Author Archives: sara holbrook

Betrayal, love triangles, friendship gone bad and one poem that began, “if the world were made of sugar.” Students at Hilliard Memorial are invited to make it, shake and let it all out at a monthly open mike (see picture below). It is a come as you really are event hosted by librarian Terry Lord.

For other schools interested in a model performance poetry event that seems to really rock and not roll anyone into detention or unemployment, Hilliard has it going on. Here’s how it works — on the last Friday of every month there is an open mike poetry jam in the library, seventh and eighth grades alternate months. On Wednesday of that week, students need to register for lunch and poetry. On Friday, the poets get pizza, a soda and cookies (for $2, cost of a school lunch) and a lunch period of pure poetry.

Terry says she has never had trouble with kids being inappropriate in their poems. Poets realize if they foul out with their language, the poetry privilege will go away. Kids bring her poems they think might be in violation of school rules and defer to her judgment. It’s all done on the honor system and it works. Look at the happy faces below. Just in case the kids didn’t know how lucky they were that they had this incredible opportunity to express themselves, I let them know that events such as this at middle schools is R-A-R-E rare. They responded by giving Ms. Lord a standing ovation.

My visit to Hilliard was enhanced by all the performance poets in the audience and by the great job the teaching staff did preparing the kids for my visit. Very cool. Thanks to everyone.

This was a day of firsts —
I was the first author ever invited to Redbank (thank you very much)
and another first, which is somewhat embarrassing. There was a very cool display created by a student, Maureen, in the library. A weeping willow tree with portions of a poem dribbling down with the falling leafy branches. “That’s pretty,” I said. “Nice poem.”
“It’s yours,” said the librarian.
“It is?”
And sure enough. The poem is in Walking on the Boundaries of Change — I remember it so clearly because as it appears in the book, it is short one verse, a problem we have been unable to remedy without changing the layout of the entire book.
But I didn’t recognize the first verse.
What do I know.
I either have too much in print or I have been on the road entirely too many days this month. One thing for certain, the engaged kids, the teachers and the volunteers who put on the great luncheon really made my day in New Bethlehem, PA.

After school I spoke to the Seneca Reading Council (more great food, there is a major diet in my future). At least 20 of the attendees were pre-service teachers. Maybe this is a trend, if so, I think it is a GREAT idea — getting teachers involved in continuing education before graduation. Kudos to Clarion University Education Department.

Am I seeing spots?
Whoa. Am I seeing spots!

The stage at Weaver Middle was banked by hula hoop sized yellow and black spots, the teacher’s lunchroom, more yellow and black — even the teachers were dressed in yellow and black. Now, where do you think they got an idea like that?????

Beyond the spots, up and down the halls were displays of student poetry. Even the foreign language department got in on the fun with students writing in their second languages. Once again I have to express deep gratitude to a teaching staff who worked overtime to integrate my visit into the curriculum. The librarian, Sue Weaver, not only did a great job with the kids and getting the staff pumped up, she wrote a fine poem for my introduction. But I wasn’t the only one who thought she worked over and above the call, her principal was so impressed with her work he WROTE A POEM to thank her. Did you hear that? The principal wrote a poem, brought it into the writing workshop to present it to her and read it aloud. 15 years on the road, hundreds of schools and this was definitely a first.

I left Hilliard after school for the long drive to Purcellville, ‘Ginia to meet the new baby. Pictures to follow. Not sorry to be missing the snow (snow?) in Ohio.

Poetic Karaoke?

Oh yeah. Oh yeah. Here’s the plan: Kids had to find a song and print out the lyrics so that they could develop a good understanding of the rhythm of the language. Kids then wrote a poem to the rhythm of the song and created a power point presentation with their poetic lyrics. Then, with some help from Tech Man, they sang their lyrics to the recorded music, their pictures being projected up on a big screen along with the power point shows. Here are two: My sweet little brother to the tune of Sweet Home Alabama and I love the Three Stooges to Hakuna Matata from Lion King, performed with Adam Sandler humor. This was the lunchtime entertainment at Heritage, what a show!

Big assemblies at Heritage — I’m not sure how big, but BIG. Seventh and eighth grades. Lucky for all of us the kids were so well prepared. Thank you, thank you.

Okay, how cool is this? I walked into the school and looked down and realized I was walking on poems written by CMMS kids and published in sidewalk chalk all over the place. One that sticks in my mind was an angry poem that involved finger pinching of a sister and some other mischief and ended in the words, “the worst part is, I was grounded for life.” It was hilarious. More serious was an “Angry” poem rewrite using the word “Marine” and honoring a local soldier. We were able to meet in a large group instruction area instead of a gymnasium or a cafeteria, which was also cool. I really felt that I got to make eye contact with everyone. One boy I won’t forget soon told me that he had been in the school but a few days — his fifth school so far this year. Mixed up family, he was there in spite of incredible odds, not the least of which was it ain’t all that easy to move a southern accent up north. We talked for quite a while, he showed me a snapshot of his estranged mom, brother and half brother folded in sixths. We talked about how success is the best revenge. He promised me that he would graduate from high school, no matter what it takes. I’m writing about this here, hoping to seal the deal. Good luck.

The drive from the Waynesville area back up to Marysville was pastoral, back roads through working farms, tractors stirring up dust across wide fields.