Creative Writing–Student Work

So today in class we reviewed what we learned last week, and we began to actually dig into some poetry. We learned about imagery, and figurative language (metaphor, simile, personification). Then, we read Sylvia Plath’s Mirror, Gerard Manley Hopkins’ poem God’s Grandeur, Carl Sandburg’s Lost, and William Carlos Williams’ poem The Red Wheelbarrow.

At the end of class I gave them about 15 minutes to write a poem of their own. They did not have to rhyme, or make it anything special. In fact, I told them that anything similar to The Red Wheelbarrow is perfectly acceptable!

I could tell this had some of them stressing out, especially after I told them that their poems would be posted online for the world to see! These students had little time to think or prepare, but they did a great job. And I can’t wait to see how they develop their creativity as the class progresses.

The whole point though, was to get them to start thinking about the process of writing poetry. I didn’t expect Shakespeare to rise up from within them. I just expected them to think about what type of creativity is needed to produce such art.

TO THE STUDENTS–Read all the way to the bottom, I left a message for you there : )

Here are the delightful poems (retyped):

The Guitar

Six strings work together to

echo a sound to listening ears.

It’s wooden neck and body holding

all six strings tightly stretched accross,

such finite tuning.

The holder of this instrument,

so talented with rhythm and technique.

Every string, plucked with the perfect

amount of pressure. This is

the guitar, it’s purpose is music.

–Alicia Figueroa


It started not so many years ago

driving around in a city called Tokyo

Drifting around a foggy mountain at

night, there was something that just

felt right, the adrenaline rush when

pushing a car to its limit, knowing you

could crash at any given minute, Oh

Haichi-roku how I love you!

–Eddie Manougian


Though their bodies

are bruised and spent

Their heart is unreachable.

Though their odors fade

with an awful scent

Their mind is unteachable

Though their eyes see

and ears hear

Their attention is not there.

Their their blood pumps

and lungs breathe

Their senses are unaware

You can not be invincible.

–Joel Edwards


Wondering eyes dare to explore

seeing through natures door

colossal mountains and shining waters

How can anyone be bored?

Like an angelic vision

All there is room for is submission

To see God’s creation

It’s one’s own decision.

—Reyna Rosalez

The Noise

What noise is this

That I am but distraught

And my hands begin to tremble and move in ways unknown

As the bass begins to drop

Yes the music is dubstep

Oh what sound, what feeling and words come

from the speakers when they play the noise

Ah the music, only noise to some

But to me, it is an art

Only created by those of the true skill.

–Tristan Tate


Candy, it is so sweet,

it is delicious in my mouth,

When I unwrap it,

I get so excited,

and I can’t wait

to taste its amazingness.

–Tim Edwards


All I want to do is eat and

sleep, eat and sleep. Until I die.

I am always hungry.

I am in a deep love with food, sleep and video games.

Me plus food, plus sleep, plus video games

= forever

–Severen Favela


Volleyball, it comes from

my soul I just can’t

stop. When I’m at the serving

line I can’t wait for that whistle

BAMM goes my serve, hard

and deep. Can’t be returned.

That’s all ace for me!

Second serve I hear the

whistle. I hit it. It goes out.

–Serena Favela

My Cat

Souza comes and greets you

whenever you come near and will

rub on you till you leave. He will

always eat any food you

give him. He brings joy to you when

You are frustrated. Souza cuddles when its

cold and will lick your hair like his own.

–Angelina Rosalez

My Dog

My dog. My dog is a fluffy one.

He enjoys cuddling with someone.

Doesn’t matter who, just someone.

Someone who will be willing to snuggle

with his small fragile body.

He is a tiny dog with a brittle body, that at

any moment if someone were to drop him, he will break.

He loves people. If someone were to sit down bummed about the way

their day turned out, he would instantly jump on them and keep them

company. That’s my dog.

–Esme Celio


I am so hungry right now

After class I’m gonna get some chow

My right shoe is all torn up

I can’t get money, so that’s messed up

I have to take my car back today

But I’m getting a truck so that’s okay.

–Angel Iniguez III


I appreciate that chair

How it just sits right there

I can take it anywhere,

and it’ll keep my butt in the air.

I appreciate that table

If I wanted it to hold things

It will be able.

I appreciate the paper.

I don’t think it has any haters.

My pencil loves my paper,

It can do no harm

Making artistic tattoos on it’s arm.

–Jonah Kelliher


My body trembles and I feel small

To write emotions and feeling

The pressure is growing and the silence kills

The tap of pencils, the groans from other

tapping feet, scribbled pages, nervous sighs

And to know this shall be forever

Ten lines of words that must make sense

Some how, some way

Almost done and I sense the relief

Completed at ten and not a line more.

–Elizabeth Iniquez

To the students. Thank you for sharing these words with us. I am truly delighted by every one. They made me smile. I wanted to share a poem with you that I was reminded of as I read a few of the poems that detailed what was going though your head during this assignment. It was written by an amazing African American poet (LEGEND) Langston Hughes. It is called Theme for English B. You will truly enjoy it.


By Langston Hughes

The instructor said,

Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you—
Then, it will be true.

I wonder if it’s that simple?
I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem.
I went to school there, then Durham, then here
to this college on the hill above Harlem.
I am the only colored student in my class.
The steps from the hill lead down into Harlem
through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas,
Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the Y,
the Harlem Branch Y, where I take the elevator
up to my room, sit down, and write this page:

It’s not easy to know what is true for you or me
at twenty-two, my age. But I guess I’m what
I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you:
hear you, hear me—we two—you, me, talk on this page.
(I hear New York too.) Me—who?
Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love.
I like to work, read, learn, and understand life.
I like a pipe for a Christmas present,
or records—Bessie, bop, or Bach.
I guess being colored doesn’t make me NOT like
the same things other folks like who are other races.
So will my page be colored that I write?
Being me, it will not be white.
But it will be
a part of you, instructor.
You are white—
yet a part of me, as I am a part of you.
That’s American.
Sometimes perhaps you don’t want to be a part of me.
Nor do I often want to be a part of you.
But we are, that’s true!
As I learn from you,
I guess you learn from me—
although you’re older—and white—
and somewhat more free.

This is my page for English B.



4 thoughts on “Creative Writing–Student Work

  1. I believe Mrs. Harrison asked us to leave a comment in order to receive any type of credit of having visited this website.. Here is my comment!

    This is in fact the “funnest class ever”! I love you, Mrs. Brandi!

    The best student ever,
    Alicia Figueroa

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