As I walk down a cold, December
lane, drums beat and I hear footsteps
dance to the patter.
If I walk by my apartment,
I hear people partying,
talking with one another, stepping in rhythm.
When I go to work,
footsteps pound against the carpet
saying “Join us, join us.”
That’s when I get up and dance,
dance to the beat.
I don’t tell lies
I can hold my breath for two minutes
I once knew Harry Houdini he was in
my family I really have jumped out
of a plane before I once let a
shark eat me I got out
and swam to Antarctica and
became an Eskimo I rode a bear
all the way back to Arkansas where
I am now.
How to have a Party in a Library
First, you gather all the books
Then, you gather the librarians
After that, you read
you just read
the librarians would be happy,
and would I
all the townspeople would be mad though
at this silly party
where all the readers come
My Mom’s Work
My mom works for a doctor.
She breathes the sweet taste of
air freshener in the air.
She smells a doctor’s
She hears rings of phone calls.
Se sees a smooth, shiny desk.
She also sees a few people
and interviews them
to see what’s
The artist sits down to paint, pitter
patter goes the rain on the trees. The
artist tries to paint the rain, and still
pitter patter. She looks at her surroundings
and sighs. She can’t draw the rain, too
fast, pitter patter the rain mocks. But soon
the struggle would go, and the sun will
shine again, but, until then, pitter patter
goes the rain.
I met a man today selling
100 bottles of milk. It was very
peculiar but he was nicer than a
Manor at the Table
People looking at the sunset makes
them very broken. Just like a fancy
glass. With extra hot tea. A teacup
makes them dizzy, with extra hot bits
of crackers with never ending peace.
Walking Across Earth
I’m walking around earth almost
to the end. Wondering where to go to
find my love.
Biography of Pink
A peony blooming
from the ground.
that came straight from
the farmer’s market.
Petals thrown out of a
basket at a wedding.
Soft gentle jazz music.
A sun setting
on the horizon.
Are you authorized to speak
about a museum? Sculptures are
there and stuff from ancient
times. Museums are full of
memory and learning. It
is like going to a movie
theater, but you’re not watching a
movie. Museums will teach you
about different places like Africa.
Museums make you have
a clear mind.
The Warmth of the Summer Sun
We burn with summer’s warmth.
if the ocean was ice cream
If the ice cream, swimming at the beach
would be dessert. The sharks would be cookie dough. The
killer whale would be an Oreo. The sand would be sugar.
The ocean floor would be coconut crystals. The
under-water volcanoes are Hershey Kisses that
shoot out caramel. And the fish were made
out of chocolate.
To Swallow a Blizzard
To swallow a blizzard
makes your mouth numb
makes your teeth chatter and chill.
It will give your body a big ol’ thrill
To swallow a blizzard
will cover your throat with a crusty
coat of white snow.
You can try with all your
might but you can’t end that
bone chilling wind.
When it becomes night
you will put up a fight and
and pile up on blankets to get
rid of the bright white.
If You Were The Statue of Liberty
You smell like the fish, with slimy
dirty scales. You look like the ruler
of all, the bluest, tallest thing there
is. You taste like a pretzel with
extra salt. You sound obnoxious, with
a touch of loud, but sometimes you are
a hunter waiting in the forest. You feel
like the suit of a burglar, with roughness
and texture. You are the Statue of Liberty.
The Officer of Survival
Has eyes as black as night
has teeth like razor blades.
The officer of survival
has stripes as thick as sandpaper.
No one dares to touch.
I’m talking about a tiger.
Recipe For Anxiety
1 cup of the dark
2 teaspoons of unlocked doors
2 quarter cups full of suspicious characters
(mix well) Grill until you see a weird light
in the distance. When done sprinkle on
a tablespoon of police sirens coming
to get you.
If You Were A Gas Station
You would smell like a big cloud
of dirty dust. You would taste like
concrete and oil. You would look like
an old rusty crowbar. You would have
big machines living inside you. You would
stay up all night to the blaring music
of cars driving by.
A poem is a flying cow.
A poem is like a good baseball game. You’d do anything to be in it.
Date of Visit: November 4 – 5, 2014
Faculty Sponsor: Ginny Luther
Grade Level: 5
Appx. Number Students Served: 75
Visiting Writers: Cheyenne Autry, Caroline Beimford, Collin Callahan, Zach Harrod, Kathleen Heil, and Michelle Myers