We listened to an example of slam poetry in class recently, and you wrote examples imitating the poet.
1. Finish your poem and post on the blog.
2. Read other poems and post a comment. Due today by the end of class!
Oh man! The popping sound of the cooking oil sizzling off of the pan, thw joyful smell of the tender plantain being fried up to a crispy slice, the following tone of life that appears once the finished fajita is added to the platter covered in green plantain leaves. I love the platter called Frito
Dude i love your poem and I have tasted Frito before when i went to a trip to Nicaragua it was dilicious and very cheap it was about 7 cordovas which is about 50 cents in US currency
Akara I am not sure but i think it was the first thing i ate and i stopped crying when i was born. Akara is a Sierra Leonian food that is made with banana, flour, sugar and mixed with water. After it is mixed up well then it is fried in hot oil over the stove. It smells like the sweet smell of heaven's air. Well the taste i wouldn't say it taste like heaven but a little of both heaven and Hell. I remember coming home from school while mother will be making akara and I will smell it ass soon as i start to open the door. Well i miss akara in fact i miss it a lot because i haven't eaten it in a long long time. Hope mom make it today ha ha ha.
Filled with many cultures But only lived in one country Made up of many things But not literally Who am I?
Born by one person Raised by another They barely know each other Who am I?
Mixed,black,brown So many different titles Cant tell them the truth because i'll be accused of a liar. Then again I ask who am i?
Being brown in a black family Having the name Imani instead of Tammy Who am I?
Now knowing my two biological parents. I see something apparent. Who am i you ask I am Imani, adopted from two people who are multi-cultural or mixed with more than two races but came out one color. But judged because i'm darker than the other. I'm Imani stuck in between many roads and dont know which way to go. Many different languages I hear but can't speak. Different types of food on the table yes I do eat. Tacos,beignets,scallopini,and sushi are just a few. I'm only 15 so I dont know what to do. Nice to tell you in this way but youre probably think i'm telling a lie. But at least I can answer the question WHO AM I?
walk the line of both boundries step my right before,my left flight 38,I hail from ethopia where the magistics roam but we dont get credit because we all know the restrunanets are the way down my way ,but twice i never say,a sugestion to visit which i alwas perfer, hey macdondls is on A way Injera,my parents love the food they grew up with and yet they still love it I dont how how ,why, what but personaly,i dont care for it ,if its a rainy day i can go for a bite ,but i dislike,did i mention that cause thats important but does it taste like a lion feast , when its all in one stew the name would be fir fur, hey i had that for dinner.
A golden stew in a pot mashed on a wooden spoon. The women around talk of it as masa. A fat packet, unwrapped from banana leaves and aluminum foil. The finished product, a tamale, the shape is what lingers most in my memory the lights always seem orange and warm just as the house is, along with its snugness. This is the holidays for me, a dim candle glowing until midight until it bursts and the wrappings are torn and gifts are admired, and love is shared and delight flies, and the candle fades as it gutters away. And when the guests leave, the warmth of the night is carried with you to your slumber, until the bright dawn of the next morning comes.
“HORCHATA” My parents are from Zacatecaz, Mexico. We go visit every summer. The one thing I like about that place is this drink that’s called “horchata” because it has the right touch of all the ingredients that it needs. The way they collect all the ingredients that come from different places and have nothing to do with each other its wonderful. Mixing white rice with creamy milk and a sweet touch of brown sugar and cinnamon, wich at the end creates a fantastic magical sensation inside your mouth. When I have “horchata” inside my mouth, I try to keep it there until all I can taste is water, then I decide to swallow and that’s when It flows into my brain and decide if I like it or not but then it sends an message saying (drink some more:)
In my parent’s roots, liquado is the morning drink; it’s been passed down from my parent’s parents to my parents kids. The numbers of flavors you can make are so many when it comes to milkshakes. Strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, every berry makes the best morning drink. In fact, this morning I had myself a banana and strawberry shake. Healthy and delicious way to start the day. Many people all over the world make shakes out of different foods and flavors. So then one day I went to McDonald’s and asked for a liquado, but they said they didn’t have any. But at the register I saw that someone else had ordered a milkshake, and they brought him a liquado. So I asked them why do you give him a liquado and tell me you don’t have any. He said it was a milkshake, that’s when I learned that a milkshake is a liquado. It’s been like a tradition for my family to drink liquado every morning. It’s amazing how after all this time and how far we are from our original town that we still do this. Ever since I was a kid my dad has always worked as a truck drive. No matter where he is or where he goes, he is always a truck driver. My mother has always stayed home and made the meals we like. Every Sunday she makes coffee for all of us and my dad brings the bread. But after sunday every day we go back to our liquado until the next sunday comes.
“THE WORKER” Strawberries , bananas, wild berried mixed together becomes the rich pink or purple smoothies I create for those with thirsty mouths that feeds this global economy, This fattens the pockets of America with taxes I give each week with my arms and strengths each day I show up to this stressful the money I need to pay off my bills. I make these drinks, blue, black, orange, clear, red; all contain sugar, if only they dranked a cup of orange juice or maybe skipped the drink and drank a cup of water with an orange instead. Diets like ones we eat at El Salvador , eating fresh fruits off the trees that grow naturally off the ground, unlike the city of Houston where the fruits are pastured or chemically formed by man, It keeps its culture with itself servings purity and untouched culture with its own people, My people, my ancestors, my family. I do these things; the sweat, frustration, tears the blood, the pain to pay off my dues to my family. I’m no longer a waste of space in this house; I’m a McDonald’s worker.
I take them everywhere I go Blink 182, Bless the fall, Bring me the Horizon Words I wear everyday A group of people who have a say Through times where we cant find our way Heavy riffs backed by pounding drums Letting go with the crowd beneath you carry us to the front for a sense of joy Blinding black and white lights slowing the movement of Bless the fall as if time began slowing down as were on the other side like finding out the first time catching a fish is a 3 foot shark jumping out the water fighting for his life back in the deep blue Many say we wear these to hide something inside, but it's a feeling we get to somehow fly
I am from today’s society surrounded by different colors and different cultures. My mother originated from Tehutla, San Marcos and my father in the “capital” of Guatemala. Work and survival was both their number one priority. Making a family was their second. Spanish and English began to blend together in my dome. Marimba was our primary gala and Sal Picon was our main dish. I grew up with values in my life; honesty, determination, strength, and most importantly integrity. That was the key to surviving in society. I always felt like a loner regardless of the large amount of people surrounding me, not only physically but mentally. I am from a run-down neighborhood that showed no mercy to fragile hearts so I and my family had to cling together and we manufactured our hearts into steel. When I was young I didn’t realize any stereotypes and to me it didn’t matter whether you were white, black, or orange; rich, poor, or in between. As I began to grow up I started to realize the broad separation. It never stopped me from being different and letting people know its ok to combine and unite to one. Maybe I didn’t make a big difference in anyone else’s life, but I know I did in mine. If I’m not true to myself, who will I be true to? As I speak my mind, I began to get annoyed; a human is testing my nerves and my brain cells are starting to explode. School has always been important but frustration and stress brings me to exhaust. I shiver at the sign of homework. It always provoked me to test my knowledge. At first I could never forget my past, now at last, I realized I surpassed. Thank god for his love which I will join him later up above.
my mom burito filled with chicken fajita letter chopped tomato, avecado and beans top with lettuce and on a big flour tortilla the smell of the chicken sizzeling the sound of the tomato cutting, and the water hitting the lettuce and being pulled apart i dont remember how old i was but i rememer smelling it ever since
Oh man! The popping sound of the cooking oil sizzling off of the pan, thw joyful smell of the tender plantain being fried up to a crispy slice, the following tone of life that appears once the finished fajita is added to the platter covered in green plantain leaves. I love the platter called Frito
ReplyDeleteIn Response to Mande
ReplyDeleteDude i love your poem and I have tasted Frito before when i went to a trip to Nicaragua it was dilicious and very cheap it was about 7 cordovas which is about 50 cents in US currency
-Which much love MadD Dawg
Akara
ReplyDeleteI am not sure but i think it was the first thing i ate and i stopped crying when i was born. Akara is a Sierra Leonian food that is made with banana, flour, sugar and mixed with water. After it is mixed up well then it is fried in hot oil over the stove.
It smells like the sweet smell of heaven's air. Well the taste i wouldn't say it taste like heaven but a little of both heaven and Hell. I remember coming home from school while mother will be making akara and I will smell it ass soon as i start to open the door. Well i miss akara in fact i miss it a lot because i haven't eaten it in a long long time. Hope mom make it today ha ha ha.
Who Am I?
ReplyDeleteFilled with many cultures
But only lived in one country
Made up of many things
But not literally
Who am I?
Born by one person
Raised by another
They barely know each other
Who am I?
Mixed,black,brown
So many different titles
Cant tell them the truth because i'll be
accused of a liar.
Then again I ask who am i?
Being brown in a black family
Having the name Imani instead of Tammy
Who am I?
Now knowing my two biological parents.
I see something apparent.
Who am i you ask
I am Imani, adopted from two people who are multi-cultural or mixed with more than two races
but came out one color.
But judged because i'm darker than the other.
I'm Imani stuck in between many roads and dont know which way to go.
Many different languages I hear but can't speak.
Different types of food on the table yes I do eat. Tacos,beignets,scallopini,and sushi are just a few.
I'm only 15 so I dont know what to do.
Nice to tell you in this way but youre probably think i'm telling a lie.
But at least I can answer the question
WHO AM I?
great job Samuelson you are writer keep on doing the good work
ReplyDeletegood job too imani u inspire me a lot
ReplyDeleteabale byene
ReplyDelete"pam like Bam"
walk the line of both boundries
step my right before,my left
flight 38,I hail from ethopia
where the magistics roam
but we dont get credit
because we all know the
restrunanets are the way
down my way ,but twice i
never say,a sugestion to
visit which i alwas perfer,
hey macdondls is on A way
Injera,my parents love
the food they grew up with
and yet they still love it
I dont how how ,why, what
but personaly,i dont care
for it ,if its a rainy day
i can go for a bite ,but
i dislike,did i mention that
cause thats important but does
it taste like a lion feast ,
when its all in one stew
the name would be fir fur,
hey i had that for dinner.
A golden stew in a pot
ReplyDeletemashed on a wooden spoon.
The women around talk of it as masa.
A fat packet, unwrapped from
banana leaves and aluminum foil.
The finished product, a tamale,
the shape is what lingers most in my memory
the lights always seem orange and warm
just as the house is, along with its snugness.
This is the holidays for me,
a dim candle glowing until midight
until it bursts and the wrappings are torn
and gifts are admired, and love is shared
and delight flies, and the candle fades as it gutters away.
And when the guests leave, the warmth of the night
is carried with you to your slumber, until the bright dawn of the next morning comes.
“HORCHATA”
ReplyDeleteMy parents are from Zacatecaz, Mexico. We go visit every summer. The one thing I like about that place is this drink that’s called “horchata” because it has the right touch of all the ingredients that it needs. The way they collect all the ingredients that come from different places and have nothing to do with each other its wonderful.
Mixing white rice with creamy milk and a sweet touch of brown sugar and cinnamon, wich at the end creates a fantastic magical sensation inside your mouth.
When I have “horchata” inside my mouth, I try to keep it there until all I can taste is water, then I decide to swallow and that’s when It flows into my brain and decide if I like it or not but then it sends an message saying (drink some more:)
In my parent’s roots, liquado is the morning drink; it’s been passed down from my parent’s parents to my parents kids. The numbers of flavors you can make are so many when it comes to milkshakes. Strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, every berry makes the best morning drink. In fact, this morning I had myself a banana and strawberry shake. Healthy and delicious way to start the day. Many people all over the world make shakes out of different foods and flavors. So then one day I went to McDonald’s and asked for a liquado, but they said they didn’t have any. But at the register I saw that someone else had ordered a milkshake, and they brought him a liquado. So I asked them why do you give him a liquado and tell me you don’t have any. He said it was a milkshake, that’s when I learned that a milkshake is a liquado. It’s been like a tradition for my family to drink liquado every morning. It’s amazing how after all this time and how far we are from our original town that we still do this. Ever since I was a kid my dad has always worked as a truck drive. No matter where he is or where he goes, he is always a truck driver. My mother has always stayed home and made the meals we like. Every Sunday she makes coffee for all of us and my dad brings the bread. But after sunday every day we go back to our liquado until the next sunday comes.
ReplyDeleteOMG abale do better man
ReplyDeletei like HORCHATA nice Abi
ReplyDeletei love yours Imani..
ReplyDelete“THE WORKER”
ReplyDeleteStrawberries , bananas, wild berried mixed together becomes the rich pink or purple smoothies I create for those with thirsty mouths that feeds this global economy, This fattens the pockets of America with taxes I give each week with my arms and strengths each day I show up to this stressful the money I need to pay off my bills. I make these drinks, blue, black, orange, clear, red; all contain sugar, if only they dranked a cup of orange juice or maybe skipped the drink and drank a cup of water with an orange instead. Diets like ones we eat at El Salvador , eating fresh fruits off the trees that grow naturally off the ground, unlike the city of Houston where the fruits are pastured or chemically formed by man, It keeps its culture with itself servings purity and untouched culture with its own people, My people, my ancestors, my family. I do these things; the sweat, frustration, tears the blood, the pain to pay off my dues to my family. I’m no longer a waste of space in this house; I’m a McDonald’s worker.
I take them everywhere I go
ReplyDeleteBlink 182, Bless the fall, Bring me the Horizon
Words I wear everyday
A group of people who have a say
Through times where we cant find our way
Heavy riffs backed by pounding drums
Letting go with the crowd beneath you carry us to the front for a sense of joy
Blinding black and white lights slowing the movement of Bless the fall as if time began slowing down as were on the other side
like finding out the first time catching a fish is a 3 foot shark jumping out the water fighting for his life back in the deep blue
Many say we wear these to hide something inside,
but it's a feeling we get to somehow fly
I am from today’s society surrounded by different colors and different cultures. My mother originated from Tehutla, San Marcos and my father in the “capital” of Guatemala. Work and survival was both their number one priority. Making a family was their second. Spanish and English began to blend together in my dome. Marimba was our primary gala and Sal Picon was our main dish. I grew up with values in my life; honesty, determination, strength, and most importantly integrity. That was the key to surviving in society. I always felt like a loner regardless of the large amount of people surrounding me, not only physically but mentally. I am from a run-down neighborhood that showed no mercy to fragile hearts so I and my family had to cling together and we manufactured our hearts into steel. When I was young I didn’t realize any stereotypes and to me it didn’t matter whether you were white, black, or orange; rich, poor, or in between. As I began to grow up I started to realize the broad separation. It never stopped me from being different and letting people know its ok to combine and unite to one. Maybe I didn’t make a big difference in anyone else’s life, but I know I did in mine. If I’m not true to myself, who will I be true to? As I speak my mind, I began to get annoyed; a human is testing my nerves and my brain cells are starting to explode. School has always been important but frustration and stress brings me to exhaust. I shiver at the sign of homework. It always provoked me to test my knowledge. At first I could never forget my past, now at last, I realized I surpassed. Thank god for his love which I will join him later up above.
ReplyDeletemy mom burito filled with chicken fajita letter chopped tomato, avecado and beans top with lettuce and on a big flour tortilla the smell of the chicken sizzeling the sound of the tomato cutting, and the water hitting the lettuce and being pulled apart i dont remember how old i was but i rememer smelling it ever since
ReplyDeleteI really liked Jose P. poem because the way he expressed himself about working and his job was very creative and I enjoyed reading it.
ReplyDeleteMANDE ur poem is good keep up da good work and imani dats a great poem
ReplyDeleteLIKED ALL THE SLAM POETIES!
ReplyDelete