2008 (pdf) - Just Buffalo Literary Center

Just Buffalo gratefully acknowledges the funding support essential to making
our Writers in Education programs and this publication possible:
JPMorgan Chase
Buffalo Board of Education
Cameron Baird Foundation
Conable Family Foundation
Peter C. Cornell Trust
Western New York Assembly Delegation
This book is an anthology of creative writing by student participants in
Just Buffalo Literary Center’s Writers in Education programs.
Volume XV • Wordplay is a publication of Just Buffalo Literary Center
Cover art: Lori Desormeaux • Page design: Julian Montague

Welcome to Wordplay
Welcome to Wordplay 2008, Just Buffalo’s annual publication of the most
outstanding student work produced during our Writers in Education programs.
Each year, Just Buffalo’s writers work with over 20 schools across Western New
York—public, private, parochial, rural and suburban—engaging more than 2000
students in creative writing, reading, listening and speaking to support academic
achievement and active engagement in the literary arts.
Just Buffalo is privileged to work with dedicated teachers and principals who are
willing to open their classrooms to collaborative work with teaching artists. They
understand that each student in their care learns differently and that the making
of literary art truly engages students who might otherwise be disconnected from
classroom learning. Too often the pressure of high-stakes testing crowds out the
vital connections that creative writing inspires in students. Just Buffalo’s Wordplay
demonstrates that when teachers and writers work together, students embrace
the challenge to be creative, thoughtful, and unique in their expressions.
Wordplay not only is an inspiration for young writers whose work may be
published for the first time and for those yet to be published but also for teachers
as a vibrant resource to be used in every classroom. So, too, parents, principals,
and schools can join in the excitement of seeing the concrete results inspired by
bringing literary artists into the classroom. Most importantly, Wordplay offers us
the opportunity to celebrate the talents of the next generation and the power of
the written word in our lives.
Wordplay could not have been produced without the support and assistance of
the Buffalo Teacher Resource Center and its Advisory Board, the Buffalo Board
of Education, and the Arts in Education program of the New York State Council
for the Arts.
Finally, it is with deepest thanks that we acknowledge Just Buffalo’s Writers
Corps, those dedicated writers who breathe life into each school residency. It is
through their efforts and talents that so many young people are inspired to find
their own words and voices.
Laurie Dean Torrell
Executive Director
Barbara Cole
Education Director
Heartfelt thanks and congratulations to the teachers, principals, parents
and, most especially, the students who contributed to Just Buffalo’s
successful education programs in the 2007-08 school year:
Akron Elementary School
Buffalo Academy for Visual and Performing Arts, P.S. 192
Catholic Academy of West Buffalo
Como Park Elementary School
Leonardo DaVinci High School, P.S. 212
East Aurora High School
East High School, P.S. 307
Emerson School of Hospitality, P.S. 302
Global Concepts Charter School
Holy Angels Academy
Houghton Academy, P.S. 69
Hutchinson Central Technical High School, P.S. 304
Dr. Lydia T. Wright School of Excellence, P.S. 89
Stanley M. Makowski Early Childhood Center, P.S. 99
McKinley High School, P.S. 305
Middle Early College High School, P.S. 415
Mt. St. Joseph Academy
Our Lady of Mt. Carmel
South Park High School, P.S. 206
St. Mark Elementary School
Tapestry High School
Western New York Maritime Charter School
Special thanks to Just Buffalo’s Empire State Partner Schools:
Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 56
Principal: Michael Gruber
Host Teachers: John Blain, Maureen Castellani, Donna Duggan,
Sarah Fiorella, Jim Fredo, Kim Minor, Sara Rodland
Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 64
Principal: Michael Gruber
Host Teachers: Carolyn Flynn, Liz Lonergan, Karen Lucas, Pat Postula,
Denise Ott, Cynthia Roberts, Melanie Slisz
as well as Highgate Heights, P.S. 80, our collaborative partner with
CEPA Gallery
Principal: Gayle Irving-White
Host Teachers: Kathleen Lyons, Jennifer Arcuri, Jennifer Berg,
Corey Kick
Just Buffalo is proud to partner with:
Albright-Knox Art Gallery
Big Orbit Gallery
CAPC (Coalition of Arts Providers for Children)
CEPA Gallery
MUSE (Musicians United for Superior Education)
Parkside Community Association
Just Buffalo Literary Center is a member-supported non-profit organization.
Our members play a crucial role in Just Buffalo’s success
and are greatly appreciated for their support. For more information
about any of our programs or to become a member, please visit our
website www.justbuffalo.org or call 716-832-5400.
JUST BUFFALO
Wordplay
VOLUME XV•2008
Editor
Barbara Cole
Cover Art: “Wordplay”
Lori Desormeaux
generously donated by the artist
Page Design
Julian Montague
Manuscript Preparation
Chelsea Bath
Writing with Light Insert
Selected in consultation with
Karen Lewis, Amy Meza Luraschi,
Lauren Tent, and Mike Kelleher.
Formatted by Amy Meza Luraschi
at CEPA Gallery.
Just Buffalo Administration
Executive Director
Laurie Dean Torrell
Artistic Director
Mike Kelleher
Education Director
Barbara Cole
Development Associate
Elizabeth Lyman
Administrative Assistant
Lynda Kaszubski
Receptionist
Hallie Winter
Accountant
Kris Pope
Interns
Chelsea Bath
Emily O’Leary
www.justbuffalo.org

The Path to Change
Silver Dreams
Change is a long path
It can be peaceful as a bird
Or loud as a lion.
It also can be hard
To change or change back.
A path can be long
As a river, a hall,
A driveway, a street
Or a pond.
Change can be changed
Such as a tree
Changing colors every year.
The path of change.
Noon to midnight
That’s all I see
Nightmares scare me
I see a train
The train looks like a dragon
to me the moon the light
Makes the train as fast as a cheetah
In the distance
A faint glow
Like a canyon set a glow
All I can say is
Starlight moonlight
float with me
Christopher Peete
Grade 5
Highgate Heights
Freddi Krehbiel
Grade 4
Frederick Law Olmsted School #64
I Shall
I shall stand
When the war
Has started
I shall stand
When the war ends
I shall stand
When a generation ends
I shall stand when
A new generation
Has begun
I shall be the flower
Of peace
I shall stand
When the cold
Weather has started
And when the wind
Is blowing me
But I shall be
The flower of peace
And respect
Mariatu Baker
Grade 6
Frederick Law Olmsted School #56
Waiting
He was in the school gym and he
knew it was only a game that they had
lost, yet he refused to take it that way.
That Night he did something that he
would regret for the rest of his life. The
sirens were racing down the street and
he just sat there, waiting and waiting.
Ashley Budhu
Grade 8
Highgate Heights

Joe Davis
Grade 5
Highgate Heights
Change is a free bird and a fun play house
And a round tunnel on a summer day
Change is a roof, and car with snow on it
Like a newborn sky with lots of snow
Like a snowflake in the breeze
Change is like a footstep in the snow
Change is like the hot sun with melted snow
Turning into water change is like a building
With black and brown snow on it
Change is like twenty-eight windows
With the sun’s sky staring right upon it
Change is like a newborn baby
Crying in the hospital
Mr. Gruber
You guided me
Provided for me
concerned
When I became an
Outcast
Left with nothing
Bad grades in school
No home to go to
No where to go
Hit bottom
Left on the rock
But you never looked
Down on me
You kept my hopes
Up
You respected, provided
Encouraged, guided
Me
Didn’t let me die
In a snow
Of
Failure
Delenci Brown
Grade 6
Frederick Law Olmsted School #56
Filled with Respect
Kaitlyn Abel
Grade 4
Frederick Law Olmsted School #64
Claire Schroeder
Grade 6
Frederick Law Olmsted School #56
Respect is a quiet click of a camera
This picture captures a thousand words
Words of trust and love
That shines through the eyes
The eyes of two people
But loneliness and discomfort
With eyes that stare pierce
They lie behind backs of
Disrespect
Take the hands of the helpless
Guide them and help them
Be unlike the others who stand selfish
Take someone and hold them
Because with respect we step forward
We raise each other

MEET THE Writers Corps
Karima Amin is a native of Buffalo, NY, who strives to preserve the art of storytelling in performances, workshops,
and author visits for story lovers of all ages. From 1994-2005, her storytelling was a regular feature
on WBLK-FM (93.7). In 2002, Karima was invited to share her stories in Senegal, West Africa. The author of
a children’s book, The Adventures of Brer Rabbit and Friends (Dorling Kindersley, 1999), as well as several
original stories which have been anthologized in African American Children’s Stories: A Treasury of Tradition
and Pride (2001) and Grandma Loves You (2003), she also has produced several recordings of her retellings of
traditional fables and folktales. Her CD, You Can Say That Again! (2004), earned a Parents’ Choice Foundation
Gold Award in 2005. “Knowing that every culture has its stories, I believe that storytelling is
a perfect medium for teaching about the customs, traditions, and history of a people…. listeners
come to know that we are united by common human experiences in spite of our differences.”
Sally Bittner Bonn is a poet, performer and teacher from Rochester, NY, who has enjoyed working with
children in creative and academic environments for the last twelve years. Holding a B.F.A. in Theatre from
Syracuse University, Sally has been featured at poetry readings in the Rochester area and throughout southern
California as well as at the 2001 National Poetry Slam in Seattle. The most recent of her two chapbooks,
Walking Woman, has been included in several anthologies. “It is my hope and intention to create a pandemic
of joy. Joy for language and joy for the sense of community that comes from collaborating.
Children need to learn to love language, their own language, and find the power of using their
own voices.”
Robin F. Brox is a poet and educator currently living on the west side of Buffalo, NY. She earned an M.A.
in English from The University of Maine—Orono in 2005 and a B.A. in English from SUNY—Buffalo in 2001.
The founder of Saucebox, a collective of women artists, Brox has produced the group’s audio and print anthologies
in addition to printing handmade chapbooks and broadsides under the Saucebox imprint. She first began
performing at local open mics at age sixteen, and continues to write and read her work while teaching for Just
Buffalo Literary Center, Young Audiences of WNY, and as a freelance artist. “I believe that language exists
inside our minds and outside our selves, as part of an ongoing conversation, across time, culture,
and geography. The world we encounter provides us the raw material, but language is the tool
with which we carve poetry.”
Recently named the new Education Director of Just Buffalo, Barbara Cole has been a teaching artist since
2004. Barbara holds an M.A. in Poetry from Temple University and her Ph.D. in English with a specialization
in Poetics from the University at Buffalo. Since 2000, she has been writing the ongoing project, situ ation
come dies. The first chapbook-length section of this long work was published in 2002 by Handwritten Press
and additional installments include, from foxy moron, (/ubu editions, 2004) and ear say (Belladonna Books,
2008). Most recently, Cole edited Poets at Play: An Anthology of Modernist Drama with Sarah Bay-Cheng.
“My pedagogy is fundamentally grounded in reciprocity: treat students with respect and they will
reciprocate. This philosophy applies as well to my relationship to language. I believe in treating
words with respect and hope, above all, for my students to understand that words have power
and, so too, we have power in our words.”
Jerome Joseph Gentes is a Lakota-Gros Ventre American Indian. He received his B. A. in English from the
University of California, Berkeley, and his M.F.A. in Writing from Columbia University. Jerome is a regular
contributor to Publishers Weekly and serves on the board of the Lockport City Ballet. He is currently on the faculty
of the English Department at Niagara University and is the Program Director for the Spencer Workshops
at the Chautauqua Institution. “Whether the specific medium is dance, music, painting, film, writing
or storytelling, art enhances and often facilitates human communication…. Art speaks because
artists learn and teach their art how to speak; but, the capacity for ordinary human communication
often strikes me as equally profound, as its own kind of mystery and power, science and art.”
Karen Lewis is lead Teaching Artist for Just Buffalo Literary Center and a contributing editor (literature
and poetry) for award-winning Traffic East magazine. A fellow of the Banff Centre’s Wired Writing Studio, an
internationally-recognized arts and educational institution in Banff, Alberta, Karen also teaches adult writing
workshops. Her mentor, Don Domanski, received Canada’s 2008 Governor General’s Award for Poetry.
In 2007, Karen’s innovative “Picturing Poetry” project at Native American Magnet School (with CEPA gallery
teaching artist Amy Luraschi) was the subject of a documentary by filmmaker Jon Hand. “I encourage
my students to think of themselves as artists. They discover a new sense of freedom in writing, a
freedom to use their imagination, intellect and personality to their fullest extent…. Working with
“Habits of Mind” traits helps to create a truly teachable classroom environment that models Aristotle…
‘We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act but a habit’.”
Liz Mariani is a local poet who believes spoken word, creative writing and any variation of the poetry performance
will bridge communities and save her city. Her first chapbook, imaginary poems for my imaginary
girlfriend named anabel, was published by sempreverdi press in 2008. Her website is www.lizmariani.com.
Currently, she is pursuing an MA in Global Gender Studies at the University at Buffalo.“My primary teaching
goal as a poet, spoken word performer, curator and educator is to cultivate and improve the
creative self-esteem of students, young and old.”
Laura Nathan received her M.F.A. in creative nonfiction from Bennington College. Her writing has appeared
in numerous publications including The Writers’ Chronicle, Mother Jones, The Independent Film and Video
Monthly, and the forthcoming anthology, Screwball Television: Gilmore Girls (Syracuse University Press).
Previously the Editor of INTHEFRAY Magazine, an online magazine concerning identity and community,
Laura has taught students of all ages and backgrounds in Houston, Austin, New York, Chicago, and Buffalo.
She is currently working on a collection of personal essays about teaching. “I fell in love with writing in the
third grade, thanks to my language arts teacher, Mrs. Maxwell…who represented what I think a
teaching artist should be: someone who encourages students to write creatively, to ask countless
questions, to think -- and write -- outside the box. Someone who facilitates a lifelong love for writing
and literature and gives her students the confidence they’ll need every step of the way.”
Born and raised in Buffalo, N.Y., Pamela Plummer is the author of two volumes of poetry, Skin of My Palms
(2004) and Meditation on Ironing Boards & Other Blues (1994). A social worker and educator for more than 20
years, Pamela is an alumnus of Lafayette High School, Cornell University, and SUNY Buffalo, with a Ph.D.
in Health Education and Health Promotion from the University of Alabama at Birmingham. A recipient of the
Hughes, Diop, Knight Poetry Award from the Gwendolyn Brooks Center for Black Literature and Creative
Writing, her poems have been incorporated into theatre performances in Los Angeles and Atlanta. “One of
the most powerful aspects of the written word is its ability to transform our perceptions. Poetry
can awaken us to new ideas—it can be the mirror reflecting aspects of life previously unknown or
unexamined…. The blank page is an incredible canvas on which we might laugh, cry, question—”
Sherry Robbins is a poet, teaching artist, and free-lance writer. Since 1977, she has conducted creative
writing workshops throughout New York State and abroad, working with hundreds of students each year. In
addition to many publications in literary journals and anthologies, she has two books of poetry, Snapshots of
Paradise and Or, the Whale. Arts-in-education consultant for the University of Coimbra in Portugal and for
Portugal’s Belgais Center for the Study of Arts, Sherry was named the New York State Teaching Artist of
the Year for 2005 by the Association of Teaching Artists. “The mechanics are easy. Hand students some
basic tools for writing a poem… Give them individual attention and time to write. Listen to the results…
There is something to celebrate in each piece of creative writing, and celebration encourages
further creative exploration beyond the bounds of any given class or residency. Anything
can happen.”
Gary Earl Ross is a professor at the University at Buffalo EOC and the award-winning author of more than
170 published short stories, poems, articles, scholarly papers, and public radio essays. His books and staged
plays include The Wheel of Desire and Other Intimate Hauntings, Shimmerville: Tales Macabre and Curious,
Sleepwalker: The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, the children’s tale Dots, and Matter of Intent (winner of the Edgar
Award from the Mystery Writers of America). He has two plays in development, The Scavenger’s Daughter and
Murder Squared, and his novel, Blackbird Rising, is currently under consideration. A member of the Dramatists
Guild of America and the Mystery Writers of America, Ross was recently named playwright-in-residence
at Ujima Company and was awarded a Constance Saltonstall Foundation Fellowship in Playwriting. “More
than giving us a glimpse into another mind, stories connect the dots of being human and fill the
chasm between cultures with the shared particulars of life.”
Siobhán Scarry holds an M.F.A. in Creative Writing and an M.A. in Literature from the University of Montana,
and is currently pursuing her Ph.D. in English at the University at Buffalo with an emphasis on 20th
century poetry and poetics. She has taught creative writing, composition, and literature at both the university
and high school level. Her poetry and fiction have appeared in Mid-American Review, jubilat, Sentence: A
Journal of Prose Poetics, and Greensboro Review, among other journals. Recent honors include a fellowship to
the Djerassi Resident Artists Program and poems chosen as Editors’ Choice in the Fineline Competition for
the Prose Poem (2003, 2004, and 2005). “Teaching writing is a natural extension of my work as a creative
writer…. My classes are at once laboratories where we study poems and their many forms,
workshops where poetry gets “made,” and conversations in which student input is a vital part of
the learning process.”

INDEX
Who am I?
Janae Adams: 34
Amadi Ikpeze: 13
Allyson Sciortino: 20
My Soul
My Name
Jeremy Adams: 32
Elias Alkebulan: 18
Zaina Alsadam: 32
Jada Alston: 21
Ashley Andrews: 36
Hank Balling: 26
Asia Battle: 10
Paige Beale: 26
Justine Bidell: 14
Michael Campbell: 27
Como Park Kindergarten Class: 9
Darnesha Coward: 16
Samantha Craddock: 34
Sierra Dilbert: 35
Matthew Dillon: 13
Aujajuan Donalson: 21
Mary Douglas: 22
Treefa Fadhil: 25
Jillian Farrell: 16
Janlonna Faulkner: 9
Ashley Felber: 13
Dante Feliciano: 16
Amanda Figueroa: 30
Darth Freeman: 30
Catherine Galbo: 13
Samantha Gascon: 18
Alexis Gray: 33
Griffin Green: 23
Amber Hall: 28
Azrael Harrier: 7
Orlando Hill: 20
Miles Holliman: 17
Jessica Howard: 12
Sara Hughes: 17
Nkiru Ifedigbo: 29
Lucas Jachimiak: 8
Timothy Jackson: 36
Ryan James: 33
Scott Jarvis: 7
Hee Jin Kim: 8
Madeleine Lynch-Johnt: 10
Mark Mathews: 14
Melissa Ann Mazurek: 23
James McAleer: 20
Damona McCreary: 24
Catherine McDaniel: 36
Morgan McDaniel: 24
Sean McGrath: 14
Mercedes McMahon: 11
Shanise McPhatter: 27
Julia Merrill: 36
Allison Monaco: 35
Antonio Montanez: 22
Deanna Morales: 20
Jasmine Morgan: 31
Alyssa Niggel: 29
David O’Sullivan: 8
Miguel Ortiz: 12
Jean A. Pagan: 23
David Penna: 17
Kate Quinn: 22
Alyssa Remsen: 11
Mrs. Ruth Robson: 19, 35
Wildelis Rosa: 12
Richard Roseboro, Jr.: 31
Raymond I. Ross, III: 33
Joelle Rosso: 24
Joey Ruopoli: 26
Kayleen Schill: 11
Rebecca Schroeder: 25
Tionna Spidell: 15
Jackson Standard: 28
Alexis Stover: 19
Amanda Strobele: 30
Chris Tocha: 34
Daniel Truitt: 9
Joshua Valeri: 32
Brigitte Vossler: 14
Mark Wallace: 10
Moët C. Watson: 7
Emmanuel Williams: 24
Madison Winkler: 12
Madison Wojtanik: 34
Chardany Young: 27
Nicole Zambito: 15
Ashley Ann Zielinski: 15
Writing With Light Insert
Kaitlyn Abel
Mariatu Baker
Delenci Brown
Ashley Budhu
Joe Davis
Freddi Krehbiel
Christopher Peete
Claire Schroeder
Reflections
Kaitlyn Abel: 28
Monica Bonner: 15
Khala Carter: 18
Freddi Krehbeil: 33
Claire Schroeder: 21
Jasper Swiezy: 25
My soul is like a
blue cloud in the
morning.
My soul is
light as a feather
on a tree of wisdom.
My soul and my
spirit combine like a
river, and flow across
like music to my ears.
Moët C. Watson
Grade 4
Stanley M. Makowski
Early Childhood Center, P.S. 99
The Story of This Girl’s Life
The rivers flowing wide over the horizon.
The extraordinary stars fade to yellow
as the sun peaks through the darkness.
Water rushing toward the rocks,
wind whistling through the trees,
Berries off the bush,
fresh spring water flowing
under my feet.
Pine burns vibrant in the open fire.
Lilies grow all around.
The leaves as if they were silk
on an infant’s face.
The water and I float away.
The rush of excitement as it all fades to black.
Azrael Harrier
Grade 10
Emerson School of Hospitality, P.S. 302
My name,
It is soft,
But yet empowering.
I am a rhapsody of sound,
I am a pumping heart,
Ready to explode.
It reminds me of love, passion,
fury, and energy.
I am an electron,
Waiting to spark.
I am a mighty warrior,
Although kind-hearted.
My name is an explosion,
Getting ready to start fire.
My name is intelligent,
Like a famous scholar.
I am a figure,
Of light and darkness.
My name is soft,
Like a smooth edge.
I am soft spoken,
Although my name says otherwise.
I am furious,
Plus I’m fearless,
My name.
Scott Jarvis
Grade 5
Our Lady of Mt. Carmel
7

Who am I?
Am I Real?
I have many problems
Am I cursed?
The family I live with is poor.
Dream away my problems is what everyone tells me to do.
And the estate owner doesn’t help.
The brain in my head is confused.
Hope is something I don’t have.
Of course I dream.
The only problem is I live the life of a
Slave.
David O’Sullivan
Grade 6
Mt. St. Joseph Academy
Untitled
My heart is a drum.
In summer. Play. Fast
Lucas Jachimiak
Kindergarten
Como Park Elementary School
8
Picture
I see myself sitting in the large frame of a window
towards the street of my hometown.
I see blue sky and dotted white clouds
which look like feathers or frosting of cakes.
I hear sounds of church bells always ringing at noon.
I hear sounds of birds and insects
whose names cannot be recognized by me.
I smell incense of lavender candles
and the fragrance of herbs in my small and square room.
I touch my skin and wonder about that
I am sitting on the window frame
Is it a dream or not.
I touch a cold glass of lime-flavored water
which tastes like the peak of summer.
I taste summer and the heat
Which people really don’t like.
I taste my Mom’s noodles
which look like a small veggie garden.
I feel life within me and from all surroundings.
Hee Jin Kim
Grade 10
Holy Angels Academy
Monster
I’m a monster, a savage
A black kid wreaking havoc
Prejudice every day
I’m lost without a Mapquest
Seen as a rebellious teen
They don’t know what happened
Bullets screamin’ RAGE
When they hit that innocent black kid
I’m a monster, a savage
A killer in madness
Souls torn apart like
People rippin’ cabbage
Black kids, white kids
Asians and Hispanics
We’re the same but different
Takin’ measures that are drastic
I’m a monster, a savage
A black kid wreaking havoc
We don’t see the common enemy
With its rash and
Watch ya life, life fade, fade from white, white to red, red
Runnin’ away with lies ya heard from the feds
Snappin’ and clappin’, tell ya boy what’s happenin’
Global Warming spreading
And the Earth gets its ass kicked
Talkin’ ‘bout the issues
See them biodegrade like toilet tissue
Broken rhythms that drop like beats
A black M-O-N-S-T-E-R
Is what the police see
But they don’t see me for
What I am
But I’ll try to change the world with
The words of this SLAM
I’m a monster, a savage
A genius wreaking havoc
Tell me Lord, when are we gonna stop this madness?
Daniel Truitt
Grade 9
Tapestry High School
WHo Am I?
Kindergarten Class Poem
I am a seed
I live underground
It’s dark as the night sky
At midnight
Tomorrow I have to go to school
To learn to be a tree
I am afraid of beavers
But I love apples
I dream of twinkling stars
I need to grow a root
I need water
I need sunshine
I want a friend
To climb my branches
I will give her fruit
Mrs. Lewis’s Poetry Class
Kindergarten
Como Park Elementary School
“What is down”
What is down
What is up
When I am going all around
All I see is nothing but me
I am wondering when I can just be free
I am wondering when I can be me
Janlonna Faulkner
Grade 7
Dr. Lydia T. Wright School of Excellence,
P.S. 89
9

What Do I Believe?
What Do I Believe?
Nature
I Wonder Why
“Love is a rare seashell”
I Believe
I believe in water because I drink
it and water is the way we stay
alive. I believe in fire because it keeps
us warm. I believe in Halloween
because it happens every year. I
believe in an alligator, and a crocodile.
I believe in the Moon because
Neil Armstrong went on the
Moon. I believe in the Sun because
Science class people can
prove it is real. I believe because
I go to it almost every day.
I believe in a haunted house
because I see some in movies.
I believe in stars because I
can see them every night.
I believe in grass because we
step in it. I believe in pencils
because I write with one.
Mark Wallace
Grade 3
Akron Elementary School
Imperfection
Cartwheel flies through the air
Not knowing what to do
Just fly, make your
Spirit fly, the realistic
Smile, the arms just
Fly, I wonder why
The warmth of friends
Come and go, I
Wonder why
The noise goes
Up and up and up, I
Wonder why
The turning of
A cartwheel
Does so much
I wonder why
Dark and light just goes by
Energy flows through the
Air, shapes come into
Sight, maybe just maybe
I’ll stop
And wonder why
Madeleine Lynch-Johnt
Grade 4
Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 64
Love is a rare seashell
that only comes around once in a while
like something small that floats in a
river of hope
Hatred is a knife
that can hurt you
like a magnet that pulls people apart
Hope is a river
that carries love and peace
like a butterfly carrying pollen from
flower to flower
Anger is a lion
that gets mad at people many times
like an angry shark that scares everybody
away
Alyssa Remsen
Grade 3
Akron Elementary School
What are they missing?
Please—wake up?
I believe the scent of morning glories
I believe the sky and the stars are not
Far from touch
It is what I believe that makes me me
I believe my heart tells me who I am
I believe the sight of crashing waves are really
Waves of faith, love and mind
I think my beliefs are puzzle
Pieces scattered being picked up and
Dropped
I believe rainbows are the way to heaven
I believe color is what life is made for
I believe the longest roads are
Not long if you believe
You can swim as deep as you want
As long as belief is in you
I believe when birds chirp you’re close
To the gate of heaven
I believe challenges can be overcome
when you let your heart speak
I believe what I believe
Kayleen Schill
Grade 3
Como Park Elementary School
With Great
Comes great
Silence.
Elegance and Class,
Agony
and
The world is passing you by.
The morning is almost gone.
Sunset’s fading away, and the
bird’s chirping has died down.
The coffee has become cold,
and even children are getting old.
You’re missing the morning news,
Asia Battle
Grade 9
Buffalo Academy for Visual and Performing Arts, P.S. 192
And in the morning paper there are movie reviews.
Cut your dreams short,
and go back to sleep later.
10
Mercedes McMahon
Grade 10
Emerson School of Hospitality, P.S. 302
11

How I Feel
How I Feel
Pink
Haiku
My Heart is
The feeling of Lonely
The full bloom. Strawberry sorbet.
Tickled pink. Candy. Pink popsicle.
Pink flush. Taste of berries.
Pink lace. Creamy peach
Sweet taffy. Sweet innocence.
Pink fairy. Old world. Bridal
Pink. Rosy blush. Royal flush.
Cherry wine. Twilight
Magenta.
Madison Winkler
Grade 1
Como Park Elementary School
Feather
It is as soft as a
bunny rabbit. It tickles me.
It is soft like dog’s fur.
It wants to
be a
pencil. It will write
til
it
breaks.
Miguel Ortiz
Grade 2
Our Lady of Mt. Carmel
Many times I failed
And still I bother to try
To make my own rain
Jessica Howard
Grade 10
Leonardo DaVinci High School, P.S. 212
My Feelings and Motions
I am like a black rumbling
tornado because half of my
heart is telling me to cry
and half is telling me not
to. I feel like crying because
my grandmother died
April 9, 2008.
I am as sensitive as a little
baby. I am soft as a puppy’s
fur.
I am as tasty as mashed
potatoes.
I am like fresh cool air
coming from the window.
I am a baby blue
bird chirping in the morning.
My heart is like the ocean’s
waves that come and go.
I am a lion roaring
because I am sad.
My legs are trembling
like a dog looking for
Heart
My Heart is a door that
opens and closes to you.
Heart
My Heart is a loving wind that
blows on and off you
Spirit
My Spirit is an arrow
soaring through your Heart
like a Robin
Body
My Body is an ocean that
flows over sandy beaches
Head
My Head is a big flower
on a red rose bush in your
garden
Hands
My hands hold the Five
Senses of the Body
Matthew Dillon
Grade 4
Stanley M. Makowski
Early Childhood Center,
P.S. 99
Untitled
My heart is a winter
blue sled sliding down
a hill. My heart feels
happy now.
Like the loud bang of an open door followed by a gust
of wind. Like an empty heart or one
filled with sadness. Like the smell of dry
ice melting. Like the cold feeling of an empty
present box. Like the taste of bitter chocolate.
Like the sight of a snowman melting.
Is this what lonely is like?
Catherine Galbo
Grade 3
St. Mark Elementary School
“My heart is a cow; come milk me”
My heart is a cow; come milk me
farmer. My heart is a truck; put 3 tons
of gas in me. My heart is a banjo;
come play a tune for me. My heart is
a sunflower seed; please plant me.
My heart is a pillow; please
lay your furry hair on me. My heart
is an oak tree; please don’t cut me down!
My heart is a zebra; please
Mr. Lion don’t kill my young.
Amadi Ikpeze
Grade 4
Stanley M. Makowski Early Childhood Center, P.S. 99
12
food.
Wildelis Rosa
Grade 4
Stanley M. Makowski
Early Childhood Center, P.S. 99
Ashley Felber
Kindergarten
Como Park Elementary School
13

How I Feel
Why I Write
Untitled
Aggravating
The Artist
To Be A Poet
When you are
sleepy you might feel
your body sink into
the bed or touch the
light switch off. You
would hear the cars
outside, and people
yelling get out of
the way. If you
didn’t brush your
teeth you could smell
it when you yawn
Seeing the dark room
around you with
posters on your wall
When you’re waking
up you could almost
taste the bacon for
breakfast.
Mark Mathews
Grade 3
St. Mark Elementary School
Hockey Haiku
Black puck enters net
as Coach yells and now we lose
Players hang their heads
It feels like the page of
a book that splits into
your finger.
It smells like an
old car that’s been
sitting in a junkyard.
It sounds like
school bus brakes
stopping for a long time.
It tastes like a
moldy piece of bread.
It looks like a
tree house with nails
and wood coming out
of it.
Brigitte Vossler
Grade 4
St. Mark Elementary School
After Storm
Blue Mood Candle Glow
Willow Branch Twilight Sky
Man in the Moon Calm Wet Grass
Rich Chestnut. Summer Plum.
Before the Storm Black Iron
Rainy Day Watery Meadow Now
Sun Burst out Humming Sun
Mellow Yellow Slow Sundown
The city paints pictures of people rushing to
work.
The dog photographs his companion in the park.
The hat draws the world above him.
The pillow creates dreams.
Elmwood imagines love among the people.
Hot chocolate gets colored.
The banana bread opens galleries for the world
to enjoy.
Candles sell their work to homes for comfort.
Rings open people’s eyes to beautiful hands.
Dresses develop emotion for the people in them.
Nicole Zambito
Grade 10
Holy Angels Academy
The Artist
The artist paints the sky
just as the clouds paint the moon.
The water takes photographs of the rain’s emotions.
Thunder makes a dream of lightning’s masterpiece.
Stars make quality of the sun
as snow and hail make different pieces
of a colorful work of art..
Ashley Ann Zielinski
Grade 9
Holy Angels Academy
To be a poet
It takes time.
To be a poet
You gotta know how to rhyme.
To be a poet
It takes thinking and understanding.
To be a poet
Don’t always rhyme but let it all
Come from your mind.
To be a poet
Just be you.
To be a poet
It’s all up to you.
To be a poet
All you can be.
To be a poet
Just wait and see.
Tionna Spidell
Grade 9
Tapestry High School
14
Sean McGrath
Grade 5
Catholic Academy of West Buffalo
Justine Bidell
Grade 3
Akron Elementary School
“Poetry sounds hard but it’s not. You have a lot of things in your mind and
heart. Just say it.” —Monica Bonner, 5th grade, Highgate Heights
15

Why I Write
Do You Remember?
Why I Love To Sing
16
Because I feel like I’ve
just sprouted wings.
Because I can change the
beat.
Because music is joyful.
Because I love my sound.
Because singing tastes like an
ice cream sundae.
Because singing smells like
flowers.
Because singing sounds like birds
chirping.
Because singing looks like
heaven and feels like the sand
on your toes.
Because I want to be a part
of the song.
Jillian Farrell
Grade 4
St. Mark Elementary School
Decisions
I don’t know.
What should I write about?
Time is passing.
The clock ticks.
My mind is still blank.
I’m so confused.
So many topics.
Too many to choose from
I can’t decide.
Thoughts swirl around
Choose a person, place, thing
Who? Where? What?
I give up.
I can’t find a subject.
Poem is lost.
Darnesha Coward
Grade 12
Hutchinson Central Technical
High School, P.S. 304
Poet Soup
Two cups of rhyme at a different time
An onion as choppy as a run-on sentence.
Throw in a couple of Haikus and Limericks
Stir it together with a mixing pencil.
Then cook it and serve it up with a book
And then devour it with your mind.
Dante Feliciano
Grade 5
St. Mark Elementary School
Too Young
I was eight years old, and tired of being told no. Baseball was the one thing I loved most. I
was sick of the little backyard games and wanted so badly to join the older boys in the street, but
Dad always said I was too young. I hated that. I was always too young for things. Johnny was twelve
and allowed to play with the older boys in the road. On those warm sunny days, the neighborhood
would come out and play until dinner while I sat in envy looking on from the wooden front porch.
With each passing day, I begged knowing it was no use. One day, I couldn’t take being “the little
guy” anymore. I needed to prove myself to everyone that I was more than just a backyard player.
I grabbed my old worn out glove and baseball bat and threw on my hat as I started towards the
road. I played my heart out that day, but ball after ball flew over my head and time after time I was
struck out. When the day ended, my aching body dragged itself inside the house. The feeling of defeat
hurt so bad and the realization that I was in fact not ready or good enough cut like a knife. Dad
was right. I wasn’t old enough for the street games, but I knew that I hadn’t backed down easily. So
the next day, I proudly rejoined the others in the backyard.
Sara Hughes
Grade 12
East Aurora High School
Ode to the Beatles
Lucy in the sky with lady Madonna
I am the walrus so just let it be
Come together, right now, over me
Rocky Raccoon went into his room
Only to find Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band
Twist and shout, ‘cause here comes the sun
Dear Prudence, come and have some fun
I wanna hold your hand while
My guitar gently weeps, Koo Koo Ka Choo
David Penna
Grade 12
Hutchinson Central Technical High School, P.S. 304
Ode to my Pen
It is my number one study buddy.
When I get hundreds on a test, it is
the first to know.
If I am the President, then it is the Congress.
It is the hardest working item in the world.
If we are in a basketball game, I’m
the leading scorer, he is the assist leader.
I am the wide-receiver, he’s the quarterback.
If he ever runs out, he’ll be sure
to have a relative nearby.
If he ever makes a mistake his
best friend white-out is a call away.
His ballpoint tip makes every word clear
and precise.
He is my right-hand man; well, actually, my
left-hand man!
Miles Holliman
Grade 9
Western New York Maritime Charter School
17

Do You Remember?
Do You Remember?
“When I think of Katie”
Ode to Sausage and Cabbage
Reese Stover
Memoirs of Us
18
When I think of Katie I think of the only person who always knows what I mean, and
how I mean it. I think of car rides, summer, and the beating sun. I think of how someone can
have five facial piercings and look so tacky yet so perfect at the same time. I think of the smell of
vanilla buttercream body spray and remember how she’d spray it in the air and jump through
it as it fell through the air saying, “It smells so good!” I think of her house, I think of my roof,
I think of hammocks and trampolines. I think of dressers near the staircases, fluffy yellow
sheets, front stoops, the not-so-crystal lake of Crystal Lake. I think of the Freaky Friday DVD
menu music playing over and over, irritating me while I rolled over in the middle of the night.
I think of my real true best friend. I think of the funniest person I know. I think of her amazing
ability to make me laugh. I think of how happy I am when I’m with her. I think of how much I
miss her, and how I wish she hadn’t left early when she visited in April 2008. I think of how I
hate that she lives in Illinois, and how I hate that I only see her once every six months…
Samantha Gascon
Grade 12
South Park High School, P.S. 206
Pretty awkward silence
Friendly nudge pushes us on
Soon we relate
On common ground
Not afraid to hold hands
We’re seen often
You are mine
Not afraid to share kisses
I am yours
Elias Alkebulan
Grade 12
Hutchinson Central Technical High School, P.S. 304
“Art is like
how you feel.
It is like a bird
having baby chicks.
It is a rhythm
from your heart.”
—Khala Carter,
5th grade,
Highgate Heights
The heavy black skillet
crackles,
oil snapping hot
My hands
hold the knife
weighty
against the thick wooden block
but
I see my grandmother’s fingers
as the block drops down
impossibly close
her crepey skin, spotted,
gnarled and veiny
onions, cabbage,
potatoes, apples,
sausage
chopped and
dropped into the oil
and deftly turned.
“This is farm food,”
her voice says
and almost
I smell the dirt
we scrubbed from
the potatoes she’d dug.
This is the dinner
of farmers,
food pulled from ground
and root cellars,
picked from trees,
left over parts from
fall butchering.
This is food
In work clothes
and muddy boots,
food with rough
weathered
hands.
This is old food
speaking in the rough
German of
bygone generations
taught by watching.
This food
is a stout-legged peasant
in an old apron
saying “eat, eat—
you look so thin.”
O! I have such need
of sausage and cabbage.
Mrs. Ruth Robson
Grade 12
Hutchinson Central Technical High School, P.S. 304
Remember
when it was
Christmas when
my cousin was
alive. Remember
when we used
to play the game.
Remember when
he say I cheated
I remember when
he eat all the
food and play
all of us.
I remember when
everyone said
it going to be
OK. I remember
when everyone say
don’t cry it’s going
to be ok. I remember
when I saw him
the last time.
Alexis Stover
Grade 7
Dr. Lydia T. Wright School
of Excellence, P.S. 89
19

How I See the World
How I See the World
Stars
Peace
Wake Up!
Stars, butter spread on every one
smushed in
a moon sandwich. The sun
a glass of orange juice
The black hole as the appetizer
but the milky way as the dessert
The best part of the meal
Allyson Sciortino
Grade 2
Como Park Elementary School
Wake up!
To see the world in a grain
Wake up Wake up
of rice
It’s the year 08
As white as snow it
Wake up Wake up
would be. And a town
There’s food downstairs, fix you a plate
floating on a speck of dust
Wake up Wake up
with wind going through
We’re missing the movie, now we’re late
the cracks. Imagine the
Wake up Wake up
things that you would
We’re going fishing, you usually get the bait
do. . . Just in a minute
Wake up Wake up
that lasted an eternity
There’s an election, don’t miss the debate
Wake up Wake up
Deanna Morales
Don’t miss who will be the next head of state
Grade 3
St. Mark Elementary School
C’mon get up, we don’t got time to waste
C’mon now you been asleep to long
By the time you wake up I’ll be bigger than King Kong
I’m throwing rocks at ya window at a steady pace
C’mon wake up, it’s morning, the radio’s playing your favorite song
You better wake up because life is too short to wait too long
Orlando Hill
Grade 10
Emerson School of Hospitality, P.S. 302
Peaceniks have tried to spread the message of
Eternal Peace, but have been
All but ignored. The world
Could change but it seems that
Everybody likes the mindless routine of war.
James McAleer
Grade 7
Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 56
“To see the world in a grain”
Wake up, wake up. You’re missing the day. There’s tigers with
dresses and dogs with toupees. Talking books and dancing rats…even
overgrown kitty cats. There’s a man with muscles as big as a door, tortoises
speeding across the floor. Wake up, wake up and smell the roses…
there’s dinosaur models striking poses. Soda pop rain and candy snow…
Tickle-Me-Elmo’s made of Pillsbury dough. Shoes that walk without no
feet, monkeys and cherries fighting underneath. Wake up, wake up, you’re
missing the day. Jump out of bed and shout hooray before you miss this
crazy day.
Jada Alston
Grade 7
Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 56
“Poetry is
sort of like
cause and effect.
Once I start writing,
a whole bunch
of ideas pop
into my head.”
—Claire Schroeder, 6th grade,
Frederick Law Olmsted School,
P.S. 56
Privacy
Don’t check my search engine
Or even my E-mail.
Don’t look to see if I’m a friend
Or chat with a female.
Don’t check my Bonus Card
At Wegman’s or Tops.
This invasion really needs to stop.
Don’t check my address bar
Or what I search.
That’s like letting a mugger
Go through your purse.
Why are you looking at me at the ATM
Keeping track if I’m looking at it
As it’s looking back
I have nothing to hide
So stop trying me.
It’s just the common courtesy
Of a little privacy.
Aujajuan Donalson
Grade 10
Leonardo DaVinci High School, P.S. 212
20
21

How I See the World
How I See the World
Are your hands clean
Life’s like a Rollercoaster
Ode to a Good Pair of Shoes
Ur Choice
Before
You judge me make sure you
HANDS ARE CLEAN
Before
You try to tell me who I am
Make sure you know who you are
Before
You try to dogg me take a good look
At yourself in the
MIRROR
Before
You judge me make sure you
HANDS ARE CLEAN
Ya’ll wanna tell me
how to be a betta me
Wake up on
MY side
of da bed and see
THAT THIS IS THE BEST ME I CAN BE
So once again
Before
you judge me make sure your
HANDS ARE CLEAN
Mary Douglas
Grade 9
Tapestry High School
We have ups and downs but
we turn them around.
We grow up fast, it will
never last, we think of the
past and we say that time
flies by fast. Life’s like a
Rollercoaster
Antonio Montanez
Grade 5
Catholic Academy of West Buffalo
“One in particular”
One in particular
one in general
teal in red smothered jam
sugar in salt water waves
of not in particular, but of not in general
not or of and whispers with loud voices
of in particular, insistence, with let in.
are or of in nothingness with something
memories etch
of or in general, a barren, dry desert filled with
water.
our names onto each other’s skin
Ode to the station
that America needs
That I need, but do not like
To the corporate jerks
To the war for freedom
To the real war that’s not freedom
To the price of America
That never stops to rise
To the trucks of no need
To the Hummer that’s ridiculous
To the station that America needs
To the dirty little nozzle
To the $50 it takes
To the ever greater need
To the ever greater price
To the $110 a barrel
To the more hours to work
To the fill-up I fear
To the investment in a bicycle
To the fact of feet
Ode to a good pair of shoes.
Griffin Green
Grade 12
Hutchinson Central Technical High School,
P.S. 304
War
War
There’s always war
war for Rights
war for land
In 2001 war for
Oil
Oil
The supposed terrorists
People should speak out
they say they want
Something done but never do
Anything
Anything
About It. Just Sit Back & Say
Everything that they want to
be done. The difference makers
Are the ones whom always
Do
Do
Not say.
Jean A. Pagan
Grade 11
Buffalo Academy for Visual and
Performing Arts, P.S. 192
we call not in particular, not in general but of in
nothingness.
wrong, with right
blindness, with sight
color, with white
Untitled
My heart is a Spring raindrop
Let me drop on your garden I
Will be your friend.
22
and nothing, with nothing,
but with something.
Kate Quinn
Grade 4
St. Mark Elementary School
Melissa Ann Mazurek
Kindergarten
Como Park Elementary School
23

Where Do We Belong?
Where Do We Belong?
The Strength in Her
The strength in her
Is as hot as fire
Burning, exploding, bottling up
Take her words and feel them
They burn
The strength in her
As hot as fire
The heat, blazing,
Smoke, it’s hot
For she is exploding
The strength in her
Is like fire
As hot as a burning
Touch
Forcing her energy
To pull her high
High into the dark
Smoke clouds in the
Burning heavens
That is the strength
In her
Morgan McDaniel
Grade 4
Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 64
Haiku
Winter storm brewing
Flash of blue in the darkness
The look in her eyes
Joelle Rosso
Grade 10
Leonardo DaVinci High School, P.S. 212
24
Fellowship
For we are in love
friends
to speak
of fearless dreams
far away at times
Damona McCreary
Grade 11
Buffalo Academy for Visual and Performing Arts,
P.S. 192
Get up Get up…
You’re missing
The sunrise.
The new
born baby just opened his eyes.
You’re missing peace getting
spread all over the world.
You’re missing the newly
wedded couple holding
hands. You’re missing
the young boy
becoming a man.
Get up, Get up, you are
missing everything.
Emmanuel Williams
Grade 10
Emerson School of Hospitality, P.S. 302
Bumps and Curves
Imagine if you were one millimeter long on a stone
Feeling the on like
curves it braille
Wearing gray clothes and going in camouflage
Bring me your of staying
love
near the ocean
The ocean shimmering faintly
All the animals in the water
Just scales reflecting the water
You listening to stories the tells
the stone you
Saying millimeter-long person, climb me
Changing the of its face
color
Its body language
If you were blind the stone telling you stories
From its curves and bumps like in braille
Imagine a little dent where you go in and
sleep cozily
A stone?
Treefa Fadhil
Grade 4
Global Concepts Charter School
Untitled
Little shell
you were once a
home to an animal so
small but you will now be
free on the shore
so big
Rebecca Schroeder
Grade 2
Como Park Elementary School
“Poetry makes it easy
to turn words
into works of art,
and it is
something
to be proud of.”
--Jasper Swiezy, 6th grade,
Frederick Law Olmsted School,
P.S. 56
25

Where DO We Belong?
Where DO We Belong?
On The Ice
Her
As I reach for her
She breaks into pieces
The way I talk to her
And the way I walk up to her
Maybe there’s something about me
She can’t seem to get her green eyes out me
We talk all night
There just might be something about me
The way I act towards her
There’s just something
Maybe we were just meant to be
Joey Ruopoli
Grade 9
Tapestry High School
Three Hands and a Brain
I wish they would all stop staring at me. Am I that interesting?
They stare at my hands as if I hold the secret of their happiness; and
give looks with such longing, praying I could end their misery. I would
cease happily for some company that appreciates who I am. I’m so
terribly alone. They shoot glares, act disgusted, and mutter things to
themselves. I’m hopelessly at the mercy of others. No free will. No free
will. I wish I could make people happier, but I can only tell the truth.
I see the man across the office, he checks me out, then sarcastically
mutters to his friend, “Time flies when you’re having fun!” I’m sorry!
I don’t control time, I just tell it. I burst with a longing for someone to
talk with, all that comes out is the tic-tock-tic-tock of my three hands.
The scream is only in my brain.
Hank Balling
Grade 12
East Aurora High School
Wake Up
Wake up, wake up,
come out to play.
I’ve got our bikes,
let’s ride away
We can go to the movies
and see the funniest scenes.
When you are asleep,
all you can do is—dream.
Paige Beale
Grade 7
Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 56
On The Ice
Slipping and sliding
over the ice
Graceful as a newborn
duck
Holding hands
begging him not to
Let
Go
We slide carefully
dipping to the metronome
of life
A moment of floating
Followed by hallowed laughter
My cheeks red
as I sat
on
the
ice
Shanise McPhatter
Grade 10
Leonardo DaVinci High School, P.S. 212
My Clean Sweet Flower
Lately I’ve noticed that things haven’t been the same—the older flower is trying to regain
strength, to push through. She’s been doing so well that I must encourage her to persevere.
My fear is that she won’t be here for the little seedlings, not yet flowers. So I tell her, ‘You’ve got
it. You’re gonna make it.” Been so close so many times we’ve had to keep her, to re-hydrate and
breathe life into her. I am so scared that it might happen again, so I stay steadfast and ready
so that the flower is up and about, with a nice long green stem—two seeds and a young flower
pushing her along.
Chardany Young
Grade 8
Give to Gain
Together we stood,
Against the odds of society
We were statistics
Left home alone
Struggling to survive since infancy
We were statistics.
Pondering our past
I see what we’ve accomplished
No longer statistics
Brothers banded together
Growing wiser and stronger everyday
Success so obtainable
Now I know
After a long, hard journey
Don’t stop believing
Michael Campbell
Grade 12
Hutchinson Central Technical High School,
P.S. 304
26 Highgate Heights, P.S. 80
27

Where DO WE Belong?
Where I’ve Been
Cinquain
Sestina
My Mother Land, Nigeria
28
Parents
loving, responsible
bossy, funny, caring
I love these people
Protectors
Amber Hall
Grade 7
Dr. Lydia T. Wright School
of Excellence, P.S. 89
“Poetry sizzles
like bacon
on a grill.
It tingles
like eating
the best
home fries
on earth.”
—Kaitlyn Abel, 4th grade,
Frederick Law Olmsted
School, P.S. 64
There once was a man from Nantucket
Who lived a simple life
Every day he would go fishing
And occasionally actually catch something
So he lived, until there came a woman
Who wanted to be with him
But why choose him?
There were many other men on the island of Nantucket
And many that were interested in this Woman
But she wanted to be in his life
And he couldn’t think of something
So he went fishing
And whilst he was fishing
he thought of her and him
of the something
that it could become, on the island of Nantucket
Could he change his life?
For this Woman
But what a spellbinding Woman
He couldn’t get her out of his head, so he went fishing
he pondered about life
and what she would mean to him
Could he love her more than this
beautiful little island of Nantucket
And he began to think of something
Then it grew into more of a something
And he couldn’t resist this Woman
Why had she come to Nantucket?
Almost as if she was the one fishing
but fishing for him
And her bait was the rest of their life
He enjoyed the thought of that life
He would attempt to make something
He would give her…him
He fell for that Woman
Never again would he go fishing
by himself, there was another on Nantucket
Now he was complete in life
He had found that certain something
She was just for him.
Jackson Standard
Grade 12
Hutchinson Central Technical High School, P.S. 304
Nigeria has a long story of victory and defeat to tell, but
Cannot explain it by word. So
She cries so hard it becomes a flood to sweep her pain away.
The flood of tears is dried away by her bright warm beam of happiness and joy.
Her people struggle, help her to carry on. Through
times of despair and joy
Fighting to break away from her enemies and creating difficult, yet
Easy jungles and lands that only her native villagers understood
To keep away the bad man
Angry with her people for civil war
I cannot wait to see what my sweet Nigeria
Has for her future to come
Nkiru Ifedigbo
Grade 8
Mt. St. Joseph Academy
Home
Cardboard boxes lined the walls; some taped shut, full of books or clothes
while others just hung open in anticipation. She had seen it all before: the
extra large U-haul truck parked in the driveway, and her mother’s frantic
footsteps as she checked for items thought to be lost. It was the same every
time. Dad would get a phone call and three days later they would be packed
tightly into an old, green Subaru, leaving what had become familiar and safe.
An old tree was planted next to the house, where vibrant apples grew
from its branches and littered the suburban yard she had come to know. For
several moments she just watched the tree; how it swayed with the slightest
breeze and how the fruit sparkled under the Southern sun. Gently pulling an
apple away from its limb, she placed it carefully into her bag. It was comforting
to know that even when apples are taken from their branch, they still
remain beautiful.
Alyssa Niggel
Grade 12
East Aurora High School
29

Where I’ve Been
Memoir of Arroyo (Town in Puerto Rico)
30
A little village
where everyone knows each other.
No secretos kept.
(secrets)
Where children play
Barefoot and with wild hair.
Be careful! Cuidado!
A little village
that everyone starts to leave.
Were there secretos?
The grown children
dressed well prepare to leave
Be careful! Cuidado!
(secrets)
Amanda Figueroa
Grade 12
Hutchinson Central Technical High School, P.S. 304
“Into what dangers would you lead me”
(inspired by Virgil)
Into what dangers would you lead me
into what abyss would you carry my soul
would you carry me to the bell that tolls
that loud unhollow sound
that shakes and vibrates the ground
into the grave you throw
all the pain that shudders me to the marrow
my grave collapses in on he
who laughs and grins maniacally
my casket closes, the void sets in
Here I lay writhing in my coffin of sin
Darth Freeman
Grade 10
Middle Early College High School, P.S. 415
Doomed
Small yet big
We’ll never win
House arrest
It’s all a test
A blank canvas
But we can’t paint
All our dreams
Are becoming faint
We’re lost
No maps
Just halls
And gaps
No talking
No eating
Just learning
No breathing
The clock ticks on
The classes go by
Tortured
Teased
We’re here to please
No hoodies
No sandals
It’s all a scandal
No gum
No drinks
We’ll need a shrink
The staff
The rules
It’s Only School!
Amanda Strobele
Grade 11
Buffalo Academy for Visual
and Performing Arts, P.S. 192
I Am From
I am from a rowdy neighborhood
where noise never stops
and the music never drops.
I am from gunshots and knives
where the killers are unknown and
bodies of loved ones are seen.
I am from the women
running the streets and
the man holding down
the block
I’m from the Mr. Do Rights
where you never make mistakes
and everything’s okay.
I’m from the struggle
of my loved ones
I’m from the hustle
on the streets.
I’m from bad memories
that can never be replaced
I’m from the tears
my grandmother cried.
I’m from the women
who loved me and it
wasn’t my mother
for she abandoned me and
I found a better way
I’m from the closed journal
in which my pain lies.
I am from life lessons.
I am from dreams and aspirations
I am from behind bars,
to a loving home.
Jasmine Morgan
Grade 12
Western New York Maritime Charter School
Villanelle
Where I’M GOING
The passion for my heritage shines through like bright light
A passion that doesn’t wane or stray
I gain strength knowing I survived my people’s plight
That’s why heritage shines so bright
An aspect of me that will never go away
The passion for my heritage shines through like bright light
To break through the darkness of racism’s night
And be proud no matter what anyone will say
I gain strength knowing I survived my people’s plight
And to express it with all my might
For it’s a unique heritage I grow prouder of with each passing day
The passion for my heritage shines through like bright light
It’s not my spirit to give up the fight
With racist oppression in my way
I gain strength knowing I survived my people’s plight
I’ll flaunt my passion in everyone’s sight
If people would accept others ever I pray
The passion for my heritage shines through like bright light
I gain strength knowing I survived my people’s plight
Richard Roseboro, Jr.
Grade 12
Hutchinson Central Technical High School, P.S. 304
31

Where I’ve Been
Where I’M GOING
Chaotic Classes
Period of Beginning,
Electricity, Electrons, Electronics, Exceptionally exciting!
Zap! You okay?
Period of Calculation,
Fractions, Functions, Factors, Frantic Fun!
When’s the bell?
Period of Government,
Parliament, Political Parties, Pandemic Problems,
Boo George Bush!
Period of Activity,
Run, Rebound, React, Reverse, Repeat.
Where’s my deodorant?
Period of Science,
Chemistry, Chemicals, Compounds, Continuous changes.
What’s that smell?
Period of Language,
Metaphors, Metaphysical Masterpieces, Much Mood
Woo Mrs. Robson.
Jeremy Adams
Grade 12
Hutchinson Central Technical High School, P.S. 304
Buffalo
Buffalo is disappearing
The place where I live
It says it will come
Back tomorrow
But it never comes back
It moved to Tonawanda
Joshua Valeri
Grade 2
Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 64
I am from
I am from the clouds
that fall like tears from the sky
that hit the ground
then come back again
and help everybody and everything.
I am from the big mountain
that can even sometimes hurt you
I can cause injuries
but not all the time!
So don’t get worried,
I will probably not come to you.
I am from the big, enormous trees
that fall when it is autumn
but I am very light
and I could even change colors.
Zaina Alsadam
Grade 3
Global Concepts Charter School
“What Light Through Yonder Window Breaks?”
As I walk through and down the dark and cold street
Lost in my own mind, the little man on my shoulder starts to weep.
I walk with my head down, Can’t tell me nothing.
No light to guide my way.
Buffalo
I might as well be labeled as “STRAY”
Buffalo snores at night
Keep on.
There’s no telling
Keep on.
what kind of
Walking keep on.
moods will
Wait?? Question
drop from the sky.
“What light through yonder window breaks?”
When it’s happy
My path is lighted
it is sunny
From what source is this coming from???
When it is sad
I don’t know or really understand!!!
huge tears fall
I got some light I’m going to hold my head high
from the sky.
The little man no longer cries
The label of “STRAY” starts to die
Touch the sky
“What light through yonder window breaks?”
Raymond I. Ross, III
Grade 9
Tapestry High School
Haiku
The pendulum swings
and your future will be told.
Answers “yes” or “no”!
Alexis Gray
Grade 6
Catholic Academy of West Buffalo
Ryan James
Grade 2
Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 64
“I comprehend now
that I am art,
a living poem,
a breathing painting,
a moving music.”
—Freddi Krehbeil, 4th grade
Frederick Law Olmsted
School, P.S. 64
32
33

What Surrounds Us
What Surrounds Us
Seasons
The stars dance in the night sky
The wind sings a graceful song to me
Leaves hop off the trees in fall
The sun yells while it sets
Winter is yelling
Snow hops all over the town
Grass sleeps under a thick pile of snow
Ice hangs and sings a song
Madison Wojtanik
Grade 2
Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 64
Divinity
34
Cold little angels
Fall down from the heavens
Unique, every one
Pure little angels
Bless the earth beneath you
Drip, drip, drip
Frozen little angels
Hailing from the skies above
Pelting my window
Please, little angels
Fall down from the heavens
Any way possible
Chris Tocha
Grade 12
Hutchinson Central Technical
High School, P.S. 304
Snow
The snow floats down upon us.
Whispering in my ear telling me cold secrets.
The snowflakes danced, and their slippers flew into the
Strong wind.
They sing lovely, and their words ring like bells
echoing the streets of Buffalo.
Janae Adams
Grade 7
Mt. St. Joseph Academy
Locker
It’s not breathing, moving, or
talking about what’s inside of it.
It’s not spitting out the objects
placed inside. It’s not opening
and closing. It’s not yellow
or green, it’s not sparkly or
interesting. It’s not smiling,
or laughing, it isn’t feeling
anything or showing any
emotion. It doesn’t eat or
sing. It doesn’t complain
when it’s hot or cold. It
doesn’t throw things at all
the kids in the hallways.
It doesn’t leave its home,
or try to run away. It
just stays in the wall, holding
all my things.
Samantha Craddock
Grade 11
McKinley High School, P.S. 305
Where I’m From
I am
from
NY
and
I am
from
dirty
clothes
I am
from
home
made
cake
I am
from
your
empty
cans
that
you
drink
from
I
am
in
people’s
bodies
to see
their bones
I am from
dirt
from
your
ground
I sneak
from
your
windows
on Christmas
Eve
I am from
desks and
from
Lackawanna
and Mississippi
and old
papers
I am from
very
very
old
chalkboards
Sierra Dilbert
Grade 2
Global Concepts Charter School
Untitled Ode
O! For skylarks in Spring and West Winds in Autumn
For Nightingales at midnight and Joy always
For wool socks in winter and summer tomatoes
and soft tissues when you sniffle
For pillows when you’re sleepy
and sandwiches when you’re hungry
and tall glasses of cold milk when you’re thirsty.
O! for mother’s cool hand when you’re feverish
and a friend’s strong shoulder when you weep
and quests when you’re young
and rest when you’re old
and love when you’re lonely
and Joy always.
O! For simple things at right moments
Mrs. Ruth Robson
Grade 12 teacher
Hutchinson Central Technical High School, P.S. 304
The Sun
It is not the moon reading bedtime stories to sleepy children.
It is not running away from the Christmas snow that fall every winter.
It is not the black sunglasses sitting on the coffee table
staring at the cat wondering its next move
It is not the rain that washes away the sidewalk chalk
from the eventful day before.
It is not the window that the little boy looks out from
as the Thanksgiving Day parade goes by.
It is the light that greets us everyday with a warm radiating smile.
Allison Monaco
Grade 10
Holy Angels Academy
35

What Surrounds Us
Dust
Dust: (noun). 1. makes you go achew!
2. As gray as the clouds on a rainy day. Drip.
Drip. Drip. 3. As soft as a lamb, roaming and
grazing through fresh fields of grass.
4. As tricky as a fly, coming back
every time you get rid of it.
5. Good at playing hide and
seek. 6. As dirty as a pig after
his early morning mud bath. 7. Can
give many people allergies.
They do it so people think
Attack of the deadly dust! 8.
A good poem topic for me.
Ashley Andrews
Grade 3
Como Park Elementary School
A School of Spiders
I hate them
they crawl
they bite
they poison
They’re spiders!
Did you know
they have their own school?
They do, they do,
Oh, of course they do!
How do you think they learn to bite
and sneak in your room late, late at night?
So now that you know, just think
of the thought how spiders get
taught!
Catherine McDaniel
Grade 5
Frederick Law Olmsted School, P.S. 56
Ode to Shoes
You carry the weight of the world
on your shoulders
and history beneath your heels.
Everything you come to,
and everything you leave,
make imprints not only in your sole
but in the soul of your occupant.
You bring things closer to the sky
even when they feel sunk to the ground.
You can change peoples’ moods
with a classy point or a bothersome hole
at your toes.
You carry the weight of the world
on your shoulders
and history beneath your heels.
Julia Merrill
Grade 12
Hutchinson Central Technical High School,
P.S. 304
Beautiful Buffalo
Buffalo singing in the frigid breeze
Its voice hits your cheek like a
Kiss. Snow making winter beautiful
Like a flower.
Trees dancing in the dark sky.
Leaves jumping on trees with love.
How beautiful the city is that protects
You with all of its heart.
Timothy Jackson
Grade 6
Mt. St. Joseph Academy
36