Wednesday, October 1, 2008

"I left a little piece of my heart in the ground..."

The middle schoolers continued reading the work of New York City poet Willie Perdomo this week, modeling his poem, "Where I'm From."

Citrus County

Where I'm from a mixture of cries
and pleads combined in your head.
Smells of tires and beer bug
pie smothers your nose.

Bad dog signs on every yard fence
to maybe scare off criminals.
Where I'm from you turn on
the TV and at least every channel
there's another child abused
and abducted.

Your friends leave one by one
until you leave the only place
that's home.

Your mom giving you the
clothes off her back only to
look like a decent parent.

Where I'm from you didn't
know where you were ever going
to be full, finally you give up
and a meal every other night
was enough.

Where I'm from my father
was a drunk, beer and drugs
was what I got to come
home to.

People see a baby and six
others with their hair brushed
and nice shoes and clothing
only on the outside, on the
inside, their hearts were aching
because love wasn't the answer.
Poor grades because people
only cared about how their
families are or their clothing.

Where I come from, I have
a new dad and a new brother. My
real dad is in Georgia and another nephew.
All I know is how short I am and
that people like Citrus County
only care how you look. I may
be dirty. My mom may only work at
a dollar store to put clothes
on my back but where I come
from it's my life style. It's
my home.

Martyn, 6th

Where I'm From

Where I'm from dogs growl like
Where I'm from I ain't got no
chickens running around

Where I'm from it is quieter than a
mouse. It's so quiet you can hear the grass

Where I'm from you will have
a good night's sleep because it is
very quiet.

Where I'm from you can hear
the crickets chirping in the grass.

Bryanna, 6th

I'm From

"I'm from Florida"

"Where in Florida?"


"Where in Hastings?"


If I said I was from Hastings and Zigler Avenue,
I left a piece of my heart in the ground
so I can remember the time that I was there
on the street, on Zigler Street. It is like a little
pile of dust.

I was the boy that would play outside
probably I had friends but I was the one that was
first not them. I had things to do before I played this:

A day on Zigler Street
it goes a little like this:

People come and go on my street but no one knows
that but me
Gusts of sand going into
your face

Winds blew real fast

Cars going real slow
and real fast on my street

I really don't
know what is
going on
on my street.

Zachary, 6th

Where I'm from football games are off the

Where I'm from on the bus early Monday
morning talking about who or how they got

Where I'm from there's football players
making a touch down
or seeing a football player getting
crushed into the ground.

Where I'm from the football players kick
the field goal.
And one day they'll be at the Super Bowl.

Jameka, 6th

1 comment:

mike said...

where I'm from middle schoolers write like published poets and think it's no big deal
where I'm from art is in the day to day details of fights and games and pick-up trucks that drive fast through mud puddles
where I'm from I get caught up and forget that magic happens every second of every day
cause where I'm from they should change the sign from Potato Capital of Florida to; Welcome to Hastings "The Poetry Capital of Florida"
mr. mike