As promised....Emily Dickinson Mad Libs

First of all, proper credit to Jeremy Howard for this brilliant teaching method. This was a great activity for student and teacher alike.  I laughed until I made my I'm-laughing-so-hard-I'm-uglier-than-normal face. (You're welcome for not posting a picture.) This first mad-lib is best described as "laced with profanity." Kidding. But, I ask all readers (including my mother) to forgive the one-time foray into bad taste. You'll know what I refer to when you get there. It was just too funny and creative to shut down.

Original: A Bird Came Down the Walk
11th Graders: A Shark Came Down the Cave

A Shark came down the Cave -
He did not know I stabbed
He bit a Platypus in halves
And ate the fellow, fried,

And then he drank a Rum
From an obnoxious Trough -
And then skied sidewise to the Sam's
To let a Liger pwn.

He hiked with fluffy eyes
That drop-kicked all around -
They looked like balding Capes, I thought -
He stalked his feed-sack Head

Like one in danger, Haggard,
I offered him a Corn
And he guffawed his prairies
And burped him softer home -

Than Peas divide the Afro,
Too baboon-butt red for a seam -
Or Kangaroos, off Banks of Dawn
Peel, harebrained as they spike.


Original: We Never Know How High We Are
11th Graders: We Never Know How Fat We Are

We never now how fat we are
Till we are asked to smack
And then if we are striped to leaf
Our statures snipe the beans -

The Catechism we recite
Would be a caramel thing
Did not ourselves the Liters throw
For fear to be a Chief -

More Poetry: Sophomores = Emo

Pain


This pain I feel,
Will it ever end. A
Constant struggle, War in
my mind constant struggle.
Sleep is my only time
away from the Thoughts
that hound my head.
I need some Thing. to give
me a peace. I turn to
Jesus and I have instant
relief. I do what he asks
and the peace fills my life
I know he is finally pleased
with me. My conscience is free
I have my Joy, my smile,
my old self. I fall into
a peaceful sleep Knowing
My conscience is finally appeased.
                    - Andrew Smith



Wanting


Not having,
but desiring
a choice I
cannot make.
A difference
not given to me
though I want
It so badly, without which
I would die.
                    - Tommy Butcher


I Wonder


Sometimes times I
sit and wonder
If my dreams will come true
What will it be like
When they do
how will I react
Sometimes I wonder
Sometimes I wonder
How things in my life will
change or will they
Stay the same I
wonder if new people
will come into my life
will they love me for
just being me
will they try to
Change
me can I be me around
any and everyone
will love someday consume
me or will I be overcome
by hate will I be too
Late I wonder
          Wonder.
                - Mark Jones




Believe


Make me
Try to believe
Only because i fail
It is your fault with a passion
Dare you?
                 - Eric Martin




Tears


All these tears. Will
they ever stop? The
constant pain and hurting.
Are they worth all the
tears. To live these
days. In pain and agony,
The tears never stop.
Until my time is up.
Standing in the rain to
blend in with my Tears...
These tears will leave me
alone...When all my hurting
is gone...
These tears will finally be away
from me...
                 - Valencia Harper




Happiness


A lot of things in life
Bring me happiness
But through everything
God is the best.
We have our toys
And our games
Everything we want
Even personal fame.
But one day we all will
either live in eternal death or Happiness.
The one I have is God
I don't want that eternal death.
It's my Heaven
Will it be yours?
                  - Scott Witt




Insomniac


Not sleeping
but doing what exactly?
These things running
through my head are...
No, they can't even be called thoughts
Not cohesive enough.
In a strange state;
A state of Nothingness
But I'm still aware...
Not of where I am
Nor of what's happening...
But of the Nothingness?
I lay here: strangest images
and words passing through
My subconsciousness.
What is that I think I see?
'Tis Nothing but a ghost
conjured up by my sleep deprived Mind...
Or is it?
Passing over the hill Now,
after I have crested it
I shall be at the home of deepest sleep
But until I reach that peak,
I must continue this journey
the journey of the Insomniac.
                      - Jeremy Davison

Cinquains (1/28/2010)

A cinquain is a five-line poem with the following syllabication:

Line 1: two syllables

Line 2: four syllables

Line 3: six syllables

Line 4: eight syllables

Line 5: two syllables

To help you further understand, here's Andrew's self-aware cinquain.

Five lines,

Having two, four,

Six, eight, two syllables -

One for each of the lines making

Cinquain.

Get it? It's a cinquain about a cinquain.

The Breakup, P. Reagan

I woke

After she left -

Broken, reeling, hurting.

She left so abruptly, I wept.

I died.

Done, T. Butcher

I've come

To make an end

Of rhyming that is wrong.

Now poets who don't rhyme correctly

Are done.

Tommy seems obsessed with ending his poems.

Song of Nature, J. Davison

Ah yes,

Sweet Euphonies!

The songs of the Bluebirds.

What sweet joy and Bliss fills my ears.

Nature.

When I read this in class, I said "Nature," like Will Ferrell as Bob Goulet in that SNL sketch.

Mourning Song, J. Davison

Oy vey!

My alarm clock!

Cruel enemy of sleep -

I should throw it out the window...

'Tis done.

(Untitled), S. Witt

Before

I go on to

Die, I want to live now

For God; to love Him everyday,

He's mine.

Butterflies, V. Harper-Chambers

They fly

In my tummy

They are there all day and

Night; All fluttering around butt-

-erflies.

Painting

She painted.
The room breathed.
The light, the smells, the sounds of the inner city were inhaled through the open window and exhaled through her brush.
A crossing guard whistled -
Her paint-flecked arms raised and dipped.
Rich color plastered and smoothed onto the blank white surface.
The engine din sang - gas-guzzling clunker thundered the bass line,
Fuel-efficient hybrid half-pint threaded a post-modernist buzz through the melody
Sung in brave gusto by the middle-class sedan whose unassuming driver chimed in subtly discontented harmonies with his head and elbow against the window.
Each clef measured gloriously through the half rests and whole notes of her holistic artistry.
Pungency of garbage adorning the city sidewalks wafted on the summer breeze to that third story window.
Milk four days past its usefulness.
Diapers four days past their usefulness.
Cockroach cuisine and rodent delicacies.
Half-eaten hoagies.
Once-eaten oatmeal
(Revisited upon its consumer thanks to that milk - four days past its usefulness).
Cans - lined with remainders:
Ravioli juice, or low-sodium chicken noodle soup, or plain beef broth.
Each homogenized yet distinguishable aroma worked its way into the paint - perhaps to linger:
Perhaps to be immortalized in her work...
And that heavenly city light...
As she painted and the room breathed,
The afternoon sunlight radiated through the window,
Soaking with warmth, cheering the wearied movements, cleaning, renewing, resonating, inspiring, giving.
Night would welcome new light - electric, vibrant, city strobes:
To shelve the warmth of the workday and chores - those wearied movements - to stoke, to sway, to thrive, to live, to take, to break, and to restore.
That city sunlight - that city night-light - with their richly diverse spectra
Both merged and commingled in jitterbug daydreams.
As her paint-flecked arms rolled and rolled and rolled.
And dipped. And rolled and rolled and rolled.
...Let this coat dry.
One more coat of Gobi Desert on the kitchen walls and she could start on the bathroom walls.
Aquashell...

Poem by an anonymous freshman

This poem must be shared with the world (I didn't actually get permission...but I think he'd be glad I'm broadcasting his brilliance). These were the directions for one of my freshmen exam questions: Write a poem (at least four lines) that is either free verse or uses personification. This is what I got:

Volcano

I watch a volcano
It rumbles as if it were mad
When the lava comes out
It looks like it is wearing a red dress
So I ask God to calm the volcano down
So the volcano opens the top
To listen with its ears
Because it wants to hear God talk.