PREFACE We are pleased to share with you in this booklet Wthe poems of Washington, D.C.’s young writers. The Parkmont Poetry Festival was founded in 1982 to recognize the literary gifts of young poets from our diverse schools and neighborhoods and celebrate their common interest in poetry. We received nearly 400 poems for this year’s festival from students in grades six through 12 in the District’s public, private and charter schools. Our judges have selected these 40 distinguished poems from the chorus of young voices expressing their spirits and vitality through poetry.
parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 i 2010 POETRY AWARD WINNERS KeeShawn Murphy I’m the Book...... 1 Caleb Tansey The Effect of Words ...... 2 Abigail Alpern Fisch Self Portrait Poem ...... 3 Kierra Parks My Hair...... 4 Michael Seidman Unnamed Poem ...... 5 Dominique Grigsby When is the Time? ...... 6 Gwendolyn Pointer Where I’m From...... 7 Dearren Dawkins Summer in America ...... 8 Skylar Lovett Burning Ice ...... 9 Zaria Nabinett Senses of Nature ...... 10 Brendan Epton Chicago ...... 11 Lakeisha Thompson Darkness...... 12 Cortez Dargin I Am ...... 13 Stelita Better Middle Names ...... 14 Sofia Heffernan A Fateful Night ...... 15 Quentin Korn Sonic Youth, Live at the 9:30 Club ...... 16 Tyania Saddler It All Adds Up to Now...... 17 Dusan Murray-Rawlings Where I’m From ...... 18 Sieeda Jones What I Don’t Tell My Children About Growing Up. 19 Chioma Aneke Love Undefined II ...... 20 Nichell Kee Unsaid ...... 22 Cara Racin A Whimsical Dancer ...... 23 Kendra Gaddy To My Child...... 24 Jessica Carpenter Thankful ...... 25 Donae Owens Characteristics of Love...... 26 Marina Sabonis-Helf The Shadows Beneath Our Shoes...... 27 Dayanira Hough I Have Folded My Sorrows, Pt. 2 ...... 28 Noelle Smith Untitled ...... 29 Tamera Pearson Forgive ...... 30 Braxton Epps Childhood Calls ...... 31 Hannah Kramer There Is A Tangerine Colored Sky...... 32 Brianna Anderson and Mekiala Hawley Stronger Than You Think.33 Lauryn Nesbitt It Will ...... 34 Melanie Kent My Castle ...... 35 SeQuan Wilson Winter ...... 36 Ife Huria Black Butterfly ...... 37 Monae Smith I Hate Death ...... 42 Antonio Williams The Beautiful Girl...... 43 Jack Hussey Fading Sunlight ...... 44 Maryum Abdullah Astonishing...... 45
parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 iii I’M THE BOOK I’m the book: the book of success the book of dreams the book of unexpected conflict.
I’m the book: the book that’s misunderstood filled with so much wisdom and creativity; my words are like pictures cut up in feelings thoughts and secrets.
I’m the book: the book you didn’t expect to read and find that I’m not what my cover let you assume. I’m a book of surprises a book of success a book of unresolved conflict a book of unknown secrets.
KeeShawn Murphy, Grade 6 M.C. Terrell Elementary School
parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 1 THE EFFECT OF WORDS SELF-PORTRAIT POEM Snowing in the desert, Between my house, my bowl of Cheerios, New York, and my Slowly turning grace. beloved stuffed animal Monkey Brown, half my day passes. One Holds only one unpleasured day it will be a century. Weather-beaten face. I live in my warm, cozy house surrounded by hugs, laughter, and my family. The one who quells the heresy; I sit on the big red couch and think. The one who does not flap. I listen to music all the time. I listen to Broadway, Glee, and my Yet only judgers respond, sister’s voice. With silent thunderclaps. I see freedom, excitement, and brightness in music. I read fiction and mysteries, true and not true. The books teach me The effect of words not to look ahead to find out the answer until I get there. on this solitary soul, I try to understand why people with so much still want more when Has only to serve others are so grateful just to have as little as one meal a day. One solitary goal. I like to walk across the Washington Mall in April and watch all of the cherry blossoms blow in the wind. To make him alike, Beside me, pictures of my family, vacations, and celebrations fill All the lifeless husks, the walls of my house, my room, and my locker. Who even now stab us I like art, dancing, singing, dogs, Cheerios and spring. With words as their tusks. I love my family, the beach, Monkey Brown, Sesame Street, Charlie Brown, my mom’s chicken a la king, and hugs. Caleb Tansey, Grade 7 Every Tuesday I go to art class. St. Albans School Every other week I talk to my grandparents. My country supports my family and me so we can do the things that we want to do and have the things we need to have. I’m truly not a child of the country, but a child of the city. And Monkey Brown, Caneel Bay, The Summer House, and my family belong to me.
Abigail Alpern Fisch, Grade 6 Georgetown Day School
2 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 3 MY HAIR UNNAMED POEM bangs and curls The tree dances in the wind like wind blows the tall blades of grass. my hair The tree blowing is life in front of you. The tree liable to fall down. gets combed The Empire State Building-sized tree will soon perish. Mohawks and tracks It blew with great alacrity; it should never look at the ground. box braids with The tree is gone now, an emptiness inside. cornrows For all we’ve been through, the people in the sky are thinking of the finger waves with tree. my bun Those furtive leaves keep getting on me, but I do not care. The flipped ends The one thing I cared about is now forever gone. with the circle I noticed something where the tree used to be. beehive Well, that’s the beginning of a whole new tree. my African twists Someone planted another tree. I guess I’m not the only one. and locks Not the only one who thinks about the tree; it’s such poetry. my hair is flat-ironed For all that it’s worth, it is obscure outside now. my hair is done It’s time to go where humans go. my perm flips Away from the outside world. into curls Michael Seidman, Grade 7 Kierra Parks, Grade 8 Parkmont School Charles Hart Middle School
4 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 5 WHEN IS THE TIME? WHERE I’M FROM When is the time? Where I’m from no one speaks, where I’m from day by day everybody grows weak. When? Where I’m from nobody knows where I’m from When is the time when moms and dads will explain what love people act like colossal hollows. really means? Where I’m from we don’t eat juicy sorrows, where I’m from we’re only allowed to eat evil, fearless churros. When? Where I’m from some fortunate have food to cook where I’m from everyone looks dull and so stiff, When is the time when friends will become true best friends? they don’t know how to pick up a book. When? When is the time when whites and blacks will become just one? Gwendolyn Pointer, Grade 6 E.L. Haynes Public Charter School When? When is the time for kids and teens to know that education is the way to succeed? When? Guess what? That time is now—when When? will become today and now. When is the time? The time is now and not later. So let’s gather around the world and become equal.
Dominique Grigsby, Grade 7 Center City Public Charter School—Trinidad
6 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 7 SUMMER IN AMERICA BURNING ICE Hot rain dripping down your body Reader 1 Reader 2 Look for the heat Flip flops. look for the heat. Hockey rinks. Not sneakers, The towns that breathe on DC Please help like gazelles bounding over The animals that die in vain desert sands, The animals that are killed or forced away or cleats, It’s summer, like moles Summer in America and no one fights digging into cause there’s nothing to fight for. soft mud, just flip All the cops or snitches are dead or put in jail, flops. flops. they are all dust, just dust. Toes bare Please don’t strangle me to the It’s summer, summer in America sharp slice Ain’t no one fighting, of blades, cause there’s nothing to fight for to the spicy taste Dearren Dawkins, Grade 7 Charles Hart Middle School of metal, to the thrilling sound of heart beats beats and the burning smell of ice. of ice. Why is the girl playing hockey? hockey? Why are the flip flops here? flops here?
Skylar Lovett, Grade 8 Washington Latin Public Charter School
8 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 9 SENSES OF NATURE CHICAGO Hear the rustling of leaves Where I’m from there’s violence, gangs and crack on 33rd street, Hear the whistle of the wind. babies getting shot just because they have their hats on a certain Hear the sounds of crawling bugs way, Hear the leaves and branches rub the trees. people are always trying to act tough, even though they’re not, Hear the prey being eaten by animals walking past O’Malley’s, the local hot dog place, it’s so great and Hear the deer being hunted by hunters. looks peaceful, but it’s not because right across the street there is red on the wall, you wish it was paint but it’s not. I don’t want to See the guns in the hands of hunters. go to school because you know they will shoot you and rob you See the falling, dying leaves. and See the blood from hurting animals take your girl, and they will do stuff to her that’s illegal and can See the sway of everything from the wind. never be undone, and they will just walk away and they won’t get See the squirrels climbing up the trees caught See the squashed bugs and you will be laying there lonely and done and no one will help you. They will just erase you from their memory and Feel the texture of all bugs. you will be gone. Feel the guns shooting from the hunters. Feel the splinters from the trees Brendan Epton, Grade 6 Feel the pushing up against you by the wind E.L. Haynes Public Charter School Feel the pain of hurting animals.
Touch the dying heartbeats of animals. Touch the tiny legs of creeping bugs Touch the flowing breeze of wind. Touch the cruel hunters Touch the fuzz of some leaves Smell the maple from the trees. Smell the dead animals. Smell the rotten leaves. Smell the feces of the bugs Smell the cruel air of the hunters Smell the fresh air of nature’s wind.
See the flowing breeze of wind. Touch the woodiness of the trees. Hear the gunfire from the hunters. Feel the emotion from the animals. Hear the ribbiting and cricketing of all bugs. Taste some of the edible leaves.
See the wind blowing the leaves. See the bugs crawling up the trees. See the animals running from the hunters.
Zaria Nabinett, Grade 6 Aidan Montessori School
10 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 11 DARKNESS I AM Darkness is like a magician I am a silver coyote standing strong and bold It disappears and reappears every day Sunlight is like its enemy Who am I?
At sunset, the sun praises the clouds I am a snake striking at my problems. It is like a war during the day between the sun and the moon I am the light that bounces off the black diamond.
At midnight, the moon and sun are at leisure I am the future and the sun falls asleep with one eye open I am the medicine that heals my ancestors, afraid of the moon ambushing him with the clouds I am that last drop of energy.
The moon is wide awake and feeling lonely, So when someone asks, who am I? but in the end, darkness conquers all. I am the life, the strength and the future. Lakeisha Thompson, Grade 7 Charles Hart Middle School Cortez Dargin, Grade 7 Kelly Miller Middle School
12 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 13 MIDDLE NAMES A FATEFUL NIGHT Ian-Dechae, Olivia, Darren, Annette, Yvette, Shyquan: A breeze whispers in the night filled with a full moon. These are all middle names. They combine like a heart A lonely figure glides across the clear water, that’s colored by crawling roses. Middle names A peaceful lake creature born near the end of June. can be confusing, running from puppets. Rainy leaves, trees, plants. Annette and Ivyette, two lions together The lake is graced by the beauty of this lake loon. in a black cube stuck in the floor and can’t get out. Trailing behind is her faithful, shadowed daughter. All kinds of middle names, just sliding, a snake but A breeze whispers in the night filled with a full moon. they jump to the rhythm of frogs. All these middle names. Hope is symbolized by the calm, serene lake loon. As the night grows darker, heat mugs the lake’s water, Stelita Better, Grade 8 A peaceful lake creature born near the end of June. Charles Hart Middle School Men’s sharp eyes watch the mother and daughter loon. The men slowly reach for their harsh tools for slaughter. A breeze whispers in the night filled with a full moon.
The loon’s shadow flickers under the brilliant moon. Now sails alone the mournful and lonely daughter, A peaceful lake creature born near the end of June.
The young loon thrust from the safety of her cocoon, the beauty of the dark night shattered by slaughter. A breeze whispers in the night filled with a full moon, A peaceful lake creature born near the end of June.
Sofia Heffernan, Grade 8 Washington Latin Public Charter School
14 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 15 SONIC YOUTH, LIVE AT THE 9:30 CLUB IT ALL ADDS UP TO NOW Silhouette figures leap to the stage, Dedicated to Dana Saddler Beams of light blaring from the back wall. Ceiling-high loudspeakers, I once was in pain, Taped-up drums. I once had no one to cry to The crowd shifts and shuffles. There’s always been hurt in my heart, Just didn’t know where to run to, Five first guitar notes shatter the suspense, Like a baseball through glass. So I fled to the open street, Drums pound, bass notes pulsate. Ran into danger, The guitar screeches and reverberates, Ended in jail, overpowering the singer’s voice. And then realized where my heart belongs, The crowd bounces and crashes. I look around the stage, It all adds up to now the guitarist is using a drumstick, bowing the strings, Safe, home, away from the streets, The bass and drums drop out, Now with my loving family, the next song beckons. It all adds up to now The borders of the songs blur, the guitar rarely stopping. The storm of music begins to mellow into light rain, Tyania Saddler, Grade 7 Youth Services Center And suddenly, it’s over. Ninety minutes, rushed by in an instant. I left with the crowd, feeling awesome.
Quentin Korn, Grade 8 Parkmont School
16 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 17 WHERE I’M FROM WHAT I DON’T TELL MY CHILDREN I’m from video games—Kingdom Hearts, Sonic, ABOUT GROWING UP Tenchu, God of War, Pac-man, Banjo & Kazooi, I don’t tell my child I stayed up for two days straight on MySpace or that I’m from applesauce, candy, clay, I fell in love with a boy before high school. and a penny, red pepper, ice cream, pizza, too. How me and my best friend stayed outside until 7 in the morning, I’m from sports—basketball, soccer and baseball, I won’t tell my child how I got a permanent kickball, and don’t forget street hockey, too. bump on my head from getting drunk at a party or tell my child I’m from Lego’s, Star Wars, racer and exo-force, how to make it clap. bionicles, and let’s play beyblades! I won’t tell my child about running from the Feds or smoking that loud. I’m from family—mom, dad, and brother, too. How I loved to run halls, and Grandma, grandpa, don’t forget the cousins! cheat on math tests. And I won’t tell my child about ignoring I’m from movies—Star Wars, I am Legend, too. the teacher and laughing the day through. Spiderman, the Hulk, and Superman!
I’m from opposites—life, death, heat and cold, Sieeda Jones, Grade 8 spring, winter, north and south. Charles Hart Middle School
I’m from board games—Life, oh so SORRY, Blokus, anyone up for UNO?
I’m from books—Naruto, Camelot 3000, M.A.R., Bleach, Kingdom Hearts.
I’m from time—hourglass, anyone got a watch? See ya from beginning to end.
Dusan Murray-Rawlings, Grade 6 Washington Latin Public Charter School
18 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 19 LOVE UNDEFINED II Next day, You go to the dictionary, Is love a quest in life that we quarrel about? L—O—V— Oh, here it is It makes you scream, or shout, or pout L-O-V-E, until your heart has succumbed to the pressure. The name is love, Every single sickening second, tick tock, go away, Part of speech—noun, verb the force is so coerce as it gets worse, But the definition— I don’t know if you’re OK, maybe I should call the nurse, has still gone undefined… This love I call the best disaster of your life, Has caressed your soul in a style that does the inverse, Inertia has battled love with the audacity of its ignorance, Chioma Aneke, Grade 7 He loves this and you love that, West Education Campus It isn’t gonna work, that not looking right, So you have to hike up and strike, Make his eye turn black if necessary, You too elite to be with a fool, That isn’t gonna work, not looking cool, But you managed to rupture the persistent horde of your enemies, A mark of rebirth, And don’t worry about the other person that tried to wipe your face off the earth, ‘Cause you know it’s not worth it. Just look at him and his operations of limerance, While you are standing there being struck by a wave of discombobulation, Your accelerating sensations and tingling perceptions, As you’re still standing there like the leader of the nation, The teacher shouts go back to your station, And the audacity has led back to what the mind has left to recover Only for the looks, the smell, that is what you individually compel? Girl, judge based on the gesticulation, By their sense of sophistication, Maybe by the method of their communication, But don’t proceed to play that silly game of one-on-one elimination, Your body sizzles, his body gelidly freezes, Then you make him seem stupid from the approach of your teases, To him it’s not pleasing, So find your designation, Your place in life, Get it right, Give yourself delight,
20 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 21 UNSAID A WHIMSICAL DANCER I come from a palace of whirling flames in the distance A whimsical dancer— I make my home blaze into nothingness in a heartbeat graceful, I see calm poison sink through the souls in solitude simple, and I wonder when I will fall asleep like they are. pure, Her arms held back, When I am alone, I ponder my own existence with a thirst for truth leg pointed behind her. I imagine that I can wander someplace unbelievable in the purest Her back is arched as she balances on point. afternoon Neck prolonged, Every day, I see majestic trickery crumbling at my feet face pointing upwards, but if I look closely, there’s nothing in sight. catching the light. Caught in motion, A voice inside me says, her white dress flows around her, Clash with memories unremembered— like water flowing over her body. and I want to tell the world about my dreams and their splendor. The whimsical dancer, Right now I am drifting into the twilight moon captured in a moment but someday I will see you, one late afternoon that’s all her. I wish I could forget all the things left unsaid. Cara Racin, Grade 10 Duke Ellington School of the Arts Nichell Kee, Grade 11 Ballou Senior High School
22 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 23 TO MY CHILD THANKFUL Well, child, as you grow there will be a lot of Thankful I am for the days of longevity that allow me to go through the fires of life Things you won’t know, that’s why I’m here and come out unscorched by to show, to help, to teach, to learn, to grow. the flames of torment and deception. The process of life giving me hell thanks me for being strong My seed, my child, my baby, my life, all you need but even the strength of a thousand men Is education that values no price. The world is can be dragged down into the dirt where the liars lie and the so dangerous and filled with hate. So always superficial spirits trap one another walk a line that’s straight. So any day that in the prisons of the mind. The doorknob of opportunity remains unturned something should happen, as if the alley meets a dead end. remember to never pick up a weapon. The street light flickers and thanks me for the shade of neutral grey that shows a glimmer of happiness Mommy loves you, as you can see. All I need within my movie called life. Thanks for watching. from you is for you to succeed. As your mother, please do or me. Keep your head up and stand Jessica Carpenter, Grade 12 Luke C. Moore Academy on your own two feet.
Kendra Gaddy, Grade 11 Youth Services Center
24 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 25 CHARACTERISTICS OF LOVE THE SHADOWS BENEATH OUR SHOES Love is like a runny nose As we walk into a glazed gold mold Trying to shape our way into someone who we are not, It may run awhile, but it will soon dry up and get We as a whole repeat the smooth transition throughout time wiped away We grip each one another like Magnets. We keep going, keep on gliding, leaping our way Love can be blinding, leading an already loved one astray Throughout the tip of my lip. I see a small tear, Becoming strong as a peer. What is this love? Knowing that we are safe as one within our plastic-like bottles Our teamwork slowly starts to unwrapLike a thin, narrow crow This faceless source of energy beyond our multi-colored faces. We each touch a number that then sets to our DNA. Where does it come from? What keeps us going is the radiation rotation riding right through our minds. Sometimes it may come from holding great remorse Each of us are related from the past life like a faded memory, We all have a history behind our marble diamond-like eyes. Knocking one’s attention way off course The shiny silky cloth stepped out to look beyond the globe, The history is already spelled out for you, Some long to be loved the words of unknown zone, Came like a bullet then left like a life-like round button While others use it as an advantage clipped on like a melody as we sing … the shadow … we are one … all as one … Trying to love more than one we breathe the shadows beneath our creating a challenge for oneself that is tough to manage shoes.
Love can be beautiful and sometimes stiff Marina Sabonis-Helf, Grade 11 Kingsbury Day School Leaving you high and dry such as a pebble which was once a huge boulder on a cliff
Donae Owens, Grade 10 Benjamin Banneker Academic High School
26 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 27 I HAVE FOLDED MY SORROWS, PT. 2 UNTITLED My sorrows have been folded into a piece of paper Don’t get stuck between the rotting gray wooden boards. And slipped into a notebook that will never be opened again. Ease your way and follow me. Quietly placed in the back of my mind, for sorrows No longer live in this heart of mine. These people are like vines. And yes, I have thought of the years where Ready to stop you from growing and other things. only sorrow lived in my heart. Touch the velvet fabric on the table. Where the Love in my heart was ninety-three miles away It beats like a heart. and I could never Imagine it returning. Showing love. And yes, I have won the battle with my conscience Pain. But every now and then it will return for a rematch. I have Happiness. been over my Heartache. Sorrows and placed them in a place where they will never The warmth of a mother’s and grandma’s love. be found. Keep the lantern in the child’s soul burning. Everyone here has big dreams. Dayanira Hough, Grade 9 At the brown table we come together. Duke Ellington School of the Arts Sharing smiles and laughter. See, it’s not as bad as you thought. You saw people like us on TV, but not up close. Now I guess you have a little sense Of what goes on.
Noelle Smith, Grade 9 Parkmont School
28 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 29 FORGIVE CHILDHOOD CALLS Forgive me unnamed. I lost Subtle defiance accompanies my daddy before I was my clueless rebellion. born. Silent pleas are emitted from my hidden naivety, Forgive me he never said and childhood yearns for my companionship. what he said. He never took But I’m too far gone, back his word. too distant and corrupted. I don’t know what I So the innocence became. Forgive me. An anger that used to be associated unfolding, with myself, is still stuck in the sandbox books on the floor, bewildered at my newfound desks, maturity. ripped paper under my feet. Unknowing and unprepared for what will soon be embedded in my mind, and blissfully ignorant Tamera Pearson, Grade 9 to what lies Ballou Senior High School beyond the monkey bars.
Braxton Epps, Grade 9 National Collegiate Preparatory Public Charter High School
30 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 31 THERE IS A TANGERINE COLORED SKY STRONGER THAN YOU THINK a (sunset) luncheon of the boating party— Done with, done with, done with, done with pierre auguste renoir Done with the betrayal and lies Done with the tears There is a tangerine colored sky That fall from my eyes And as I open my eyes, You can do better whispered I see a family, Down her ear at every turn Together Can’t you see love isn’t something you learn? A mom, A dad, Done with the fights And a little baby. Every night being beaten And myself, Done with my children at home barely eating Sitting See I have a story that needs to be told In a chair, And I’m gonna tell it Watching, With all of my soul Backwards, Like I’m glued there. See one summer day I was walkin down the street They look happy. As I looked down I saw a pair of large feet I take a closer look, As my eyes arose there stood a man And see, Tall, handsome with very big hands Me. Big hands that slapped me every night I am that little baby. Big hand that started every big fight I look so innocent, Like a tiny dog. He left me alone and went away I don’t see the parents’ faces And all I could do was cry in the rain They are a blur, But then I began to realize I was slowly dying inside Like a sailboat in the distant waters. So I sat and thought very long I reach out to touch them … That I am a woman tall and strong They disappear Like in the magic shows Done with, done with, done with, done with You always wake up. Done with the betrayal and lies I did, and now, Done with the tears I’m alone. That fall from my eyes I look out my window I couldn’t take it any longer There is a Tangerine Colored Sky. But don’t worry though I’m stronger Stronger than you think Hannah Kramer, Grade 9 Parkmont School Brianna Anderson, Grade 9 Mekiala Hawley, Grade 10 Youth Services Center
32 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 33 IT WILL MY CASTLE For Nikki Giovanni I dream about horses, queens, kings, and knights. My dream is to go far away, far away to an unknown place. The melanin in my skin is not a disease I see Prince Charming down below. Needs no cure Motioning me to come down. Not even death can tame me No noise. I look around for father. No one. As four bullets entered my heart As I slide down the vine to my true love, I slip. Upside down! I become the revolution. This is my fate. When I bled I fall, eyes closed, in the arms of my prince, They al bled The moon light shining on him. Bled from the eyes He looks so dashing. Only to realize that this will not be televised I climb upon his noble steed. In the concrete jungles a revolutionized hear beat Galloping away into the night. Praying for an ongoing sunlight We come to a stop. Cause when night came, they came, pain came High up on a hill. They don’t see MNA The sun is rising. There is peach in the sky. Just another panther starving for justice I wake up to the eyes of my charm. I see evil He smiles. I smile. Hear hatred We’ve made it. This is only the beginning. Speak death Pre-meditation the suicide of next generation I stood there with bullet-proof skin Melanie Kent, Grade 10 The Lab School of Washington As 4 turns into 500 bullets If that kills me it won’t stop the revolution It won’t sustain the hatred Or the from-birth rage To the same that now holds the gun Chained airless freedom onto captivity Brainwashes my heart to hate My reflection Fallen soldiers not red-blood roses into concrete Though silence kills with no mercy I raise my head as my faith becomes The poster child for the never ending battle My fist A symbol A black bullet Black rose The concrete’s heartbeat For the revolution will go on
Lauryn Nesbitt, Grade 9 Duke Ellington School of the Performing Arts
34 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 35 Winter BLACK BUTTERFLY Winter approaches, he discovers the truth, January 10, 2010 he remembers his distant troubled youth, For: My Black Butterflies walking through the maze of his mind, he sees the warped twilight, not a soul nor spirit can be felt, but it’s out of Black spite, Butterfly he would feel the presence of others who I sigh can’t walk amidst the sun, Why are you then truly felt that he was the only one, So dark impatient. He approached the trees with the Why are you gentle touch of a fallen leaf, So black sunset is but a second away from darkness And why do people and Walking down the street has a longer sky. Stop and stare Maybe it’s because they’re aware Of how gracious you are SeQuan Wilson, Grade 11 And they know you won’t stop as well Ballou Senior High School And be disrespectful But you notice them Without words or actions And you still continue walking Black Butterfly I ask you why Are you so different Where’d you come from Why don’t we look alike You’re dark because it’s beautiful You’re black because God made you that way He made you He didn’t make any mistakes And he doesn’t see you as an imperfection So people stare So unaware They don’t recognize your unique beauty They want that same old, same old The thing that’s getting old They want another butterfly With wings that fly Oh so high And one that has all the colors of the rainbow Except black Because it’s not worth as much It’s not as pretty And can’t do the same things
36 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 37 Well, they’re right Black Because Butterfly It’s prettier Why do your feelings It’s worth more Resemble mine And it can do more And why are our mountains So instead of flying So hard to climb I watch it soar Black Black Butterfly Butterfly I keep on thinking, well imagining Why are you so misunderstood What we could be When all you do is But that would only work Good If what you want is me Black I see myself Butterfly In you Why are you stereotyped Black And marked by crimes you didn’t commit Butterfly Why must you allow You confuse me The white man So easily To rape you And I feel you use me Why don’t you stand But very sparingly Up Because You say you do You are me A non-violent peace movement Well Is what I see You care for me When I see And I notice you You Because you’re the only one Black Who would dare Butterfly Stare Black At me Black and proud Black A butterfly Butterfly Because you’ve grown Why And sprouted your wings Do you About you Seem to You’ve changed many things Although misunderstood Black Understand me Butterfly And why do you cling to What have you The person who I be Been through Black What have you Butterfly Had to endure Oh so unique Why isn’t your color The As pure Black Oh Butterfly With such a great mystique Is that why I love
38 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 39 What I love Black For what I love Butterfly Is you I will be But the great thing is What I see Even if you don’t love me back Which is you I know God loves me too But there are things Black In my life Butterfly Which must be deployed The sparkle of my eye There are things that I should’ve made void Although you are so beautiful and special Such as I’ll know you’ll never get too high Problems that should be in the past In conceit Although they are not You’ve been exposed to that and never will repeat Problems from the last And even if the mistake was made Seemingly lifetime since we met I’ll always be here to show you the light Black And to let you know Butterfly Black Butterfly I want to be like you You don’t have to rhyme to flow So what do I do You can just let it come and then you go I promise to comply During your not so emotionless show No matter how high Black The expectations Butterfly The wants Prosper Well to me Get educated They’re needs And educate Because But don’t stay the same Black Grow Butterfly And let no one defame I must succeed You Black and strong Black Black Butterfly Butterfly I watch you as Please don’t try to hide You live And please try to preserve Laugh Your beauty And love Uniqueness And as you put nothing but God above And true mystiqueness Yourself Stay true I want to be like Black You Butterfly I am ready Stay you Ready to move on Black And think of just myself Butterfly Ready to be redrawn Stay black To nothing but my personal wealth And NEVER regret that And growth And I won’t care Ife Huria, Grade 10 What others think Benjamin Banneker Academic High School
40 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 41 I HATE DEATH THE BEAUTIFUL GIRL You wanna know why I hate death? Only ten handsome men in the room with me I hate death because it She only had eyes for me hurts to look at memories. I was chosen to love her, my sensitivity I hate it because Having been led by her creativity it has left my family broken for years. We used to go to grandma’s house every day Seems like everything wasn’t meant to be now no one ever keeps in contact. Five years later: the trust, the lust all turned to dust We never see each other Who I thought was beautiful bailed at the altar unless it’s a funeral She fled, scared of the love I would have given her and that’s just a shame. I hate death because Her beauty turned to remorse for what she had done my cousin Damon is gone I was just splurging and having fun and left behind three young children The beautiful girl no longer needed the light blue sky and a wife. She had crumbled within and began to cry Man, it hurts to lose a life. Six months later I had a new life I hate death because Like a dream I had dreamed she was not my wife it’s in my path It seems like my energy was drained; all I did was complain and I’m terrified Feeling the thump of my heart beating, unrestrained. because I don’t know which day will be my last. You left me, you never should have left me I don’t want to end up murdered Now you’re feeling extreme on someone’s corner You left me, you never should have left me or worse in a morgue, unidentified, Now you lost love that should have been supreme with my parents never knowing I died. At least I can say I tried. Antonio Williams, Grade 11 Kingsbury Day School All I see is hatred inside because death has taken a toll on my family, without a lick of pride. R.I.P. to all those who died.
Monae Smith, Grade 11 Hospitality Public Charter School
42 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 43 FADING SUNLIGHT ASTONISHING The clouds split in the sky 1. How astonishing it is that language can almost mean And the sun falls to the ground dinner plans on Tuesday, but your paramour had reservations there also and you give a blind The flocks fly by smile, that you would give a co-worker, I know the layered purple and the smell of expensive yogurt Without making a sound on your breath, that smells like three after we met and I smile like a trophy would, stutter over the The clouds fade to red word steak, I know her just the same way he does, just by the sirens flaring, shred to atoms instincts say. As the day turns black 2. Feathers lightly shed How astonishing it is that language can almost mean, bad appetite, everything tastes As the rain comes back like spoiled wine and the strong perfume awkward. She stares from afar, admiring my love’s The horizon gets dimmer fist of diamonds that didn’t mean much. My tree I want to say, but instead I just say a prayer over As the clouds disappear whatever dish this is.
The flocks from summer 3. How astonishing it is that language can almost mean Begin to reappear nothing. I love you keeps the world spinning.
Jack Hussey, Grade 12 Maryum Abdullah, Grade 12 Parkmont School Ballou Senior High School
44 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 45 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS We are deeply grateful to the following donors for their support of the 2008 Parkmont Poetry Festival: The Parkmont Poetry Festival extends sincere thanks to our 2010 judges: The DC Commission on the Arts and Humanities, an agency Ed Skoog is the author of a book of poems, Mister Skylight, supported in-part by the National Endowment for the Arts. and many stories and poems in literary magazines such as The Paris Review, Poetry, The New Republic and American Poetry Review. An additional debt of thanks to Ron McClain, head of Parkmont He has won the Lyric Poetry Prize from the Poetry Society of School and founder of the Parkmont Poetry Festival; Kim America and in 2005, he was one of 13 teachers nationwide Schraf, coordinator of the Parkmont Poetry Festival; Judy Lentz, nominated for a Distinguished Teacher In The Arts Award from tireless supporter and 25-year festival coordinator; and Sharan the National Foundation for Advancement in the Arts for his Strange, festival master of ceremonies. Sharan is the author of work at New Orleans Center for Creative Arts, a high school arts Ash, a collection of poems. conservatory. Currently, he is the Jenny McKean Moore Writer- Finally, we wish to thank our 2010 design team: in-Washington at George Washington University, and he leads Booklet layout and printing by SEIU and Linemark Printing; summer workshops for high school writers at the Idyllwild Arts poster design by Alice Lewis; T-shirt design by Rachel Summer Program in California. Schmidt. Regie Cabico is a poet and spoken word pioneer, having won the Nuyorican Poets Café Grand Slam in 1993 and taking top honors in several National Poetry Slams. His work appears in more than 30 anthologies including Aloud: Voices from the Nuyorican Poets Café, Spoken Word Revolution and The Outlaw Bible of American Poetry. He received three New York Foundation for the Arts Fellowships for Poetry and Multidisciplinary Performance and a Writers for Writers Award from Poets & Writers for his work teaching at-risk youth at Bellevue Hospital. Television appearances include two seasons on HBO’s Def Poetry Jam, and his work can be found online at EOAGH, 2nd Ave Poetry & Beltway. Elizabeth Rees has four award-winning chapbooks of poetry, most recently, Tilting Gravity, which won Codhill Press’ 2010 national contest. She has published more than 250 poems in such journals as The Kenyon Review, Partisan Review, The North American Review and New England Review, among others. She taught creative writing and literature on the college and graduate school level for more than 15 years, including Howard University, the U.S. Naval Academy and Harvard University. Currently, she works as a poet-in-the-schools for the Maryland State Arts Council, and teaches poetry and creative writing workshops at The Writers’ Center and privately.
46 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 parkmont poetry festival, may 8, 2010 47 PARKMONT SCHOOL Parkmont is a small private school serving middle school students in grades six through eight and upper school students in grades nine through 12. An educational community that fosters individual growth and enthusiasm for learning, Parkmont believes there is nothing more basic to the development of a person than a positive sense of self-esteem. This respect for the creative energies and contributions of young people is the driving force behind the Poetry Festival and many other school activities. Parkmont’s internship program puts students in offices, shops and organizations around the city to learn practical work skills. At school, students participate in all-school meetings that focus on ethical and practical problems confronting their community and engage in a vibrant, hands-on curriculum. Parkmont helps students discover their talents and values. The Poetry Festival encourages students to give voice to their dreams and concerns. If you want to show your support for the Parkmont Poetry Festival by making a tax-deductible contribution in any amount, send a check payable to Parkmont School Poetry Festival to this address:
PARKMONT SCHOOL 4842 16th Street, NW • Washington, DC 20011 202.726.0740
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