ELA Showcase
A virtual gallery celebrating the written talents of LEAD's ELA students.
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By: ELA 1
Found Poetry Spotlight
Found Poetry is a type of poetry created by taking words, phrases, and sometimes whole passages from other sources and reframing them as poetry by making changes in spacing and lines, or by adding or deleting text, thus imparting new meaning. Check out these outstanding examples inspired by the novel Fahrenheit 451.
11th
11th
11th
By: LEAD's Creative Writing Class
Haiku Spotlight
Haiku is a form of Japanese poetry that follows these rules:
three lines
5 syllables + 7 syllables + 5 syllables
traditionally about nature, but not limited to
more contemporary Haiku may compile multiple 3 stanza entries to create one, more developed theme
ELA 2's Multi genre Spotlight
Students in ELA 2 did research about a thematic connection between All Quiet on the Western Front and Lord of the Flies, and created genres to express ideas and teach the audience about that concept.
Original Poem by Makenna Wilson (9th)
Enjoy this original poem and artwork from ELA 1 student, Makenna.
Original Poems by Rin Snow
Enjoy the following five original works by the very talented 9th grade writer.
Momma
By: Rin Snow (9th)
I am birthed from my mother’s womb
as many other offspring are.
Pain and suffering end and begin.
Complication one after another,
I am finally free from tubes,
and lights,
and the doctors that I will never know.
I am placed into my mother’s arms
after such a long journey to get there;
It is an eternal relief.
She is the softest,
warmest,
purest,
most comforting,
touch I will ever know.
I am her beautiful baby
that she has worked so hard for.
I am the baby that she never thought would arrive.
It seemed to her that no soul wanted her.
But I came and fulfilled her dream
after thirteen years of her waiting,
her suicidal thoughts,
her marital problems,
her horrible life.
She didn’t ever want to let go.
I didn’t want her to either.
But she did anyway,
only because she had to.
People are greedy,
and envious of us.
People ridicule
and criticize us.
They don’t know how to react,
and feel about us and our bond.
It’s only because they wish they could be us:
mother and child,
best of friends,
confidants,
security blankets,
dreams made real.
She isn’t just my mother.
She is the only true love I will ever have.
She is my dream come true,
my sunshine in the dark,
my rock,
my life-giver.
She is my momma.
Grandpa
By: Rin Snow (9th)
Grandpa was the only grandfather I’d ever known,
and the only man who loved me
as much as my mother.
He was the only man
that could bring a smile to my face
when I was sad or mad.
Almost everything he said or did
was funny or wise or kind.
His hugs were the warmest
and fatherly, of all hugs.
I will forever remember
how his hugs felt
as they were the only ones of their kind.
He was the only man
who truly appreciated me and my mom
for who we are and what we do;
he didn’t argue against it.
He was the only man
who was truly proud of me
and was vocal about it.
He’d always preach me
And the things I did;
even in restaurants and grocery stores.
He never said a
single negativity or vulgarity
to me or about me.
He was by far,
the best man
that I’d ever known.
He has a beautiful soul,
a beautiful heart,
and a beautiful mind.
He will always reside in my mind,
in my heart,
and in my soul.
He was more than just a grandfather.
He was my number one fan.
He was the white light in my life.
He was my one and only
grandpa.
“I love you, grandpa.”
“I love you more.”
The Man
By: Rin Snow (9th)
His expression read as
a slightly crumpled,
blank sheet of paper.
Although, his eyes said otherwise.
His eyes said to me that
he was hidden deep inside.
His eyes had stories,
nightmares,
and daydreams
that he’d never tell.
His form looked as though he were a sturdy log,
but I knew he was a spindly sapling.
You could tell by his high efforts on his hair and scruff,
that he was truly unkempt.
His breath always smelt like bourbon and menthol.
The menthol protects the children from the burn
of who he truly is.
He spoke with a dignified and polite vocabulary,
with sugarcoated metaphors
filling his conversations.
The sound of his voice
proved it to be out of place
on his mouth.
His voice was smooth yet gravelly;
only from marijuana, he smoked
in the secrecy of a restaurant bathroom.
He tried hard to get the stench out,
but damn near every crazy attempt
never truly worked out.
Once his days are done,
he goes home to a full,
yet empty apartment.
Clutter fills the void
that is his home.
That clutter doesn’t do
what he meant it to;
it only draws in more negativity,
making his home, hell.
Demons and energies
of all kinds
infest this man’s soul.
He sees them,
he hears them,
he believes in them,
to wreak havoc upon him.
They seep into
this vessel,
for it is most vulnerable.
The entities cake the rinds of his
mind, organs,
heart, and soul
with their indestructible goo.
They cannot be exorcised.
This man is haunted and tormented inside and out;
for he is their vulnerable vessel
to take for themselves.
He is not human,
he is plastic now.
He is a puppet for evil,
disguised as a personable man.
He always has been,
He just never has had the capacity to see
himself in this light.
He never saw this coming.
He never intended to ruin himself
and the lives of his loved ones.
Everyone lies to him,
And says that no one’s to blame.
But he still blames himself for what he did,
because he knows what he is, and so do I.
Dreams of Duality
By: Rin Snow (9th)
Dreams of Duality
By Rin Snow
The glass was smooth against my fingers.
The cold of the glass is there to soothe my soul.
I had to work vigorously to possess this glass.
This glass is full of water from the fountain of youth.
I look down into the glass of water.
I see my warped reflection staring back at me.
I tilt the glass and swallow.
I look down into the glass again.
I see my warped reflection staring back at me.
Everything is fine.
A migraine shoots through my head.
I drop the glass and it shatters.
I fall to the ground.
I look into the shards of glass.
My dark inky inner demon stares back at me.
Playing Your Cards
By: Rin Snow (9th)
Playing your cards,
I got a joker.
Playing your cards.
The card suits flick down,
Luck of the draw.
Playing your cards.
The royal family doesn’t approve.
Playing your cards.
Sitting around a wooden table,
Playing your cards.
The lampshade gets duller.
Playing your cards.
A bruise;
A poppy on my skin.
Only to wilt.
Only to purple.
Only to suffocate from chemicals.
Playing your cards.
The expensive drinks we drink,
The factory food we eat,
Rob us of our lifespan.
Playing your cards.
Your feelings are convincing,
Though I know that you’re fake,
You’re bitter,
You’re all things in between.
Playing your cards.
This is Me
By: Rin Snow (9th)
The midnight sky’s tears dripped
upon the reflection of the lake.
A click came from the jade ferns.
A silhouette stood pointing a gun at me,
The metal glistening in the shaft of moonlight.
The bullet drove through my brain.
The frigid water pierced my skin
As I drowned to the bottom of the murky lake.
My vision clouded;
My eyes marbles in their sockets.
The gunshot rang eternally.
My body’s decay;
Still a beast in repose.
The color is drawn out of my face.
A poppy bloomed upon the dark soil;
The inky water stained red.
Although, the poppy rose without a stem,
A snail without a shell,
A human without a body.
I am a ghost,
My features mellow and soft,
Glowing a magnificent periwinkle.
An overwhelming feeling of serenity came over me,
I was finally roaming in the higher plane.
When I was alive,
Insanity was the monarch.
My mind haunted me every waking moment;
Popping a bottle of champagne on me constantly,
Only for the cork to shoot my eye out.
Burdens that I carried over the years
Deteriorated my spine;
The vertebrate ripping with each movement.
The secrets made my hair frizzy,
No shampoo could ever wash it all out.
The grudges were the dirt underneath my chipped fingernails.
The words I spoke were dull knives,
The words of others were sharper.
Though, the words I wrote were
bloodstained roses amongst the pages,
A garnish to each plate, the accent to a mantle
Though with the hidden meanings they always have.
Anxiety was the plague;
The bumps grew purple as well as the faces.
Depression was the
Ring of an out of tune piano key.
Rage was the gasoline to my smoldered fire.
The rain was always on my mardi gras parade.
Happiness was never there.
It was just the hole in my heart,
I knew that it would never be filled.
The medications and the therapy were just the reassurance
That nothing was ever going to be ok.
Nothing was ever going to be ok,
Nothing will ever be ok.
I will never be normal again,
Not like I ever was.
Now that the materialism of living is gone,
The translucent is transparent.
No one is normal,
Yet everyone has their own differences,
Problems, physical or emotional.
There is no ok.
There is no normal.
There is no perfect.
There is no point.
It’s just something that’s perceived.
We are the cause of our problems.
We are the cause of our insanity.
We are the cause of what makes us human.
We are the cause of what makes us not.
We are the cause.
Though, what is our cause?
What is our cause,
What is your cause,
What was my cause?
I’m just gone.
I never got to be successful.
I never got to the finish line.
I never got to pass go and collect two hundred dollars.
Though, on a more serious note,
I never got true happiness,
True love,
True dreams.
I’ve learned,
Everything is an illusion,
An accusation,
A filter.
Look through those sunglasses,
Rose or black lens.
You choose.
Be the fish that swam upstream.
Be the dandelion in the sidewalk crack.
Be the sunrise no one forgets.
Be the green sand beach.
Be the person that you are,
Not what you want to be.
Let the translucent become transparent.
Let the roses bloom in the night.
Let the sunglasses be trashed.
Let the river flood.
Let your desires to be yours,
Wear your heart on your sleeve.
The demons don’t have to pickpocket.
Be born blameless.
Petal with poise.
Die with dignity.