by Laura Shovan
Some girls are sporty. Some are brainy.
I’m next to one who is complainy.
Why wasn’t I moved? I cannot say.
I’d rather sit far, far away.
I wish I sat by someone new.
If you were I, what would you do?
November 6
A LIMERICK
Katie McCain
There once was a girl named McCain,
who sat next to someone insane.
He thought it was cool
to act like a fool,
but his poems gave her a migraine.
November 7
TWO FIBONACCI POEMS
Newt Mathews
I
don’t
want to
revise this
poem. I like it.
These are the words my brain thought of
when our class learned about the Fibonacci sequence.
I
like
my school,
Emerson
Elementary.
If bulldozers demolish it,
how will everyone at my new school know who I am?
November 10
OPPOSITE POEM
Hannah Wiles
At my mom’s house it’s just us girls.
Calm and quiet. Nice and neat.
Our Friday-night tradition is
movies and manicures.
Shoshanna usually sleeps over.
My mom gets up early
(she calls it an old army habit)
and makes banana french toast.
Shoshanna and I wash the dishes.
At my dad’s house
it’s a chaos of little boys
crashing and bashing.
Every night someone cries
over a bump or a bruise,
a toy or lost shoes.
Shoshanna won’t come over.
She says it’s too loud,
toys scattered everywhere.
And sharing a bathroom
with two younger brothers?
Don’t get me started.
November 11
A HISTORY QUESTION
George Furst
The first time I got to sleep over
at my dad’s new apartment
I asked him a history question:
When the people (meaning me)
don’t agree with decisions
the government (meaning him)
is making, how can those people
tell the leaders they are unhappy?
He thought about my question
while he cooked our spaghetti
because my dad can’t take a hint.
Then he said, “A good first step
is writing a petition.”
So I wrote a petition to my parents,
explaining that I should get a vote
when they make decisions
about our family, but
I don’t have any brothers and sisters.
Can a petition work
when it only has one signature?
November 12
INDOOR RECESS
Edgar Lee Jones
I don’t want to play chess
with Raj today. I’ve got
the best beanbag chair
in the reading corner and a book
to make the rain disappear.
In this chapter, the hero
is galloping across sunny fields.
(What are Rennie and George
whispering about
and why can’t they do it
somewhere else?)
I keep reading, find out
the hero is a king in disguise.
(I hope they don’t
ask me to play cards.
He’s about to save the kingdom!)
I want to see how my book ends,
but Rennie moves closer,
says I’m the best writer in our class.
She and George and Norah
need my help. (I don’t know
how to write a petition.
Why can’t they go away?)
Can’t they see
I want to be
alone with my book?
November 13
WINDOW
Ben Kidwell
During math, I’m like a dog
that wants to play outside
but no one will open the door.
I can’t hold still. I feel itchy.
I look at the trees through the window,
toss something at Sydney’s desk.
Want to play? She shakes her head.
I bite my nails, chew erasers,
look out the window.
Green grass. Bare branches.
Will they still be here next year?
I tap my feet, click my teeth,
dream up stories about dogs
living wild behind a supermarket.
I can almost see
yellow eyes out there, near the trees.
They’re looking back at me.
November 14
RALPH WALDO EMERSON
Rachel Chieko Stein
I can picture Ralph Waldo Emerson
the way you described him, Ms. Hill…
wandering through the forest,
looking at trees and birds,
feeling like he’s part
of something big.
Sometimes I see Ben
walking near the edge of the woods
at recess. I told Sydney
Ben must be a poet,
in love with nature
like Ralph Waldo Emerson.
Sydney said I am crazy
and that no one understood
the poem you read to us today.
But when I listened
to Ralph Waldo Emerson’s words,
my ears heard a river bubbling,
and wind rustling the branches
of a tall old tree. I think
when Ben isn’t paying attention
he must be hearing
the river and the wind
like Ralph Waldo Emerson.
November 17
WHO DO YOU LIKE?
Sydney Costley
My friend
passed me a note
during Technology.
It said, “Who do you like?”
in purple pen.
Over the letter i
she put a heart
instead of a dot.
I wrote back, “Why?”
I like the same kids
as always. I like
you.
She wrote,
“Don’t you wish
you were in love
like Gaby & Mark?”
I pressed the note flat
against my jeans.
I looked at my friend
and shook my head.
No.
Not like Gaby and Mark.
She pulled the note away.
My hand felt hot
where her fingers touched.
She wrote with her purple pen
and gave me back the note.
“Top-secret.
I like someone.
He is in our class.”
I threw her note away.
November 18
SPECIAL PERSON’S DAY
Hannah Wiles
When my mom came to school
for Special Person’s Day
I was so happy!
Everyone in fifth grade was staring
at her uniform. They said “Wow!”
when I told them she’s going overseas.
My mom noticed Norah
didn’t have any family to sit with,
and next thing I knew the two of them
were speaking Arabic together
because my mom is a translator.
Norah was sad that her parents
had to work today, but
she had a big smile on her face
after she talked to my m
om.
When my mom left, she said goodbye
to Norah and told Shoshanna
she’d miss our Friday nights together.
(She doesn’t know we’re not getting along.)
Everyone calls her Major
except me. On Special Person’s Day
I felt lucky because only I
get to call her Mom.
November 19
MY NAME IS THE ROCK
Tyler La Roche
My name is La Roche.
That means “The Rock,”
so maybe my ancestors lived on one.
But The Rock could also mean rock music.
When our band practices,
Mark’s guitar goes wrow wrow,
Ben’s drumsticks beat tick tick crash,
Jason’s sax sings bebop bebop,
Raj’s fingers skid across the piano keys,
and I’ve got my trumpet
bap-bah bap-bah da da.
We need a cool name for the talent show.
I said we should be the La Roche Band,
because that means “The Rock Band.”
Jason thinks we should call the band
Zoo Creatures and wear animal masks.
I’m fine with that. At school,
I’m still the new kid. Hardly anyone
knows me, which means
I can be anything. Even
a trumpet-playing buffalo.
November 19
TALENT SHOW
Rajesh Rao
My whole family was sitting in the cafeteria.
Aunts, uncles, cousins, even my grandparents.
My three sisters were the first act.
When they came onstage
their ankle bells and costumes looked
too bright for our worn-out school.
The music started.
I’ve heard it a million times.
They are always practicing
classical Indian dance at home
and at their Kathak class.
My sisters moved their hands
as if they wanted everyone to come closer
and listen to the folktale their dance tells.
I wanted to be in the talent show, too.
I wanted to play piano for Mark’s band.
But my parents didn’t want me to spend
so much time at Jason’s house,
practicing rock music.
“Homework first,” Dad always tells me.
“It’s different for sons.”
21 Noviembre
EL DUETO
Gaby Vargas
Sin un amigo
¡el escenario vacío se vería tan grande!
La cafetería está llena de asientos.
Las familias vienen al talent show.
Se me acelera el corazón,
un colibrí listo para volar.
Las luces del escenario están calientes,
pero Mark está a mi lado con su guitarra.
Se ve guapo con camisa blanca y corbata.
El pelo lo tiene engominado y en punta.
Lo veo hacerle señas a su mamá.
Eso es lindo también.
Me aliso la falda con manos temblorosas.
Mark toca las primeras notas.
Escucho a Mark tocar la canción que le enseñé.
Respiro hondo.
Empiezo a cantar.
November 21
DUET
Translated by Gaby Vargas and Mark Fernandez
Without a friend
the empty stage looks very big!
The cafeteria is full of seats.
The families come to the talent show.
My heart beats fast,
a hummingbird going to fly.
The lights of the stage are hot,
but Mark is to my side with his guitar.
Looks cute with white shirt and tie.
He has his hair with gel. It is pointy.
I see him make signs to his mom.
That is cute also.
I smooth my skirt. My hands tremble.
Mark touches the strings.
I hear Mark play the song I teach him.
I breathe deep.
I begin to sing.
November 24
LEFT OUT
Rajesh Rao
Edgar was my friend.
We shared a seat on the bus,
played chess at recess.
Now he’s always with George Furst,
working on secret projects.
November 25
THANKSGIVING
Mark Fernandez
My family’s Thanksgiving tradition was
after the guests were all gone
my father took me camping, just me and him.
Even in November, it was warm by the campfire.
The firelight made shadows.
Papi told stories about growing up
with Tio Carlos and Tio Dan,
the pranks they played on each other.
When we camped, my dad always made pancakes.
They tasted of smoke from the fire
even when I drenched them in syrup.
This year, my mom is taking me and my sisters
to Disney World over Thanksgiving break.
Tyler says I’m lucky, but I’m not.
Riding roller coasters and meeting Mickey Mouse
won’t make me feel less sad
about Thanksgiving without my father.
No matter where I am, when I look up at the sky,
if I see stars, las estrellas, in the dark
I will remember camping with my dad.
December 1
HOW TO MAKE A MR. STICK GUY FLIP BOOK
Jason Chen
For Mark
Find a pack of sticky notes.
Think of a story starring
Mr. Stick Guy
and his Misadventures of Mayhem.
How about…
Mr. Stick Guy rides his skateboard.
Oh, no! He ollies right off a cliff
and lands on a giant cactus.
Thorns stick out of his stick butt.
Or…
Mr. Stick Guy fires a cannon at
Other Stick Guy (OSG for short).
OSG says, “Ouch!”
Or my favorite…
Mr. Stick Guy and OSG
in “The Bulldozer Battle.”
Draw Mr. Stick Guy on the bottom
of a sticky note. Make sure
he’s only as tall as your thumbnail.
Draw him again on the next page,
and again, and again.
Every time, change his stick arms and legs
a little bit. Use up every page
of the sticky pad, but save the big crash
for the last sheet.
Flip through the pages under your desk.
Laugh!
Don’t get caught.
This Activity Is Appropriate Only for Recess.
—The Management
December 2
TIME CAPSULE RAP
Edgar Lee Jones
Hey, me from the future!
This is a message from me,
the kid you used to be,
known as Eddie Jones,
and sometimes Edgar Lee.
Do folks in the future
call you Mr. Jones,
Mr. Grown-Up,
Suit-Wearing Jones?
How tall are those
grown-up bones?
Hey, me from the future!
This is a message from me
on a time capsule ride,
years flash by in warp drive
and I’m coming to you live
from (count ’em) twenty-five
years in your past.
I want spoilers, man.
I’ve got to know my own story.
Am I quiet and shy?
Do I chase fame and glory?
Hey, me from the future!
This is a message from me.
When the time capsule’s opened,
who will you see
in my fifth-grade poetry?
A stranger, a reader,
a poet, a brain?
Will you forget who I was
or stay just the same?
If I don’t help
write that petition,
will it be
something I’m sorry for
when you’re
future me?
December 3
ANYTHING
Sydney Costley
Ms. Hill,
I’m glad you’re the only one
who reads our poems.
Maybe a stranger will read them
in twenty-five years when they open
the time capsule, but I’ll be old by then.
I like being able to write private stuff
and know that you are listening.
Does anyone in our class
write about what makes them happy?
I love running and swimming.
I love my dog, Shaggy. He runs and swims, too.
I love sunny days and going to the beach
with my sister and Rachel.
I think if you put our poems up in the hallway
the way you do with our other writing projects,
people would write poems about stupid stuff
like going to the mall and eating ice cream.
My favorite flavor is cookie dough.
I bet you like butter pecan.
Old-fashioned and kind of nutty.
Thanks for letting us write about
whatever we want in our poems.
Thanks for listening.
December 4
RENNIE AND PHOENIX
Brianna Holmes
When it’s warm out
my mom drops me
at the playground
before school.
She can’t afford
to miss her morning class.
There’s parents chatting,
kids playing.
Someone always
watches out for me
until the first bell rings.
When it’s cold,
Mom drops me off
in the library
before school.
