Once

Students read the following poem by Siv Widerberg:

Once

Once I liked pablum
Once I couldn't find the way to Tommy's house
Once I didn't know how to skate
Once I thought my mama
was the only Mama
though other people had mamas too
Once when I was little, smaller, littler

Among the many poems generated by this model are the following:

Once by Miguel Quiroz

Once I liked Gerber peach sauce
Once I couldn’t eat pizza with extra cheese
nor hotdogs with ketchup
Once I didn’t know how to ice skate
Once I thought my mom was an alien
Once when I was little

Once by Giselle L. Rodriguez

Once I lived in Spanish Harlem
Once I was an angry child
Once I had a brother
Once I hated shrimp
Once I didn’t want to go to school
Once when I was little

Once by Danny Santiago

Once I liked tuna fish
Once I couldn't find my way to the N.B.A. store
Once I didn't know how to play basketball
Once I thought I was the only one
who knew about Street Fighter
Once when I was young, short and skinny

Once by Dipa Begum

Once I liked to play with straw dolls
Once I couldn't make any friends
Once I couldn't speak or read English
Once I thought Bangladesh was the
only country in the world
Once when I was little, smaller, littler

Eating crisp fried fish...

Students read the following excerpt from James Berry's poem about his native home.

Eating crisp fried fish with plain bread.
Eating sheared ice made into "snowballs"
with syrup in a glass.
Eating young coconut-jelly, mixed
with village-made wet sugar.

Smelling a patch of fermenting pineapple
in stillness of hot sunlight.
Smelling mixed whiffs of fish, mango, coffee, mint,
hanging in a market.
Smelling sweaty padding lifted off a donkey's back.

Hearing the laughter
of barefeet children carrying water.
Hearing a distant braying of a donkey
in a silent hot afternoon.

Seeing a village workman with bag and machete
under a tree, resting, sweat-washed.
Seeing children toy-making in a yard
while slants of evening's sunlight slowly disappears.

The following student poem was modeled on James Berry's:

Fort Greene, Brooklyn by Alikah Hodge

Eating my mother's homemade biscuits
buttery and fluffy.
Eating mushy mashed potatoes
with Momma's grits and gravy.

Smelling the sweet scent of
freshly-squeezed citrus juice.
Smelling honeyed candied yams
piping hot from the oven.

Hearing the neighbor's beagle baying
at the break of day.
Hearing the vivacious voice of Ray Charles
roaring from the radio.

I Wanna Hear a Poem

Students listen to Steve Coleman reciting "I Wanna Hear a Poem" on Def Poetry http://blog.spokenwordart.com/2007/02/14/steve-coleman-performs-on-def-poetry/. They then write their own poem modeled on his.


I Wanna Hear a Poem by Nazifa Jahan

I wanna hear a poem
about why you do what you do.
I wanna hear a poem
about something I never knew.

I wanna hear a poem
that makes me wanna think.
I wanna hear a poem
that makes me wanna blink.

I wanna hear a poem
about something real.
I wanna hear a poem
that I can feel.

I wanna hear a love poem,
a poem that makes me moan.

I wanna hear a poem
about chatting with friends.
I wanna hear a poem,
a poem that never ends.

_____________________________________


I Wanna Hear a Poem by Joann Ruiz

I wanna hear a poem.
I wanna say “Wepa!” when it ends,
Because I’m sick of saying, “Conyo!”

I wanna hear a poem
About who you are,
And what you are,
And not about how bored you are.

I wanna hear a sad poem, a bad poem,
An “I hate math” poem,

A creamy poem,
An “I’m not what I eat” poem,
An “I bleed” poem,
An “I am a hoe” poem,
And an “I have no place to go” poem.

I JUST WANNA HEAR A POEM

I wanna hear a poem
About my sad eyes, and my tears
And my soul.

I wanna follow my footsteps
And hear the truth
About the day the world was whole.

I wanna hear a poem.

_____________________________________


I Wanna Hear a Poem by Stephanie Rodriguez


I wanna hear a poem
About loneliness,
About what to do with myself
When I get lonely,

And where to go
When I wanna feel
Sheltered and protected.

I wanna hear a poem
About finding yourself,
Because I no longer know
Who I am
Or who I’m supposed to be
Or, should I say, what others expect of me.

I wanna hear
An “I’m sick of being perfect” poem,
Because that’s what I am
Sick and tired of being perfect
Sick and tired of all the pressure
Sick and tired of all the crap.

I just wanna be me,
Accepted for who I am,
And not what others want me to be.

I just wanna relax,
Lay back,
And hear a poem.

I wanna hear a poem.


(Thank you, Susan Klein, for sharing this model and your students' work.)

Where My Grandmother Lived

Students were introduced to the following poem:

Where My Grandmother Lived by Doc Long Jr.

Where my grandmother lived
there was always sweet potato pie
and thirds on green beans and
songs and words of how we'd survived it all.
Blackness.
And the wind
a soft lull
in the pecan trees
whispered
Ethiopia
Ethiopia, Ethiopia
E-th-io-piaaa!

Among the poems it generated is the following:

Where My Grandmother Lived by Selina Lashley

Where my grandmother lived
there was always song
blowin' in the cypress trees.

Where my grandmother lived
there were sunday school,
picnic lunches in the park.

Where my grandmother lived
there were family meals,
barefoot dances for the young.

But my grandmother ran North
to this dirty, lonely slum
trying to find us
a richer life,

leaving us only stories
of where my grandmother lived.

I Am Waiting

The following poems are modeled on I Am Waiting by Lawrence Ferlinghetti. http://www.think-ink.net/visit/waiting.htm


I Am Waiting by Ibrahim Dembele

I am waiting for girls to stop acting so conceited.
I am waiting to visit Amsterdam where weed is legal.
I am waiting for my older brother to stop picking on me — although I know that will never happen.
I am waiting for my older cousin to get out of jail. He’s been in Rikers for six months for robbing four Duane Reades.
I am waiting for my aunt — his mother — to whup his ass
I am waiting for White people for stop acting so scared.
I am waiting for all races to stop discriminating against one another.
I am waiting for the Man to stop tearing down the projects.
I am waiting for rich people to stop taking over Harlem.

I Am Waiting by Isea Thomas

I am waiting to leave New York City and go back to Philly.
I am waiting to live in a neighborhood with friendly people.
I am waiting for my birth mom to stop using drugs. I haven’t lived with her since I was one, and I wonder what that would be like.
I am waiting for my aunt who adopted me to know just how much I appreciate her.
I am waiting to see my sisters.
I am waiting to become a famous fashion designer.
I am waiting to attend the Fashion Institute of Technology.
I am waiting for people to stop shooting each other.
I am waiting for that special someone.
I am waiting to find out who I really am.

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