Wordplay 2008

Just Buffalo gratefully acknowledges the funding support essential to making our Writers in Education programs and this publication possible:

JPMorgan Chase

Buffalo Board of Education Cameron Baird Foundation Conable Family Foundation Peter C. Cornell Trust Western New York Assembly Delegation

This book is an anthology of creative writing by student participants in Just Buffalo Literary Center’s Writers in Education programs.

Volume XV • Wordplay is a publication of Just Buffalo Literary Center Cover art: Lori Desormeaux • Page design: Julian Montague

Heartfelt thanks and congratulations to the teachers, principals, parents and, most especially, the students who contributed to Just Buffalo’s successful education programs in the 2007-08 school year:

Welcome to Wordplay Welcome to Wordplay 2008, Just Buffalo’s annual publication of the most outstanding student work produced during our Writers in Education programs.

Each year, Just Buffalo’s writers work with over 20 schools across Western New York—public, private, parochial, rural and suburban—engaging more than 2000 students in creative writing, reading, listening and speaking to support academic achievement and active engagement in the literary arts.

Just Buffalo is privileged to work with dedicated teachers and principals who are willing to open their classrooms to collaborative work with teaching artists. They understand that each student in their care learns differently and that the making of literary art truly engages students who might otherwise be disconnected from classroom learning. Too often the pressure of high-stakes testing crowds out the vital connections that creative writing inspires in students. Just Buffalo’s Wordplay demonstrates that when teachers and writers work together, students embrace the challenge to be creative, thoughtful, and unique in their expressions.

Wordplay not only is an inspiration for young writers whose work may be published for the first time and for those yet to be published but also for teachers as a vibrant resource to be used in every classroom. So, too, parents, principals, and schools can join in the excitement of seeing the concrete results inspired by bringing literary artists into the classroom. Most importantly, Wordplay offers us the opportunity to celebrate the talents of the next generation and the power of the written word in our lives.

Wordplay could not have been produced without the support and assistance of the Buffalo Teacher Resource Center and its Advisory Board, the Buffalo Board of Education, and the Arts in Education program of the New York State Council for the Arts.

Finally, it is with deepest thanks that we acknowledge Just Buffalo’s Writers Corps, those dedicated writers who breathe life into each school residency. It is through their efforts and talents that so many young people are inspired to find their own words and voices.

Laurie Dean Torrell Barbara Cole Executive Director Education Director

Akron Elementary School Buffalo Academy for Visual and Performing Arts, P.S. 192 Catholic Academy of West Buffalo Como Park Elementary School Leonardo DaVinci High School, P.S. 212 East Aurora High School East High School, P.S. 307 Emerson School of Hospitality, P.S. 302 Global Concepts Charter School Holy Angels Academy Houghton Academy, P.S. 69 Hutchinson Central Technical High School, P.S. 304 Dr. Lydia T. Wright School of Excellence, P.S. 89 Stanley M. Makowski Early Childhood Center, P.S. 99 McKinley High School, P.S. 305 Middle Early College High School, P.S. 415 Mt. St. Joseph Academy Our Lady of Mt. Carmel South Park High School, P.S. 206 St. Mark Elementary School Tapestry High School Western New York Maritime Charter School Special thanks to Just Buffalo’s Empire State Partner Schools: Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 56 Principal: Michael Gruber Host Teachers: John Blain, Maureen Castellani, Donna Duggan, Sarah Fiorella, Jim Fredo, Kim Minor, Sara Rodland Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 64 Principal: Michael Gruber Host Teachers: Carolyn Flynn, Liz Lonergan, Karen Lucas, Pat Postula, Denise Ott, Cynthia Roberts, Melanie Slisz as well as Highgate Heights, P.S. 80, our collaborative partner with CEPA Gallery Principal: Gayle Irving-White Host Teachers: Kathleen Lyons, Jennifer Arcuri, Jennifer Berg, Corey Kick

Just Buffalo is proud to partner with: Albright-Knox Art Gallery Big Orbit Gallery CAPC (Coalition of Arts Providers for Children) CEPA Gallery MUSE (Musicians United for Superior Education) Parkside Community Association Just Buffalo Literary Center is a member-supported non-profit organization. Our members play a crucial role in Just Buffalo’s success and are greatly appreciated for their support. For more information about any of our programs or to become a member, please visit our website www.justbuffalo.org or call 716-832-5400.

JUST BUFFALO Wordplay VOLUME XV•2008 Editor Barbara Cole Cover Art: “Wordplay” Lori Desormeaux generously donated by the artist Page Design Julian Montague Manuscript Preparation Chelsea Bath Writing with Light Insert Selected in consultation with Karen Lewis, Amy Meza Luraschi, Lauren Tent, and Mike Kelleher.

Formatted by Amy Meza Luraschi at CEPA Gallery.

Just Buffalo Administration Executive Director Laurie Dean Torrell Artistic Director Mike Kelleher Education Director Barbara Cole Development Associate Elizabeth Lyman Administrative Assistant Lynda Kaszubski Receptionist Hallie Winter Accountant Kris Pope Interns Chelsea Bath Emily O’Leary

www.justbuffalo.org

The Path to Change

Silver Dreams Noon to midnight That’s all I see Nightmares scare me I see a train The train looks like a dragon to me the moon the light Makes the train as fast as a cheetah In the distance A faint glow Like a canyon set a glow All I can say is Starlight moonlight float with me

Change is a long path It can be peaceful as a bird Or loud as a lion.

It also can be hard To change or change back.

A path can be long As a river, a hall, A driveway, a street Or a pond.

Change can be changed Such as a tree Changing colors every year.

The path of change.

Freddi Krehbiel

Christopher Peete

Grade 4 Frederick Law Olmsted School #64

Grade 5 Highgate Heights

I Shall I shall stand When the war Has started I shall stand When the war ends I shall stand When a generation ends I shall stand when A new generation Has begun I shall be the flower Of peace I shall stand When the cold Weather has started And when the wind Is blowing me But I shall be The flower of peace And respect

Waiting He was in the school gym and he knew it was only a game that they had lost, yet he refused to take it that way.

That Night he did something that he would regret for the rest of his life. The sirens were racing down the street and he just sat there, waiting and waiting.

Mariatu Baker Grade 6 Frederick Law Olmsted School #56

Ashley Budhu Grade 8 Highgate Heights

Change is a free bird and a fun play house And a round tunnel on a summer day Change is a roof, and car with snow on it Like a newborn sky with lots of snow Like a snowflake in the breeze Change is like a footstep in the snow Change is like the hot sun with melted snow Turning into water change is like a building With black and brown snow on it Change is like twenty-eight windows With the sun’s sky staring right upon it Change is like a newborn baby Crying in the hospital

Joe Davis Grade 5 Highgate Heights

Mr. Gruber You guided me Provided for me concerned When I became an Outcast Left with nothing Bad grades in school No home to go to No where to go Hit bottom Left on the rock But you never looked Down on me You kept my hopes Up You respected, provided Encouraged, guided Me Didn’t let me die In a snow Of

Delenci Brown Grade 6 Frederick Law Olmsted School #56

Failure

Filled with Respect Respect is a quiet click of a camera This picture captures a thousand words Words of trust and love That shines through the eyes The eyes of two people But loneliness and discomfort With eyes that stare pierce They lie behind backs of Disrespect Take the hands of the helpless Guide them and help them Be unlike the others who stand selfish Take someone and hold them

Kaitlyn Abel Grade 4 Frederick Law Olmsted School #64

Claire Schroeder Grade 6 Frederick Law Olmsted School #56

Because with respect we step forward We raise each other

MEET THE Writers Corps Karima Amin is a native of Buffalo, NY, who strives to preserve the art of storytelling in performances, workshops, and author visits for story lovers of all ages. From 1994-2005, her storytelling was a regular feature on WBLK-FM (93.7). In 2002, Karima was invited to share her stories in Senegal, West Africa. The author of a children’s book, The Adventures of Brer Rabbit and Friends (Dorling Kindersley, 1999), as well as several original stories which have been anthologized in African American Children’s Stories: A Treasury of Tradition and Pride (2001) and Grandma Loves You (2003), she also has produced several recordings of her retellings of traditional fables and folktales. Her CD, You Can Say That Again! (2004), earned a Parents’ Choice Foundation Gold Award in 2005. “Knowing that every culture has its stories, I believe that storytelling is a perfect medium for teaching about the customs, traditions, and history of a people…. listeners come to know that we are united by common human experiences in spite of our differences.”

Sally Bittner Bonn is a poet, performer and teacher from Rochester, NY, who has enjoyed working with children in creative and academic environments for the last twelve years. Holding a B.F.A. in Theatre from Syracuse University, Sally has been featured at poetry readings in the Rochester area and throughout southern California as well as at the 2001 National Poetry Slam in Seattle. The most recent of her two chapbooks, Walking Woman, has been included in several anthologies. “It is my hope and intention to create a pandemic of joy. Joy for language and joy for the sense of community that comes from collaborating.

Children need to learn to love language, their own language, and find the power of using their own voices.”

Robin F. Brox is a poet and educator currently living on the west side of Buffalo, NY. She earned an M.A. in English from The University of Maine—Orono in 2005 and a B.A. in English from SUNY—Buffalo in 2001.

The founder of Saucebox, a collective of women artists, Brox has produced the group’s audio and print anthologies in addition to printing handmade chapbooks and broadsides under the Saucebox imprint. She first began performing at local open mics at age sixteen, and continues to write and read her work while teaching for Just Buffalo Literary Center, Young Audiences of WNY, and as a freelance artist. “I believe that language exists inside our minds and outside our selves, as part of an ongoing conversation, across time, culture, and geography. The world we encounter provides us the raw material, but language is the tool with which we carve poetry.”

Recently named the new Education Director of Just Buffalo, Barbara Cole has been a teaching artist since 2004. Barbara holds an M.A. in Poetry from Temple University and her Ph.D. in English with a specialization in Poetics from the University at Buffalo. Since 2000, she has been writing the ongoing project, situ ation come dies. The first chapbook-length section of this long work was published in 2002 by Handwritten Press and additional installments include, from foxy moron, (/ubu editions, 2004) and ear say (Belladonna Books, 2008). Most recently, Cole edited Poets at Play: An Anthology of Modernist Drama with Sarah Bay-Cheng.

“My pedagogy is fundamentally grounded in reciprocity: treat students with respect and they will reciprocate. This philosophy applies as well to my relationship to language. I believe in treating words with respect and hope, above all, for my students to understand that words have power and, so too, we have power in our words.”

Jerome Joseph Gentes is a Lakota-Gros Ventre American Indian. He received his B. A. in English from the University of California, Berkeley, and his M.F.A. in Writing from Columbia University. Jerome is a regular contributor to Publishers Weekly and serves on the board of the Lockport City Ballet. He is currently on the faculty of the English Department at Niagara University and is the Program Director for the Spencer Workshops at the Chautauqua Institution. “Whether the specific medium is dance, music, painting, film, writing or storytelling, art enhances and often facilitates human communication…. Art speaks because artists learn and teach their art how to speak; but, the capacity for ordinary human communication often strikes me as equally profound, as its own kind of mystery and power, science and art.”

Karen Lewis is lead Teaching Artist for Just Buffalo Literary Center and a contributing editor (literature and poetry) for award-winning Traffic East magazine. A fellow of the Banff Centre’s Wired Writing Studio, an internationally-recognized arts and educational institution in Banff, Alberta, Karen also teaches adult writing workshops. Her mentor, Don Domanski, received Canada’s 2008 Governor General’s Award for Poetry.

In 2007, Karen’s innovative “Picturing Poetry” project at Native American Magnet School (with CEPA gallery teaching artist Amy Luraschi) was the subject of a documentary by filmmaker Jon Hand. “I encourage my students to think of themselves as artists. They discover a new sense of freedom in writing, a freedom to use their imagination, intellect and personality to their fullest extent…. Working with “Habits of Mind” traits helps to create a truly teachable classroom environment that models Aristotle… ‘We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act but a habit’.”

Liz Mariani is a local poet who believes spoken word, creative writing and any variation of the poetry performance will bridge communities and save her city. Her first chapbook, imaginary poems for my imaginary girlfriend named anabel, was published by sempreverdi press in 2008. Her website is www.lizmariani.com.

Currently, she is pursuing an MA in Global Gender Studies at the University at Buffalo.“My primary teaching goal as a poet, spoken word performer, curator and educator is to cultivate and improve the creative self-esteem of students, young and old.”

Laura Nathan received her M.F.A. in creative nonfiction from Bennington College. Her writing has appeared in numerous publications including The Writers’ Chronicle, Mother Jones, The Independent Film and Video Monthly, and the forthcoming anthology, Screwball Television: Gilmore Girls (Syracuse University Press).

Previously the Editor of INTHEFRAY Magazine, an online magazine concerning identity and community, Laura has taught students of all ages and backgrounds in Houston, Austin, New York, Chicago, and Buffalo.

She is currently working on a collection of personal essays about teaching. “I fell in love with writing in the third grade, thanks to my language arts teacher, Mrs. Maxwell…who represented what I think a teaching artist should be: someone who encourages students to write creatively, to ask countless questions, to think -- and write -- outside the box. Someone who facilitates a lifelong love for writing and literature and gives her students the confidence they’ll need every step of the way.”

Born and raised in Buffalo, N.Y., Pamela Plummer is the author of two volumes of poetry, Skin of My Palms (2004) and Meditation on Ironing Boards & Other Blues (1994). A social worker and educator for more than 20 years, Pamela is an alumnus of Lafayette High School, Cornell University, and SUNY Buffalo, with a Ph.D. in Health Education and Health Promotion from the University of Alabama at Birmingham. A recipient of the Hughes, Diop, Knight Poetry Award from the Gwendolyn Brooks Center for Black Literature and Creative Writing, her poems have been incorporated into theatre performances in Los Angeles and Atlanta. “One of the most powerful aspects of the written word is its ability to transform our perceptions. Poetry can awaken us to new ideas—it can be the mirror reflecting aspects of life previously unknown or unexamined…. The blank page is an incredible canvas on which we might laugh, cry, question—” Sherry Robbins is a poet, teaching artist, and free-lance writer. Since 1977, she has conducted creative writing workshops throughout New York State and abroad, working with hundreds of students each year. In addition to many publications in literary journals and anthologies, she has two books of poetry, Snapshots of Paradise and Or, the Whale. Arts-in-education consultant for the University of Coimbra in Portugal and for Portugal’s Belgais Center for the Study of Arts, Sherry was named the New York State Teaching Artist of the Year for 2005 by the Association of Teaching Artists. “The mechanics are easy. Hand students some basic tools for writing a poem… Give them individual attention and time to write. Listen to the results… There is something to celebrate in each piece of creative writing, and celebration encourages further creative exploration beyond the bounds of any given class or residency. Anything can happen.”

Gary Earl Ross is a professor at the University at Buffalo EOC and the award-winning author of more than 170 published short stories, poems, articles, scholarly papers, and public radio essays. His books and staged plays include The Wheel of Desire and Other Intimate Hauntings, Shimmerville: Tales Macabre and Curious, Sleepwalker: The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, the children’s tale Dots, and Matter of Intent (winner of the Edgar Award from the Mystery Writers of America). He has two plays in development, The Scavenger’s Daughter and Murder Squared, and his novel, Blackbird Rising, is currently under consideration. A member of the Dramatists Guild of America and the Mystery Writers of America, Ross was recently named playwright-in-residence at Ujima Company and was awarded a Constance Saltonstall Foundation Fellowship in Playwriting. “More than giving us a glimpse into another mind, stories connect the dots of being human and fill the chasm between cultures with the shared particulars of life.”

Siobhán Scarry holds an M.F.A. in Creative Writing and an M.A. in Literature from the University of Montana, and is currently pursuing her Ph.D. in English at the University at Buffalo with an emphasis on 20th century poetry and poetics. She has taught creative writing, composition, and literature at both the university and high school level. Her poetry and fiction have appeared in Mid-American Review, jubilat, Sentence: A Journal of Prose Poetics, and Greensboro Review, among other journals. Recent honors include a fellowship to the Djerassi Resident Artists Program and poems chosen as Editors’ Choice in the Fineline Competition for the Prose Poem (2003, 2004, and 2005). “Teaching writing is a natural extension of my work as a creative writer…. My classes are at once laboratories where we study poems and their many forms, workshops where poetry gets “made,” and conversations in which student input is a vital part of the learning process.”

INDEX

Who am I?

Janae Adams: 34

Amadi Ikpeze: 13

Allyson Sciortino: 20

Jeremy Adams: 32

Lucas Jachimiak: 8

Tionna Spidell: 15

Elias Alkebulan: 18

Timothy Jackson: 36

Jackson Standard: 28

Zaina Alsadam: 32

Ryan James: 33

Jada Alston: 21

My Soul

My Name

My soul is like a

My name,

blue cloud in the

It is soft,

Alexis Stover: 19

morning.

But yet empowering.

Scott Jarvis: 7

Amanda Strobele: 30

My soul is

I am a rhapsody of sound,

Ashley Andrews: 36

Hee Jin Kim: 8

Chris Tocha: 34

light as a feather

I am a pumping heart,

Hank Balling: 26

Madeleine Lynch-Johnt: 10

Daniel Truitt: 9

on a tree of wisdom.

Ready to explode.

Asia Battle: 10

Mark Mathews: 14

Joshua Valeri: 32

My soul and my

It reminds me of love, passion,

Paige Beale: 26

Melissa Ann Mazurek: 23

Brigitte Vossler: 14

Justine Bidell: 14

James McAleer: 20

Mark Wallace: 10

Michael Campbell: 27

Damona McCreary: 24

Moët C. Watson: 7

Como Park Kindergarten Class: 9

Catherine McDaniel: 36

Emmanuel Williams: 24

Darnesha Coward: 16

Morgan McDaniel: 24

Madison Winkler: 12

Samantha Craddock: 34

Sean McGrath: 14

Madison Wojtanik: 34

Sierra Dilbert: 35

Mercedes McMahon: 11

Chardany Young: 27

Matthew Dillon: 13

Shanise McPhatter: 27

Nicole Zambito: 15

Aujajuan Donalson: 21

Julia Merrill: 36

Ashley Ann Zielinski: 15

Mary Douglas: 22

Allison Monaco: 35

Treefa Fadhil: 25

Antonio Montanez: 22

Writing With Light Insert

The rivers flowing wide over the horizon.

Like a smooth edge.

Deanna Morales: 20

Kaitlyn Abel

The extraordinary stars fade to yellow

I am soft spoken,

Janlonna Faulkner: 9

Jasmine Morgan: 31

Mariatu Baker

as the sun peaks through the darkness.

Although my name says otherwise.

Ashley Felber: 13

Alyssa Niggel: 29

Delenci Brown

Water rushing toward the rocks,

I am furious,

Dante Feliciano: 16

David O’Sullivan: 8

Ashley Budhu

wind whistling through the trees,

Plus I’m fearless,

Amanda Figueroa: 30

Miguel Ortiz: 12

Joe Davis

Berries off the bush,

My name.

Darth Freeman: 30

Jean A. Pagan: 23

Freddi Krehbiel

Catherine Galbo: 13

David Penna: 17

Christopher Peete

Samantha Gascon: 18

Kate Quinn: 22

Claire Schroeder

Alexis Gray: 33

Alyssa Remsen: 11

Griffin Green: 23

Mrs. Ruth Robson: 19, 35

Amber Hall: 28

Wildelis Rosa: 12

Azrael Harrier: 7

Richard Roseboro, Jr.: 31

Orlando Hill: 20

Raymond I. Ross, III: 33

Miles Holliman: 17

Joelle Rosso: 24

Jessica Howard: 12

Joey Ruopoli: 26

Sara Hughes: 17

Kayleen Schill: 11

Nkiru Ifedigbo: 29

Rebecca Schroeder: 25

Jillian Farrell: 16

Reflections

spirit combine like a

fury, and energy.

river, and flow across

I am an electron,

like music to my ears.

Waiting to spark.

I am a mighty warrior,

Moët C. Watson

Although kind-hearted.

Grade 4 Stanley M. Makowski Early Childhood Center, P.S. 99

Getting ready to start fire.

My name is an explosion, My name is intelligent, Like a famous scholar.

I am a figure,

The Story of This Girl’s Life

Of light and darkness.

My name is soft,

fresh spring water flowing under my feet.

Pine burns vibrant in the open fire.

Lilies grow all around.

Scott Jarvis Grade 5 Our Lady of Mt. Carmel

The leaves as if they were silk on an infant’s face.

Kaitlyn Abel: 28

The water and I float away.

Monica Bonner: 15

The rush of excitement as it all fades to black.

Khala Carter: 18 Freddi Krehbeil: 33

Azrael Harrier

Claire Schroeder: 21

Grade 10 Emerson School of Hospitality, P.S. 302

Jasper Swiezy: 25

7

WHo Am I?

Who am I? Monster Am I Real?

I’m a monster, a savage

I have many problems

A black kid wreaking havoc

Am I cursed?

Prejudice every day

The family I live with is poor.

I’m lost without a Mapquest

Dream away my problems is what everyone tells me to do.

Seen as a rebellious teen

And the estate owner doesn’t help.

They don’t know what happened

The brain in my head is confused.

Bullets screamin’ RAGE

Hope is something I don’t have.

When they hit that innocent black kid

Of course I dream.

I’m a monster, a savage

The only problem is I live the life of a

A killer in madness

Slave.

Souls torn apart like People rippin’ cabbage Black kids, white kids

David O’Sullivan

Asians and Hispanics

Grade 6 Mt. St. Joseph Academy

We’re the same but different

Picture

Takin’ measures that are drastic I’m a monster, a savage

Kindergarten Class Poem I am a seed I live underground It’s dark as the night sky At midnight Tomorrow I have to go to school To learn to be a tree I am afraid of beavers But I love apples I dream of twinkling stars I need to grow a root I need water I need sunshine I want a friend To climb my branches I will give her fruit

Mrs. Lewis’s Poetry Class

I see myself sitting in the large frame of a window

A black kid wreaking havoc

towards the street of my hometown.

We don’t see the common enemy

I see blue sky and dotted white clouds

With its rash and

which look like feathers or frosting of cakes.

Watch ya life, life fade, fade from white, white to red, red

I hear sounds of church bells always ringing at noon.

Runnin’ away with lies ya heard from the feds

I hear sounds of birds and insects

Snappin’ and clappin’, tell ya boy what’s happenin’

whose names cannot be recognized by me.

Global Warming spreading

I smell incense of lavender candles

My heart is a drum.

And the Earth gets its ass kicked

and the fragrance of herbs in my small and square room.

In summer. Play. Fast

Talkin’ ‘bout the issues

I touch my skin and wonder about that

What is down

See them biodegrade like toilet tissue

I am sitting on the window frame

What is up

Lucas Jachimiak

Broken rhythms that drop like beats

Is it a dream or not.

When I am going all around

Kindergarten Como Park Elementary School

A black M-O-N-S-T-E-R

I touch a cold glass of lime-flavored water

Is what the police see

which tastes like the peak of summer.

All I see is nothing but me

But they don’t see me for

I taste summer and the heat

I am wondering when I can just be free

What I am

Which people really don’t like.

I am wondering when I can be me

But I’ll try to change the world with

I taste my Mom’s noodles

The words of this SLAM

which look like a small veggie garden.

I’m a monster, a savage

I feel life within me and from all surroundings.

A genius wreaking havoc

Untitled

Tell me Lord, when are we gonna stop this madness?

Hee Jin Kim

8

Grade 10 Holy Angels Academy

Daniel Truitt Grade 9 Tapestry High School

Kindergarten Como Park Elementary School

“What is down”

Janlonna Faulkner Grade 7 Dr. Lydia T. Wright School of Excellence, P.S. 89

9

What Do I Believe?

What Do I Believe?

Nature

I Wonder Why

“Love is a rare seashell”

I Believe

I believe in water because I drink

Cartwheel flies through the air

Love is a rare seashell

I believe the scent of morning glories

it and water is the way we stay

Not knowing what to do

that only comes around once in a while

I believe the sky and the stars are not

alive. I believe in fire because it keeps

Just fly, make your

like something small that floats in a

Far from touch

us warm. I believe in Halloween

Spirit fly, the realistic

river of hope

It is what I believe that makes me me

because it happens every year. I

Smile, the arms just

believe in an alligator, and a crocodile.

Fly, I wonder why

Hatred is a knife

I believe the sight of crashing waves are really

I believe in the Moon because

The warmth of friends

that can hurt you

Waves of faith, love and mind

Neil Armstrong went on the

Come and go, I

like a magnet that pulls people apart

I think my beliefs are puzzle

Moon. I believe in the Sun because

Wonder why

Science class people can

The noise goes

Hope is a river

Dropped

prove it is real. I believe because

Up and up and up, I

that carries love and peace

I believe rainbows are the way to heaven

I go to it almost every day.

Wonder why

like a butterfly carrying pollen from

I believe color is what life is made for

I believe in a haunted house

The turning of

flower to flower

I believe the longest roads are

because I see some in movies.

A cartwheel

I believe in stars because I

Does so much

Anger is a lion

You can swim as deep as you want

can see them every night.

I wonder why

that gets mad at people many times

As long as belief is in you

I believe in grass because we

Dark and light just goes by

like an angry shark that scares everybody

I believe when birds chirp you’re close

step in it. I believe in pencils

Energy flows through the

away

To the gate of heaven

because I write with one.

Air, shapes come into Sight, maybe just maybe

Mark Wallace

I’ll stop

Grade 3 Akron Elementary School

And wonder why

Madeleine Lynch-Johnt Imperfection

Grade 4 Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 64

I believe my heart tells me who I am

Pieces scattered being picked up and

Not long if you believe

I believe challenges can be overcome

Alyssa Remsen Grade 3 Akron Elementary School

when you let your heart speak I believe what I believe

Kayleen Schill What are they missing?

Grade 3 Como Park Elementary School

Please—wake up?

With Great

The world is passing you by.

Elegance and Class,

The morning is almost gone.

Comes great

Sunset’s fading away, and the

Agony

bird’s chirping has died down.

and

The coffee has become cold,

Silence.

and even children are getting old.

You’re missing the morning news,

Asia Battle Grade 9 Buffalo Academy for Visual and Performing Arts, P.S. 192

10

And in the morning paper there are movie reviews.

Cut your dreams short, and go back to sleep later.

Mercedes McMahon Grade 10 Emerson School of Hospitality, P.S. 302

11

How I Feel

How I Feel Pink

Haiku

My Heart is

The feeling of Lonely

The full bloom. Strawberry sorbet.

Many times I failed

Tickled pink. Candy. Pink popsicle.

And still I bother to try

Pink flush. Taste of berries.

My Heart is a door that

of wind. Like an empty heart or one

To make my own rain

opens and closes to you.

filled with sadness. Like the smell of dry

Pink lace. Creamy peach

Jessica Howard

Sweet taffy. Sweet innocence.

Pink fairy. Old world. Bridal

Grade 10 Leonardo DaVinci High School, P.S. 212

Pink. Rosy blush. Royal flush.

Cherry wine. Twilight

Heart

Heart

present box. Like the taste of bitter chocolate.

blows on and off you

Like the sight of a snowman melting.

Spirit soaring through your Heart

Madison Winkler

Body

My Feelings and Motions

Grade 1 Como Park Elementary School

I am like a black rumbling tornado because half of my heart is telling me to cry and half is telling me not to. I feel like crying because my grandmother died April 9, 2008.

Feather

I am as sensitive as a little

It is as soft as a

baby. I am soft as a puppy’s

fur.

bunny rabbit. It tickles me.

It is soft like dog’s fur.

I am as tasty as mashed

potatoes.

It wants to

be a It will

I am like fresh cool air write

coming from the window.

til

I am a baby blue

it

bird chirping in the morning.

breaks.

My heart is like the ocean’s waves that come and go.

Miguel Ortiz

I am a lion roaring

Grade 2 Our Lady of Mt. Carmel

because I am sad.

My legs are trembling like a dog looking for food.

Wildelis Rosa

12

Is this what lonely is like?

My Spirit is an arrow

Magenta.

pencil.

ice melting. Like the cold feeling of an empty

My Heart is a loving wind that

like a Robin

Like the loud bang of an open door followed by a gust

Grade 4 Stanley M. Makowski Early Childhood Center, P.S. 99

Catherine Galbo Grade 3 St. Mark Elementary School

My Body is an ocean that flows over sandy beaches Head My Head is a big flower on a red rose bush in your garden Hands My hands hold the Five Senses of the Body

Matthew Dillon Grade 4 Stanley M. Makowski Early Childhood Center, P.S. 99

“My heart is a cow; come milk me” My heart is a cow; come milk me farmer. My heart is a truck; put 3 tons of gas in me. My heart is a banjo; come play a tune for me. My heart is a sunflower seed; please plant me.

My heart is a pillow; please lay your furry hair on me. My heart is an oak tree; please don’t cut me down!

My heart is a zebra; please Mr. Lion don’t kill my young.

Untitled My heart is a winter

Amadi Ikpeze

blue sled sliding down

Grade 4 Stanley M. Makowski Early Childhood Center, P.S. 99

a hill. My heart feels happy now.

Ashley Felber Kindergarten Como Park Elementary School

13

Why I Write

How I Feel Untitled

When you are

Aggravating

To Be A Poet

It feels like the page of

sleepy you might feel

The city paints pictures of people rushing to

To be a poet

a book that splits into

your body sink into

work.

It takes time.

your finger.

the bed or touch the

The dog photographs his companion in the park.

It smells like an

light switch off. You

The hat draws the world above him.

To be a poet

old car that’s been

would hear the cars

The pillow creates dreams.

You gotta know how to rhyme.

sitting in a junkyard.

Elmwood imagines love among the people.

It sounds like

yelling get out of

Hot chocolate gets colored.

To be a poet

school bus brakes

the way. If you

The banana bread opens galleries for the world

It takes thinking and understanding.

stopping for a long time.

didn’t brush your

to enjoy.

It tastes like a

teeth you could smell

Candles sell their work to homes for comfort.

To be a poet

moldy piece of bread.

it when you yawn

Rings open people’s eyes to beautiful hands.

Don’t always rhyme but let it all

It looks like a

Seeing the dark room

Dresses develop emotion for the people in them.

Come from your mind.

tree house with nails

around you with

and wood coming out

posters on your wall

Nicole Zambito

To be a poet

of it.

Grade 10 Holy Angels Academy

Just be you.

outside, and people

When you’re waking up you could almost taste the bacon for breakfast.

Brigitte Vossler

To be a poet

Grade 4 St. Mark Elementary School

It’s all up to you.

Grade 3 St. Mark Elementary School

just as the clouds paint the moon.

The water takes photographs of the rain’s emotions.

After Storm Blue Mood Candle Glow Willow Branch Twilight Sky Man in the Moon Calm Wet Grass

Hockey Haiku Black puck enters net as Coach yells and now we lose Players hang their heads

Sean McGrath Grade 5 Catholic Academy of West Buffalo

The Artist The artist paints the sky

Mark Mathews

14

The Artist

Rich Chestnut. Summer Plum.

Before the Storm Black Iron Rainy Day Watery Meadow Now Sun Burst out Humming Sun

Thunder makes a dream of lightning’s masterpiece.

Stars make quality of the sun as snow and hail make different pieces of a colorful work of art..

Ashley Ann Zielinski

To be a poet All you can be.

To be a poet Just wait and see.

Tionna Spidell Grade 9 Tapestry High School

Grade 9 Holy Angels Academy

Mellow Yellow Slow Sundown

Justine Bidell Grade 3 Akron Elementary School

“Poetry sounds hard but it’s not. You have a lot of things in your mind and heart. Just say it.” —Monica Bonner, 5th grade, Highgate Heights

15

Do You Remember?

Why I Write Why I Love To Sing

Decisions

Too Young

Because I feel like I’ve

I don’t know.

just sprouted wings.

What should I write about?

was sick of the little backyard games and wanted so badly to join the older boys in the street, but

Time is passing.

Dad always said I was too young. I hated that. I was always too young for things. Johnny was twelve

Because I can change the beat.

Because music is joyful.

I was eight years old, and tired of being told no. Baseball was the one thing I loved most. I

and allowed to play with the older boys in the road. On those warm sunny days, the neighborhood The clock ticks.

would come out and play until dinner while I sat in envy looking on from the wooden front porch.

My mind is still blank.

With each passing day, I begged knowing it was no use. One day, I couldn’t take being “the little

I’m so confused.

guy” anymore. I needed to prove myself to everyone that I was more than just a backyard player.

Because I love my sound.

I grabbed my old worn out glove and baseball bat and threw on my hat as I started towards the So many topics.

road. I played my heart out that day, but ball after ball flew over my head and time after time I was

Because singing tastes like an

Too many to choose from

struck out. When the day ended, my aching body dragged itself inside the house. The feeling of de-

ice cream sundae.

I can’t decide.

feat hurt so bad and the realization that I was in fact not ready or good enough cut like a knife. Dad was right. I wasn’t old enough for the street games, but I knew that I hadn’t backed down easily. So

Because singing smells like

Thoughts swirl around

flowers.

Choose a person, place, thing Who? Where? What?

Sara Hughes

I give up.

Grade 12 East Aurora High School

Because singing sounds like birds chirping.

Because singing looks like heaven and feels like the sand

When I get hundreds on a test, it is the first to know.

Because I want to be a part

Grade 12 Hutchinson Central Technical High School, P.S. 304

If I am the President, then it is the Congress.

It is the hardest working item in the world.

Ode to the Beatles Lucy in the sky with lady Madonna I am the walrus so just let it be

Jillian Farrell

Come together, right now, over me Rocky Raccoon went into his room

Poet Soup

Only to find Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band Two cups of rhyme at a different time

Twist and shout, ‘cause here comes the sun

An onion as choppy as a run-on sentence.

Dear Prudence, come and have some fun

I wanna hold your hand while

Throw in a couple of Haikus and Limericks

Stir it together with a mixing pencil.

My guitar gently weeps, Koo Koo Ka Choo

Then cook it and serve it up with a book

And then devour it with your mind.

Dante Feliciano

16

It is my number one study buddy.

Poem is lost.

Darnesha Coward

Grade 4 St. Mark Elementary School

Ode to my Pen

I can’t find a subject.

on your toes.

of the song.

the next day, I proudly rejoined the others in the backyard.

Grade 5 St. Mark Elementary School

David Penna Grade 12 Hutchinson Central Technical High School, P.S. 304

If we are in a basketball game, I’m the leading scorer, he is the assist leader.

I am the wide-receiver, he’s the quarterback.

If he ever runs out, he’ll be sure to have a relative nearby.

If he ever makes a mistake his best friend white-out is a call away.

His ballpoint tip makes every word clear and precise.

He is my right-hand man; well, actually, my left-hand man!

Miles Holliman Grade 9 Western New York Maritime Charter School

17

Do You Remember?

Do You Remember?

“When I think of Katie”

Ode to Sausage and Cabbage

When I think of Katie I think of the only person who always knows what I mean, and

how I mean it. I think of car rides, summer, and the beating sun. I think of how someone can have five facial piercings and look so tacky yet so perfect at the same time. I think of the smell of vanilla buttercream body spray and remember how she’d spray it in the air and jump through it as it fell through the air saying, “It smells so good!” I think of her house, I think of my roof, I think of hammocks and trampolines. I think of dressers near the staircases, fluffy yellow sheets, front stoops, the not-so-crystal lake of Crystal Lake. I think of the Freaky Friday DVD menu music playing over and over, irritating me while I rolled over in the middle of the night.

I think of my real true best friend. I think of the funniest person I know. I think of her amazing ability to make me laugh. I think of how happy I am when I’m with her. I think of how much I miss her, and how I wish she hadn’t left early when she visited in April 2008. I think of how I hate that she lives in Illinois, and how I hate that I only see her once every six months…

Samantha Gascon Grade 12 South Park High School, P.S. 206

Memoirs of Us Pretty awkward silence Friendly nudge pushes us on Soon we relate On common ground Not afraid to hold hands We’re seen often You are mine Not afraid to share kisses I am yours

Elias Alkebulan Grade 12 Hutchinson Central Technical High School, P.S. 304

“Art is like how you feel.

It is like a bird having baby chicks.

It is a rhythm from your heart.”

—Khala Carter, 5th grade, Highgate Heights

The heavy black skillet crackles, oil snapping hot My hands hold the knife weighty against the thick wooden block but I see my grandmother’s fingers as the block drops down impossibly close her crepey skin, spotted, gnarled and veiny onions, cabbage, potatoes, apples, sausage chopped and dropped into the oil and deftly turned.

“This is farm food,” her voice says and almost I smell the dirt we scrubbed from the potatoes she’d dug.

This is the dinner of farmers, food pulled from ground and root cellars, picked from trees, left over parts from fall butchering.

This is food In work clothes and muddy boots, food with rough weathered hands.

This is old food speaking in the rough German of bygone generations taught by watching.

This food is a stout-legged peasant in an old apron saying “eat, eat— you look so thin.”

O! I have such need of sausage and cabbage.

Reese Stover Remember when it was Christmas when my cousin was alive. Remember when we used to play the game.

Remember when he say I cheated I remember when he eat all the food and play all of us.

I remember when everyone said it going to be OK. I remember when everyone say don’t cry it’s going to be ok. I remember when I saw him the last time.

Alexis Stover Grade 7 Dr. Lydia T. Wright School of Excellence, P.S. 89

Mrs. Ruth Robson

18

Grade 12 Hutchinson Central Technical High School, P.S. 304

19

How I See the World

How I See the World Stars

Peace

Wake Up!

Stars, butter spread on every one

Peaceniks have tried to spread the message of

smushed in

Eternal Peace, but have been

dresses and dogs with toupees. Talking books and dancing rats…even

a moon sandwich. The sun

All but ignored. The world

overgrown kitty cats. There’s a man with muscles as big as a door, tor-

a glass of orange juice

Could change but it seems that

toises speeding across the floor. Wake up, wake up and smell the roses…

The black hole as the appetizer

Everybody likes the mindless routine of war.

there’s dinosaur models striking poses. Soda pop rain and candy snow…

but the milky way as the dessert The best part of the meal

Allyson Sciortino

Tickle-Me-Elmo’s made of Pillsbury dough. Shoes that walk without no

James McAleer

feet, monkeys and cherries fighting underneath. Wake up, wake up, you’re

Grade 7 Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 56

missing the day. Jump out of bed and shout hooray before you miss this

Grade 2 Como Park Elementary School

Wake up!

Wake up Wake up It’s the year 08 Wake up Wake up There’s food downstairs, fix you a plate Wake up Wake up We’re missing the movie, now we’re late Wake up Wake up We’re going fishing, you usually get the bait Wake up Wake up There’s an election, don’t miss the debate Wake up Wake up Don’t miss who will be the next head of state C’mon get up, we don’t got time to waste

“To see the world in a grain”

Privacy Don’t check my search engine

of rice

Don’t look to see if I’m a friend

As white as snow it

would be. And a town floating on a speck of dust with wind going through the cracks. Imagine the things that you would do. . . Just in a minute that lasted an eternity

Deanna Morales Grade 3 St. Mark Elementary School

I’m throwing rocks at ya window at a steady pace C’mon wake up, it’s morning, the radio’s playing your favorite song You better wake up because life is too short to wait too long

20

Grade 7 Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 56

To see the world in a grain

By the time you wake up I’ll be bigger than King Kong

Grade 10 Emerson School of Hospitality, P.S. 302

crazy day.

Jada Alston

C’mon now you been asleep to long

Orlando Hill

Wake up, wake up. You’re missing the day. There’s tigers with

Or even my E-mail.

Or chat with a female.

“Poetry is sort of like cause and effect.

Once I start writing, a whole bunch of ideas pop into my head.”

Don’t check my Bonus Card

—Claire Schroeder, 6th grade, Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 56

At Wegman’s or Tops.

This invasion really needs to stop.

Don’t check my address bar

Or what I search.

That’s like letting a mugger

Go through your purse.

Why are you looking at me at the ATM

Keeping track if I’m looking at it

As it’s looking back

I have nothing to hide

So stop trying me.

It’s just the common courtesy Of a little privacy.

Aujajuan Donalson Grade 10 Leonardo DaVinci High School, P.S. 212

21

How I See the World

How I See the World Are your hands clean

Life’s like a Rollercoaster

Ode to a Good Pair of Shoes

Ur Choice

Before

We have ups and downs but

Ode to the station

War

You judge me make sure you

we turn them around.

that America needs

War

HANDS ARE CLEAN

We grow up fast, it will

That I need, but do not like

There’s always war

Before

never last, we think of the

To the corporate jerks

war for Rights

You try to tell me who I am

past and we say that time

To the war for freedom

war for land

Make sure you know who you are

flies by fast. Life’s like a

To the real war that’s not freedom

In 2001 war for

Before

Rollercoaster

To the price of America

Oil

That never stops to rise

Oil

You try to dogg me take a good look At yourself in the

Antonio Montanez

To the trucks of no need

The supposed terrorists

Grade 5 Catholic Academy of West Buffalo

To the Hummer that’s ridiculous

People should speak out

To the station that America needs

they say they want

You judge me make sure you

To the dirty little nozzle

Something done but never do

HANDS ARE CLEAN

To the $50 it takes

Anything

Ya’ll wanna tell me

To the ever greater need

Anything

To the ever greater price

About It. Just Sit Back & Say

To the $110 a barrel

Everything that they want to

To the more hours to work

be done. The difference makers

To the fill-up I fear

Are the ones whom always

To the investment in a bicycle

Do

To the fact of feet

Do

Ode to a good pair of shoes.

Not say.

MIRROR

Before

how to be a betta me

Wake up on MY side of da bed and see THAT THIS IS THE BEST ME I CAN BE So once again Before

you judge me make sure your

HANDS ARE CLEAN

Mary Douglas Grade 9 Tapestry High School

“One in particular” One in particular one in general teal in red smothered jam sugar in salt water waves of not in particular, but of not in general not or of and whispers with loud voices of in particular, insistence, with let in. are or of in nothingness with something memories etch of or in general, a barren, dry desert filled with

Griffin Green Grade 12 Hutchinson Central Technical High School, P.S. 304

Jean A. Pagan Grade 11 Buffalo Academy for Visual and Performing Arts, P.S. 192

water. our names onto each other’s skin we call not in particular, not in general but of in nothingness.

Untitled

wrong, with right

My heart is a Spring raindrop

blindness, with sight

Let me drop on your garden I

color, with white

Will be your friend.

and nothing, with nothing, but with something.

Kate Quinn

22

Grade 4 St. Mark Elementary School

Melissa Ann Mazurek Kindergarten Como Park Elementary School

23

Where Do We Belong?

Where Do We Belong?

The Strength in Her

Bumps and Curves

Fellowship

The strength in her

Is as hot as fire

friends

Feeling the

Burning, exploding, bottling up

Take her words and feel them

They burn

For we are in love to speak

of fearless dreams far away at times

The strength in her As hot as fire The heat, blazing, Smoke, it’s hot For she is exploding

Imagine if you were one millimeter long on a stone on

curves

like it

braille

Wearing gray clothes and going in camouflage Bring me your

of staying love

Damona McCreary

near the ocean

Grade 11 Buffalo Academy for Visual and Performing Arts, P.S. 192

All the animals in the water

The ocean shimmering faintly Just scales reflecting the water

The strength in her

You listening to

Is like fire

As hot as a burning

Saying millimeter-long person, climb me

Touch

Changing the

the

Forcing her energy To pull her high High into the dark

stories the

tells stone

of its face

color

Get up Get up…

Its body language If you were blind the stone telling you stories

Smoke clouds in the

You’re missing

From its curves and bumps like in braille

Burning heavens

The sunrise.

Imagine a little dent where you go in and

That is the strength

The new

sleep cozily

In her

born baby just opened his eyes.

A stone?

You’re missing peace getting

Morgan McDaniel

spread all over the world.

Treefa Fadhil

Grade 4 Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 64

You’re missing the newly

Grade 4 Global Concepts Charter School

wedded couple holding hands. You’re missing the young boy becoming a man.

Haiku Winter storm brewing

Get up, Get up, you are missing everything.

Flash of blue in the darkness

Emmanuel Williams

The look in her eyes

Grade 10 Emerson School of Hospitality, P.S. 302

Joelle Rosso Grade 10 Leonardo DaVinci High School, P.S. 212

24

you

Untitled Little shell you were once a home to an animal so small but you will now be free on the shore so big

Rebecca Schroeder Grade 2 Como Park Elementary School

“Poetry makes it easy to turn words into works of art, and it is something to be proud of.”

--Jasper Swiezy, 6th grade, Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 56

25

Where DO We Belong?

On The Ice

Where DO We Belong?

Wake Up

On The Ice

Give to Gain

Her

Wake up, wake up,

Slipping and sliding

Together we stood,

As I reach for her

come out to play.

over the ice

Against the odds of society

She breaks into pieces

I’ve got our bikes,

Graceful as a newborn

We were statistics

The way I talk to her

let’s ride away

duck

And the way I walk up to her

We can go to the movies

Holding hands

Left home alone

Maybe there’s something about me

and see the funniest scenes.

begging him not to

Struggling to survive since infancy

She can’t seem to get her green eyes out me

When you are asleep,

Let

We were statistics.

We talk all night

all you can do is—dream.

Go

There just might be something about me The way I act towards her There’s just something Maybe we were just meant to be

Paige Beale Grade 7 Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 56

Joey Ruopoli Grade 9 Tapestry High School

We slide carefully

Pondering our past

dipping to the metronome

I see what we’ve accomplished

of life

No longer statistics

A moment of floating Followed by hallowed laughter

Brothers banded together

My cheeks red

Growing wiser and stronger everyday

as I sat

Success so obtainable

on the

Now I know

ice

After a long, hard journey Don’t stop believing

Three Hands and a Brain I wish they would all stop staring at me. Am I that interesting?

Shanise McPhatter Grade 10 Leonardo DaVinci High School, P.S. 212

They stare at my hands as if I hold the secret of their happiness; and give looks with such longing, praying I could end their misery. I would

Michael Campbell Grade 12 Hutchinson Central Technical High School, P.S. 304

cease happily for some company that appreciates who I am. I’m so terribly alone. They shoot glares, act disgusted, and mutter things to themselves. I’m hopelessly at the mercy of others. No free will. No free will. I wish I could make people happier, but I can only tell the truth.

I see the man across the office, he checks me out, then sarcastically mutters to his friend, “Time flies when you’re having fun!” I’m sorry!

I don’t control time, I just tell it. I burst with a longing for someone to talk with, all that comes out is the tic-tock-tic-tock of my three hands.

The scream is only in my brain.

Hank Balling Grade 12 East Aurora High School

26

My Clean Sweet Flower

Lately I’ve noticed that things haven’t been the same—the older flower is trying to re-

gain strength, to push through. She’s been doing so well that I must encourage her to persevere.

My fear is that she won’t be here for the little seedlings, not yet flowers. So I tell her, ‘You’ve got it. You’re gonna make it.” Been so close so many times we’ve had to keep her, to re-hydrate and breathe life into her. I am so scared that it might happen again, so I stay steadfast and ready so that the flower is up and about, with a nice long green stem—two seeds and a young flower pushing her along.

Chardany Young Grade 8 Highgate Heights, P.S. 80

27

Where I’ve Been

Where DO WE Belong?

Cinquain Parents loving, responsible bossy, funny, caring I love these people Protectors

Amber Hall Grade 7 Dr. Lydia T. Wright School of Excellence, P.S. 89

“Poetry sizzles like bacon on a grill.

It tingles like eating the best home fries on earth.”

—Kaitlyn Abel, 4th grade, Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 64

Sestina There once was a man from Nantucket Who lived a simple life Every day he would go fishing And occasionally actually catch something So he lived, until there came a woman Who wanted to be with him But why choose him?

There were many other men on the island of Nantucket And many that were interested in this Woman But she wanted to be in his life And he couldn’t think of something So he went fishing And whilst he was fishing he thought of her and him of the something that it could become, on the island of Nantucket Could he change his life?

For this Woman But what a spellbinding Woman He couldn’t get her out of his head, so he went fishing he pondered about life and what she would mean to him Could he love her more than this beautiful little island of Nantucket And he began to think of something Then it grew into more of a something And he couldn’t resist this Woman Why had she come to Nantucket?

Almost as if she was the one fishing but fishing for him And her bait was the rest of their life He enjoyed the thought of that life He would attempt to make something He would give her…him He fell for that Woman Never again would he go fishing by himself, there was another on Nantucket Now he was complete in life He had found that certain something She was just for him.

Jackson Standard

28

Grade 12 Hutchinson Central Technical High School, P.S. 304

My Mother Land, Nigeria Nigeria has a long story of victory and defeat to tell, but Cannot explain it by word. So She cries so hard it becomes a flood to sweep her pain away.

The flood of tears is dried away by her bright warm beam of happiness and joy.

Her people struggle, help her to carry on. Through times of despair and joy Fighting to break away from her enemies and creating difficult, yet Easy jungles and lands that only her native villagers understood To keep away the bad man Angry with her people for civil war I cannot wait to see what my sweet Nigeria Has for her future to come

Nkiru Ifedigbo Grade 8 Mt. St. Joseph Academy

Home Cardboard boxes lined the walls; some taped shut, full of books or clothes while others just hung open in anticipation. She had seen it all before: the extra large U-haul truck parked in the driveway, and her mother’s frantic footsteps as she checked for items thought to be lost. It was the same every time. Dad would get a phone call and three days later they would be packed tightly into an old, green Subaru, leaving what had become familiar and safe.

An old tree was planted next to the house, where vibrant apples grew from its branches and littered the suburban yard she had come to know. For several moments she just watched the tree; how it swayed with the slightest breeze and how the fruit sparkled under the Southern sun. Gently pulling an apple away from its limb, she placed it carefully into her bag. It was comforting to know that even when apples are taken from their branch, they still remain beautiful.

Alyssa Niggel Grade 12 East Aurora High School

29

Where I’M GOING

Where I’ve Been Memoir of Arroyo (Town in Puerto Rico)

Doomed

I Am From I am from a rowdy neighborhood

A little village

Small yet big

where noise never stops

where everyone knows each other.

We’ll never win

and the music never drops.

No secretos kept.

House arrest

I am from gunshots and knives

It’s all a test

where the killers are unknown and

Where children play

A blank canvas

bodies of loved ones are seen.

Barefoot and with wild hair.

But we can’t paint

Be careful! Cuidado!

All our dreams

I am from the women

A little village

Are becoming faint

running the streets and

that everyone starts to leave.

We’re lost

the man holding down

No maps

That’s why heritage shines so bright

the block

An aspect of me that will never go away

Were there secretos?

(secrets)

(secrets)

Villanelle The passion for my heritage shines through like bright light A passion that doesn’t wane or stray

Just halls

I gain strength knowing I survived my people’s plight

The passion for my heritage shines through like bright light

The grown children

And gaps

I’m from the Mr. Do Rights

dressed well prepare to leave

No talking

where you never make mistakes

Be careful! Cuidado!

No eating

To break through the darkness of racism’s night

and everything’s okay.

Just learning

And be proud no matter what anyone will say

Amanda Figueroa

I’m from the struggle

No breathing

I gain strength knowing I survived my people’s plight

of my loved ones

Grade 12 Hutchinson Central Technical High School, P.S. 304

The clock ticks on

I’m from the hustle

The classes go by

And to express it with all my might

on the streets.

For it’s a unique heritage I grow prouder of with each passing day

Tortured

“Into what dangers would you lead me” (inspired by Virgil) Into what dangers would you lead me into what abyss would you carry my soul would you carry me to the bell that tolls that loud unhollow sound that shakes and vibrates the ground into the grave you throw all the pain that shudders me to the marrow my grave collapses in on he

The passion for my heritage shines through like bright light

Teased

I’m from bad memories

We’re here to please

that can never be replaced

No hoodies

It’s not my spirit to give up the fight

I’m from the tears

No sandals

With racist oppression in my way

my grandmother cried.

It’s all a scandal

I gain strength knowing I survived my people’s plight

I’m from the women

No gum

who loved me and it

No drinks

I’ll flaunt my passion in everyone’s sight

wasn’t my mother

We’ll need a shrink

If people would accept others ever I pray

for she abandoned me and

The staff

The passion for my heritage shines through like bright light

I found a better way

I gain strength knowing I survived my people’s plight

The rules It’s Only School!

I’m from the closed journal in which my pain lies.

who laughs and grins maniacally my casket closes, the void sets in

Amanda Strobele

I am from life lessons.

Here I lay writhing in my coffin of sin

Grade 11 Buffalo Academy for Visual and Performing Arts, P.S. 192

I am from dreams and aspirations

Darth Freeman Grade 10 Middle Early College High School, P.S. 415

30

Richard Roseboro, Jr. Grade 12 Hutchinson Central Technical High School, P.S. 304

I am from behind bars, to a loving home.

Jasmine Morgan Grade 12 Western New York Maritime Charter School

31

Where I’M GOING

Where I’ve Been Chaotic Classes

Buffalo

“What Light Through Yonder Window Breaks?”

Period of Beginning,

Buffalo is disappearing

As I walk through and down the dark and cold street

Electricity, Electrons, Electronics, Exceptionally exciting!

The place where I live

Lost in my own mind, the little man on my shoulder starts to weep.

Zap! You okay?

It says it will come

I walk with my head down, Can’t tell me nothing.

Back tomorrow

No light to guide my way.

Period of Calculation,

But it never comes back

I might as well be labeled as “STRAY”

Fractions, Functions, Factors, Frantic Fun!

It moved to Tonawanda

Keep on.

Keep on.

When’s the bell?

Period of Government, Parliament, Political Parties, Pandemic Problems,

Joshua Valeri

Walking keep on.

Grade 2 Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 64

Wait?? Question “What light through yonder window breaks?”

My path is lighted

Boo George Bush!

From what source is this coming from???

Period of Activity,

I don’t know or really understand!!!

Run, Rebound, React, Reverse, Repeat.

I got some light I’m going to hold my head high

Where’s my deodorant?

The little man no longer cries

I am from

The label of “STRAY” starts to die

Period of Science,

I am from the clouds

Touch the sky

Chemistry, Chemicals, Compounds, Continuous changes.

that fall like tears from the sky

“What light through yonder window breaks?”

What’s that smell?

that hit the ground then come back again

Raymond I. Ross, III

Period of Language,

and help everybody and everything.

Metaphors, Metaphysical Masterpieces, Much Mood

I am from the big mountain

Grade 9 Tapestry High School

Woo Mrs. Robson.

that can even sometimes hurt you I can cause injuries

Jeremy Adams

but not all the time!

Grade 12 Hutchinson Central Technical High School, P.S. 304

I will probably not come to you.

The pendulum swings

I am from the big, enormous trees

and your future will be told.

that fall when it is autumn

Answers “yes” or “no”!

So don’t get worried,

Haiku

but I am very light and I could even change colors.

Zaina Alsadam Grade 3 Global Concepts Charter School

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Alexis Gray Grade 6 Catholic Academy of West Buffalo

Buffalo Buffalo snores at night There’s no telling what kind of moods will drop from the sky.

When it’s happy it is sunny When it is sad huge tears fall from the sky.

Ryan James Grade 2 Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 64

“I comprehend now that I am art, a living poem, a breathing painting, a moving music.”

—Freddi Krehbeil, 4th grade Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 64

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What Surrounds Us

What Surrounds Us Seasons

Snow

The stars dance in the night sky

The snow floats down upon us.

The wind sings a graceful song to me

Whispering in my ear telling me cold secrets.

Leaves hop off the trees in fall

The snowflakes danced, and their slippers flew into the

The sun yells while it sets

Strong wind.

Winter is yelling

They sing lovely, and their words ring like bells

Snow hops all over the town

echoing the streets of Buffalo.

Grass sleeps under a thick pile of snow Ice hangs and sings a song

Madison Wojtanik

Janae Adams Grade 7 Mt. St. Joseph Academy

Grade 2 Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 64

Divinity Cold little angels Fall down from the heavens Unique, every one Pure little angels Bless the earth beneath you Drip, drip, drip Frozen little angels Hailing from the skies above Pelting my window Please, little angels Fall down from the heavens Any way possible

Chris Tocha Grade 12 Hutchinson Central Technical High School, P.S. 304

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Locker It’s not breathing, moving, or talking about what’s inside of it.

It’s not spitting out the objects placed inside. It’s not opening and closing. It’s not yellow or green, it’s not sparkly or interesting. It’s not smiling, or laughing, it isn’t feeling anything or showing any emotion. It doesn’t eat or sing. It doesn’t complain when it’s hot or cold. It doesn’t throw things at all the kids in the hallways.

It doesn’t leave its home, or try to run away. It just stays in the wall, holding all my things.

Where I’m From I am from NY and I am from dirty clothes I am from home made cake I am from your empty cans that you drink from I am in people’s bodies to see their bones I am from dirt from your ground I sneak from your windows on Christmas Eve I am from desks and from Lackawanna and Mississippi and old papers I am from very very old chalkboards

Samantha Craddock

Sierra Dilbert

Grade 11 McKinley High School, P.S. 305

Grade 2 Global Concepts Charter School

Untitled Ode O! For skylarks in Spring and West Winds in Autumn For Nightingales at midnight and Joy always For wool socks in winter and summer tomatoes and soft tissues when you sniffle For pillows when you’re sleepy and sandwiches when you’re hungry and tall glasses of cold milk when you’re thirsty.

O! for mother’s cool hand when you’re feverish and a friend’s strong shoulder when you weep and quests when you’re young and rest when you’re old and love when you’re lonely and Joy always.

O! For simple things at right moments

Mrs. Ruth Robson Grade 12 teacher Hutchinson Central Technical High School, P.S. 304

The Sun It is not the moon reading bedtime stories to sleepy children.

It is not running away from the Christmas snow that fall every winter.

It is not the black sunglasses sitting on the coffee table staring at the cat wondering its next move It is not the rain that washes away the sidewalk chalk from the eventful day before.

It is not the window that the little boy looks out from as the Thanksgiving Day parade goes by.

It is the light that greets us everyday with a warm radiating smile.

Allison Monaco Grade 10 Holy Angels Academy

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What Surrounds Us Dust

Ode to Shoes

Dust: (noun). 1. makes you go achew!

You carry the weight of the world

2. As gray as the clouds on a rainy day. Drip.

on your shoulders

Drip. Drip. 3. As soft as a lamb, roaming and

and history beneath your heels.

grazing through fresh fields of grass.

Everything you come to,

4. As tricky as a fly, coming back

and everything you leave,

every time you get rid of it.

make imprints not only in your sole

5. Good at playing hide and

but in the soul of your occupant.

seek. 6. As dirty as a pig after

You bring things closer to the sky

his early morning mud bath. 7. Can

even when they feel sunk to the ground.

give many people allergies.

You can change peoples’ moods

They do it so people think

with a classy point or a bothersome hole

Attack of the deadly dust! 8.

at your toes.

A good poem topic for me.

You carry the weight of the world on your shoulders

Ashley Andrews Grade 3 Como Park Elementary School

A School of Spiders

and history beneath your heels.

Julia Merrill Grade 12 Hutchinson Central Technical High School, P.S. 304

I hate them they crawl they bite they poison

Beautiful Buffalo

They’re spiders!

Buffalo singing in the frigid breeze

Did you know

Its voice hits your cheek like a

they have their own school?

Kiss. Snow making winter beautiful

They do, they do,

Like a flower.

Oh, of course they do!

Trees dancing in the dark sky.

How do you think they learn to bite

Leaves jumping on trees with love.

and sneak in your room late, late at night?

How beautiful the city is that protects

So now that you know, just think

You with all of its heart.

of the thought how spiders get taught!

Catherine McDaniel Grade 5 Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 56

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Timothy Jackson Grade 6 Mt. St. Joseph Academy