Workshop at the Bloomingdale Library in June

We have been invited to run a workshop at the Bloomingdale Public Library in Bloomingdale, Illinois on Wednesday, June 18 from 7:00 PM to 8:30 PM. If you don't mind traveling, we would love to see you out there.

Two of our poets, Kitty and Qoca, will be on hand to lead the workshop (along with Ms. Z, of course. But who wants to hear from her when Kitty and Qoca are so much more interesting?)

The agenda will go something like this:

We will have a getting to know you exercise (nothing too scary or embarrassing). Then we will discuss various techniques for the technical aspects of poetry (That's where our poets come in). Next we will offer you a couple of formal forms you can try. As a group we will endeavor to create a poem that will go down in history. Finally we hope that by the time you are done you will create something on your own that you would be glad to publish in our e-zine or some other publication.

I can't wait to see you there.

Cold, Hard Optimism

It is another dangerously cold day in Chicago. Once I step outside the cold winter air slaps me in the face. Instead of continuing on, I want to run back inside and stay there for the remainder of the winter season. The sidewalks are filled with people making it almost impossible to move. Once I finally reach my destination I am greeted by a familiar sound. It is a sound that is hard to avoid once you move to a big city like Chicago. I turn around and he asks me again, “Do you have change to spare. ”

Like the many skyscrapers that you find in this city, he stands tall as he approaches the people that pass by. When he speaks his voice is surprisingly cheerful given the situation that he is in. Even when he is denied the money that he so desperately needs, he is always in good spirits. I find quite amazing that a man who sleeps on the cold, hard, and sometimes wet ground has a smile painted on his face everyday. It almost seems as though he enjoys living the way he does.

Whenever I leave for home he is always there. He sits by his rusted old grocery cart, which looks like it is about to fall apart, and sings songs for the pedestrians that walk by. Usually, like the many others, I just keep on walking, but today I stop and listen. As he sings his voice cracks and you can tell that the winter weather has taken a toll on him. While he is singing he holds out an old, dirty Chicago Bears hat for people to tip him. Not many people do, but I make sure I throw in a couple of dollars before I leave. He says Thank you and quickly returns to Silent Night.

Spring has arrived and there he sits just as cheerful as ever. The only difference that I have noticed is he no longer wears the filthy Chicago Cubs jacket that kept him somewhat warm during the brutally cold winter months. Yesterday, while I was walking to work I noticed that he had bread crumbs scattered throughout his gray beard. I was pleased to know that he was at least eating something; Even if it might have been someone else’s leftovers that he found in the nearby garbage can.

Today was not like the other days. As I walked by where he usually sat I saw nothing. I saw no rusted old grocery cart; I didn’t even see the cardboard sign that read please help me. He just disappeared. I’m almost positive that never again will I come across someone as optimistic as he was. He was living in the most terrible conditions, but I never once saw him complain. Even when people walked by and laughed at him he still held his head up high. I never in my life thought I would have so much respect for someone who was homeless, but I was wrong.

Tyler, 16

Behind the Door

Since when have these been the coolest clothes
Or the coolest way to dress??
Since when has this been the coolest thing?
I can't take a guess.
Have you ever really took the time
To look beyond the glittery face,
To think of what they don't have
Behind that silky lace?
These people have nothing.
Not a soul nor a heart.
They don't think of others.
From themselves they cannot part.
Yet we try to be like them
In every kind of way.
We imitate them
How they eat, act, or say.
We all want to be like them.
But really what for?
We've lost our self-esteem
Because the truth is . . .
there's nothing behind the door.

Erin E

Special

They are always in our thoughts,
They are always in our dreams,
They are always with us,
In our time of need.
These people who are with us,
All the time through and through,
Those special people of the world,
Help make our dream come true.
People with disabilities,
They are never wrong
To believe in themselves
And know that they belong.


Erin E., 13

Autumn

Autumn
I can sense fall coming
Just around the corner
My whole being rejoices
Like the crowds on July 4th
The sights and sounds release me
They complete me
The reds, the oranges, and yellows
The browns and the golds
All the colors surround me
Like a rainbow of my own
The crunching beneath my feet
There's no other sound like it
The thoughts of fresh apple pie
Hot cider and piles of leaves
Fill my thoughts
I become like a greedy child at Christmas
Looking forward to the next delight
Jumping into piles of freshly fallen leaves
Fill me with exhilaration beyond compare
Raking my favorite past time
I look for decorations filling every yard
Eagerly awaiting October 31st
My favorite season comes
Knocking on my door
I greet it like an old friend
I sense fall coming
Just around the corner
Just around the corner
Just around...
IT'S HERE

Lizzie

A Question of the Ages

ARS Poetic-a

Question to pick up and run with
Or an idea with which to wander?

How can I recreate my emotions,
With only a pen?
And if I spoke of them once,
Would my stories happen again?

Would people from my past resurrect themselves?
It's been a long time
Can men change to correct themselves?
Change from the chains of their gangs and pick up the pieces since they fell?

I usually don't ask questions,
Because answers don't come.

So I write these lines in my notebook,
Just for kicks, or for fun.

But now back to the question

Could I recreate the flesh of the figures of my imagination?
Bring about the blood to beings for rhyme and reason?

Should I try and let ink flow like blood
From people in Guatemala?

Does our government still saga
Indigenous massacres in America
places like the the U.S. and Nicaragua?

Is there such thing as purposeful poetry
Without flaws?

If when, a rebel owns a pen
Would that bring him cause?

Aw Shit!

Too many questions come to mind at the time
Lets just stick to the question of
ARS Poetica

7.28.2007

Qoc'avib Kab'lajuj K'at
Revolorio Feltes

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