January 24

spoken word- To my little brother

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You

have aqua blue eyes as if the hue of the sea was poured into your iris.

I

gazed into those glistening eyes as they first opened.

As our eyes interlocked I felt your presence.

You

absorbing the light of the world to project into your mind for the first time.

I

held you as if I was holding a whole universe, within my cradled arms.

The very day I vowed to protect you.

I

promise you, how small you believe you are

The galaxies existent on the pinpoints of your mind,

are far from being irrelevant.

You

love to ask why, as if your lips always knew how to form that very word.

Your mind’s questions stretch as far as the eye can see,

in order to piece together your endless curiosity.

You

will always try to find the different side of every story, the lesson beyond the hurt, the character behind the name and the beauty in the least expected.

I

will show you that no matter where you are in this world, the moon is no bigger than your thumb. You are the center of your own existence, there is no need to be afraid.

You

will paint the rainbow after every harsh storm,

just to show  the world beauty can blossom out of the darkest clouds.

I

will teach you how to share toys, like you will one day share this world.

You

have the ability to make your smile travel around the world and come back to you. Just by the exchange of joy through strangers.

Your smile can do wonders.

If you allow the edges of your mouth to lift, and creases of your eyes appear.

I

will remind you of the small pockets of happiness you forgot you had along the way.

You

recovering your gifts like a diamond in the ruff, discovering treasures within yourself you never thought you had.

You have the urge,

to create, what you feel

to discover, what you question

to fight, for what you love

We all do.

You

shouldn’t allow fear to suppress your instinct for adventure. Despite what they say the only person you can ever be is yourself.

I

wish I could shield you from harsh parts of this world, but my hands aren’t big enough to mold all the hurt I wish to transform.

Promise me you

will not allow the shards of hatred, to tare open your untouched skin, to draw out your kindness like blood. To be dry of the very thing that nurtured you.

I

will feel your pain, may it be a scrape on your knee or the cracking of your heart. I will feel it all.

You

are never broken, even if it may feel your heart scattered of broken glass. I will piece together every fragment that was displaced, despite my fingers cut open and bleeding.

I

will be your bandage, my arms wrapping around and around. Every heart soar you feel, to heal, to protect all your wounded parts. To seal your innocence, so remorse won’t infect you.

You

As your soft cheeks and dimple turn to a jaw line and stubble, when you have broadened shoulders and rough hands that turn to fists.

I

will remind you, to never raise your hand to a women, unless she is your teacher and you are asking a question.

You

can use those fists to build up the broken, to plant pillars where you stand lifting your potential. To use your strength to change the world.

I

don’t want this world to get the best of you, stealing your forgiving spirit to bitterness.

And you

will not occupy and value your happiness based on endless digits and dollar signs. Nothing can compare to the satisfaction of unconditional love family gives. To be rich off love, instead of self-indulgence.

 You

will not let the sand of time slip  through your finger tips. Holding onto grudges, and pain you will not forgive.

I

know one day, you will not need me to fight your battles. To seal up your wounds for you will be stronger. But I will always have your back, with reinforcements just in case.

Most of all, I want you to know

you may out grow the rides, be able to reach the monkey bars standing up.

But you will never out grow the opportunities life holds,

you will never out grow the love I have for you.

This spoken word poem is for my youngest brother, Isaac. We have 13 years age difference, and he has so much to learn and discover in this world as a young boy. He just means the world to me. Creating this poem was meaningful to me as I plan to show him this when he is older. It was enjoyable to write as I was speaking from my heart. I have a very motherly sense of voice in this poem, because that is the similar characteristic I have for Isaac.

I loved creating this piece, hope you enjoy.

Category: Alisha | LEAVE A COMMENT
January 24

Goodbye (Spoken Word)

2 syllables. 7 letters. 1 word.

Goodbye.

I have never been a fan of this word for one reason –

My dad.

My life feels incomplete,

Over, and over again.

For the past 16 years. The feeling will never escape me.

Sleepless nights. Pillows stamped with tear stains. Moody days.

*Pause*

 

Do you know what it’s like to be far apart from the one you love?

Being miles and miles away.

We take everything for granted – we are all guilty of doing this.

I want. I want. I want

You complain about your parents, though they are just a hallway away in your house.

Have you ever thought about just stepping back and seeing the many things you ALREADY have.

I’ve always been told from the very beginning that your parents are the greatest blessing you will ever receive.

Everyday I wake up, feeling a part of me missing.

The father daughter relationship I so wish to have.

But there’s 7000km between us.

An 8-hour time difference between us.

Leaving a premature relationship between us.

*Pause*

 My dad and I have a series of little games we like to play.

Wrestling in the living room.

Betting on how much the groceries will cost.

And of course I always win because I peek a little at the total amount, but my dad lets it slide for he pretends he doesn’t see me.

Holding my hand, and his arm around my shoulder – protecting me from the terrifying world we live in.

*Pause*

I’m told that I am a girl version of my dad. My sense of humour. My looks. My care. My love. My smile. – It’s all him.

Which makes me smile like I have won a million dollars, because if I could ever be half the person my dad is, than I have become the person I’ve always wanted to be.

The way his eyes shine that light brown color, only sending love and care when you look into them.

Reminding me of when I was learning to ride a bike, and I fell, but those shining light brown eyes were right there to take care of me.

He smiles so infectiously, making your worries evaporate into thin air.

Which makes me smile like I have won a million dollars, because if I could ever be half the person my dad is, than I have become the person I’ve always wanted to be.

                                                          *Pause*

Letting go of him, as he goes to meet my mom.

Tears start forming, but I push them back.

I tell myself I won’t cry, clenching the pain back as his figure gets further and further away.

My heart gradually breaking into pieces, with every step further.

He says goodbye one last time, flashing his million-dollar smile, and I whisper out an – ‘I Love You Dad’

*Pause*

Category: Daania, Gr 10 CW | LEAVE A COMMENT
January 16

Angel’s Tears

A rainbow never feels insecure or unloved, a rainbow is like a butterfly. We often undermine the extravagance it takes to metamorphoses from something ugly to something beautiful. I suppose this is why I despise rainbows. They take all of the credit for something the rain helped create, they do not have to try to be beautiful, they just are. No one ever appreciates the underlying contribution rain makes in order for the rainbow to be as beautiful as it is; we are naïve to think that the rainbow naturally started that way. No one starts that way, it is inconsiderate of the rest of mankind for something to start off so perfect.

All good memories for me start with rain and end when the rainbow hits. Maybe it is just coincidental but I choose to believe that it is a blessing from the angels. My mom always used to tell me that when it was raining it was the angels crying from heaven; whether they were happy tears or sad tears we do not know but either way it is beautiful and it provided me with a sense of ease.

One memory that distinctly stood out to me was when I had just returned from a trip to London, England to visit my family. Living in Calgary we do not get a lot of rain so I believe that my appreciation for rain began there. When I was around seven years old I had a pooh bear umbrella with a blue handle shaped as a honey pot. When it began to rain I walked outside with my umbrella and a big blanket and I sat in the rain admiring it’s beauty. For once my head was clear and I felt content and unrestricted. It takes a lot to make me feel unconstrained but at that moment, something as simple as rain made me feel free.

This became a habit for me, one that I am not ashamed of because while rain is under appreciated by so many it allows me to be the exception. Loving the ugly more than the beautiful makes me different and unique. People are just not open to defying social expectations; even with something simple as rain.

For me it is never about the rainbow at the end of the rain. It is about appreciating the journey that rain takes before the rainbow ends the tears.

So can we not see rain as a blessing from the sky? Or when you watch the rain chase each other down the windows, how are you not invested in that race? How can you not be mesmerized by the personality that the rain displays? How can you not be thankful for angels tears?

Category: Cayleigh, Gr. 11 CW | LEAVE A COMMENT
January 16

What I Know to Be True…

We are birthed from our mothers womb.

Innocent,

yet once we consume ourselves into the world,

we become different creatures.

Life is a forever cycle,

death is ongoing,

and birth is common.

It is up to us to stop and look,

to stop and wonder,

to stop and realize

what life has made of us

before we get consumed…

we fail, we fall, we stumble, we face pain

but that is not what matters.

what matters is how hard we are able to get hit, and still get back up,

to either be pushed back down or rise sky high to prove what your really worth.

After all success is not determined by skill or talent…

it is determined by character.

Your ability to overcome those obstacles and think beyond them.

Your drive is what matters.

Your passion.

Your motivation.

Your inspiration.

For in the end we are all going to meet in the same place once again.

We are buried into the soft brown soil, and covered with green grass as a blanket laid upon us to silence.

We remain forever banished underground.

Surrounded by nothing but darkness.

~~~ Group: Manvir, Alisha, Andrew, Ziyana, Gavin~~~

Category: Manvir, Poems | LEAVE A COMMENT
January 16

Arkham Asylum

I did not belong here. That was my first thought as I stared at the sign labelled psych ward with an arrow seemingly pointed directly where I stood against the wall. A big red arrow on top of my head as if to notify the world that I was irrational and psychotic; a warning sign of danger up ahead. “Beware of rabid animal” might as well be tattooed on my forehead. This thought was solidified as I saw nurses running past me towards a room, where sounds of chaos and madness seemed to originate.
“Sedate him!” screamed a women from inside of the room.
“I cannot restrain him!” came from another, with a very evident expression of struggle in her exasperated tone.
As the complication came to a close and silence was replaced, a gurney with an unconscious teen strapped tightly to the bed came rolling down the hall, led by a burly man with large arms wearing a security uniform. The nurses that I had seen previously quickly followed, one with a scrape along the side of her face and the other with a line of blood trailing down her arm, the origin of the wound hidden by the sleeves of her scrubs; exhaustion flooded their faces.
Poor boy had no idea what he would wake up to, but believe me, he will wish he never woke up at all. I had been in this hell hole of a place for six months and somehow people seem to be misled into believing that my mind is classified as “psychotic” while I believe it is just pure generosity that looms in my being. Those people got what they deserved….they had it coming and it was me who delivered their punishment in the rightful form. They deserved to feel the pain of every slice of their skin and to hear every appendage fall to the floor after being unfastened from their bodies. I did mankind a favour really and this is their way of expressing their appreciation for my efforts?
I had relished in my dose of entertainment for the day so I began to walk back to my room as these thoughts still lingered in my mind; as the memories still flashed before my eyes. A smile crept up on my face as the smell of blood lingered in my nostrils and the sound of screaming flooded my ears. I took my time, I was in no rush and you would have thought they would have appreciated my clean incisions…but no. They had no respect for me while I was being so generous as to provide them with the attention and comfort that they deserved. The judge specifically said I had “no respect for mankind” but my actions beg to differ.
The doctors have labelled me as a psychopath but really if you look at it from my perspective I had committed no crime other than performing the act of kindness. I had done a task for humanity, and they say what I did was selfish and sinful; so they put me here. A mental hospital for the mentally insane. THEY are all insane for thinking that this place will change my future career in vigilantism. I will not change my role of serving justice to those who deserve it.
I see myself as a superhero; an honorary member of the justice league, protecting mankind from scum is my duty. I walked into my room and saw my roommate lying asleep so peacefully on his bed, it gave me a new idea…contemplating, questioning what my next move would be. I would prove to everyone that my rightful place was out there, not in here. The streets needed me, protecting my fellow humans. I did not belong here.

 

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Category: Cayleigh, Gr. 11 CW | LEAVE A COMMENT
December 14

seven things i know to be true

i know that the best people to hold hands with

are the ones with callouses on their palms and fingers

because they have fought to be here.

 

i know that butterflies are the multi-hued versions of angels on earth

and the reason they have such small, brittle lifespans is

because they are missed in the heavens above.

 

i know that i will have a child one day

innocence and purity; pure love is so very beautiful and so very admirable

because that is so very rare in our world now.

 

i know that sharing a name with another is supposed

to be a cause for unity and celebration and joy but it is not

because their name is more well-known than mine.

 

i know that you should treat others like trees in that

some of the most beautiful ones are the ones unlike any other

because you don’t chop it down for being different.

 

i know that we have all let someone down at one moment or another

but the very, very special ones have learned the very difficult skill of forgiveness

because we are all worth that.

 

i know that we tend to believe others bring out the best of us

but i think these qualities were always hidden right behind our twinkling eyes

because the words and opinions of others do not determine our worth

 

poetry challenge number three / claire b. / summaiya, mandeep, katherine, jade

Category: Claire, Gr. 11 CW, Poems | LEAVE A COMMENT
November 17

But TO PIMP A BUTTERFLY? That’s the American Dream… ~Arsal

to pimp a hyteerfly

“The caterpillar is a prisoner to the streets that conceived it.
Its only job is to eat or consume everything around it, in order to protect itself from this mad city.
While consuming its environment, the caterpillar begins to notice ways to survive.
One thing it noticed is how much the world shuns him, but praises the butterfly.
The butterfly represents the talent, the thoughtfulness, and the beauty within the caterpillar.
But having a harsh outlook on life, the caterpillar sees the butterfly as weak and figures out a way to pimp it to his own benefits.
Already surrounded by this mad city, the caterpillar goes to work on the cocoon which institutionalizes him.
He can no longer see past his own thoughts.
He’s trapped.
When trapped inside these walls, certain ideas start to take roots, such as going home, and bringing back new concepts to this mad city.

The result?

Wings begin to emerge, breaking the cycle of feeling stagnant.
Finally free, the butterfly sheds light on situations that the caterpillar never considered, ending the eternal struggle.
Although the butterfly and caterpillar are completely different, they are one and the same.”

Mortal Man

To Pimp a Butterfly 

 

To start off, this poem alone is part 1 of a larger idea that I plan to showcase on my blog. I do not think I have ever been as intrigued by something as beautiful and as eye opening as this piece. Words alone cannot piece together what this poem and the album itself mean to me and how my understanding of everyday life has changed because of it. The idea of “pimping” a butterfly was very interesting to me so I decided to do more research. After reading many descriptions about what “pimping” a butterfly meant, I came across this poem that was recited by Kendrick Lamar, the one who created the phrase “To Pimp a Butterfly”. Everything in the poem teaches us about our initial views on the world. When we enter this world we are trapped in a nightmare, consuming everything around us. We are nothing special. However once we see the upper class, the butterfly, we begin to feel resentment and jealousy. This resentment turns into energy. This energy fuels the passion to become the butterfly. To transform. Once this occurs we work hard, in other words we start working on the cocoon.

The cocoon represents school, media, or anything that contains the people, whatever institutionalizes them. The caterpillar is trapped in the cocoon. In other words the people are trapped by the system and any other struggle. Although you are caved in by the system’s demands, new ideas begin to form, inspired by the system. Inspired by the walls. These new ideas begin to expand and eventually become the seeds to a newfound life. To become something different. Because of this, wings begin to form and the caterpillar transforms into a more capable being. Without the system, without the struggles, without apartheid, police brutality, social inequality, there would be no new concepts and ideas to be explored. If there is no cocoon, there is no butterfly. The caterpillar,that was once an incompetent and futile existence, has been pimped to extraordinary new levels.

In other words, everyone has greatness within them. I feel this line exemplifies the fact that if every person positively used the system against itself, used the institutionalization as power for ideas and creativity, one could raise their consciousness to a level surpassing his/her environment. The fact that the caterpillar is the one being “pimped” instead of the butterfly, as the title of the album suggests, is intriguing. In my personal opinion I feel that the title: To Pimp a Butterfly is sarcastic in a way. Pimping a caterpillar represents being enlightened and to change for the better, To go from having nothing to having it all. Pimping a butterfly represents giving the rich/fortunate ones even more power and wisdom. I feel that Kendrick Lamar was poking fun at places that are run by a corrupt leader. Stealing from the poor and giving it to the rich, putting all financial pressure on the ones that do not deserve it are things that show how to pimp a butterfly. The content within the music and within the poem showcase the correct and moral way to handle society, while the title of the album displays the harsh reality. This harsh reality is compared to racial injustice and discrimination in the US which are the central themes within the album, as shown by the album cover. “Pimping” a butterfly is an idiom of the American Dream in the 30s.

I could go on and on all day about what this poem means to me and just how significant “pimping” a butterfly really is. Although I am really tempted to write a 2000 word essay on the statement “To Pimp a Butterfly” I feel I have exhausted my ideas for now. The main point I want to get across is that this poem really speaks out on racial inequalities and the injustices that are happening in the modern world. This poem shows us how we should be learning from the past. The problems we face nowadays are due to society being trapped in a cocoon and not wanting to become greater. Because of these things, I am scared of the reality I live in. A reality where we pimp a butterfly.

 

http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/61aHQJ-tR%2BL._SY300_.jpg

Category: Arsal, Gr. 11 CW | LEAVE A COMMENT
October 14

Make us Laugh!!!

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Respond in a paragraph with your funny “true experience” to one of the following prompts:

  1. Your worst DIY disaster: Explain and describe a project (i.e. pinterest) gone wrong.
  2. Describe your worst school or family photo.
  3. Most embarrassing moment.
  4. Most awful/fearful moment – told funny.
  5. A wardrobe malfunction.
  6. A story when you lost your temper – told funny.
  7. A date.
  8. Technology mishap.
  9. A pet.
  10. A time you were blamed/in trouble.

http://topfamousquotes.com/images/topic/201506/humorous-writing-quotes-1.jpg

 

 

Category: Gr 10 CW, Gr 12 CW, Gr. 11 CW | 20 Comments on Make us Laugh!!!
October 9

ANECDOTES

Definition: Anecdote is defined as a short and interesting story or an amusing event often proposed to support or demonstrate some point and make readers and listeners laugh. Anecdotes can include an extensive range of tales and stories. In fact, it is a short description or an account of any event that makes the readers laugh or brood over the topic presented for the purpose.

In the COMMENTS -Choose ONE prompt & tell your little anecdote in less than 200 words!

  1. Think of a real experience you have had that would be hard to forget. Think about what makes it so hard to forget. Tell what happened.
  2. Write about a time you experienced or learned something for the first time. It could be when you first rode a bike or learned a new game. It could have been your first day of school, your first train or plane ride, or your first trip to an amusement park. First experiences are special for some reason. They may be funny, scary, or exciting.
  3. Write about a time when you were surprised. It could have been a birthday party or when you got something you had not expected. It could be when you planned something and it did not turn out the way you thought it would. It could have been when someone came for a surprise visit. Surprises can be funny, scary, or exciting.
  4. Write about a time when you did something that made you feel good. It could be when you helped a team, sang, or played music for others. It could be a time when you were nice or did a special favor for someone. It could be when you did something you had never done before. The important thing is that you felt good about what you did.

Category: Gr 10 CW, Gr 12 CW, Gr. 11 CW | 24 Comments on ANECDOTES
September 30

i am the sky — metaphor for me (claire b.)

I will always be here, even if you do not acknowledge me. I will watch over you and exist over you with my effervescent love, even if you are not aware of me. I am bright at times, and stormy at others, but I cannot be in control of this at all times. I can wreck and destroy and tear apart those below me but please forgive me if I do so. I may do this, but I am truly filled with bright clouds of dreams and hopes that can be blown down and away with the smallest of winds.

These clouds, that move and shift and never stay the same, make up who I am. There is a cloud that represents love, a cloud for hate, for curiosity, for generosity – every part of what makes up me is found in the clouds floating above with seemingly no cares at all. A shift in this cloud cover can change the entire mood of the day – from blight blue skies of happiness to stormy and angry grey hues. It is said that every cloud has a silver lining – for me, every one of my clouds, with their unique variations and configurations have a particular silver lining.

Love will blossom in to appreciation, hate will be overcome by passion, curiosity introduced to knowledge, generosity would breed compassion – and these clouds would lose their shape and become something entirely new.

If you look up to me, I will always be looking back at you. There are moments in our lives where we may feel utterly alone – but we can look up to the sky, and see it there, and just know that it will still be there tomorrow. People can look to me for advice, for comfort, for reassurance that the world is still turning, you are still living, and I am still here for you. That is the most important thing about the sky – it’s flowing presence that occupies the minds and souls of those it encounters daily.

I am the sky, I am ever-changing, but I will always be here with you.

claire b.

pic credit: jimenez

Category: Claire, Gr. 11 CW | LEAVE A COMMENT