Poetry Prompting Poetry: Inspiring Introspection by Sharing Deep Thoughts

  Evoking introspection by sharing thought-provoking poems enables me to catalyze growth for young writers, in terms of both their writing skills and their self-understanding. Evidence of such growth often arrives in the form of poetic responses to my own poetry prompts, as illustrated below:

THE PROMPT: Write a similar poem about unfair assumptions you've made.
 
About Assumptions
by Susan L. Lipson 

I read your scowl as a snide comment
about me,
and prepared to throw the book at you,
but then you revealed the grief between your lines,
and I reread that scowl as a grimace of pain,
about you.
Guiltily, I snapped shut the book of judgment,
which wasn't mine to read.

THE RESPONSE:

Assumptions

by Caleb T., age 11

I’ve had some trouble putting it out of my mind.

Quiet, thin-eyed = older.

Loud, wide-eyed = younger.

In between = middle.

I hope that no one hears

And thinks that I judge too much

The perceptions of people’s ages.

Assumptions ≠ facts.

ANOTHER PROMPT: Use the bold-lettered words as a framework for 
your own poem on the same theme, or reverse the objects and subjects,  
changing "you" to "I/me" to show the opposite view.

Old Blanket
by Susan L. Lipson

To you, I was an old blanket,
Covered in teddy bears and hearts,
Warmth from younger days.
But now you see me as threadbare,
Unappealing, too babyish,
Something for the storage chest.
To me, you were my best childhood friend.
But now I know you as the one who
Discarded me for a new comforter.

THE RESPONSE (THE REVERSED OPTION):

Former Commander 

by Ethan C., age 10

To me, you were my commander,

Helping me with everything I do, 

Memories of the younger days.

But now I see you as a comrade,

Less cool, more average, 

Somebody just to be friends with. 

To you, I was like a soldier,

But now you know me as a fighter 

Who rose the ranks and went beyond you.

           
         Both of these student poets wrote their poems after a deep discussion of the various implied meanings of the prompt poem. Their sweet expressions of insightful nostalgia warmed my heart as they read me their final drafts with pride. Thanks for reading. Please leave encouraging comments for Caleb and Ethan below!

Promising Middle-School Age Poets Explore Perspective with Humor and Innovation

          Here are the results of prompting my 11- and 12-year-old students to write poems with verse openers borrowed from another poem, by Kirsten Smith, from her poetry novel The Geography of Girlhood. The goal of this lesson was to explore perspective: how someone else sees us, and how they may underestimate or misunderstand our ways. I challenged my students to emulate the tone and format of Smith's poem by modifying her opening phrases to begin each of their own verses. This collection of four poems shows extraordinary introspection, innovation, intelligence, humor, and skills. And I must credit each poet for diligence in both writing and revising, and then sending the typed final versions to me for inclusion on my blog. These are some serious future authors here!

CLOUDS

By W. D. MacLeod, age 12

[The prompt was to write a poem about how other people see me, starting my lines with the words To them I am, Because of me, They hope I will, and I will eventually.... It was a lot of fun to write, so enjoy!]

To them, I am the reminders and the redirections, and of course the exasperated “Williams!”s.  I am the kind of kid who not matter how bright he is

Always

Forgets

His

Lunch Box.

Because of me, they always must keep watch for me. They shake their heads and chuckle 

because

I 

Will

Never

Change.

They hope that I will eventually get better, get my head out of the clouds.  “Get a wife!”says my Dad.  “Write a list!” says my Mom.  But I won’t get a wife anytime soon, and lists…

I’d

Lose

Those   

Too.

I will eventually get better.  Maybe I will need a list or a wife, but one thing is for certain:

I Like It Up Here In The Clouds!

Zucchini Jeans

By Lucy M., age 12

To her, I am a nuisance.

I am an ant that steals from her,

A fly that buzzes around her head.

 

Because of me, she is always covering her ears

To save herself from the squeaky violin sounds

That come out of my room.

She tells me she hopes I would stop following her around 

everywhere she goes,

And she wishes I would stop calling her “Zucchini Jeans.”

And I will stop bothering and following her,

And I will also get better at the violin,

But what she doesn’t know is that I’m

secretly making weird noises to drive her crazy,

Because once she goes to college,

I won’t be able to do that.

           The following poets chose to write not about themselves, but about some other narrator who is misunderstood. I have found that some writers avoid direct introspection in their work, preferring to delve into personally compelling topics through fictional representations. 

Dirt Bomb

By Allison, age 11

To her I am a dirt bomb.

My paws are earthquakes on the wood floor.

My tongue is a leaky faucet, leaving drool everywhere.

My toys are land mines all over the house.

Because of me, she’s constantly cleaning mud off the floor.

She’s always scrubbing a trail of grass stains that never seem to go away.

She hopes that I will be a winner.

One who leaves the dog show with an actual ribbon,

not a “good job for trying” certificate.

But for now, I’ll just eat the certificates. 

                                                                                          

I will eventually be the top dog in the show.

I will have gleaming fur,

and I’ll leave no messes, other than...

you know. 

When she wants to find me,

I’ll be at the end of a $100 leash,

marching up to the dog show’s door.

COEXIST

By Joshua, age 12

To us, they are small,

Inferior to our knowledge

And our thirst for innovation.

To us, they do not know

That we take their land

For the good of mankind.

To us, they are selfish.

We live here, too.

We deserve a part

Of this great useful

Land.

To them, we are invasive.

They were here first.

The land, trees, rivers

And beautiful nature

Belong to them.

We are selfish.

We only care for ourselves

And our filthy, yucky civilizations

That take up

Their beautiful,

Pristine

Natural world.

To each other, we are selfish,

But we truly aren’t.

We just use this land

How it was intended to be.

Although you are selfish,

Although you are dumb,

I’ll be the better man/animal

And coexist with you.

Robin Hood

By Christopher W., age 12

 

To them, I am a criminal to be rid of.

I go around stealing from men who bathe in riches.

They won’t miss a penny.

Because of me, the poor are alive and well,

Going out to the bustling market with coins in their pocket,

Which without they might as well be dead. 

The wealthy are always complaining about me.

They hope I will eventually be caught.

Wanted signs here and there, the reward going up and up.

Commoners are my best friends,

They will not hand me over. 

They will eventually give up.

The poor need me and the rich know they have no choice. 

This prosperous era will not come to an end until I lie in my grave, 

For I am Robin Hood.    

When I Cannot Refer to a Student as an "Aspiring" Writer Anymore

     An eleven-year-old student looked up at me during a lesson, after his pen came to a screeching halt (well, in my mind anyway), signifying the pause of his creative flow. His eyes refocused, as if he were awakening from a great dream, and he slowly grinned as he declared, "I just noticed that my character is becoming a very paranoid person. Hmm..." He tapped his pen thoughtfully against his notepad.

     As he was nodding, looking away from me again, back to his paper, I noticed something equally surprising: this aspiring writer had just transformed before my eyes into a real writer, for his character had taken on a life of his own! I expect to be tweeting about his books someday. He is now the conductor of his own train, and I'm just the guiding voice on the overhead speakers, calling out the stops along his way.