“Antarctic” is a poem by Amber Zhao, age 10. The poem begins with a letter, written to the speaker from an unnamed “you”—this you is the addressee of the entire poem. The “you” is in Antarctica, and they report that they have not seen penguins yet. The speaker imagines the letter writer there, and talks about their own memories of visiting Antarctica. The poem is highly lyrical. How does this poet play with poetic forms? “Antarctica” is a great example of a powerful use of long lines. In a poem, line length can tell us a lot about the overall tone. In a poem with shorter lines, the language feels choppier but also moves more quickly. A poem with longer lines can sometimes feel more narrative. We often read a long-lined poem much more slowly because there is less interruption through enjambment. Here, the lines are quite long. The result is a poem that feels as vast as the antarctic landscape it describes. that icy wilderness, with its harsh arc of grandiose majesty, luminous glaciers otherworldly in the setting sun? The Earth’s veins will be hidden deep beneath the icicle-crusted ground The words stretch out, reminding us a bit of the frozen wilderness that they describe. The poem is full of outstanding images and sounds that collide to form rich, vivid descriptions. those waterfalls of ice, pluming into the distant rays of an underwater moon. Stinging chandeliers, jellyfish, pulsed deadly, deadly under a human touch, yet beguiling, a universal gravity drawing the fingers to the stingers. Translucent lives floated and flowered in a primal ripple-ring of wild nerves The comparison of jellyfish to “stinging chandeliers” may change the way I see jellyfish and chandeliers forever! It’s such an apt comparison, but also such an unusual one—it is a very memorable image. There are many lovely “u” sounds throughout these five lines: “pluming,” “underwater,” “pulsed,” “under,” “touch,” “beguiling,” “universal,” “translucent.” In poetry, repeating a vowel sound close to another vowel sound is called “assonance.” The poet uses assonance to great effect throughout the poem. There’s a similar term for repeating consonants, by the way: “consonance.” Alliteration, where two words start with the same consonant sound—like “ripple-ring”—is a form of consonance. Matching up sounds is pleasing to the ear and helps a poem that is already full of imaginative images also be filled with music. Discussion questions: Do you notice other examples of assonance or consonance in the poem? In the poem, the speaker writes, “Now you are on another expedition, and we move / on different axes.” How does the speaker contrast images of Antarctica to their own surroundings? What do we learn about the speaker through these descriptions? Antarctic “The sea’s cold,” is all you write from Antarctica, “and we haven’t seen any penguins yet. Hope we do.” How to analyze that icy wilderness, with its harsh arc of grandiose majesty, luminous glaciers otherworldly in the setting sun? The Earth’s veins will be hidden deep beneath the icicle-crusted ground, my friend, and the surreal wonders of stepping onto land after many days at sea, a sensation to conquer. I remember those waterfalls of ice, pluming into the distant rays of an underwater moon. Stinging chandeliers, jellyfish, pulsed deadly, deadly under a human touch, yet beguiling, a universal gravity drawing the fingers to the stingers. Translucent lives floated and flowered in a primal ripple-ring of wild nerves, and plastic floating billowed out like hollow silk. The drift of marine snow impacts our small universe of steel pens, the kettle’s familiar whistle and scissors left unpacked from their case. We journeyed down the wild underwater cavern, that labyrinth of darkness, a metallic lake, the Southern Ocean, reflecting and dissolving ourselves as we really were. As if the pulsing of the boat was gone, and we were no longer tethered to that rope on which hung life . . . and death. It’s been a thousand years, feels like it, since I descended the staircase of ice and snow for the first time. How, then, back from our trip, has life shrunk to this bare minimum? I gnaw on my pencils; suddenly the tree in someone else’s garden flushes red, blood on branches acidly looking up to the sky, and shifting forms in textures evolve. We walked together in Antarctica, strolling from the point where universe meets universe and back, breezes whipping endlessly, our twin fingerprints glowing transparently on Antarctic, sacred land. Now you are on another expedition, and we move on different axes; you acknowledge the penguins but do not study their very form, shape, soul, like me, tiny wriggling bulbs of black and white, alighting into the ocean. At night the color palettes would spring and turn above. Your final visitation was a quick one, that ghostly gaze of departure to Antarctica already spreading its languorous translation all over your pale silken face—imagining zodiacs, moving images in a world magnified by its sheer, brutal barrenness, and an escape to endless stars wheeling, even blizzards pouring down from the polar axis’s hemisphere. Amber Zhao, 10Brisbane, Australia
The Window: A Mentor Text
“The Window” is a poem by Summer Loh, age 8. In the poem, the speaker wipes the fog off of the glass of their window into the shape of a heart. The speaker then observes the people of the city: a girl with her dog in a baseball cap strolling, a young man performing a sad song, an old couple walking, and finally, a flower. The poem’s form is unique. There are three long lines. Sandwiched between the first and second long line and the second and third long lines are three columns of three lines each. These can be read across or, in some cases, down. How does this poet play with poetic forms? In “The Window,” Summer Loh is using a variation on a poetic form called a contra-punto. Contra-puntos are typically written in two columns and contain text that can be read either across or down. “The Window” has three columns, but the principle is the same. Though it seems like the poem can be read a bit more naturally from left to right, reading the columns from top to bottom can often create some interesting effects. an old couple walking to a café I see a brave flower blooming Reading across, we get a picture of what the speaker sees: “an old couple / walking to a café / I see a brave flower blooming.” But when we start to read it down, the poem begins to really surprise us: “old / to a / brave flower” was one of my favorite moments. I also loved, “café / blooming.” By creating a grid of words, the poet allows the reader to choose which direction they read the poem. You can even zigzag around: “walking I see a brave flower” and “walking to a brave flower.” Another part of the poem that could be read in an unconventional way is the three lines that were separated by the two sets of columns. Reading just the lines that go all the way across the page, the story of the poem completely changes: I look out the window and wipe the fog off the glass into a heart shape. I see a young man in a polka-dotted shirt performing a sad song, through the cracks of a city block, all alone, except for his friend, the shy moss Of course, with columns, the story is more complex. The speaker sees a lot more—a girl with her dog, an old couple walking to a café, etc. With the columns in place, the ending of the poem is completely different: it is a brave flower that blooms through the cracks of the city block, all alone except for the moss. But it’s very exciting that the poem has these two readings: the young man performing a sad song all alone. Through “The Window,” Summer Loh reminds us that sometimes, poems can be read in directions other than left to right. Discussion questions: What are other places in the poem where reading the words in an unconventional order gives you interesting results? Why do you think the poet only chose to put some images into columns? The Window I look out the window and wipe the fog off the glass into a heart shape. In the clear glass I can see a girl in a baseball cap, happily strolling with her dog down the road. I see a young man in a polka-dotted shirt performing a sad song, an old couple walking to a café I see a brave flower blooming through the cracks of a city block, all alone, except for his friend, the shy moss. Summer Loh, 8New York, NY
How to Clean the Hallway: A Mentor Text
“How to Clean the Hallway” is a poem by Soheon Rhee, age 12. The poem is written in the form of a how-to list and is composed of seven numbered instructions. Each instruction is between one and two lines long, and most are made up of between one and two full sentences with capitalized first words and “standard” punctuation. It is written in the second person, and generally in the imperative mood. The poem begins by instructing the reader on how to scrub a floor, but the instructions quickly become odd and almost nonsensical. The description of the puddle on the floor begins to resemble a body of water. The “you” of the poem is told to coat the wall like a coastline and to sit by the edge of the water, a slippery phrase that later connects to a much larger body of water—the lake outside. Midway through the poem, the “you” leaves the hallway altogether, and the poem begins to tell us what can be seen out the window. The world of the poem suddenly expands: we see birds reflected in a lake, gardeners trimming trees. This sudden departure from the interior feels almost like a daydream. At the end, the poem instructs the “you” to go and finish breakfast. It’s unclear if the “you” is meant to be cooking or eating breakfast. How does this poet play with poetic forms? This poem is written in a unique form: it’s a how-to list. When a writer uses a novel form, they often have to “teach” us how to read it by establishing the rules for the form in the poem. The poet does something interesting here: she invokes something that most people know how to read: a list of instructions. But immediately, the poet begins to mess with our perceptions about how a list ought to function: Scrub the wall to form froth, then coat it with water like the coastline after a wave. Usually, cleaning instructions wouldn’t include a simile. This immediately changes the tone from the space of a usual list. Even so, though, this does contain an instruction. We move on to step two. Soapy water will slide down to the floorboards. Sit down at the edge of the water, hold your shawl with one hand, and dry the floor. Though the writer could be talking about the puddle formed in step 1, the language engages in an interesting doubling here. “Sit down at the edge of the water” evokes images of a beach or riverbank. It is somewhat unclear whether the shawl is meant to dry the floor, as the poem mentions no particular tool for drying the floor. This type of ambiguity recurs throughout the text and helps evoke a dreamlike atmosphere within the poem. By step five, the writer breaks the unspoken “rule” of the poem—that the list of instructions will actually be doing any instructing. Instead, we are plunged into reverie: By the window, you can see the gardeners trimming the trees below, one of them leaving for a break. Perhaps one step to cleaning the hallway is not cleaning the hallway. Even so, the sentence feels startling without an active verb—almost like the poem itself is daydreaming with the “you.” The lake to the side reflects the birds flying around in chains, as if trying to clasp the sides of the sky. Before, the poem’s daydreaming had been concrete—images of what was going on downstairs, outside. But now, we are taken into a more abstract, image-heavy space. The image of the birds in chains across the sky is both lyrical and a little ominous. Finally, we land where we started, in a strange sort of instruction: After cleaning the walls, make sure to put new soap in the tray below. Go inside the corner room to finish today’s breakfast. There is such a specificity to “the corner room” that as readers, we almost forget that we don’t know where that is. At the same time, there’s a real unfamiliarity too. What does “finish today’s breakfast” mean? Are we meant to eat it? Prepare it? Clean it up? Discussion questions: What do you think the purpose of the nonsensical instructions is? The poem often flits between images—waves to soap, sky to walls. Are there any such transitions between different images that particularly stood out to you? Why? How to Clean the Hallway Scrub the wall to form froth, then coat it with water like the coastline after a wave. Soapy water will slide down to the floorboards. Sit down at the edge of the water, hold your shawl with one hand, and dry the floor. Be careful not to get water in between the tiles. Pull out the brush from the cleaning cart, its drawers tiered like bleachers. By the window, you can see the gardeners trimming the trees below, one of them leaving for a break. The lake to the side reflects the birds flying around in chains, as if trying to clasp the sides of the sky. After cleaning the walls, make sure to put new soap in the tray below. Go inside the corner room to finish today’s breakfast. Soheon Rhee, 12Taguig City, the Philippines
Art: A Mentor Text
“Art” is a poem by Sim Ling Thee, age 13. The poem is written in the second person. It begins with a stanza composed of a long list of different accidents and mishaps that can occur in the creative process, from spilled milk to a father throwing artwork in the trash. Some of these lines are very short, just two words, while others are much longer and more detailed. In the second stanza, the poem’s “you” cries, panics, and loses hope—the artwork is a disgrace. But then, the “you” of the poem finds that piece of artwork later, takes a very long look, and realizes that perhaps this really is art. How does this poet play with poetic forms? This poem uses the poetic device of anaphora—a repeated word or phrase: A drop A splotch A paintbrush gone astray A crash A puddle A mug of milk collapsed on the table By repeating “a” at the beginning of this line, the poet does two really interesting things. First, they tie all of these separate ideas together: drops, splotches, spilled milk, errant paintbrushes. All of these, the poem tells us through repetition, are similar and are part of something larger. The second interesting thing is that the writer creates a real sense of indefiniteness. They didn’t write “The drop / The splotch / The paintbrush gone astray.” Those “the”s would have pointed to a series of specific events. But instead, the poet makes the events more vague. These are the sorts of things that could happen—the poem is in a hypothetical space. In the second half of the poem, the hypothetical becomes actual. We are pulled into a narrative, where the “you” of the poem despairs: After much gasping and searching and berating, After much crying and panicking and apologizing, You lose hope, you feel resigned: You think the artwork is terrible, the biggest disgrace of all time. Now, we aren’t in the space of the distant “a” anymore. Instead, we are in the poem’s central crisis. No matter which of these accidents happened to the artwork, the effect is the same: the “you” of the poem feels ashamed to have ruined the artwork. Once again, we have an element of repetition in this second stanza. But unlike the first, the repeated words change and cycle back—the lines begin “After / After,” “You / You,” “You / You,” and “Perhaps / Perhaps.” The only line in the entire poem whose beginning doesn’t get repeated anywhere else is this one: But when you finally find that piece of art, This is the poem’s big turning point! And the fact that the word “but” lives on its own is proof. After this, the “you” of the poem really starts to consider the artwork in a new way: You take a looooong look. You step back and think to yourself: Perhaps this is art. Perhaps this is art. The repetition at the end helps the poem come to a satisfying conclusion. There’s a lovely feeling of resolution, like when a song repeats its final line many times during a fade-out. Discussion questions: Where does humor appear in the poem? How does the humor affect the poem overall? Can you identify any other moments in the poem where the writer creates a pattern out of language? Art A drop A splotch A paintbrush gone astray A crash A puddle A mug of milk collapsed on the table A shriek A fault line A gaping tear on the paper A kid A toilet break A sister folding artwork into a paper plane A bin A careless hand A father throwing the masterpiece into the trash After much gasping and searching and berating, After much crying and panicking and apologizing, You lose hope, you feel resigned: You think the artwork is terrible, the biggest disgrace of all time. But when you finally find that piece of art, You take a looooong look. You step back and think to yourself: Perhaps this is art. Perhaps this is art. Sim Ling Thee, 13Singapore
A Beautiful Day in August: A Mentor Text
“A Beautiful Day in August” is a poem by William Chiu, age 13. The poem describes, in first-person present tense, an August day. The speaker starts out wondering what happens now—school is out, their friends are gone. They describe their new routine: they wake up, have breakfast, practice violin, walk the dog, eat lunch, practice piano, and learn Spanish. After describing the typical routine more broadly, the speaker then zooms in on the details of a single day. They are startled by the flickering bedroom ceiling light. They describe their dog’s soft white belly. The piano is out of tune, and the violin is scratched, and they learn a new word in Spanish. They end by concluding that the day is anything but routine. How does this poet play with poetic forms? This is a long poem—ninety-nine lines, to my count. It’s a poem that is not written in any traditional form, but even so, the piece has many formal constraints that the poet follows closely. The lines are very short, between one and three words. Even more unique is the way the writer uses punctuation. There is a punctuation mark after every single word, typically periods. Often, the form of a poem—that is, its physical shape—responds to its content. In a poem where the writer is making such striking and unique formal choices, we can look to the text to help give us a sense as to why. The poem opens: Friends. Gone. _______Blank. Pixels. Without. Presence. The word “pixels” might refer to the computer screen—perhaps the speaker’s friends are logged off. But “pixels” also informs how the poem itself appears to us. Just like pixels, the words are separate units that feel that they are blinking on and off, a few per line. Further, this idea of friends being gone points to a loss of communication. Just as the periods interrupt the flow of the lines, the summer has interrupted our speaker’s usual dialogues with their friends. And the speaker’s loss of their usual routine isn’t the only interruption—later on, we see that the lights are interrupted too: Bedroom. Ceiling. _______Light. Flickering. Another technique the poet uses is something called “caesura.” Caesura refers to white space in a poem within a line—indentations, larger-than-average spaces between words or sentences. We see an example of this above—“light” is indented. The zig-zag formed by the text feels a lot like a flickering light—a quick, choppy movement. When a poet writes a poem with a unique form, it’s sometimes pretty startling at first! We can tell that a unique form is successful if the poem teaches the reader to get used to the form. This definitely happens here—by the end of the poem, the narrative takes on a kind of flow that we can easily read, even amid the choppiness: Wow. _______“Izquierda.” Is. Left. First. Time. _______I. Learned. That. Piano. The. “E.” _______Is. Out. Of. Tune. Just as the speaker of the poem is learning to speak Spanish, as readers we are learning to speak the language of the poem. The extra periods become more of a texture and less of a surprise. Discussion questions: What are some moments where the poet breaks the “rules” they have established for the poem? Does the poem’s style or use of language change throughout it in any way? If so, how? Later on in the poem, the poet makes frequent use of caesura. Why do you think the poet chooses not to use as much caesura as later on in the sequence beginning with “Routine. / Wake. Up.”? A Beautiful Day in August Friends. Gone. _______Blank. Pixels. Without. Presence. School. Out. What. Now? Days. Filled. _______Summer. Routine. Wake. Up. Eat. Breakfast. Violin. Walk. Dog. Lunch. Piano. Spanish. Shower. Dinner. Sleep. Repeat. False. So. Many. _______Things. To. Do. Bedroom. Ceiling. _______Light. Flickering. Huh. Weird. Never. _______Noticed. That. Before. Steps. Face. Peering. _______Down. Bright. Bark. _______Of. Recognition. White. Belly. Warm. Soft. _______Fog, Sweeping. The. Mountain. Blue. Sky. Outside. _______What. A. Pretty. Picture. Violin. New. _______Scratches. Still. Plays. _______Pretty. Well. Be. More. _______Careful. Next. Time. Wow. _______“Izquierda.” Is. Left. First. Time. _______I. Learned. That. Piano. The. “E.” _______Is. Out. Of. Tune. Fuzz. It’s. Fine. Food. Is. _______Good. Even. Better. With. Magazine. Walking. _______The. Backyard. _______Revealing. New. Plants. Watering. _______Them. Is. Always. A. Joy. August. _______A. Month. That. Matters. Summer. Break. _______Yay! Birthdays. _______Me. Mom. Bear. It’s. _______Anything. But. Routine. It. _______Truly. Is. A. Beautiful. Day. In. August. William Chui, 13Mill Valley, CA Zoe Campbell, 11San Francisco, CA
Midnight: A Mentor Text
“Midnight” is a poem by Julia Marcus, age 13. The poem describes how lonely it must be to be a clock hanging on the wall in the middle of the night. In particular the poem laments the fact that there is no one to ask the clock what time it is, even if the clock knows the time. How does this poet play with poetic forms? The poem is written in sixteen very short lines. Each line is between one and four words long. It is written in a single stanza. There is mostly no punctuation, except on three lines, because the poem is composed of a single sentence. Even though the lines are short, there isn’t a precise rule to how short each line will be. It varies line to line. There’s something extremely compelling about this variation in a poem about a clock. A clock is very regimented—each second is a set length, each minute is a set length, and each hour is a set length. But this poem has a looser rhythm: It must be so lonely to be a clock in the middle There’s so much going on in these four lines! First, they are really interesting on a sound level. We open on a rhyme between “be” and “lonely.” It’s a rhyme that we can’t see, because it exists between the “e” and the “y”. Then, we get lots of “o” sounds: “so lonely to be a clock.” The assonance is really satisfying, especially when we depart from the pattern of o’s in “be a” and then return to the in “clock.” The sounds also help set a scene. There’s a relative stillness to “so lonely” that is disrupted by the hastiness of the line that comes after it: “to be a clock.” “In the middle” slows down once again, and by the time we get to “hanging” I can feel the pendulum of the poem swinging slower and slower. Though the poem reminds us that the clock is “steadily ticking,” the ticking of the poem is more of an ebb and flow. This poem creates an almost breath-like feeling in the way it thinks about time. There’s something really human about the poem’s movements, and decidedly un-clocklike. This is interesting when we think about the poem’s content. The poem seems to ask whether a clock’s time really exists or matters if there is no one there to see it. The poem answers affirmatively yes—clocks themselves experience time, even when we humans aren’t around. Discussion questions: Do you think this poem would have felt different to read if its lines had been longer? Why or why not? Why do you think the writer chose to put the word “hanging” on its own line? Midnight It must be so lonely to be a clock in the middle of the night hanging on the wall steadily ticking through the darkness with no one awake to ask: What time is it? even though you will be able to say just the same. Julia Marcus, 13 Culver City, CA
Waterfall: A Mentor Text
“Waterfall” by Jillian Carmel, age 9, is a haiku. The title names what the poem describes: this is about a waterfall. But the word “waterfall” never appears in the poem itself. Instead, we see the effects of the waterfall on the world around it and on the speaker of the poem. How does this poet play with poetic forms? The haiku is a traditional Japanese poetic form. The first line of a haiku is typically five syllables, the second is seven, and the third is, once again, five. This 5/7/5 structure is reflected in “Waterfall” as well. Historically, haiku started out as openings to longer Japanese poems called renga. But over the years, poets have begun to use haiku on their own. “Waterfall” opens on a loud, boisterous image: Crashing to the ground Often, nature is described in soft, polite words. Crashing is a striking departure from that tradition. This waterfall isn’t soft or delicate or gentle—it crashes. It charges. It knocks things over. It moves quickly. The second line introduces an internal contradiction: So silent but very loud This conflict between loudness and silence makes us start to wonder how we define these words. Perhaps silence and loudness aren’t just ways of describing noise. Maybe these words also describe how we feel when we look at something as simultaneously enormous, powerful, and serene as a waterfall. Another interesting part of the second line of the haiku is that “ground” and “loud” form a slant rhyme. The slant rhyme mirrors the dissolution of the second line—things don’t quite line up or make sense with this waterfall. But even in its complicated messiness, there’s still music to it, just as there is music to the waterfall in all its loud silence. Discussion questions: What do you make of the third line? Why do you think the writer steps out of direct description and into a more abstract space? What are other natural phenomena that, like waterfalls, feel both silent and loud? Waterfall Crashing to the ground So silent but very loud It’s nature’s magic Jillian Carmel, 9Denver, CO
Endless Months: A Mentor Text
“Endless Months” is a poem by Amity Doyle, age 11. The poem walks the reader through each season of the year, starting in January and ending in December. Much of the poem is written in the second-person present, though occasionally the speaker also uses the first-person plural present tense. The nature of the descriptions are varied. Sometimes the “you” of the poem is described doing specific things—delivering flowers to Grandma, or bundled up in the cold. At other times, the writer brings in vivid descriptions of the seasons. Sometimes, the writer plays with the words for the months themselves. How does this poet play with poetic forms? Something really interesting about this poem is the fact that it both establishes a clear rule—each stanza is paired with the name of a month—but also doesn’t have much consistency between the stanzas stylistically. This is because in many parts, the poetic form (that is, the overall shape of the poem) mimics content (the things that the poem describes). January is a couplet: January-cold winter air swoops through the chimney but can’t blow out the fire The first line is almost reminiscent of the wind it describes—long and twisting, eager to go down the chimney. The short second line is reminiscent of a flame—shorter than a chimney, but steadfast and present. But March is structured very differently: March makes birds get ready to sing It makes snow into grass It makes a hundred nests built for birds It makes winter to spring to summer to fall Here, we have an anaphoric repetition of “It makes.” Each line is consistent in length. March represents the space between winter and spring, and as such it’s a long, steady month. Things are changing each day, but it’s a consistent form of change. It’s organized, uniform. Other stanzas experiment with space in other ways. In June, the writer uses indentation to create the feeling of the breeze that the section describes: The swimming pool is filled with sunlight warming the warm air The breeze feels good, especially when you’re reading a book in the shade under a hickory tree By making the beginnings of the lines physically sway, the writer conjures that shady breeze and brings it physically into the space of the poem. Discussion questions: What are some other moments in the poem where form responds to content? April starts off with an instruction: “Sing this poem in the showers / and dance around with the flowers which you’re / delivering to Grandma.” Why do you think the writer chose this moment to tell the reader to do something? In May, the writer plays with the name of the month by writing “May the look bloom from thou.” Are there other moments where the writer engages in wordplay in the poem? Endless Months January January-cold winter air swoops through the chimney but can’t blow out the fire February Bundled up in your house you lay surrounded by your needs of warmth No one can cold you March March makes birds get ready to sing It makes snow into grass It makes a hundred nests built for birds It makes winter to spring to summer to fall April Sing this poem in the showers and dance around with the flowers which you’re delivering to Grandma May May the flowers start off May the luck bloom from thou May the warmth start on In May June The swimming pool is filled with sunlight warming the warm air The breeze feels good, especially when you’re reading a book in the shade under a hickory tree July July is the sweet sticky sound calling the birds and the humidity healing the trees with green August Hot, Hot, Hot, Hot August’s hot September The beginning of fall and the end of summer. Who could ask for more. October Put on your hat, your cloak, your robe, we plead; fall is in session November The harvest on the field looks up to the cold moon December The December rain pains down on the windowsills frozen as ice cackle cackle cackle! It seems to laugh No snow today, just frozen rain Pitter patter The rain spatters across the ground Frost evolves and multiplies itself by the minute As the atoms in the air turn to ice Amity Doyle, 11Katonah, NY
Numbers: A Mentor Text
“Numbers” is a poem by Patrick Lusa, age 11. The poem is organized around the numbers 1 through 24. Most (but not all) of the poem’s lines start with a number, and the numbers are connected to the content of the lines. At the start of the poem, it is a (1) winter day at 2 in the morning. The people are asleep, the 4 owls are awake until their 5 a.m. bedtime. The day goes on until the number 12, which is just a period. Then, time passes quickly: 13 days later, it’s no longer winter. People go swimming, kids are in school, runners begin a race. Once again, we skip forward in time: 22 days later, it gets even hotter. Then, a few lines without numbers—and finally, we end just 24 hours from the midnight that came before the start of the poem. How does this poet play with poetic forms? Patrick Lusa, the poet who wrote “Numbers,” has created a unique and interesting form. It almost resembles the phone book, or a schedule. The numbers help propel the piece along, and each one shapes it in a different way. You can tell that the numbers aren’t random: they were each carefully placed in the narrative. 4 owls are hooting before they go to sleep at 5 a.m. This is just about accurate for owls. The line where the owls fall asleep feels very short, and it contrasts to most of the other lines, which are quite long. In some ways, the “5 a.m.” line is as quiet as the dawn it describes—both nocturnal and diurnal creatures are asleep, and everything feels silent. In poems that establish such a clear pattern, one of the best ways to hold the reader’s interest—and show them what parts to pay attention to the most—is to occasionally break the rhythm. That happens with the owl moment. The next startlingly short line comes just a few lines down: 10 in the morning, there are 11 people driving to lunch at 12. On previous lines, when a sentence ends, the poet uses a period at the end of the line. But here, the period takes on its own line. As readers, our ears perk up—this line is very different, and there must be a reason. We find out the reason on the next line: 13 days later, there is heat again. 14 people are swimming in the 15-mile lake. Whoa! When we started this poem, it was winter—and what’s more, each line only stood for an hour. But now that noon has passed, our whole way of orienting around time has shifted. Now, each line represents a day. This continues until line 22, when another rupture in the space-time continuum begins: 22 days later, the heat is getting stronger, On the 23rd, days are getting longer. The world seems to turn faster. The racers run faster. The light is still putting up a fight. 24 hours after midnight. On line 23, we first notice the change: 23 doesn’t begin the line, but rather appears a few words in. Then, the writer decides to do away with the organizing principle altogether. For three lines, the “light puts up a fight”—time itself stretches out. The poem clings to the hours and days, perhaps now summer hours and summer days, and will not let them pass. We get lost in a moment that seems to exist outside of time. When the poem finally pulls us back in, the numbers are no longer days but hours once again. We’re also left in a wonderful place of uncertainty, unsure whether a day passed or a season. Discussion questions: Why do you think the writer chose a running race as one of the central images of the poem? What do you think the relationship might be between running a race and the passage of time? What were some moments in the poem where the writer built a number into a sentence in a way that surprised you? What made those moments surprising? Numbers 1 winter day at 2 in the morning there are 3 people sleeping as 4 owls are hooting before they go to sleep at 5 a.m. 6 in the morning and the owls have stopped hooting, 7 birds are chirping as they search for food. 8 dogs are barking, 9 cats are hissing as they fight at 10 in the morning, there are 11 people driving to lunch at 12. 13 days later, there is heat again. 14 people are swimming in the 15-mile lake. 16 cars are driving to exit 17, taking people to work. 18 days have passed now 19 people are in school getting bored to death. 20 people are running the 21-mile race. 22 days later, the heat is getting stronger, On the 23rd, days are getting longer. The world seems to turn faster. The racers run faster. The light is still putting up a fight. 24 hours after midnight. Patrick Lusa, 11Stafford Springs, CT
This is the Song the World Needs Now: A Mentor Text
“This is the Song the World Needs Now” is a poem by Nova Macknik-Conde, age 8. The poem is composed of nine lines. The poem is written in a combination of Spanish and English. Each line begins with either “Esta es la canción,” which translates to “This is the song,” or “Una canción,” which translates to “a song.” Generally, each line also ends on a Spanish word, but it doesn’t always. In many of the lines, the middle words are in English. The song sounds like esperanza (hope), teaches fuerza (force), makes you feel felicidad (happy). How does this writer play with poetic forms? Though this poem is not a sonnet or a haiku, it still follows many formal “rules” that help keep it more organized. These rules aren’t hard and fast, but rather are more like habits the poem follows. By choosing to adhere to these organizing principles, the writer creates a poem that almost feels like the song it is describing. This is written in a style called “monostitch,” which means that each line forms its own stanza and no two lines are close together. Each monostitch line starts with a capital letter indicating the beginning of a sentence, but there is generally not punctuation at the end of the lines, except the second-to-last line, which ends with an ellipsis ( . . . ). Together, these factors help create a floaty feeling, like listening to soft music. Another musical aspect of the poem is the poet’s use of something called slant rhyme. A direct rhyme occurs when the vowels and consonants of the final syllable of two words match. Esperanza and fuerza in the poem are a good example of a direct rhyme—both end with “za.” A slant rhyme occurs when the final syllables of two words almost line up, and sound like they line up. Take, for example, “felicidad” and “salud.” They both end with a d, but besides that, the final syllables have different vowels and consonants. Slant rhymes can produce a musical effect that is more subtle than a direct rhyme. Another technique the writer employs here, to great effect, is called “anaphora.” An anaphora is a repeated word or phrase. In the case of this poem, the writer repeats “canción” near the start of each line. But she also repeats other words and structures: Una canción that makes you feel felicidad Una canción that smells like salud Una canción that holds you like amabilidad Una canción that makes you move like agua These lines translate to “The song that makes you feel happy / the song that smells like health / the song that holds you like kindness / the song that makes you move like water.” Not only does each line repeat the words “canción” and “that,” but they also repeat their very structure: each is a simile comparing the song to something else. In poems, we often learn a lot from the moments where the writer breaks the pattern. Four of this poem’s nine lines do something a little bit different than the rest. At the start of the poem, the writer makes a direct statement: Esta es la canción the world needs now This is the song the world needs now. It’s not a song like anything. It doesn’t smell like anything or look like anything or hold you like anything. Rather, in this moment the song is just the song, and we talk about it as a whole. Another unique line comes toward the middle: Una canción that teaches fuerza A song that teaches strength. Once again, the song isn’t like anything—instead, it’s something active, and it’s teaching us something. The second-to-last line is a repetition of the first line, “Esta es la canción the world needs now.” The repetition reminds us of the repeated phrases throughout the rest of the poem, and helps build a sort of music. Finally, we end on a softer line: Una canción que consuela A song that comforts. Discussion questions: Throughout the poem, the poet describes a song. But the song itself is not so clear to us. What do you think is the song the poet is describing? Or is it any song at all? Why do you think the writer chose to switch between English and Spanish in this poem? How does it affect your experience of reading it? This is the Song the World Needs Now Esta es la canción the world needs now Una canción that sounds like esperanza Una canción that teaches fuerza Una canción that makes you feel felicidad Una canción that smells like salud Una canción that holds you like amabilidad Una canción that makes you move like agua Esta es la canción the world needs now. . . Una canción que consuela Nova Macknik-Conde, 8Brooklyn, NY
The Trials and Tribulations of Swifty Appledoe, Chapter One: A Mentor Text
The Trials and Tribulations of Switfy Appledoe is a novella by Arianna Kralicek, age 12. The story is written from the first-person perspective of Zendaya “Swifty” Appledoe and is divided into many chapters. In the first chapter, we open on Swifty rehearsing for an upcoming advertisement audition in front of her parents, who applaud. Swifty informs readers that she wants to be a famous actress when she gets older. The narrative is interrupted by the Candyland theme song—it must be an ad break. Swifty knows the words because she auditioned for this role and didn’t get it. Suddenly, she hears a familiar voice in the ad. On TV is a girl in a fairy outfit holding a wand. It is Stella Chichester-Clark, Swifty’s nemesis. Swifty begins to scream. She punches the table and flings her audition papers in the air. Her parents hug her. We learn that our protagonist is very jealous of Stella, who seems to be good at everything. What makes the characters in this story strong? Swifty Appledoe is an extremely striking protagonist, and her voice is loud and clear from the start of the story. Part of what makes Swifty so compelling as a protagonist is that the narrative feels steeped in the character’s personality: It’s Saturday night, and my parents are sitting on our squishy velvet sofa, watching me rehearse for the big advertisement audition coming up in a month-and-a-half’s time. It’s important that an actress is very prepared because, as they say, the show must go on. “The show must go on” is a famous theater cliché, and by repeating it here, we get a sense that Swifty is very theatrical in a general sense, and maybe a bit goofy. As the scene continues, we learn more about Swifty’s dreams and temperament. You see, when I grow older I want to become a famous actress. I want to go to the Oscars and win incredible awards, go to the Met Gala and wear a spontaneous-but-stunning outfit, pose and give daring looks to the press as they photograph me, live in a massive— I can suddenly hear the familiar sound of the Candyland theme song. Obviously an ad break. There is so much going on in this passage. First, we get a sense for Swifty’s lofty ambitions. We can tell that this advertising thing isn’t just a hobby for her—she means business. This is part of her plan. We also learn that there are certain values that Swifty holds dear. We learn about these values through the adjectives she put in the passage above: spontaneous, stunning, daring. These are things she thinks it’s important for a person to be. Finally, we get a clear sense for Swifty and her parents through the scene where she breaks down over the Candyland advertisement. Then, without thinking, I slam my right hand down onto the coffee table. A sickening crack from the clipboard startles me, but I continue. I swipe at all my audition papers and they soar into the air, fluttering to the carpeted floor. “Zendaya Appledoe! Stop right there!” my mother gasps in anger. I stamp, stamp, stamp at the papers, tearing a few pages into shreds. I don’t care what happens to them. My life is over once again. I slump to the floor. My breathing is ragged and sharp. It feels like I’m sucking in spears. Strong arms hold me close. I sob into my dad’s shirt. My mum comes over and joins the hug. A lot becomes clear here very quickly. First, Swifty has an outsized reaction to her jealousy and starts to destroy her audition papers. This tells us that this character is not always very good at managing difficult emotions. We also learn that this is not the first time Swifty has felt the world is going to end. By writing, “My life is over once again,” it’s evident that this is not the first time this has happened. Finally, we learn that Swifty’s parents are more bark than bite. Her mother goes quickly from scolding her in anger to hugging her and comforting her. Perhaps Swifty’s parents enable this sort of attitude and behavior. But as much as this scene does not cast Swifty in the most mature light, we also learn how serious this is for her. That simile, “It feels like I’m sucking in spears,” is so striking. It’s clear that, dramatically as she may be acting, Swifty’s sorrow and insecurity is very genuine. Discussion questions: How does this chapter set us up for the rest of the story? What is your first impression of Swifty as a character? How about Swifty’s parents? In what ways do you predict these characters may grow over the course of the narrative? How does the writer incorporate specific details into the narrative to help bring the characters to life? What is your sense of Stella as a character based solely on Swifty’s descriptions in Chapter One? Do you expect your impression of Stella to change as the story progresses? Why or why not? Do you think Swifty is going to be a reliable narrator? The Trials and Tribulations of Swifty Appledoe (Part One) “Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.” —Oscar Wilde Chapter 1 “And that’s exactly why you should try Milky’s chocolate ice cream!” I conclude, bowing as my excited audience showers me in a standing ovation. It’s Saturday night, and my parents are sitting on our squishy velvet sofa, watching me rehearse for the big advertisement audition coming up in a month-and-a-half’s time. It’s important that an actress is very prepared because, as they say, the show must go on. The TV is blaring softly behind me, showering me in a spotlight effect and bathing the living room in a cool glow. If I look down, I can see the glassy surface of the coffee table covered in a sea of audition papers, a lone clipboard floating at the surface. You see, when I grow older I
Get Myself a Rocking Chair, Chapter One: A Mentor Text
“Get Myself a Rocking Chair” is a novel by Nora Heiskell, age 12. Told from the first-person perspective of Katrina, the story is written in the past tense. The first chapter opens on lyrics to “Church Street Blues,” which is audible through the air above the town. We learn that the person singing and playing guitar is Peter McCumber, an odd man who spoke to no one. The townspeople all distrusted him, except Katrina’s father. We learn some more backstory about Katrina. Her mother died when she was four, and she lives with her father and their cook, Helen, in a small cottage. Helen has raised Katrina since her mother died. When Katrina gets home from listening to the music, she changes out of her preferred overalls and into a dress, even though she does not like to wear dresses. Her mother’s mother is coming for a visit. We learn that Grandmother is very strict and has some old-fashioned ideas about what girls should and shouldn’t do. During dinner, Grandmother criticizes everything and everyone. Then, she goes to bed. Katrina, her father, and Helen sit and watch the sunset. The chapter ends like it began—with some more lyrics to “Church Street Blues.” What makes the characters in this story strong? This is only the first chapter, but already it is clear that this story is full of strong, distinct characters. The characters make themselves known to the reader right away. First, there is Katrina, whose narrative voice we follow throughout the story. The writer provides some degree of exposition about Katrina’s backstory. But much of what we learn about her comes from her preparations for Grandmother’s visit—the things she does, and the things she considers. It is through these details that we get our first glimpses into who Katrina is as a character. I picked out the blue dress Father got me for my birthday. It was very lovely, but I hated dresses, and I wore overalls almost every day. But I knew that Father would appreciate it if I dressed nicely tonight because Grandmother was coming. We learn a lot here right away about Katrina. We learn that she hates dresses and prefers overalls. We learn that she is close enough to her father for him to buy her a birthday gift. On the other hand, the relationship doesn’t seem perfect—after all, why didn’t her father know she hated dresses and get her something she would have liked more? Finally, we learn that Katrina is willing to make compromises to make her father happy. All of this just from one small moment of description! Then there is Grandmother. Her character feels strikingly realistic, and also somewhat terrifying. A lot of what we learn about Grandmother comes from other people’s reactions to her. For example, we discover why Katrina wears a dress for her grandmother’s visit: Anyway, Grandmother did not approve of girls wearing pants, so every time she came, I donned a dress and stuffed my overalls to the back of my closet, in case she happened to peek in. Not only does this passage reveal a belief held by Grandmother, it also reflects that Grandmother is the sort of person who might go snooping in other people’s closets and criticize what she finds there. Finally, it tells us that Grandmother probably doesn’t know Katrina all that well. Similarly, we learn a lot about Katrina’s dad’s relationship to Grandmother: I stepped away from Father to see Grandmother standing beside him. She was very short, not much taller than me, but Father once said that was a good thing, because if she were any taller, she would be too intimidating to even talk to. This moment helps us understand, as readers, something that wasn’t clear earlier—perhaps Katrina’s dad makes her wear the dress not because he misunderstands his daughter but because he is frightened of his mother-in-law. Discussion questions: In this chapter, the writer introduces us to characters who will remain important to the plot throughout the story. First impressions matter. How do you think the writer hopes to portray the characters in this chapter? How do you predict that the characters in this story might change over time? Do you envision Grandmother becoming kinder? Will Katrina’s dad develop more of a backbone? How will Helen’s role in the story change? Get Myself a Rocking Chair Chapter One Lord I been hangin’ out of town in that low-down rain Watchin’ good-time Charlie, friend, is drivin’ me insane Down on shady Charlotte Street, the green lights look red Wish I was back home on the farm, in my feather bed The soft music of the guitar floated through the still air. Smoke from a chimney could be seen above the rooftops of town. Peter McCumber was an odd man. He spoke to no one, but he sang and played his guitar as if he was all alone in his own world. Nobody could remember the last time Peter McCumber had gone to church, let alone to visit somebody. The townspeople all kept their distance, as if he were ill or crazy or something. My father was the only person that would speak to him. I was interested in the old man; there were not many elderly people in Emerald Hills, where we lived. The only other one was Mrs. Gaffney, the milliner. But, like everyone else, I kept my distance. Our town, Emerald Hills, consisted of two neighborhoods. I lived at the very edge of the smaller neighborhood, closer to the part of town where all the shops were. My house was a tiny one-story cottage with whitewashed boards and sky-blue trim around the windows. I lived with my father and our cook, Helen. My mother died when I was only four, and I hardly remembered her. Helen came shortly after Mother died, and she had raised me for most of my life. I opened the kitchen door, and a wave of delicious scents hit me. Helen hardly ever made
