THE CITY INSIDE US
My heart is as busy as a race car
racing around a track.
My brain thinks as if it was
a scientist on a sugar high.
My stomach is as jumpy as a
sack race with people falling.
My blood’s vicious as wrestlers
fighting for a trophy.
My bones are a circus act
going as planned.
Blue like the sea with waves
galore, blue like the sky friends
with the clouds, blue like a dolphin
swimming in the pond with an
apple in its mouth for later.
Giraffe in the Big Apple
I am a giraffe in the big apple. I
never been so I am looking for
a big apple.
Everybody is staring at me as
I prance through the sidewalk.
No big apple but a big man. This man
is taller than me way way taller.
He does not move and is gray.
He is holding a torch and a book.
He smells like cement and tastes
He feels rough and beat up. He
sounds like a piece of history
And after I am done with the
gray man I look at the buildings
and I take a big whiff of the air
and it smells like gas, sounds like
horns, looks like a tall city.
The Poem You’ve Been Waiting For
chameleon colorful long tongue
gummy worm stretchy wiggly rainbow
Harry Potter Chamber of Secrets
Thrift Shop I got this big ol’ coat
baseball player architect
fighting people and sharks
1 going home—
2 going to a birthday party—going to a
3 taking a nap—taking a nap
4 going to school—going to school
5 having a sleepover with my friend
having a sleepover with my friend
6 going to the pool—going to the pool
7 going to Florida, Denver—
going to Florida, Denver
You’re the present time in a party
You’re the smile on a gloomy man’s
You’re the gold medal at the Olympics
You’re the crowd cheering after
You’re the smell of chocolate chips
melting on a cookie
You’re the cool ice-water that
runs down my throat on a
hot summer day
You’re the pop in my life
Wait and See
I’m out here now,
So what am I supposed to do?
Do I sit here, and listen to the birds tweeting away?
Do I sit here, and sit here and name the shapes of the clouds?
Do I sit here, and taste the humid air I breath?
Do I sit here, and let the blades of grass tickle at my legs?
Do I sit here, and smell the humid air?
Or do I sit here and wait for a door to success to open for me?
No, I do not.
I do not know how I will do it.
But, I will grow up to leave the smallest mark on the world.
Work and try is something I can do.
Enlighten me, do you want to help others as much as I do?
As I wander wearily along
an old bay, I decide to lean against
an ancient mossy cypress tree,
and taste the cool air blowing
in my thirsty gaping mouth.
I get up to my unsteady feet,
only to fall face-first
into the watery bay. Though quite
blurry, I can make out the shapes
of minnows and small bream
hastily darting away from me.
As if on instinct, I sit up
and listen to the birds. Doves cooing.
Robins chirping. Buntings singing.
Crows cawing. As much as I want
to, I cannot swim, but I can
climb. So I do. I climb
all the way to the top of an old
cottonwood. I feel the study
limbs as they support me. Say,
do you benefit from what
Under the willow
the bunnies burrow.
The sparrow flaps
her long black wings.
I teach the child
how to read and say
to myself, Why does
a willow weep?
I hear the wind
calling my name
while I see
the sparrow making
its nest among
the branches. I eat
the berries I packed
for lunch and smell
the fresh cut grass
and touch the long
branches of the willow
Can you tell me why
a willow weeps?
I’ve never had any secrets.
I don’t think I’ll ever have any.
I shouldn’t ever hide myself.
The Dinner Party
I invited Albert Einstein to dinner
on the condition that he didn’t play
with his dirty hair. All he talked about
was how he made up E=MC2.
We were eating pizza for dinner
and the pepperoni was so spicy
that his hair caught on fire.
I asked, “Is it really that hot?!?!”
as he rolled on the floor screaming.
Ode to the Pencil
O pencil, when I watch you draw
it’s like watching a sunset.
When my hand meets
with your wooden surface,
it feels so smooth
like a well-polished glass window.
Your yellow paint seems
to glow like the sun
on a hot summer day.
O pencil, when your eraser
clears my mistakes,
it’s like a broom sweeping away dust.
When your tip dances
across my paper, it’s like
a ballerina gracefully moving
across the floor.
Without you, this poem
would’ve never existed.
Root Elementary School
Date of Visit: April 22 – 23, 2013
Faculty Sponsor: Diane Carpenter
Grade Levels: 3, 4, 5
Appx. Number Students Served: 200
Visiting Writers: Aran Donovan, Diana Reaves, Chris Tamigi, and Corrie Williamson