Last post of the year for me: "My Poems"

N.B.: This will be my last posting from the 2007 - 2008 school year at Shields. Some of the other teachers may continue to post for a few more entries. Posting will resume in fall of 2008, when the new residencies begin. Thank you for reading!

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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.



Ms. Vilchis, Rm. 202, 3rd grade


My Poem Speaks
Andrea P.

My poem talks to me when
I don’t have nobody to
talk with. Or when I am sad
he confesses me and he
says funny jokes and words. But
my poem is a really good
speaker. He confesses me when
I am angry. But my poem
is the best.


My Poem Speaks to Me
Daniel R.

My poem speaks to me all the time
and we always play and in the night we
talk and we go to eat. We speak to
each other and we play games and
we go to sleep. My poem wanted to
sleep with me and always be nice
to each other, and my poem is the
biggest poem in the world, and he
acts weird and dumb. And he is
a bird and his wings are too small,
and when he speaks to me and then
he always falls down the stairs
and he is nice to me, and we go to
the park. We speak to each other.


My Poems
Sergio H.

My poems speak to me when I want
to read. My poems share the stories with
other people. My poem is a paper and on top
of the paper is a bird
that flies. And shows the paper
to other people.


Loud People in the Halls
Nicole O.

Loud people are in the halls
making lots of noise. Sometimes I
say to myself to be not
loud. When there’s lots of noise
I feel when there’s lots of noise
in the hallway I say to myself,
The girls and boys are so loud
and annoying and they’re so loud. I am
not loud at all.


My Poems
Maricela E.

appear on papers how the appear
in different ways
they appear like people
they could appear the
same poem once and
again it could
appear many ways
however you write it will
appear it could
be any way you want
they tell what to do


Mrs. Vazzana, Rm. 104, 3rd grade


My Poems
Victor P.

Cuando escribo, siento que me voy
a ser un niño inteligente.

Cuando escribo yo siento que
el papel se siente feliz.


Untitled
Luis M.

My poems keep my secrets.
My poems tell me, Run as fast as
you can, you can’t catch me.” My poems
act like two little brothers.
My poems don’t keep secrets from me.
My poems look like a sun because
they jump like in the folder. My poems
say thank you to me.


My Poems
Andrea R.

My poems come to my brain and come with me.
The peoples the teacher bring are scary sick.
When is Valentine’s? The teacher
is really beautiful.
When the teacher comes I write a poem to babies.
The day of moms I write a poem.
The teacher is really good poems because the poems,
the poems I write are not good.
I like the poems.
The poems are my favorite. When I write.
The people are really happy when I write the poems.
When the people see, and my mom says it’s the best writing.


My Poems
Esmeralda P.

The poems inspire me and
my poems are like family.
They are nice and sometimes
mean.

But they are always going to
love me and that’s never going
to change.

And I am going to love them
forever forever.

And I’m happy. I like my life.
March 26, 2008
Ms. Hamdan, Rm. B15, 3rd grade


My Poems
Angelica A.

My poems get that screaming.
They get annoying.
They get crazy.
They get nosy.
They get tired.
They get loud.
They get red.
They get heart.
They get too blue.
They get too mad.
They get too bloody.
They get blood on their hands.
They get too heart.
They get furious.
They get too much look.
They get very furious.
They get very sweaty.
They get burning.
They get drums in their head.
They get too loud.
They get too mad.
They get scared.
They get an idea.
They get too personal.
They get too sleepy.
They get too watery.
They get too much furious.
They get too softy.
They get too mad.


My Words
Sergio P.

come by my mouth
They give me answers
to make me smart and to
give me a start.
They’re not mean and they
don’t shout. They’re good
and nice.


My Poem
Moises A.

Writing poetry is like kicking a soccer ball.
But when I see it I go crazy. When I eat I think
my plate is a paper of poetry. I like dancing
with my friend Miss Poetry. I like dancing with
my friend Miss Poetry. I will have so much fun.


My Poems
Marcos B.

They’re like a man with
words all over him. Or like a
shoe but the words are shoelaces.
My poems come if I imagine
this. They come if I’m happy but
they come quiet. When I’m
sad they come to me screaming.
I like my poems and I’ll write them
all until it’s too late to play
with the words in all.


My Poems
Joel D.

My mouth is loud
My car is in the parking lot.
My mind is getting find.
My mouth is in the President’s house.
My car is far, in the Pacific Ocean.
My mouse is in the house.
My March is in the garage.
My name is in flame.
My friends are friends.
My bank is thank.


My Poems
Nestor H.

are the stars in the beautiful
night sky. How I get my
poems is like hair; when you
are a baby you start
out with little bits of hair.
Then as you get older
you get more hair. This is
how I get my thoughts.


My Poems
Jordy D.

keep making me write more
I feel my poem is going to
rip the paper if I stop
he’s not nice and he keeps
tapping me on the
shoulder,
I get mad sometimes
I tell my dad


My Poems
Jazmin N.

They way the wind blows me
and tells me something. They way the
clouds tell me what to writea dn
the way the air tells me to do.
The way in the night the soul of
me tells me to write this. The
soul of me wakes me up just
to write and write. When I go to
sleep my poems come to me
and would not let me sleep. Until
I write it.


My Poems
Giselle H.

My words come to me when I’m in a middle
of a dream. The words are like if they
jump out and say, “This is boring. I’m
leaving.” And suddenly you wake up and have
an idea. If you think it stinks don’t throw it
in the sink. They rhyme doesn’t need to
follow. They point isn’t needed. All you need is
inspiration. If at first you don’t succeed don’t
give up. And don’t fuss just try again.
If I daydream a word
stretches me back.