Slow Down, Heaven Can Wait

Ms. Widman

High School Creative Writing


The poets at Amundsen this week had a blast writing from the pov of an animal. We read “The Heaven of Animals” by James Dickey and Frank O’Hara’s “Animals.” The students brainstormed about the role of the animal in society, their own natural world, and if the animal had a job, what would it be. Students wrote about whales, houseflies, bears, wolves, and octopi. I’m so proud to publish the following poets!














“A Reply from the Pigs” by Harrison O.


What we think sometimes

you don’t know about us

is that we are not lesser beings.

We may not be big shots with opposable thumbs

or mouths to do the talking.

We are hardly the divine arbitrators 

of evolution,

nor did we choose to be born with a squeaching snout,

a body colored like a cherry blossom tree

and a tail that curls like a whip.

We may live on a farm way out

there in the countryside, in a pig pen.

But a pen is also a home.

And to not forget that you too live

in captivity. We pigs live for free, no taxes or rent!

We may eat slop but if you had to, you would too.

We may be condemned to an inevitable

porkification, an inmate on death row.

Not all life comes to an end,

like a snowflake in the sun.

And don’t forget: we are self aware. 















“Coyote in a Butcher Shop” by Rachel C.


And the cycle continues.

It’s dark and gruesome.

Eerie flickering white lights

making his knife stand out on the river

of pomegranate juice.


Sat there was a slab

swinging his arm letting the blade meet

the other side.

How disgusting.

Why is there a smile sat on his face?

Not letting one piece go to waste.

What a crumb chaser.

Everyday he feigns for more rare

and more rare

and more rare.















“The Prince of Skies” by Meagan C.


The blood and black stripes.

Maria! Maria! Maria!

how the cries absorb the wall

dismissing letters here and there


The broad arrow mark on the wall

how sadness filled the prince like a balloon

drowning in tears.

In the ruby land above Mesopotamia

where the skies show sadness,

the carmine skies turn a shade of charcoal

whiskers pointed up

as if all of Mesopotamia knew

the prince was weeping.  



“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.