A True Account of Talking to our Stuff (pt. 1)

I’m teaching at Taft High School for 20 weeks this year, 10 weeks with 5 classes of 7th graders and 10 weeks with 8th graders. The first day with Mrs. Asvos’s 7th graders found us reading and responding to Frank O’Hara’s “A True Account of Talking to the Sun On Fire Island.” I like this poem because it is affirming that there’s no wrong way to write a poem because no matter what, the sun likes your poetry.

The workshop is to list 10 things they see every day and have those things talk back to them and possibly teach them something about their world.

Mrs. Asvos
7th Grade, 2nd Period

“My iPad”
Hanna M.

As I woke up and rubbed
my eyes, there was only
one thing on my mind.
As my fingers touched the
glass, my iPad talked

She said, “Hey, wash
your hands! You have been
touching things here
and there, only spreading
all of your germs to me!”

“I’m sorry iPad, I only
want to check my Instagram.”
“You do not need to check on
your friends on me! Don’t
be a stalker and go outside.
Your friends live only 2
blocks away, you only
see them every other day.”

“I would go because what
you say is true, but
season 2 of PLL is

Then my iPad died.

“My Pencil”
Michael B.

My pencil yelled at me
“What are you doing?”
“I’m taking a nap!”

“I need you to
write things down
for class.”

“I don’t care!
Every day I
have to write

and I never
get a break!”
“I’m sorry

But I need you
at least write better
your penmanship is terrible!”

“Shut up! I’ve
never seen
you write!”

“I’m a bloody pencil!”
It shouted
“What do you want?”

I don’t need to
write better
I just need to write!

“I sit on my bed…”
Xochitl G.

I sit on my bed
and cry out my tears,
all of a sudden they appear.
They ask me, “Why are you crying?”
I look at them sadly and say “cuz nobody likes me.”
They sit beside me and look at me firm
“Don’t cry over something so dumb.”
I shake my head still very glum.
“You don’t get it, I’m no one.”
They shake their head and say “shut the f*** up
you’re perfect and someone.”
I smile nicely and say, “Please don’t lie.”
They slap me and say, “I do not lie!”
I shut my mouth and sit in silence.
They say, “You’re beautiful to me.”
Then with a woosh they’re gone.
I lay down and smile at them.

Mrs. Asvos
7th Grade, 3rd Period

Andreen I.

In the morning when the
cloudy gray skies of
Chicago wake me up
all I hear is the annoying
chant my glasses make in
the morning.



“Put me

I finally treat
my glasses like
an alarm clock
I put them
on so it can
shut up.

“Thank God” it says, “See
you’d be legally blind
without me, you bat!”

“Okay, Okay,” I say in
my raspy morning

I try to get ready
but there is a little
chant again.

“Clean me!”
“Clean me!’
“Clean me!”

After dressing up and fixing
myself up I take my purple
microfiber cloth and rub the
lens of my glasses. “Thank
God! No more cloudy vision
for you!” “Ugh” I reply in
a tantalizing voice.

I leave the house for school and
Oh no!

“9-Speed Life”
Vincent M.

Everywhere yet nowhere
the sky speaks to all,
yet none hear save one.

“You get no where if you
don’t move.” he says “Life
passes you by like the wind
if you don’t move.”
“Too fast, he says, “or
too slow.” he says 10 feet
away from where he was
the second before.
“You choose your speed
and stick to it, no matter
where you go.”
“What if it’s too fast?” I say
to no one, in vain, for the wind has
already moved on.

Ariel H.

The good gecko Maurice
with his fat fat tail
looks at me with his blue
rimmed eyes
and tells me

“Can I trust you?
Can I trust you to not hurt me?
Are you predator or friend?
What do you say?”

I say, “We haven’t known each other
for long, Petsmart only gave you
to me a month ago. I know you can’t quite trust me
Just keep in mind I give you meals,
I keep your coves moist and warm
I hold you every day
Now, what do you say?”

“I don’t know if you’re making me fat just
to eat me
or if you genuinely care
but until I know
your trap I will not get ensnared.”

I say, “Someday you’ll see that I’m not going
to hurt you.
I actually think
you are liking me more every day.”



“Writing poetry makes me feel like I can see myself, like I can see my reflection, but not in a mirror, in the world. I write and I know I can be reflected.”
-Oscar S.

“Writing poetry makes me feel free.”
-Buenda D.

“Writing poetry is like your best friend.”
-Jessica M.