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Berlin

by David Rockower’s 2010/2011 6th grade class at Mount Nittany Middle School State College, Pennsylvania Lemont


© 2011 by David Rockower’s 2010/2011 6th Grade Class at Mount Nittany Middle School Proceeds from the sale of this book will be used to purchase books for libraries in the State College Area School District. Printed in the United States of America All rights reserved. This publication is protected by Copyright, and permission should be obtained from the publisher prior to any prohibited reproduction, storage in a retrieval system, or transmission in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or likewise. Published by Eifrig Publishing, PO Box 66, 701 Berry Street, Lemont, PA 16851, USA Knobelsdorffstr. 44, 14059 Berlin, Germany. For information regarding permission, write to: Rights and Permissions Department, Eifrig Publishing, LLC PO Box 66, 701 Berry Street, Lemont, PA 16851, USA. permissions@eifrigpublishing.com, +1-888-340-6543 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data David Rockower’s 2010/2011 6th Grade Class at Mount Nittany Middle School Poetry by Room 118 / by David Rockower’s 2010/2011 6th Grade Class at Mount Nittany Middle School, cover art by Amani Congleton p. cm.

ISBN 978-0-9795518-3-3 I. Amani Congleton cover ill. II. Title: Poetry by Room 118 15 14 13 12 2011 5 4 3 2 1 Printed on acid-free paper. ∞


This book is dedicated to: Mrs. Donghia, who may not be here now, but will always be in our hearts. We will always have our memories with her. Also to Mr. Rockower and Ms. Pricci, for supporting us throughout our poetry unit and helping us to make our writing better. We would also like to thank all of the parents of room 118 who came to listen to our poems. They are always there for us and motivate us to be the best we can be. Room 118


Our Morning Sun She shares her light with us in the morning The brightest and jolliest smile I know She sets a smile on our faces for the rest of the day She helps us grow and grow, and encourages us to make the right decisions until we know what’s right She teaches us how to exercise our bodies and our love for others We may not “get it” and she knows that, but this does not stop her from explaining it once more We know she is there because she makes us smile with her shining light She has taught us correctly, because we make our choices wisely We love to play and participate in sports At the end of each day she waves good-bye with her steady smile We know she is still with us She is our morning sun by Saede and Shelby

In 2011, the Centre County community and Mount Nittany Middle School lost a teacher, a mentor, and a friend. Beth Donghia left a lasting impact on the students she taught and the colleagues she worked with. We will always remember her radiant smile and love of teaching that she shared every day.


Poetry. Being a kid, the word brings up a knee-jerk reaction – yuck. Any other year, or maybe even at the beginning of this year, I would have rolled my eyes at anyone who tried to preach to me about poetry. But now, I would listen reverently. Because poetry has undergone a transformation this year. Well, at least, it has for me. Poetry has gone from “A is for Apples, B is for Baseball” to something unique that expresses your feelings, whether you like it or not. Now even poetry that rhymes, in my opinion, sounds cheesy. I promise that I’ll never write another “Roses are Red, Violets are Blue” card for my mom on Mother’s Day (which I’ve done for the past 6 or 7 years). Now I would write something much deeper in meaning and hope she doesn’t make me read it out loud to my whole family. Because no matter how much it embarrasses you, and trust me, I’ve been pretty embarrassed, poetry is good for the soul. Like laughter. Or chocolate. And I think that for this class in Room 118, poetry will never be the same again.

Casey Snyder, 6th Grader in Mr. Rockower’s Class


Trust

Vandana

Trust. What is trust? Trust is a delicate dove, a white rose. Trust is a silver chain with many links, a light glimmering through the darkness. Trust is difficult. Trust is giving away secrets, sharing things. Trust is using reliability, using faith. Trust is knowing someone out there loves you. Trust is difficult. Trust requires a little vulnerability, more than just a passing glance. Trust is leaning on another’s shoulder. Trust is difficult. Trust can’t be temporary, and it needs to be returned. Trust isn’t given by everyone to everyone else. Trust needs to be earned. Trust is difficult. Sometimes, trust means you will be disappointed. And that’s exactly what’s happened. You’ve plucked that beautiful rose, handled the dove far too aggressively. You’ve broken that chain, put out that light. Why have you told everyone my secrets, discarded my faith in you? You’ve broken our trust.


Thoughts Vandana

Pounding down, the rain makes my whole body feel cold. My toes squirm, burrowing into the sand standing on the open beach. Now it is twilight and I feel alone. I am standing alone. accompanied by the steadily increasing rain now pouring through the twilight, creating this piercing cold, soaking the beach, messing with the beautiful white sand. the now swirling sand creates a whirlpool, and I, alone, try to run up the beach try to escape the rain try to shake off the cold try to see through the foggy twilight I hate this blinding twilight. My feet don’t want to run through thick sand. My body is fighting the cold. Now, more than ever, I am alone. The misty rain coats the beach I imagine a beautiful beach without this steadily darkening twilight without the frozen rain with picture-perfect sand where I’m not alone exiling the cold Suddenly, away goes the cold, the sun shines on the beach I am no longer standing alone it is not a deep twilight that illuminates the perfect sand existing no longer is the rain


My Dad Aaron He is more than just a hand to hold He is more than just a bedtime story He is more than my mother’s husband He is more than just my sister’s dad He is more than just my dad He is my Hero!


The Ocean Aaron Looking down in the clear blue ocean seeing the sand in your hair the saltwater dripping down your face the scrapes on your face when the big wave hit you you see a grin peeking out of your mouth then a smile and on the other side of your face you have a sunburn where your hand streaked sunscreen on you start to see ripples in the ocean getting bigger and bigger I you finally look up I see myself yet again but blurry then I get closer and closer to myself but I eventually got too close to myself and I was underwater in moments... and knocked down by the biggest wave I’ve ever seen


What Really is Poetry? Caleb What really is Poetry? It is the infinite emotions, the masterpiece with true colors, the fire that never dies down, the jet that never ends its flight, the car that never runs out of gas. Poetry is in the wind, up in the sky, deep down in the water, and deep into your heart. Poetry is that one special or strange memory, that idea you cannot get out of your head, that goal that you just could not accomplish. Poetry is forever. Poetry is whatever you make of it, the cure to your depression, the water that puts out the raging fire, the things that cheer you up. It is the thoughts you have squirming to break loose. The things that want to be part of more than just your thoughts. Poetry can be, mean or lead to anything you can imagine.


I’ve made It Caleb Here it comes at great speed. I underestimated his ability as a pitcher. I can feel my heart beating hard, as a drop of sweat flows down my neck. I ignore the cries from the crowd, they will only bother me. No longer will people see me as the worst at batting. Now that’s over. Of all people, I will not let this particular pitcher strike me out. I focus on nothing but the ball, pull the orange and black metal bat back, and swing it forward with surprising force. I was worried I’d hear the bat swinging through wind, but I hear a loud THWACK! The vibration from the contact surges through my arms as I drop the bat and sprint for first. The ball brutally punches the emerald-green grass as the shortstop grabs for it, caught off guard that I actually hit the ball. He swoops it up, and without aim, chucks the ball to first base. I start a up a dust storm for ants as I stare at the base. I will make it, I know it, or will the first basemen catch it first? I go at full speed and step onto the base, and notice the ball over by third because now they are trying to get the runner at third out, so I dash for second, hearing the roar of a now uplifted crowd. It’s going to be close. Without the diversion, I would not have made it this close at all. The pitcher throws the ball to the shortstop, shortstop turns, and can only watch as he reaches only inches away from getting me out, as I slide victoriously into second base. I’ve made it. Now we have scored, and thanks to me, our team won one of our biggest games that season. I have finally shown what I can really do, that I am capable of anything. It was the greatest I had ever felt in my baseball career, if it had only been true, and not just what I hoped would happen that day, which in reality was the total opposite.


The Waves Shelby I watch them go up to down The waves are like huge giants slapping the poor white sand The waves are the same color as the sky The waves give me a huge push to the island I call my paradise when I am on my boogie board The waves ruin the sand castle that I worked on since the morning “stupid waves” I scream out to nowhere The waves make a sound like no other sound I have ever heard The waves bring treasures such as sharks teeth and take things that aren’t theirs Like little boys do Those waves


Worst Day Ever Shelby What the heck Today I had the worst day I got a zero out of eight in tec. ed. My friend through a jump rope at me And guess what the wooden handle that was the part that hit me fell out of a tree and landed on a hand No one talked to me today I found 20 bucks And my stupid sister took it My cat Duda bit me on the leg Cause he was hungry F.Y.I. he is fat I lost my Ipod touch And my friend told all my friends my deepest Darkest secret that..... I love Elmo :�(


Writer’s Block Andrew I have no idea what to write. I have writer’s block. And by that, I don’t mean a block that belongs to a writer. Some people might interpret it that way. That’s why I am explaining this to you. In case you are one of those people. Hopefully by the time I finish this poem, I will be free of the my writer’s block. And by that I don’t mean the block that belongs to a writer. Some people might interpret it that way. That’s why I am explaining this to you. In case you are one of those people. But not many people do interpret it that way. But some people might interpret it that way. That’s why I am explaining this to you. In case you are one of those people. I think my block is getting smaller. And I don’t mean cutting my block that belongs to a writer. But some people might interpret it that way. That’s why I am explaining this to you. In case you are one of those people. Now my writer’s block is gone, And by that I don’t mean the block that belongs to a writer. Some people might interpret it that way. That’s why I am explaining this to you. In case you are one of those people. Now Ideas pop into my head Like a river flowing into a pond Now that I am free of my writer’s block And by that I don’t mean the block that belongs to a writer. Some people might interpret it that way. That’s why I am explaining this to you. In case you are one of those people.


The World Andrew The world has become what it is now By what we have decided What we control And what we don’t. What choices we make And how it affects others. What we do To help others Or do nothing at all We have a say in our destiny The question is What will we do about it?


Lazy Nathaniel The words come out of my mother’s mouth, “Lazy”. It’s not that I’m lazy there’s just nothing to do. All I can think of doing is sitting here to channel my inner couch potato. At least I found something to do. I can think of why I’m not lazy.


Sunbathing at night Nathaniel Fish swim through the stream by my house. Unaware they will be sunbathing tonight.


Six More Weeks Taylor He thinks he’s so special coming out once a year he acts like he doesn’t like the attention but i know that he does he waits for the day when all will come back to hear all he says without any words who cares what he says its all fibs he tells us the spring is almost here but then it start to snow he waits for the day that comes once a year when he can trick us dumb humans he sleeps in his hole dreaming of that day to get all our hopes up then we get a delay the snow turns to ice then school is at risk he laughs at us with all we think he can do he is a big fat liar i can just see him down in his hole laughing at the world for believing his story


Crunch Crunch Taylor Crunch crunch under my feet the sound of leaves crumbling crunch crunch i am walking in the woods my sister by side my parents behind me we listen listen to the wind the trees we walk through the woods to the hill we sit sit there right next to each other watching the sun set then we walk back through the woods we walk in the moon light the moon reflecting off the creek crunch crunch we are back in the leaves crunch crunch we are home


This Cat Vincenzo this cat is cat a cat way cat to cat keep cat somebody cat busy cat for cat a cat minute cat Now read it without the word cat.


The Hit Vincenzo You see the pitcher winding up I still have some fear in me I get into my stance the ball finally comes out of the pitchers hand I see it is a low fastball just where I like them I finally swing I hear the nice sound when the metal hits the ball It gets hit hard but I knew it was going far When I round first I see the outfielder backing up I think “could it be� Then about five seconds later I hear everybody cheering then at that point I knew It finally happened


Jimmer Adam when I here the name I think swoosh swoosh swoosh I think about the word range then the two words together Jimmer Range or equivalent to that from the ribbon!!! Jimmer I think lay ups or Micheal Jordan but most of all I think Ferdette


Pwease Adam Pwease cwan I have shom shoda today mommy shtop acting wike I’m shtill tree now I’m fwour show shtart acting wike it I shwould be able to dwink shome shoda I mwean it’s shwadaday so just gwive me shome shoda you know wat if you don’t just gwive me a shwig of shoda I’m gwonna wun away gosh I fweel wike I’m talkin to a bwick wall hear pway attention dats it I’m wunnin away! bye bye mommy (1 minute later) mommy I’m show shorry (moaning) I neva do dat again


Tall is better & Short is better Adam & David D: I’m tall A: I’m short D: How’s the weather down there? A: Forecast says it cloudy with a chance of David’s sweat Tall is better & Short is better (at same time) D: Wow, what’s the view like from below? A: I can see everything I need to, without bumping my head on the door frame D: I beat short kids in basketball A: I beat tall kids in wrestling D: I dunk right over kids like you Tall is better & Short is better (at same time) A: I can fit into small spaces D: I can ride all of the rides at Hershey Park A: I can hide from my brother under the kitchen sink


D: Well I can reach the cookies on top of the fridge A: I wear a pair of 4’s in kid shoes D: I wear a pair of 11’s in men’s Tall is better & short is better A: I make tall people look good D: I make short people look good A: I drink frappes and I don’t care what they say D: I drink frappes and I don’t have to care Tall is better & Short is better A: I am 4 foot 9 D : I am 5 foot 7 A : I weigh 75 pounds D : I weigh 125 pounds Tall is better & Short is better


My four Wheeler Liam The wind blowing in my face, the heat of my helmet, the dirt upchucking behind my four Wheeler and I, the flame of the ignition, some of my best adventures are on my four wheeler, I will sell it, some one else will have it, but It’ll keep the memories I had on it, I’ll miss my four wheeler, but Some time I’ll forget about it.


I hate Rain Liam rain I hate the rain well it does have ups too like cooling off a hot road but when it’s raining in the summer you can’t go swimming because well you might die from static shock so you would have to get out but there’s still fun in the summer even when it’s raining and by any chance it might be warm rain so you can still play in the sun


Hit: A Poem About Baseball Saede Torn Strings pulled Hit Snagged Friend stolen Hit Scratched and messed with You can only look the worst, but, Inside, You’re smooth, untouched Clean, and free from the hurt Nobody can come near Nothing can hurt you One last hit It’s over, that’s what it feels like You won, but are lost You got Hit I’m coming, after your heart has left You have an open wound Can’t fix it, can’t find your heart The kid is missing you, wants you to be there and hit you again You’re cold and empty Your memories are there in front of you, but you can’t return I see you now, forgotten and lost Now I’ll tell you my story, and give you a new one You won’t forget ‘em, just remember and move on, The kid’s first, and your last Hit


Empty Saede The sun is shining on your snowy lawn, but it’s dark New people live there, but it’s empty They shovel the driveway when there’s snow, and plant a few flowers when it’s warm, but all is covered They have moved everything in, but something is missing I can see them in the window, but the house is dead, blank, and empty Your fence, your swing, your house, all there, but something is missing They paint your house inside and out, and fix your garden, but it’s white and run down Your tree with the steps is still standing, but something is always missing The only one that can bring the colors back, pick the house back up, and bring the house back to life, is you Your shadows run across the lawn and through your house, but you’re not there Your fence, your bamboo, your garden, your bush, your house, your room, your tree, your neighbors, and your friends like me are calling, and will never stop Your home is calling, where we need you, Just listen, and remember what you love Think about The emptiness that you have left behind Your tree, your house, and me But worst of all, my heart is empty, I need you here with me I will never forget about you I hope you don’t forget me


Soldier Amani As i lay on the cold ground i witness crimson blood trickle down my brother’s head i looked into his glass looking eyes and saw fear i remember we would sleep on the same cot because there would be a monster in his i played pranks on him and he would play pranks on me i remember when my mother said to look after him and i remember i said i would *boom* *boom* *boom* the sound of gun shots still linger gun smoke fills the lungs of the survivors wounded men cry out for their loved ones as their life hangs by a thread mother father brother sister one single tear trickles down my face i decide to let go


This is the best poem ever Amani this is the best poem i ever wrote hopefully the first line will give you a clue in this poem there will be some random things so don’t think this is too silly i hope you won’t think i’m being too silly so just sit back and relax this is the best poem i ever wrote hopefully the first line will give you a clue especially the first line of the third stanza but the real message is hidden between the lines especially the first line of the third stanza so i hope you know what i’m trying to say the message is very obvious people you should look at this poem carefully oh my gosh, look especially the first line of the third stanza maybe i just gave it away especially the first line of the third stanza very well then i hope you figured out the message especially the first line of the third stanza remember the first line of the third stanza now except for this stanza the first letter of every line and you’ll discover the important message


TJ Caylan The paint is chipped There aren’t any seat belts in the back row The door looks like it’s about to fall off It’s the best car in the world To me it’s worth more than any sports car Even when it sits in the back of the garage Forgotten Until the summer When the light blue paint shines in the sun Brighter than any other car on the road Going on for miles and miles And nothing can stop us


My Trampoline Caylan You sat there in the neighbor’s backyard They didn’t want you anymore I did Mom didn’t think you were worth as much as you are I was sure she was wrong Begging Pleading Hoping And sometimes you sit there alone You almost look sad But I can tell that you were once happy Before you were forgotten I feel badly when I look at you With holes in your net eaten away by carpenter ants Slowly you are dying it seems It makes me think that she was right How did the novelty wear off so fast? You were the one thing I wanted that summer Now I know how she felt “What’s so great about a trampoline?” Lacey would always say I thought she was crazy or something I loved you more than she did And you weren’t even mine Days and nights spent the same way Alone So I played with you You look happier today


Bus Stop Mariana 7:49 She’s late. I make the effort of dragging my butt out to the lonely, freezing dessert half asleep and how does she repay me? She doesn’t come 7:52 Ugh, this is frustrating. Now we’re three minutes late, we won’t make it in time, and I bet I’ll have to share a seat with someone Seconds pass with the road dead silent The few cars that drive by are torture The seem to say, “Haha, I don’t have to go to school like you do” I hate those cars, but still adore them for being my last hope “Take me with you,” I beg “Save me from the pain I’ll face today in school” “Take me with you!” But they don’t hear me. They simply drive along the lonely road 7:55 Being late doesn’t bother me anymore, what now bothers me is going to school I have music, which I don’t like Tech Ed, which I suck at Lunch, which I might get bullied at And Math, which is frustrating 7:58 That is it! I will run away right now if that bus doesn’t come Wait. . . I hear a motor Oh, no I don’t want to go to school I don’t want to divide fractions I don’t want to build a rocket I don’t want to play the dolcomer I can see something yellow around the corner Do I run? Do I hide? Do I recite Shakespear and then drop to the pretending I just had a heart attack? Or should I just get this day over with? Oh no, the doors are opening... “Hey kids, sorry I’m late,” she says with a smile “It’s okay,” I mumble So I simply fake a smile and shut my mouth


I didn’t like poetry Mariana I didn’t like poetry I hated it My teachers always introduced it to me as something that had to be precise And I did not like that I am sick and tired of my parents telling me to tell the truth, my math teacher telling me the “right way” to do a multiplication problem And I am tired of people telling me how to live my life But...poetry isn’t like that Surprisingly, it’s everything but that In poems, you enter a brand new world It’s a world were words are the things you love it’s your world There’s no one there telling you its wrong there’s no one there to tell you it’s dumb It’s a world were you can be the person you like to be If you try and make poetry something you get credit it on, your missing all the fun I may write a poem that makes me cry with excitement and sing out loud with joy And...maybe the audience will hate it But I didn’t It made me happy It is the one thing that I can do by myself It’s my perfect world.


Truth Sofi In your hands you hold truth, A delicate bird, fluttering, whispering in a foreign tongue, telling of stories and sadness, you can’t understand you are asked a question, you don’t want to tell so you twist truth, you snap truth’s delicate body between your fingers, you see the broken body, crimson blood drips at your feet, no regret, silence, you lied to me.


The Moon and the Stars Sofi have you ever seen the moon so bright? the stars so full of light and so many of them? do you remember when they were perfect just like us? no, you don’t, because they never were


Outer Banks Emma I love going to the Outer Banks every year I love the smell of the water And the cold breeze I love the hot sand under my feet And I love spending time with my family


Waiting Emma I can’t wait to get home I can’t wait until the bell rings Wait! The clock just stopped Never mind I think it just wants to annoy me But too bad I can wait. . . Maybe


Poetry Flu Shots Casey Poetry is what I thought I knew And I thought I was good at I thought wrong Poetry is like the flu It sneaks up on you You catch it And BAM! You’ve got a good poem Some people get it more than others It’s just the way things are But some people choose to get their flu shots And shut poetry out of their lives And it won’t come back That’s sad Because those people that scoff at poetry Or laugh behind the teachers back Roll their eyes at having to write from their hearts Just chose to get their flu shots And shut poetry out of their lives Forever


Lost in a book Casey I realize that you all think I’m ignoring you But when I’m reading a book Not just any book But a good book I’m totally immersed I’ve missed lots of conversations Somehow, my brain learned how to say “Uh huh,” “Yep!”, or “I heard you, mom. I’ll do it later.” Without me realizing When I’m reading a book I can’t seem to remember things It causes a lot of arguments When my mom gets mad Because she told me to clean my room Six weeks ago But she didn’t say that! I swear! Or maybe I was just lost in a book


The Sounds LaDonna I hear my friends talking. I say shh listen to the sounds. We are quite. I hear the creek flowing. It is the only thing we hear. I hear the trees move in the wind. It is nice. Now we hear everything in nature. It was peaceful until one on my friends sneezed.


Cat LaDonna You sit and watch. You run away right up a tree. You’re smart you climb down. You jump right on my bed and wake me up. I pet you until you fall asleep. You purr. I fall asleep after you do. Cat.


poetry Noah a part of our imagination waiting to be let loose trapped until now now when we can set it free


The Catch Noah As the ball leaves the quarterbacks hand, I automatically know it is coming to me the free safety is right on my tail there is no possible way to stop him my route comes to an end and the ball is in reach I dive the ball barely touches my finger tips just enough to have one last chance at it at the same time concentration the safeties strong arms rap around my ankles still concentration the ball is above me my body hits the ground with a thud my hands flail out to cushion my fall the safeties arm covers my vision still concentration the ball bounces off of my strong shoulder pads I reach up and grab it seconds before the safety could


Penguins Stone Little flightless birds shoot through the water as fast as they can, they avoid other sea animals such as killer whales and sea lions they are scavengers hunting for fish but some are not as lucky as others so they are forced to share but at the end of the day they all feel happy and they get ready for what the next day has to throw at them.


bedroom Stone as i walk into my bedroom i can’t believe my eyes it looks like a war zone the socks are on the floor along with the rest of my clothes it is impossible to walk threw so i guess i should clean it so i through my stuff into the closet WAIT now it looks even worse it is CLEAN now i remember why i never cleaned it oh whatever i am going to bed


Flames DJ Flames, Flames burn you Flames keep you warm Flames are every were Flames are fun Flames are not a toy


rain DJ It rains hard as i hear a roar and then a crack i run home as the light hits close every time i am lost in the rain and thunder as i run everywhere i just cant find my house what do i do i got it shout wait but no one will hear me what am i thinking its just unfair i will die out here i hear my name being called i try to find it my mom shouts i follow i see it i run i see it yes i run i trip then i get up my mom finds me she comes out yes i was found


Flowing With Pride Chloe I watch you You run along side me Second guessing If my currents are too strong You are covered in mud And smell Of freshly made Dung You are dying of thirst But you keep running Never stopping to take a breath Or to consider me as Your reviver Your lungs need me Finally You decide my currents Are no longer as strong as you thought You weave through my skirts Your scent becoming One more secret of mine And I will keep Until you reach Those Pennsylvania States until you reach And until you truly become Free


Running For My Freedom Chloe Run in the night Sleep during the day Hide in homes Called safe houses Cover up my scent With mud and dung Trying to erase My human scent So the dogs Can’t sniff me out Running Legs keeping a steady Rhythm Heart pounding uncontrollably in my chest water I need water Water to drink and Water to wade through Water, will you please Take my scent with you? When you go down stream To the next town But hide it so no one Can see it Keep it hidden Until I reach freedom


Message Katherine It means so much that message you sent us through the peepers that make that wonderful sound He said it was you I believe him That sound never meant as much as it does now Now that we know you sent them


There Are No Limits Katherine The pencil scratches the paper hurrying writing Writing the poems that come from the heart time is short but seems to never end writing poems I get an idea that comes from everyday life that comes from friends That comes from you My grandparent’s house where we have all been through a lot my room where that little doll sits in the corner with her blue jumper and beanie hat In my clubhouse that will never be finished From the hike to the mountain top where the view is priceless and so is the family From my imagination where there are no limits


Smokey Da Bear David Whys there a fire over in the woods Hey it says SMOKEY DA BEAR Here comes Smokey out of the woods I don’t think Smokey’s all right today


Perfect Chloe and Saede Chloe

Saede

I walk into a book store

A candy store The shelves packed The jars are filled The sweet smell The sweet smell Of my favorite kind I search for the right one I search for the right one I’ve got it Uhm yummy I lick my fingers I lick my fingers To turn the pages To catch the taste It looks good It tastes good I know what I am getting I know what I am getting A book A candy I start it I try it So juicy And sweet I take a break but can’t stop The candy shrinks The plot thickens It’s getting better and better like It’s getting overwhelming with the Magic Magic It melts And ties together It’s just It’s just Absolutely super duper perfect Absolutely super duper perfect


The Beach Jacob I run through the door and out to the ocean I run through the blazing sand that wedges beneath my toes I run through the water, through the hundreds of jellyfish and straight in to a wave


Last Chance Jacob

I get up off of my seat and walk to the two people I get up on the block and wait for the cue Then without a thought I am off I fling myself as far as I can shooting into the ice cold water Bubbles surrounding the water as I dart to the surface I hit the surface and fling my arms up out of the water going as fast as I can It feels like 5 seconds before I reach the wall for my turn I take a deep breath and transform myself into a flipping ball

When my feet hit the wall I fly into a stream line I repeat what I just did to find myself at the finish in no time. I look up and see district time


For eight years, I thought I was teaching poetry. In reality, I was teaching students the various forms of poetry: Haiku, Limerick, Cinquain. We had fun, but for the most part, the poetry was further words, thoughts, musings... routine, flat, heartless. About four years ago, I discovered free verse poetry. I let go of form and helped guide students to write about their dreams, fears, passions, and questions. And just like that, poetry became my favorite unit to teach. Not only did students produce vivid, honest writing, but it helped strengthen our community. We learned that the classroom was a safe place to write about whatever was on our minds. We learned to listen and we found out more about one another. Poetry can lead to self-discovery, and year after year, I’m amazed at what the kids produce. As one student said, poetry really is Wonder Ink. David Rockower

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Poetry by Room 118  

David Rockower's 2010/2011 6th grade class poetry