Ms. Wesson's 5th Grade Group 1
I start at the park
riding on my bike
singing along on the long ride home.
The streetlights are shining bright in the dark.
The moon twinkles and the stars shine.
I close my eyes and feel the breeze.
Then I realize I am flying; I tweet and tweet.
I fly around and realize I am a bird.
I fly around free as I can ever be.
I’m in my house,
writing poetry.
I’m in my chair,
writing poetry.
When I write poetry,
it energizes me.
It makes me feel like someone else
other than a softie, a boring girl.
I can become a candy-loving magician,
or a magical girl.
Anything but me.
Today I’m a writing prodigy
with a love obsession.
Now, I can finally write a good story
for once.
I’m in my living room
eating pizza with mushrooms.
I think of making poetry,
while listening to the band Floetry.
Then, I watch Stranger Things
and immediately know what I’m
going to make my poem about!
Phew! Done with poetry
I look in the mirror.
I see Elle. Wait! Is this real?
I meet the cast of Stranger Things
but they don’t know the REAL ME.
Ms. Wesson's 5th Grade Group 2
Sweat runs down my head.
There is no happiness like mine.
I’m dancing poetry.
The dance instructor does not believe what she sees.
The dance instructor is so surprised.
She walks toward me with her hands in her pockets.
The poems are full.
The lights are bright.
There are people sitting on the stairs.
Their eyeballs roll.
Their wings flap.
The dance instructor does not understand.
When I get down, my wings flap.
She claps.
I’m a new girl.
I laugh.
The song that made me dance.
Happiness was in the music room.
I must have been singing poetry.
The music teacher screamed in horror.
He ran. He looked at me in a weird way.
I had turned into a bird.
The birds flew and I finally knew.
They were singing birds
who loved to sing away.
And I belonged everywhere they went.
Footsteps that are slow and fast.
No one in the world is as excited as me.
I am dancing po-e-try
The lifeguard is as surprised as me.
His smile is as bright as a star.
but I think he is nervous and I don’t know why.
The poems are jumping up and down.
The water is flowing the same beat as me
and my new best friend po-e-try.
Ms. Henry's 6th Grade Group 1
Running miles and miles through the pages
until I reach the end.
I’ve been running though poetry.
I don’t believe what I’m feeling.
I’m filled with joy.
I’m a big white page with black words.
As I look up at the person who is reading me
with a smile or maybe tears, flooding my
pages like a river.
As they flip my pages,
getting closer to the end
their tears fade away.
The ink burns through the paper
waiting vigorously for it to be done grilling.
Poetry is a tasty treat.
As I digest it, I feel a rumble.
It’s my stomach.
I look in the mirror.
I see a light red grill.
My mother is busy doing work.
She starts throwing things.
No one can have the happiness I have.
My mom stops and notices.
Her son is a grill and she has to be hurting.
She starts sobbing, and I soothe her.
I say its okay and our cat licks her hand
in the bright light.
I wake up breathing poetry.
I’m full of poetry like air.
I spill with ideas.
My mom has seen me all day in my room
spilling ideas.
My room is becoming my own
personal writing space.
When I’m not breathing poetry I’m just dust,
waiting to be blown away.
When it flows through me it’s like a waterfall
that never stops following.
I’m become full of ideas.
I can decide to be reborn
and become an eagle.
Then it’s just the beginning.
Ms. Henry's 6th Grade Group 2
The words lightly lift off the page
and slowly touch my skin.
My eyes slowly transform into the ocean.
I feel like I’m walking on clouds
watching my feet slowly lift from the ground.
My body feels relaxed and calm.
As I feel poetry
I slowly turn into a poetry angel.
Sharing poetry with everyone,
their eyes lift with awesome poetry.
Darkness surrounding the place with silence.
The dream that no longer exists.
A hint of light comes out of nowhere and
huge mirrors surround me.
The person that I once knew has disappeared.
Long black hair and black eyes that seem as if
your looking right back at yourself.
The feeling of turning into a whale.
I walk home and start talking poetry.
Every time I open my mouth, I’m talking poetry.
When I talk people surround me with fear
and I don’t know why.
I look in the cracked glass and it’s the spirit animal
that everyone is afraid of.
But one day, they will want to hear
what my spirit animal has to say.