When I went back to my stack, I felt that there were too many lovely little haiku and almost-haiku to NOT share them, so I am posting a new batch here. One from each student that wasn't featured in my last post. I couldn't resist.

Room 318

Sammy V.

In the empty room
seasons and seasons go by
until the sun goes down

Romeo S.

white snow falling down
my dog laying then dirtying himself
falling asleep in the snow

Enrique V.

The sun was sitting
near the beach where we were
having a barbecue

During our most recent class at Moos, the students and I used a poem as a place to imagine ourselves as other than human, and give voice to some part of the natural world around us. We looked at the poem The House Dog's Grave, by Robinson Jeffers, in which a family dog speaks to his owners, after he has passed away. And we reflected on what the experience of an animal in the wild might be, or that of a family pet. We used poetry to imagine the experience, thoughts, and feelings of creatures in the world around us.

Looking further into the using line breaks for effect, our 7th-graders looked at Pablo Neruda's "Oda a un gran atún en el mercado" (Ode to a Large Tuna in the Market"). We defined the ode as a poem that praises or highlights the strengths or fascinating points of its subject. I also pointed out the title of the book that this poem came from, "Odas elementales," or elemental odes. Neruda found his subject matter in his immediate surroundings, the basic "elements" of his life, highlighting and elevating that which might otherwise go unnoticed.

This session marked our eighteenth week of poetry—only two weeks left! Continuing in the vein of working with as wide a variety of poetry ideas and forms as possible, after creating the more experimental erasures from our prior class we returned to a more classical compositional mode.

For our last class in February we read a poem by Gwendolyn Brooks to celebrate the end of African American History Month.  We read the poem, to the Diaspora so we could also review poetic elements such as : repetition, metaphor and personification. 

We also tried to figure out why Brooks spelled Africa with a K.  Many of us decided she chose to spell it this way because as Poets we are allowed to be creative and use our language as an expression of who we are.

You will notice that some of these poems use some of Brooks' own lines as a starting point.

The last week of February we read and learned about the beautifully simple form of Haiku.  We read several examples of 17 syllable Haiku by such masters as: Basho, Ryusui, Takahama. In order to drum up some interesting images we poured over Highlights magazine covers and generated some wonderfully creative images for our Haiku. 

The last week of February, we read and discussed to the Diaspora by Chicago poet Gwendolyn Brooks.  Our doorway into the poem was identifying with the poet's own struggle of self-discovery and acknowledging who she was through her heritage.  We proceeded to write poems that in many ways, uncovered pieces of ourselves.

Growing Up
Briini S.

Listening to the rain falling down is like
bringing back a childhood memory.
Watching the water collect
and flowing down the street.

This is my first week at Bell, where I am pleased and honored to be working with an extraordinary group of 4th-graders. Elizabeth Alexander's lovely poem "Krishna Denies Eating Mud" provided an entertaining and rich way to whet our appetites today. In fact, I found that many students followed her lead, by incorporating mythological images into their poetry, even though that tradition isn't something we specifically discussed. Someone's been reading up on their classical mythology!

We have this connection so deep that
I fit perfectly in your
sinful heart.
Your pointed knife piecing me in
the back ‘cause of
what she
told you and I didn't do. But
still I stood red-handed. A
question
of fear but an answer in hope of something
better.
Waiting for your exploding response
that could make you. Relieve my
heart.
Create a new you. The cold feeling
from your warm question of how we
will
never be the way we were. Raindrops turn to
tears that run
like bathwater from my

I see you try to do this puzzle.
Over and over.
I watch you run
down memory lane.
Picking up the pieces.
But they'll stay the
same.
I can't leave you again.

Black was I, but so jubilant.
Blue he was. And that he'll stay.
My
eyes watch the footprints melt.
I can't leave you again.

Alley slipping back.
You really don't need to leave.
I'm here
now, always here.
I can't leave you again.