My Words, 6th grade

In "My Poems" by Nita Penfold, the speaker describes her poems as mischievous women who tell her secrets, who are "not polite ladies." She says, "I like their red-rough hands." This poem provides ready lessons in metaphor, personification, and image, plus it's short! And by this point, I knew that many of the students had begun to identify as poets and nearly all had a large enough body of work that they could speak with some confidence about what their poems are like. Penfold's poem also "wraps" the title into the poem--uses the title as the first line--and I asked them to try that, while writing a piece about what their poems are like (or their words, as an alternative). Their responses were extraordinarily playful; they owned this one.


Mrs. Hernandez, Rm. 109, 6th grade

My Poems
Daisy A.

Heart
My poems touch my heart
with phrases and words
and when the politeness occurs
and the mood and the tone
so much to say but too little
to speak.

My poem says
classmates are cool
who talk and talk
but not too much. Some
who play sports
and some who
draw. They help others
that's why they're so cool.

My poems say
Vanessa is nice
She makes me giggle
and laugh.
When I need help
she helps me. Ooh
Vanessa what would
we do without you.


My Poems
Paola Monse A.

People say to me, "Que pasa contigo"
with happy mouths
I hate it when people tell me that
will still be sad
sad moods on my computer
keep a secret to myself
have to run away from the darkness
go to the light
you always say no to everything I say
but you'll always be in my head to stay


My Poems
Lizzet B.

are like clouds that fade away
they run free
and help me understand.
I forget and they remember.
They are calm and peaceful
but can be mean.
They are mine and only mine.


My Words
Adalberto S.

come to me like a fierce
tordado blowing with
no meaning for life
Will destroy anything
in mind to be concentrated.
They just blow up
burdting out my secret
without reason
So please tornado control
my mind


My Poems
Jacqueline S.

They are like the
clouds going away,
and coming back.
When they come they
go, when they go they
come. Clouds, clouds,
please come back and
stay, you make me
laugh out loud.
Please please come back!


My Poems
Vanessa A.

come to me with a twist
with loud meaning
they are all over my paper
will be silly all around
they run through my paper
like little kids
I like how they sound
they make me so happy
I want to cry
they way they take
words right out of your mouth
can't stop crying
until the night when they are fast asleep

"My Poems" - 7th Grade

After reading Nita Penfold's "My Poem,"--in which she describes her poems as "not polite ladies," who "won't sit still"--we discussed Penfold's method of describing her poems as people with their own will. We also talked about her use of the title as also the first line of the poem. I then asked them to write their own poems, "My Poems," or alternately, "My Words" (which could extend into other areas of language). These entertaining poems resulted; I felt like they were integrating a lot of the various imagery and tools we've experimented with this year.

Mrs. Jamen, Rm. 207, 7th grade

Mi poema
Daniela G.

Yo platico contigo,
por medio de mi poema,
por medio de el yo digo
lo que pienso, y siento,
porque un poema
es más que simples
palabras escritas sobre
una hoja de papel,
es la puerta
por la que salen
todas tus palabras, todos
tus sentimientos
un poema es como
tu alma, como tu corazón
y lo abres a todas
aquellas personas
que lo quieren ver,
y tus sentimientos
quieren saber.


My Poems
Paola S.

come to other people hard
bringing out “her,”
envious, competitive, calm
emotions that want to unravel
and I can’t control,
they want to come out
and let the world know
but I won’t let “her,”
trying to look flawless,
so she unravels herself
in the lines of paper,
while I crumbple it up
throw it in the garbage,
butr soon she’ll come back
and won’t rest
until she lets my soul free.


My Words
Sergio S.

come to me from vast, fast-thinking
mind. Like wild berries they
have to be carefully picked out.
They come with great forces
almost like a tsunami.
They move at the speed
of sound, from my mind to
my mouth
like a tornado when they
are released, they can’t be
stopped.
They won’t stop until
I’m gone.
Like assassins they can
kill…


Mr. Czoski, Rm. 209, 7th grade

My Poems
Louis B.

hold me down
their hands clench my legs
they go to stores here and there
will they stop?
when they’re 50?
when, when, when!!
they won’t let me free
I struggle and struggle
let me freeee!!
I’m screaming at the top of my lungs
they’re making me crazy


My Poems
Jesus J.

They’re mean sometimes about hatred
my soul will tell you anything
I need it out of me
because it’s mean
get away from
me I need
to write
it out
they
won’t let
me sleep ’til
I write it out
help me somebody
help my soul won’t
let me sleep finally
it’s out of me now I can
go to sleep and have a
good day in school tomorrow
’til the next time I’m mean and
hate I now know to let them out


My Poems
Mario M.

come faster to me than a train
I’m not looking for fame
trying to get myself a name
my poems aren’t the same
what am I trying to aim
trying to light my flame


Mrs. Harris, Rm. 210, 7th grade

My Words
Christy Z.

slip like water through a roofless
roof.
Break a bone or seven, they’re
hot as ice.
Why don’t you ever sew it shut?
Always getting lost, having trouble
finding their way back.
Wanting to know what he thinks,
zip! zaaap!
Burning through water, don’t
give me the chance.
Here to take your hopes,
sweet as sugar, huh?
Torn apart and torn against.
Waiting until I’m deaf, blind, and
numb.


My poems
Alexis R.

are worthless like a monster
in a tree. My poems are wordless slike
a star in the sea. My words are
shattered like a bomb. My words were
scattered far away too long. My poems
are ridiculous like a cat who ate too
much and that is that. My words
fly in the air like a bird.
My poems cry all the way to third.
My words ran that awful race and now
it may be late. My poems are sick,
they need a doctor, they’ll never make
it to somber.


My Words
Elizabeth M.

sometimes don’t mean anything at all.
All people use words,
just not the way I do.
Huh, I feel like the greenest
person in this class.
Nobody understands me.
Well, one person does.
My words get taken the
wrong way most of the time
just like when an itty-bitty
seed was taken in the
wrong direction by the wind
Jeez, I wish it was still summer.
Everyone loved me.

My words,
are they useless to you?


My Poems
Joshua R.

They stare at me
They laugh at me
but they cry for me
They bite me, chew me, and spit me out
but they will always be there for me


Poetry, My Words
Anissa V.

My Words
mean nothing,
trying and hoping for the day
they’ll be heard,
sometimes mean and horrible,
or sweet and thoughtful.
I searched everywhere
for someone to promise me
they’ll listen,
don’t like ugly words,
it’s not on purpose.
Sometimes something else puts words in my
mouth,
I’m sorry for that.
My words aren’t perfect,
but maybe they will be if
someone actually heard them.
They might be.


My Words…
Mayra S.

are like ocean waves
with peaceful sounds
come with laughing people
are free ’til the sunsets
become birds chirping tin the sunrise
are listened
can feel what I feel
gentle as a puppy
see what I see
know what I know

Daisy Faces? Snow Voices? (7th grade)

Below you'll see some more samples of the personification poems inspired by reading Cisneros and O'Hara. We spent another week on this, editing and finishing up. You'll see Miguel's poem below, in a revised draft, which is a little longer and uses line and stanza breaks. In other cases new material was generated.

###

Mrs. Jamen, Rm. 207, 7th grade


The Cars that Never Stop
Miguel M.

I see the cars
from my window
I seem them running
like people run
during a race.

I see their wheels
moving fast like
if they were
human legs trying
to be the first
ones to get to
their destination.

I ask them if they
are tired of
running all day
trying to be the
first ones to get
where they can
rest for some time
but they said they
like going from
one place to another
because that’s what
they know to do.



The Daisies Through My Window
Daisy H.

The daisies through my window
with the colors of the rainbow
talk to me with understanding.
I feel like we are combining.

The daisies move their hands around
trying to explain to me what is around.
Their petals around their faces
bring a smile to my face.

Although they are on the ground,
I feel them go all around,
I feel a connection between us.
Now it’s only one of us.


The Stars I Saw
Lorybeth A.

What I saw outside my
window would be the stars.
The stars looking at me and I
at them. In the middle of the
night. My eyes were shiny looking
at the stars. They looked like diamonds
that I saw from my mom’s
hand.

###

Mr. Czoski, Rm. 209, 7th grade


Snow
Pedro G.

When I look out the window
I see my garage snow dead
leaves. And a 50-foot tree
with the AC boxes and my
little niece’s Escalade
stuck with snow in it and
out of it my lawn
mower. And the snow is
telling me, “I wish you a merry
Christmas.” And
it makes
me
happy.


Joel
Joel V.

“Good morning, Joel, good morning!
Wake up, you can sleep all you
want when you die,” says the wind.
”No, I’m too tired!”
“No? Wake up!! It’s time to
survive.”
I look out the shattered window
at the decaying streets.


The Stars
Susy G.

Stars twinkle in the
darkness. They lead you
wherever you want to
go!
feeling like you’re getting lost.
But that is the
only thing leading you home.

###

Mrs. Harris, Rm. 210, 7th grade


House
Jose A.

The house was really mad yesterday.
I know why, he told me why, he
said he hates when people go inside
his mouth, he said he especially
hates the kid who smells and
tastes like cookies and dirt (my cousin),
and hates the women in his
stomach who gossip about each
other behind their backs (my aunts),
and those men in his lungs
who keep arguing about
the rules of poker and
whose breaths smell like beer (my uncles),
he says he sometimes wonders:
was he chose ’cause he was the only
one that was right or ’cause he was
the only one left, but sometimes
I wonder that too.


Moon
Daniela

The moon that stays in
the same place and watches
me through my window,
I noticed that he’s
kind of lonely.
He needs a homie.
Today I left my shade open
and my window so he knows
that I’m here, to chill with.
So know he’s not that lonely.


The Yellow Brick
Jose M.

The yellow brick road as it
stands with nothing to
do. It used to be
yellow, all you see
is graffiti all over it, just a
piece of art as it just
stands, cross and candles,
the cross has the names
of the people who died
on the yellow brick road.
The yellow brick road as
it stands with nothing to do.

Singing personality: more personification (6th grade, rm. 109)

We spent a second week revising our personification poems, which gives me a chance to showcase more of them! The below poems are from Mrs. Hernandez' 6th grade class in room 109.

###

White Snow
Miguel G.

Snow is cold not
warm but very cold looks like
many squished marshmallows all outside
walk outside up to my ankles
all white but not as bright kids are
not hoping for
sunshine.


Star
Samuel N.

Once in the night sky a star
came down from the sky and it had
singing personality and let me turn into
a star and fly high up in the sky and then
I fall down down into the clouds which
were my bed and "Good night, star," I said. As I
went to bed.


The Paper Trip
Yaneliz R.

I write on the paper.
It talks to me. It is telling
me about his trip, how
he used to be a tree. "They
cut me up to pieces until I
was paper," the paper said.

"What a trip! Did it
hurt?" I asked.

"Sure it didn't, I am
very strong and powerful," the
paper said.

"Are you sure?" I
asked.

"Sure I'm sure! When
I say something I mean it."
The paper had finished his story.

Personification a la O'Hara and Cisneros--6th grade

Here are a few more of those poems featuring personification, inspired by Frank O'Hare and Sandra Cisneros, by Mrs. Hernandez's 6th grade class in Room 109.


###


Moon
Daisy A.

Black the sky is.
The white moon flashes through the black.
Round eyes, curved mouth, solid as a stone.
Talk to me, moon, day and weeks I
waited. I reach to touch but I'm too
far. I got to bed as soon as it's pitch
black, I see your white eye blink.

A Lonely Car
Vanessa A.

I look out my window. I see a
car. A car with blue skin. A car
who's overweight. A car with four
legs, who runs all day long. A car
with feelings. Who's always sad
and never happy. He talks to
me with no words but tears.
No one sees to understand him but
me. I go outside and comfort
the car. When he is sad I am
sad. When he cries I cry. I ask
him, "What's wrong?" He tells me
he's lonely. I tell him, "I'm here,
I'm here."

My Garage
Miguel A.

My garage opens his mouth and sticks
out his tongue.

I look at it for a long time until
his tongue drives away.

My sister screams, "Stop looking
at the dumb garage."

I say, "Shut up!" and she does.

My garage starts talking. It says,
"Be nice to your brothers and
sisters."

I ask why.

He says, "What if you want them
to be nice to you?"

"Oh, right," I say.
"Then why do you pour gas
on your brother, the yard?"

Windy Night
Miguel G.

I heard a screech at my window.
The windy city is living up to its
name tonight. Very windy, not
completely peaceful as I thought
it would be tonight. "I must ask
you something," said the tree. He
is scared, like when you watch
a very scary movie at night. "May I
use a jacket? I am freezy." Planes
passing, trains running, and trees are
screaming of windows.

Windowpane Personification -- 7th grade

I shared two poems with the students, both that had speakers who observed something from their bedroom window, and used personification to help describe this thing, and found some inspiration from it as well. We read and discussed "Four Skinny Trees/Cuatro arboles flaquititos" by Sandra Cisneros, and "A True Account of Talking to the Sun on Fire Island" by Frank O'Hara, before we wrote our own window poems, where I asked them to choose a non-human item they can see from their window and use personification to describe it. More specifically, I encouraged them to envision a conversation beteween themselves and this thing (similar to Frank and the sun in "A True Account").


###


Mrs. Jamen, Rm. 207, 7th grade

A Promising Star
Paola S.

I was falling asleep
when a tiny little voice yelled, "Come out!"
I arose sleepily and opened my door.
I went outside to my porch.
"Where are you?!" I yelled.
"Look up here!" a glitter fell on my head.
"Now look, I've been sent to give
you an important message."
I was trying to look at it but its shiny
mouth kept hurting my delicate eyes.
"I've heard you have been getting in
trouble, making bad decisions."
It was short but wide arms pointed at
me.
"Yes, see lately I don't know what to
do, I'm confused, I don't know how to
make my own choices."
I couldn't help it, my eyes
were watery.
"Look, I promise, just follow your
heart and it will guide you to
a good path."


Estrella
Daniela G.

Una estrella en la noche
brillaba como nunca,
y decide hacerla mi
amiga. Ella siempre
me escucha lo que tengo
que contar aunque sea
tan aburrido que hasta
yo misma me quedo
dormida pero para ella
no importa porque es
mi mas grande amiga.


The Cars That Never Stop
Miguel M.

I see the cars from my window.
I see them running like
people run during a race.
I see their wheels moving
fast like they were human
legs trying to be the
first ones to get to their
destination. I ask them if
they are tired of running
all day trying to be the
first ones to get where they
can rest for some time
but they said they
like going from one place
to another because that's
what they know to do.


###


Mr. Czoski, Rm. 209, 7th grade

Grass
Cynthia S.

I see the grass very dark.
It said, “I feel so lonely. Nobody
pays attention. They step
on like I don’t have feelings.”
“That’s exactly how I feel,” I said.
“I like when the kids play
on, especially soccer,” said the grass.
“Don’t let your emotions
take control of you. You have to be
very strong,” told me,
the grass.


The Stubborn Car
Louis B.

the cars were running by
yelling in their deep voices
I yell back “be quiet out there”
it ignores me
I yell it again
the car behind it tells it to listen to me
the car tells me “forget you”
I throw a toy car at it
the car blows its exhaust at me
I scream “stupid car”
then I shut my window


Moon
Jesus Jacquez

The moon is very bright at night
the moon comes down and shines on me
and tells me, “What’s wrong?”
“I got an F on my test.”
The moon told me, “Keep studying.”
“I do study,” I said.
“Then go to school and study there
and tell the teacher what you need
help on,” said the moon.
“O.K.” I said.
“O.K., bye,
I have to rise down so the sun
can come up.”
“Bye,” I said.


###


Mrs. Bourret, Rm. 208, 7th grade


Moon
Stephanie G.

Moon—the moon talks
to me and tells
me things like, “Be
confident.” And I
tell it, “How?” And it says,
“Figure it out yourself. You
know how. Just try. YOU
CAN DO IT.”

The moon talks
to me every night when
everyone is sleeping.

The more I grow
up, I’m more confident.

Her name is LALA because
she sings to make people
go to sleep. When she
sings I fall asleep and
become more confident.


Untitled
Emilio R.

I could hear the wind talk
to the tree. I hear swift words.
I hear the tree rumble in the
darkness…I hear what I can’t see.


Houses
Cristian G.

When I saw my neighborhood
it seemed like family.
Being all together,
watching each other.
When the curtains open and
close, it’s looking at someone.
Your neighbors coming out the
house and cleaning up the house.
They give you protection by
keeping you in the house.
Thank you, house,
for keeping me safe,
and I will thank you back.


###


Mrs. Harris, Rm. 210, 7th grade


The Beautiful Stars
Ashley C.

I look out the window and I
see the stars. I’m talking to
my friend on the phone but I don’t
really pay attention. I just stare.
I hope they don’t mind that I stare. They’re
just so beautiful. I tell my
friend I will talk to her
later because I don’t want
her to tell me something
important and I won’t
be paying attention. So then
I stare and wonder, they’re so
far away, yet they glow as
if they were a new light bulb that
just turned on. So I sneak outside
and lay on the cold and wet
grass but I don’t care, there just
lay and stare, the stars so
amazing and they’re so nice and
generous, they show their talent
by giving me a show. The best
thing: they don’t talk, but they sing.


The Fence
Janan A.

“Ya!” it said as I walked by it. “Why
don’t you close me? I am always
standing here to keep your house safe.
And you don’t close me?” “Sorry,” I say,
“I forget sometimes.” “Well, you can’t
forget,” it says. “You don’t know how
it feels standing out here in the
cold nights. And in the melting
summers. Why don’t you try
standing out here with me just
this one night?” it says. “Please!”
So I stay. And the next day
I leave and close the gate. With
a smile.


Wind
Dalia C.

It stands there with no reasoning.
The wind blows,
but it still stays in its place.
The grass says nothing.