a little badge on his chest. He was a park ranger. What was he doing at our campsite? Where were my parents? Where they looking for me? Wow, this day had been confusing. My guess was that my parents had gone looking for me and the park ranger came to watch my siblings. I was worried now. What would my parents think when they couldn’t find me? What would I tell them when I got back? “OK, now it is time to go, you’ve had your break,” Marcus exclaimed. I stood up and we started walking up the mountain. After fifteen more minutes of walking and climbing up the small mountain we reached a cave. “Here we are,” Marcus said. “You have to enter the password now. The lock is over here.” He motioned me over to a small panel with numbers and a little screen at the top. I walked up to it but was oblivious to what I was supposed to do. “Enter the password now.” Marcus was growing impatient. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what the password is. Remember I’ve never heard of this treasure thing before,” I apologized. “Oh, well, my boss told me that you would be able to figure it out if you tried it a couple times,” Marcus said, not knowing how weird this whole day had been for me. Now he expected me to know the password to uncover my family’s rightful treasure. “OK, I’ll try it,” I said, with a lot of question in my voice. What if I couldn’t figure out the password? I wondered. I tried all the basics like my home address, the year my parents got married (which was the password they used for everything) and even my home phone number. But the little panel just kept beeping and saying ACCESS DENIED. I started to sweat and rub my forehead with the sleeve of my shirt. Marcus finally chimed in and said, “Are you sure you got this? My boss said that he thinks it is a date of something important.” Punch at the Wild Tornado

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So I tried some important dates and finally typed in my birthday—5/18/03 and the panel didn’t beep this time. It dinged and said ACCESS GRANTED. “Finally!” we both shouted together. “Here, I’ll go first.” Marcus pushed ahead of me into the cave. I let him pass because I didn’t know if I was ready to see the treasure. “Wow!” Marcus exclaimed in amusement. “You’ve got to see this!” I climbed into the cave and looked around. All I saw was a clear box about the size of a shoe box with twenty pennies in it and Marcus staring at them with his eyes so big I thought his head was going to explode. What was the big deal? They were just pennies! I ran from a bear and climbed a mountain for this? “Isn’t this amazing!?!?” Marcus said to me in complete awe. “What’s the big deal? They’re just pennies,” I asked him, very disappointed in our find. “What? These aren’t just pennies these … these are amazing!” he said, drooling over them. “If you love them so much, then go ahead and take them.” I was ready to get back to my family. “Really?!? Thanks!” he said as he grabbed the box and started running out of the cave. I followed him out of the cave and straight into three people that were waiting right outside the opening. Two of those three people were my parents who were so happy and glad to see me. I was grateful they had come to find me because I didn’t want to have to go back to the campsite alone. Then there was the third person. It was a police officer with a bushy mustache that made his face look uneven. I assumed that he had helped my parents to find me, but my parents were a little too happy. I was expecting them to be angry that I had wandered off, or at least a little disappointed in me, but they were ecstatic. But their smiles fell when they saw Marcus holding the box with the coins. The police officer saw their faces and told everyone to follow him. We walked all the way back to the campsite without running into any bears or streams. The police officer told my parents everything about the envelope and the crazy journey and then he explained the coins to all of us. I learned why Marcus was so interested in the coins. The officer told us 108

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that those coins were actually 1943 copper wheat pennies and one penny was worth one hundred thousand dollars. Everyone’s jaws dropped open. “One hundred thousand dollars? And it belongs to us? That means we’re millionaires!” I exclaimed. This was amazing. “We’re rich!” said Kate and Kristi. “Wow,” was all that my dad could say. “My goodness, thank you so much, officer!” said my mom. “Dad, could we give one of the coins to Marcus? If he hadn’t helped me find the coins then we wouldn’t have any.” “That’s a great idea, Paige.” He carefully took one out of the box and handed it to Marcus. His eyes went big again and he thanked us for our kindness. “It’s the least we could do,” my mom said graciously. This was so amazing for our family. We were normal people in a normal-sized house and my dad was having some trouble paying all the bills ever since he got laid off at work—and now we were millionaires! All because of one camping trip, one girl’s curiosity and one white envelope. I officially love camping!

Sadie Lorraine Swift, Grade 4 Grey Cloud Elementary School, Cottage Grove Teaching Artist: Stephen Peters

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Spooky I punch at the wild tornado. I sleep on the back of a wolf. I skip across the stars. I dunk over a rocket after it took off 1,000 feet. I see a lady at the pet store buying a unicorn. I swallow a shark tooth. I lie on the silver lightning.

Abdi Haji, Grade 3 Valley View Elementary School, Columbia Heights Teaching Artist: Dana Jensen

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Section 6: Without Its Roots the Tree Is Nothing

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The Earth Is Always Turning Every year Every month Every day Something changes. The changes are subtle. The changes are obvious. But one thing is clear. We never stop developing, Changing, Advancing. People say they don’t know how to deal with the change. Yet we do it every day. We change our mind, our clothes. But no one seems to realize or know. The Earth Is Always Turning That is what we are here today to show. To let you know that we will always change and grow. New. New. New. But out of the blue, Boom. Every year. Every month. Every day. Something changes. It feels like a new iPod, iPhone or tablet comes out weekly Technology is getting thinner, smaller. People just can’t seem to stop spending their dollars. New technology comes out to help us, to make things easier. But this new technology is always improving, changing, So fast we can’t keep up. Planes, Trains, Automobiles, 112

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All speeding up, Changing. Internet, Population, Even machines, Advancing to the “Future of awesome” Every year. Every month. Every day. Something changes. Can we just slow down? Stop. Concentrate on what we are leaving behind, What we are sacrificing for this constant change. “I never think of the future, it comes soon enough.” —Albert Einstein. That quote is what we are talking about. We keep walking away from our past. We are too focused on advancing. To even realize that we are changing. Every year. Every month. Every day. Something changes. We have to accept the change. Nothing stops it. We just drop what we are doing and go with the flow. Our society is like a tree. The tree grows, changes. The leaves are like our technology, The leaves never stop changing through the seasons. Trees change. Our society, a tree. But the tree has roots. Punch at the Wild Tornado

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And without its roots the tree is nothing. People want to forget the past. But we simply canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t. The past shapes the future. Every year Every month Every day. Something changes. We need to realize the change. And that we canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t stop it. We just have to remember, That the changes are subtle. The changes are obvious, But one thing is clear, We change and we remember.

Jaylin Schumacher, Moira Miller and Sarah Miller, Grade 7 Oak Hill Montessori School, Shoreview Teaching Artist, Frank Sentwali

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Let Us Go [Key E Major] Let us go! Let us go! Let us go like the river, let us go! To grow, to fly, to touch the sky! Let us go! Let us go! We join together with each other We never look back, we’re friends forever Like the monarch butterfly We spread our wings way up high Watch us grow, let us go (Chorus) Our eyes are like sparkling blue water That we see everywhere in Minnesota Growing together in harmony— All of us, you and me Watch us grow, let us go (Chorus) This is the beginning of our journey And as we go we are learning Discovering ourselves— Like taking a new book off the shelves Watch us grow, let us go (Chorus)

Junior Girl Scout Troop 55640, Grade 4 Minnesota Centennial Showboat Event, Saint Paul Teaching Artist, Charlie Maguire

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Beautiful Essence The blood in my veins is the same as what runs in yours. The scarlet color reminds us that we are not as different as we believe. The blondes, gingers, brunettes, blacks, natives and Caucasians all have this beautiful life force flowing through them. I hope you will always remember that when the murderer gets sentenced to death he has the same essence in him as you do. The new little baby so young and helpless in his motherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s arms, the homeless man on the corner, the starving children in Africa, the people struggling with addiction, the wealthy celebrity . . . All people are equal. It is our place to accept, not to judge.

Kate Wensloff, Grade 8 Roseau High School, Roseau Teaching Artist, Christopher Keller (Kristoff Krane)

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Untitled I came to this country expecting freedom and joy. But since a few stupid people did some idiotic stuff all of us now have a “label.” We are labeled terrorist, we are called “those people,” we are discriminated against. Shallow minds call us evil. But what is a label? A label is a brief descriptive phrase or term given to a person or a group. But just because you give me a label doesn’t mean that it is true. How can you call me a terrorist when you don’t even know my name? How can you call me a “niggah” when you don’t even know where I came from? Stop acting dumb, I’m talking to you, you and you. When you look at me, don’t automatically think WE. You see, the “WE” I represent just wanna be equal. My “we” desires to be peaceful among the kind people. I’m a brother, a son, and also a grandson. They’re all waiting on me to become one. They never had this opportunity where they came from. So I carry the torch, use my mind to fight back against your prejudiced approach. I kneel and pray five times a day, so maybe Allah will bring wisdom my way. Did you judge all Christians when Timothy McVeigh bombed the building in Oklahoma City? Did you judge all the pale skin youth in response to all who were murdered in that school? You guys clearly see this is ignorance! Stop being fools and open your eyes. If you are programmed to adopt as truth, stereotypes, Perhaps it’s time to stand up for yourself and ask, why? I came to this country expecting freedom and joy. Expecting good things from man to boy Punch at the Wild Tornado

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Who want to do many big things Just a little kid with big dreams But things are not as it seems When they invite you in this country They don’t warn you of the schemes But your prejudiced and racist way won’t break me I pray to Allah and let his will take me And you will see I’m a soldier for peace We don’t stand for war What else do you want more? We’re just two boys trying to make the world right So stand with us and see we will not fight … Unite!!!!!

Ahmed Mursal, Grade 11 Rochester STEM Academy, Rochester Teaching Artist, Frank Sentwali

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Who, What, Where, When, Why and How? Who, what, where, when, why and how? Who. Who is the god that created me … Giving me a life where no one understands me. Or even to BOTHER to ask that little girl … “Honey, are you OK?” Who, what, where, when, why and how? What. What is a god? A person who created your life and GAVE IT NO MEANING? If there was a god. Could he hear the little girl’s prayer? Or any prayers we send to him? Who, what, where, when, why and how? Where. Where is the “god”? Is he in the clouds? Hiding from us? What is he hiding from us? Is he afraid of us …? Who, what, where, when, why and how? When. When is the time that god will show his real self? Hiding from us shows no meaning of life. Being created by him and not being able to see him? Is god really trying to hide himself away from us? Who, what, where, when, why and how? Why? Why is he who is called “GOD” not showing himself to us? Just a little girl who’s crying for help. Punch at the Wild Tornado

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If there was a god, I want him to give everyone a chance to let their wings fly. Who, what, where, when, why and how? How. How am I still living? My parents and my older siblings don’t know how I FEEL. Or … can they hear my voice? My cries. My feelings. My dreams for the future. Who, what, where, when, why and how? Is there really a god? Or … Can I just not hear him like how … He can’t hear me …?

Korina Lee, Grade 7 Community of Peace Academy, Saint Paul Teaching Artist, Frank Sentwali

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Peace . . . Peace is a ray of dancing sunlight. Peace feels like the open arms of the moon. Peace is only complete with love. And when I find peace my life will be complete and I will dance with the sunĘźs ray and howl at the moon while the wind growls. A world without peace is a room with no windows, a door with no handle, a bottomless ocean. But we have peace, and whatever peace is to you â&#x20AC;Ś tell it to the world!

Max Menke, Grade 4 Meadowbrook Elementary School, Hopkins Teaching Artist, Marie Olofsdotter

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Why Do I Hear the Cries at Night? Why growing up growing up was fast like spinning poured game and waiting to stop And you call that your past looking deeply to your past you will see that you done more mistakes than rights more crying than smiling more ignoring than listening more eating than exercising growing up I run to you seeking advice I told breathing hardly I case the old lady!!! Day ago you reply move on from your past I say I beat the teen half day ago you reply move on from your past I say I choke the child hour ago you reply move on from your past I say kill the baby born a minute ago you jump and say my babyyy I say letâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s all move on from our past!! growing up we are busy very observed with this world busy gathering money, children and reaching the level of millionaires not considering death because once you learn how to die you learn how to live you thought you will live longer the only disease for no cure is death and I promise you will

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growing up overlooking. hunting a better life thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s continuous forever running from the lowest level trying to reach a ladder that makes them better to become the big matter growing up everyone knows know death and deeply they know ignoring seems to be the point day by day the world becoming serious and hard it needed more wisdom and quick solver how can I solve death let me tell you consider death is your future!!!!

Fadumo Khalif, Grade 11 Rochester STEM Academy, Rochester Teaching Artist, Frank Sentwali

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Dream On What if pain in this wide world just stopped dead? No more knives of steel or bullets of lead. What if one day, one day, the sun rose and everyone came to their senses? No more being cruel to each other, no barriers no fences … No snap-out-of-it-idiots, no need to explain, we live in a world of discomfort and pain It’s ridiculous really, it’s no use to dream, only fools ever tried to change the whole scheme! Gandhi, Teresa, Mandela—were they fools!? What about Martin Luther King, now did he win or did he lose? You know it is fun to dream sometimes … Maybe we should! Maybe the world got it wrong, maybe it’s all good! Now let’s start small here don’t get ahead of ourselves Our school let’s start there, though it’s no pretty sight Kids scream and they fight, they tussle and cuss Everyone’s a sinner, that’s everyone including us. And the teachers, THANK GOD for them, ’cause they get so much crap from the kids No Ramsey won’t do—we gotta go bigger, our city howabout? Yeah, there’s crime and there’s drugs but maybe we will stay. It’s a hard knock life but I’m hoping this city will be OK. But is it just a façade of stores, hotels and train stations? Why not go bigger? Why not head to our nation? Well it doesn’t really look like a great place to be. Economy’s in the gutter, apparently self-esteem is as well. Are we gay, are we racist, is that good is that bad? I can’t tell anymore in this once-great nation What about the president? What about his politics? Does it matter to you that he’s black? Would you prefer him to be Asian? No our country won’t work. Only one place to go, let’s look at our world there has got to be hope!!! Oh GOD! I CAN’T LOOK WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED HERE!? 124

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Guns, violence, terrorists, bombs blowing up blatantly! Ever been on a Malaysia flight lately??? WAR HUNGER DESPAIR SPYING NSA RIGGED NBA God it’s hopeless let’s retrace our steps. From all over creation, To our once-great nation To our façade-filled stores, hotels and train stations All the way down to the room we are in now. So what now? WE CHANGE IT, all of us NOW. We can make tomorrow better, together my friends. This world may be so big and we may all be so small, but we can make this place AWESOME. Think about that, and dream on.

Leo Proctor, Grade 7 Ramsey Middle School, Saint Paul Teaching Artist, Frank Sentwali

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Unleash Unleash your dreams, make them true create something like an instant brew blast into space and go wild make your thoughts come to life the dreams since you were a child. Do not give up set the candle on fire draw what you think color them, for example, pink. Think of a rapid river think of the waterfall feel yourself quiver finally wonder at what you made. Maybe it will come true and you will get paid on what you made. Maybe it will come true.

Pranavi J., Grade 5 Bailey Elementary School, Woodbury Teaching Artist, Christopher Keller (Kristoff Krane)

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Section 7: Voices from Beyond: COMPAS Teaching Artists Write Back

With each new yearâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Anthology of Student Writing, we discover more and more about the literary skills of the upcoming generation. But what of their mentors? When writing for their own purposes, what sort of work do artists on the COMPAS Roster produce? Here, at last, we can find out. Students whoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve worked with these artists may recognize a certain trademark phrase . . . or possibly see an example in action that was discussed in class . . . or discover a completely new side of an artist they already knew. Look at the word choices. Envision the images. Notice the subtle way the poets lead you on from line to line, or the back-references between passages in the prose work. These are masters at work. Who knows how many more will someday rise from these pages? Punch at the Wild Tornado

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My Name by John Minczeski My name arrived from Poland in 1910 stowed away in the engine room of a Swiss freighter. The cook took pity on it and every day brought sausages, berries and milk. My name for two weeks was deafened by the sounds of pistons and the turning of the shipâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s screw. My name, without a passport or extra change of clothes, without a toothbrush or brown shopping bag, swam to Staten Island, barely missed being eaten by sharks. My name was taken in by potato farmers and learned to drive trucks and drink beer. My name tripped over a cabbage and was cut in half by a harrow. Thus I was born. I have given it years of pain. My name has forgotten how to cry. from The Spiders, New Rivers Press: 1979

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Under This Face by Joyce Sidman In class today, Rico the pest called our teacher “old raisin-face.” Mr. Herrera stared at him for a long time. Then he said, “Rico, my boy, under this old raisin face is a troubadour who sang love songs to his wife. And under the troubadour is a kid who wised up and went to college. And under the kid who wised up is a young tough who hauled three hundred crates of fish a day. And under the young tough is a little boy, just like you, Rico the pest!” And then, to prove it, Mr. Herrera jumped up on a desk and began to sing. So of course we had to believe him.

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Under the Full Moon by Marie Olofsdotter Inspired by Humberto Ak’abal, Maya-K’iche’ poet from Guatemala Humberto says that poets are born old, and with the passing of years, we turn ourselves into children. The Mayan symbol for poetry is a rabbit, and the rabbit a symbol of the moon. It bothered me to find five blind baby rabbits sprawled across the sidewalk that hot Tuesday in July. Instead of writing I spent my afternoon trying to save their lives. I turned girl again, and made a nest of grass in the shade next to the house. Put out lettuce for their mother. Asked the neighbor to keep her cats inside. Everything belongs to nature, and goes back to nature. Humberto said that too. I tried to chase away a hungry opossum three times, but once the baby rabbits stopped squealing I let it all go. Standing in the dark on my balcony, I watched him find his way to the river, his black eyes full of the moon.

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The Night by Marie Olofsdotter The night hovers at the hem of day, settles in seamlessly, carrying secretsâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; a thousand eyes flirting with a fat moon, a soft animal curled up in a tree, the silent flight of an owl, a winged lullaby. At daybreak, night folds up her dark blanket and runs towards the mountains. But in old pots and under beds she leaves a few notes of her song so that we donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t forget to dream.

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some leaves fall by Dana Jensen some leaves fall like yellow streamers some are golden feathers some are brilliant castaways others burnished leathers some leaves fall like paper rain some are silver foil some are ears of gentle creatures others jeweled and royal some leaves fall like husks of fruit some are lonely letters some are rags and scraps of cloth others ripe and tatters some leaves fall like gilded pages some are blazing hearts some are hands that wave good-bye then silently depart

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elephant, thou by Dana Jensen she has big ears but she canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t help it and her trunk is as long as her life her feet, flat as pancakesâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; she would have it no other way she bathes in mud she showers with dust her tail, absurdly small barely keeps her bottom cool o, grey wrinkly gal whose grandyoung shamble between her legs showing us all that no one is too big for love too regal for fun too strong to be gentle too old to hold their head high and trumpet out joy to the fantabulous sky her silent rumble carrying for miles the news of the day her wisdom, the way Punch at the Wild Tornado

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Excerpt from Canoeing with Jose by Jon Lurie In the opaque golden glow of the tent I awoke shivering, my breath curling like a mushroom cloud above my face. The temperature overnight had plummeted, evidence that a strong cold front had moved in, and as with the passing of any front, I knew from my aviation training, came a change of wind direction. I could hear the powerful blowing out on the bay, but the tent remained unbothered. Due to the wind shift, our spot on that rock was now sheltered by pines. I believed my prayers had been answered; the breeze, I thought, would be strong and at our backs all day. Jose abbreviated his morning process when I told him the tailwind meant we had a chance to make Oxford House before nightfall. Given the challenges of paddling an immense water body, I was not convinced we could travel 29 miles in one shot. But, as my actions that day would demonstrate, I was willing to put all of our chips on the table in a winnertake-all wager: a payoff would result in contact with the Cree community, failure in total catastrophe. We loaded the Ledger, and then pulled taut the spray deck over the top, fastening the water repellant covering to the black Velcro patches beneath the gunwales. We suited-up in warm layers, rain gear and stocking caps, and then slid onto our seats, fixing the skirting under our armpits, sheltering most of our bodies beneath the cobalt tarp. As we paddled along the north shore of an island the size of Frogtown, and into open water, my only comfort was the thought of the meager survival kits Jose and I carried in the breast pockets of our life jackets. The green-gray of the spray deck melted with the hue of chaotic waters and blooming skies, eliminating all sense of horizon. The seamless merging of boat, water and sky wiped away my sense of gravity, requiring me to devote my entirety to the task of maintaining an upright attitude. I navigated a chain of dense green islands on a northeasterly heading, then stared into the abyss of a five mile, wind-ravaged crossing. Jose remained incommunicado beneath his headphones; I had only the nasty tempest for company.

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I struggled to repel thoughts of pending doom as vast thunderheads gathered along the north shore of the lake. For the first time I joined Jose in electronic oblivion, pulling my iPod from its waterproof pouch, and pushing the earbuds against my eardrums. I pumped the volume until music dominated the screeching breath of Mother Nature, setting on repeat the Death Cab for Cutie song which had been running through my head for weeks, and which spoke precisely to the agonizing bliss of floating through that ethereal afternoon. I want to live where soul meets body And let the sun wrap its arms around me And bathe my skin in water cool and cleansing And feel, feel what it’s like to be new The north shore of Oxford was not a shore at all, but the coast of a clear-cut land mass several miles long which the map labeled Carghill Island. A gray inversion hung above the lifeless flat, making the thousands of stumps upon it appear like the monuments of a soldiers’ graveyard. I counted twelve separate thunderheads in a straight squall, blooming like colossal roses over the forest to the near northeast. The electric soundtrack of that Death Cab melody provided a sublime escape from exhaustion and danger, and through the hours I gained an appreciation of Jose’s persistent deployment of a CD player. If conditions remained constant, the almighty hand at our backs would push us to Oxford House by evening. One after another, however, like the orchestrated volley of war machines, the thunderheads burst, spewing enraged downdrafts that sent whitecaps crashing over the canoe, fizzling our electronics, and forcing the Ledger onto the pebbled sanctuary of a lone islet. As Jose extricated himself from the spray deck and stumbled to shore on unsteady knees, he fiddled with his headphone jack, sullen as a newborn whose formula had run empty. We hauled the Ledger high on the beach to keep the waves from washing it out to sea. Drenched from the waist down, our bare legs exposed to the stinging wind, a fearful discomfort descended on the beach. Jose blew into his hands and clutched his chest. I felt sorry for him in a way I hadn’t before, Punch at the Wild Tornado

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more like a mother than a mentor; after several weeks in the outdoors, he still didn’t know how to build a fire. With a quick glance I identified an abundance of ready relief in the powder-dry driftwood tangled against the tree line. We gathered a thighhigh pile of weathered branches, and with a touch of my lighter to a crisp ring of birch bark, ignited a blaze. Soon a ferocious heat curled the hair on our calves. Around the comforting furnace, it would have been easy to sit tight for the night; given the blitzkrieg storming across the lake, it would have been the wise course. But I was determined to continue, to test our limits. The overwhelming compulsion pulling me back to the water was one I had known as a student pilot, when I regularly proceeded into known areas of severe weather rather than forego a trip, as all of my FAA training had dictated. I learned to trust my survival instincts, and rely upon an evolving faith. I unfurled the map on the beach, pinning it under stones to keep it from ripping away. By adding two or three miles to the route, I saw we could avoid open water, weaving through a chain of islands that would likely deliver us to the village without incident. The tradeoff, however, would mean giving up the strong breeze, which had once again shifted to our backs. On a straight line course, that little island was the last safe harbor between our current position and Oxford House. We would be completely exposed, at one point at least a mile from landfall. Swamping out there would result in the sinking of the Ledger, and the loss of all but the bare bones emergency kits tucked into our lifejackets, which contained just enough survival equipment to lull me into a suicidal state of complacency: a signal mirror, compass, duct tape, fire starter, fishing line, and lens magnifier. The kit also included a little guide book on which bold text exhorted users to “STOP and THINK,” advice I summarily considered and disregarded. After an hour’s break, we sealed our radiating bodies under the spray deck, paddled hard around a point, and swung into the curling surf on a course to Oxford House, still too distant to see over the Earth’s curvature.

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Art Space by Susan Marie Swanson When my brother writes stories late at night under his blankets with a light, he hides an entire stadium under there— hotdogs for sale, baseballs slammed through the air— and Mom doesn’t even care! But the choir that I sing in takes a lot of space. It takes time to get us organized, everyone in place. Once we’re all where we belong we put the words and notes of our song where they belong, too. It’s tricky to do. But when the piano starts to play, we tell trouble to fly away. Our voices are so strong, they sweep away worry and gloom. We fill the whole room!

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When words no longer by Julia Klatt Singer I want a word for moonlight trapped in an icicle, for night cut clean at the edge. I want a word that moves like you do from room to room leaving a trail of love. I want a word yelled from the screen door, one that follows me into the shade of the elms. I want a word that lives between leaves in the canopy, that every sparrow sings, that sounds just like your name.

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How to live in the modern world by Julia Klatt Singer forget about streets with names follow the fireflies into the thicket, smell the damp earth let the darkness inside let the night steep let the world drift to sleep as you become nothing but the brush of wings, ancient mating dreams, the soft blink of amber light.

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Reach by Kyle “Guante” Tran Myhre 1. On the first day of school, we make a list of the characteristics of a good poet. But this is not a poem about poetry, so all of the desks are empty, iPod earbuds dangling like dead flowers. I am alone at the chalkboard, and there is only one bullet point on that list: not talent, not hard work, not education … ambition. 2. We are speedometers; usually cruising along at 20 miles per hour. A surprise birthday party bumps you up to 30. A car accident, maybe 40. Being shot at: 200. Most of us live our lives between zero and sixty. What do you think a thousand tastes like? 3. My grandfather hates it when people use the word “awesome” to describe things that are barely above average. Like did you see that episode of Glee last night? It was awesome, or this new Drake song is awesome, or honeycrisp apples are the most awesome apples there are. God is awesome, my grandfather would say. And he is not religious. 4. Make no mistake: this is a holy war. Beams shot from death rays into satellites and back down. Propaganda lining our cages. Six billion fingers on the button. 5. I paid five dollars. Fifteen empty bar stools. A singer knee-deep in the stage. And if she were just a little more pretty and a little less beautiful, we’d swallow her, smiling; we’d hang her in constellation. Confuse us with gibberish and we’ll call you visionary. Repeat to us the slogans we already agree with and we’ll call you revolutionary. Make some noise. She understands, that it is no difficult thing to convince 100 people to scream, that it is no victory to entertain children with sugar water and magic tricks, that it is nothing to pry a smile from the soft, dull face of America. But she does not want our smiles. She wants to dig into the wet, gray wilderness behind them. 140

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6. An artist—and whether we acknowledge it or not, we are all artists—is one part clown and one part cleric. Our work is one part entertainment and one part revelation. We are all foot soldiers in the war between giving the people what they want and giving the people something they don’t yet know they want. Between Facebook and face. Between voting once every four years and putting your name on the ballot. Between writing a love poem and screaming that love poem in the Mall of America rotunda while she’s walking out of Forever 21. Between running away and running. There is such a thing as awesome. It stalks in the deep, seldom-traveled back woods of culture. You might need a machete and flak jacket to get there. You might need to break a sweat. But it’s there. So don’t paint my house white and tell me it’s heaven. Don’t bring me a sack of beans and tell me they’re magic. Bring me magic. Paint every inch of our bodies heaven. On the first day of school, do not make a list of the characteristics of a good poet. Make a list of the people who will weep when you die. 7. We are speedometers. We are remote controls. We are dollars in tip jars in dive bars. We’ve seen what they have to offer. It’s great. It’s beautiful. And it is not nearly enough.

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2013-14 Index by Student Writer Abdi Abdi Abdi Acker Amundson Anderson B’s Class Bastyr’s Class Benedict’s Class Ber Bond Bush Chen Crosby’s Class Dahir Dirks D. Duray Dyar E. Etter’s Class Fillman’s Class Fridley Garcia Geraldo Grande Greenfield Grieco Gunnell Haji Hallback-Kettner Indritz J. Johnson Johnstun Kelly Khalif K. Lampron Lechnir Punch at the Wild Tornado

Sagal Sagal Sagal Jayden Jewels Callie Mrs. Ms. Ms. Tay Annabelle Annie Letao Mr. Bisharo Katie Mike Halle Zach Jacob Mrs. Mrs. Leo Alejandro Ramzi Carly Kira Olivia Jackson Abdi Meghan Paige Pranavi Ben Daisy Maia Fadumo Timo Anna Thomas

Rochester STEM Academy Rochester STEM Academy Rochester STEM Academy Roseau High School Aquila Elementary School Northdale Middle School Saint Pius X School Highland Elementary School Lincoln Elementary School Fairview Alternative High Saint Paul Academy Lake Harriet Upper School South View Middle School St Anthony Park Elementary Rochester STEM Academy LeSueur-Henderson Middle Fairview Alternative High Karlstad Elementary School Saint Paul Academy Park Elementary School Lincoln Elementary School Lincoln Elementary School Valley View Elementary Oak Ridge Elementary Columbia Academy Oak Hill Montessori School Columbia Academy South High School Roseau Elementary School Valley View Elementary La Crescent Middle School Saint Paul Academy Bailey Elementary School Oak Hill Montessori School Roseau Elementary School Oak Hill Montessori School Rochester STEM Academy Royal Oaks Elementary South View Middle School La Crescent Middle School

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34 42 79 74 48 61 54 100 41 40 64 31 24 55 79 17 10 91 36 89 59 72 2 58 62 37 77 8 65 110 29 7 126 37 98 19 122 67 86 75

Lee Marrone-Lloyd Menge Menke Meyer’s Class Mielke Miller Miller Mohammed Montie Munsinger’s Class Mursal Nangia Nyabuto Osman Otto Park Peterson’s Class Proctor Rademacher Rapacz Russell Schaner Schumacher Shoble Sipe Songwriting Group Songwriting Group Sweeney’s Class Swift Tamang Thompson Thompson Troop 55640 Turek Van Meter Walther Warsame Wensloff Winther’s Class

Korina

Community of Peace Academy Kenzi Royal Oaks Elementary Victoria Meadowbrook Elementary Max Meadowbrook Elementary Ms. Washington Elementary Greta Tanglen Elementary School Moira Oak Hill Montessori School Sarah Oak Hill Montessori School Hibaq Rochester STEM Academy Leo Oak Hill Montessori School Mrs. Saint Pius X School Ahmed Rochester STEM Academy Nikki Bailey Elementary School Ruth Oak View Middle School Adna Columbia Academy Tanner Roseau High School Ethan Bailey Elementary School Miss Mississippi Elementary Leo Ramsey Middle School Anna Hilltop Elementary School Sophia Anwatin Middle School Claudia Meadowbrook Elementary Ethan Anwatin Middle School Jaylin Oak Hill Montessori School Samiya Rochester STEM Academy Jack Northdale Middle School Brimhall Brimhall Elementary School Central Park Central Park Elementary Mrs. Lincoln Elementary School Sadie Lorraine Grey Cloud Elementary Bikrim Fairview Alternative High Ginger Tanglen Elementary School Michael Tri-County Secondary School Jr. Girl Scout MN Centennial Showboat Peter LeSueur-Henderson Middle Kate Oak Hill Montessori School Benjamin Chanhassen Elementary Mohamed Peter Hobart Elementary Kate Roseau High School Ms. Highland Park Elementary

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119 52 81 121 51 57 112 112 22 37 73 117 70 18 46 50 96 15 124 68 27 56 4 112 12 26 14 49 88 102 39 16 3 115 95 19 93 101 116 83

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2013-14 Index by School Anwatin Middle School Anwatin Middle School Aquila Elementary School Bailey Elementary School Bailey Elementary School Bailey Elementary School Brimhall Elementary School Central Park Elementary School Chanhassen Elementary School Columbia Academy Columbia Academy Columbia Academy Community of Peace Academy Fairview Alternative High School Fairview Alternative High School Fairview Alternative High School Grey Cloud Elementary School Highland Elementary School Highland Park Elementary School Hilltop Elementary School Karlstad Elementary School La Crescent Middle School La Crescent Middle School Lake Harriet Upper School LeSueur-Henderson Middle School LeSueur-Henderson Middle School Lincoln Elementary School Lincoln Elementary School Lincoln Elementary School Lincoln Elementary School Meadowbrook Elementary School Meadowbrook Elementary School Meadowbrook Elementary School Minnesota Centennial Showboat Mississippi Elementary School Northdale Middle School Northdale Middle School Oak Hill Montessori School Oak Hill Montessori School Oak Hill Montessori School Punch at the Wild Tornado

Sophia Ethan Jewels Pranavi Nikki Ethan Brimhall Central Park Benjamin Ramzi Kira Adna Korina Tay Mike Bikrim Sadie Lorraine Bastyr’s Winther’s Anna Halle Meghan

Rapacz Schaner Amundson J. Nangia Park Song Group Song Group Walther Geraldo Greenfield Osman Lee Ber D. Tamang Swift Class Class Rademacher Duray HallbackKettner Thomas Lechnir Annie Bush Katie Dirks Peter Turek Benedict’s Class Etter’s Class Fillman’s Class Sweeney’s Class Victoria Menge Max Menke Claudia Russell Jr. Girl Scout Troop 55640 Peterson’s Class Callie Anderson Jack Sipe Carly Grande Ben Johnson Maia Kelly

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27 4 48 126 70 96 14 49 93 62 77 46 119 40 10 39 102 100 83 68 91 29 75 31 17 95 41 59 72 88 81 121 56 115 15 61 26 37 37 19

Oak Hill Montessori School Oak Hill Montessori School Oak Hill Montessori School Oak Hill Montessori School Oak Hill Montessori School Oak Ridge Elementary School Oak View Middle School Park Elementary School Peter Hobart Elementary School Ramsey Middle School Rochester STEM Academy Rochester STEM Academy Rochester STEM Academy Rochester STEM Academy Rochester STEM Academy Rochester STEM Academy Rochester STEM Academy Rochester STEM Academy Roseau High School Roseau High School Roseau High School Roseau Elementary School Roseau Elementary School Royal Oaks Elementary School Royal Oaks Elementary School

Moira Sarah Leo Jaylin Kate Alejandro Ruth Jacob Mohamed Leo Sagal Sagal Sagal Bisharo Fadumo Hibaq Ahmed Samiya Jayden Tanner Kate Jackson Daisy Timo Kenzi

St Anthony Park Elementary Saint Paul Academy - Lower School Saint Paul Academy - Upper School Saint Paul Academy - Upper School Saint Pius X School Saint Pius X School South High School South View Middle School South View Middle School Tanglen Elementary School Tanglen Elementary School Tri-County Secondary School Valley View Elementary School Valley View Elementary School Washington Elementary School

Crosby’s Annabelle Zach Paige B’s Munsinger’s Olivia Letao Anna Greta Ginger Michael Leo Abdi Meyer’s

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Miller Miller Montie Schumacher Van Meter Garcia Nyabuto E. Warsame Proctor Abdi Abdi Abdi Dahir Khalif Mohammed Mursal Shoble Acker Otto Wensloff Gunnell Johnstun K. MarroneLloyd Class Bond Dyar Indritz Class Class Grieco Chen Lampron Mielke Thompson Thompson Fridley Haji Class

112 112 37 112 19 58 18 89 101 124 34 42 79 79 122 22 117 12 74 50 116 65 98 67 52 55 64 36 7 54 73 8 24 86 57 16 3 2 110 51

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2013-14 COMPAS Roster Writers Kelly Barnhill Joan Griffith Dana Jensen Christopher Keller (Kristoff Krane) May Lee-Yang Jon Lurie Charlie Maguire John Minczeski Kyle “Guante” Tran Myhre Marie Olofsdotter Stephen Peters Louis Porter II Frank Sentwali Joyce Sidman Julia Klatt Singer Kevin Strauss Susan Marie Swanson The writers listed above are all drawn from the COMPAS Artist Roster, which includes over 100 of the top Teaching Artists in Minnesota; indeed, in the nation. To find out more details about the projects these writers can lead, or to discover more about the musicians, dancers, visual and performing artists on the COMPAS Roster, go to www.compas.org and click on “Find an Artist.”

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COMPAS Manifesto We are all born creative, but we must work to stay that way. The education system, society, and the economy do little to endow our creativity. But when we invest in preserving this part of our minds, exercising it by not just appreciating creativity, but engaging in it, we hold onto a piece of ourselves that makes us better suited to not only survive in this world, but thrive. Our creativity is precious. We can’t squander it. We can’t defund it. We can’t let it become extracurricular. Because it’s not. It is essential. It’s healing, it’s teaching, it’s life-giving. That’s why for over 40 years COMPAS has set out to preserve and develop this part of ourselves by releasing high-caliber, practicing artists into Minnesota schools and libraries, hospitals and care centers, shelters and communities to engage people through the arts. And we continue to do it so we may stoke the flame of creativity in us all, to feed our minds. Our whole minds.

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COMPAS Staff Lynne Beck, Senior Grant Writer Daniel Gabriel, Arts Program Director Jeff Helmeke, Finance Director Emily Isenberg, Arts Program Associate Joan Linck, Marketing & Development Manager Betsy Mowry, Arts Innovation Director Huong Nguyen, Coordinator/Project Manager Elwyn Ruud, Northwest Area Arts Coordinator Pat Samples, Artful Aging Program Manager Emma Seeley, Arts Marketing & Development Assistant Dawne Brown White, Executive Director Juliana Anderson Wilkins, Individual Giving Manager

COMPAS Board Executive Committee

Keven Ambrus

Cheryl Bock, President

Stephanie Benson

Mimi Stake, Vice President

The Honorable Marta Chou

Diane Johnson, Vice President

Robert Erickson

Susan Rotilie, Secretary

Tamera A. Irwin

Irene Suddard, Treasurer

Christina Koppang

Michelle Silverman, At-Large

Hristina Markova

Roderic Hernub Southall,

Samantha Massaglia

At-Large

Celena Plesha

Yvette Trotman, At-Large

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Louis Porter II

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Expanding STEM to STEAM During the 2013-14 school year, the COMPAS Arts Education program received an Arts Learning grant from the Minnesota State Arts Board (thanks to Legacy Amendment funds) to undertake a set of eight projects that would use the arts to connect to STEM portions of school curricula. STEM (which stands for Science, Technology, Engineering and Math) is the latest wave of school reform, though many observers believe the spelling needs a slight improvement: Doesn’t STEAM look better? The “A” in STEAM stands for the arts, and we believe that the arts are both essential for effective learning and an integral part of skill-development for future career opportunities. As we developed these STEM projects, we tried to ensure that COMPAS artists would be working with as many different types of students as possible. We did activities in elementary schools, middle schools and high schools. Our artists worked in the core cities of Minneapolis and Saint Paul, as well as first and second-ring suburbs, and locations on the Iron Range and in Central Minnesota. We did projects in all seasons (and some of the outdoor aspects were challenging!), with veteran and with novice teachers, utilizing a wide variety of art forms. Two of the sites incorporated writing, and submitted work that is featured in this Anthology.

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Here, briefly, are the STEM projects in a nutshell:

But STEM, and Arts Learning grants, are bigger than all that. COMPAS also partnered with Rochester STEM Academy, which acquired its own Arts Learning grant and used it to bring in COMPAS Artist Frank Sentwali for a series of spoken word residencies that culminated in a show-stopping performance at the annual Rochester World Festival. No fewer than seven student pieces from Rochester STEM Academy are featured in this Anthology. Punch at the Wild Tornado

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The Lillian Wright Awards for Creative Writing These awards are intended to recognize the finest literary achievements among young writers in Minnesota. The Wright Awards are generously underwritten by the Lillian Wright and C. Emil Berglund Foundation. Award winners from Punch at the Wild Tornado will be formally honored at the December 2014 Publication Celebration. COMPAS is proud to honor the winners of the 21st annual Lillian Wright Awards for Creative Writing, given to the best examples of student writing featured in the 2013-14 COMPAS Arts Education anthology, Punch at the Wild Tornado. The winners are: BEST SONG, GRADES K-12: “Dig! Dig! Dig!” by Mrs. Etter’s Class, Grade 3, Lincoln Elementary School, Hibbing BEST POETRY, GRADES K-5: “Crimson,” by Ginger Thompson, Grade 5, Tanglen Elementary School, Hopkins BEST PROSE, GRADES K-5: “Pendrick and the Serum,” by Ethan Park, Grade 5, Bailey Elementary School, Woodbury BEST SPOKEN WORD PIECE, GRADES 6-8: “Be Proud,” by Sophia Rapacz, Grade 7, Anwatin Middle School, Minneapolis BEST SPOKEN WORD PIECE, GRADES 9-12: “I Am Not Those People,” by Sagal Abdi, Grade 10, Rochester STEM Academy, Rochester BEST PROSE OR POETRY, GRADES 6-12: “Behind the Lilacs,” by Kira Greenfield, Grade 8, Columbia Academy, Columbia Heights AWARDS JUDGE: Joyce Sidman has been teaching poetry in the schools as a COMPAS Artist Roster Writer since 1997, and participates in many national poetry events. Her numerous books for children and teens have won Newbery and Caldecott Honors, and in 2013, she received the NCTE Award for Excellence in Children’s Poetry.

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These activities were funded, in part, by the Minnesota State Arts Board through the arts and cultural heritage fund as appropriated by the Minnesota State Legislature with money from the Legacy Amendment vote of the people of Minnesota on November 4, 2008.

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