'I sift my hands through the sail sand I see': Poems of Observation

‘I sift my hands through the sail sand I see’: Poems of Observation

Students read ‘Along the East River and in the Bronx Young Men Were Singing‘ by Ariel Francisco, in a nod to the opening lines of Fredrico Lorca’s ode to Walt Whitman, ‘ By the East River and the Bronx boys were singing.’ We talked about observing others, watching closely what they do, imagining places special to us, location, location, location, how staring out the window can inform our writing, and using the senses to tell the story.

Lesson Note: “This will probably sound clichéd as a relatively new New Yorker, but I really love reading and writing on the train. I feel it’s the most productive I could possibly be because I’m reading and writing while I’m commuting. It’s like magic.”-Ariel Francisco, Brooklyn Poets Interview.

Ms. Hernandez 7th Grade

Cedar Point Nathan G.

I wake up in the morning in my motel and the first thing

I see is coasters. I hear distant screams of scared people

and I hear the chains lifting coasters

I smell popcorn and candy. I taste fresh air

and donuts. And I touch and I feel

handlebars as I elevate.

Mrs. McClain 8th Grade

Snow Day Salim B.

I hear nothing but the snow

nothing but my friends laughing while we

walked down the grey sidewalks

nothing but the swings creaking at the playground

nothing but the rumbling of cars waiting at the stop sign

nothing but the snow pit-pat-pattering

on our red noses

nothing but ice branches swaying in the wind

brushing off snow

to make the sidewalk look new.

A Whole Lot Of Jayden V.

All different from one another

but one phrase to sum it up

A whole lot of

A whole lot of snow

A whole lot of trash cans

A whole lot of cars parked next to houses

A whole lot of bricks constructing houses

A whole lot of staircases toward doors

A whole lot of twigs on the ground

A whole lot of trees that are bare

All of these individual things

construct something smaller than the universe

but bigger than a simple house

a community, for this community.

Mrs. McClain 8th Grade

Untitled Sabastian G.

I see a house

January snow is a cold mist

The house a lantern

in a sea of others

Each snowflake makes a tremendous tiny sound

when it lands

Each house a silent miniature monument

of the people inside

Beach Julian M.

As I sift my hands through the sail sand, I see

A vast salt ocean stretches nowhere near me

And I smell the fresh salt, like right off the shelf

I taste the drying salt, I can’t drink any

I sift my hands through the sail sand; this place is so

plenty.