Streams 16

A WATERWAYS PUBLICATION
STREAMS 16
Published by The Waterways Project of Ten Penny Players, Inc.
(a not for profit corporation)
with funding support from:
NYC Public Schools,
Learn & Serve America,
The NYS Council on the Arts,
The NYS Education Department,
The New York Times Company Foundation,
The Empire State Partnership,
and Independence Community Foundation.

Richard A. Spiegel & Barbara Fisher, Co-editors

A. Thomas Perry, Admirable Factotum

Richard Organisciak, Superintendent

Margaret Bing-Wade, Alan Werner, and Timothy Lisante

Deputy Superintendents

Ellen Kirshbaum, Director of Arts Education and Cultural Literacy

Alternative, Adult and Continuing Education Schools and Programs

Waterways workshops included participants from the Chancellor’s District

Lawrence Block, Superintendent

Joanna Fuhrman, Barbara Fisher, Ofelia Rodriguez Goldstein,

Magdalena Gomez, Ron McBee, D. Nurkse, A. Thomas Perry,
Louis Reyes Rivera, Richard Spiegel
Poets, Artists and Performers working with students
through the Waterways Project.

i
 School faculty members working with the Waterways Project of
Ten Penny Players to encourage, recognize, and publish student
expression.

Jenny Adams, Warren Adams, Carol Bahna, Al Barbarino, Norman

Benjamin, Maxine Best, Jeanne Bitterman, John Blodgett,
Brenda Bordofsky, Joan Calister, Donna Campbell, Sal Canale,
Judy Caputo, Ron Carter, Lillian Coleman, Christopher Croton,
Benny Daniels, Patricia Drew, Barbara G. Fisher,
Wolfgang Fundinger, Jenny Gacetas, Marie Genuard,
Jack Giordano, David Glick, Douglas Goetsch, Frank Grabinski,
Lynda Gregg-Mullings, Janet Griffith, Gordan Hatchett,
Arline Hirsch, Kurlene John, Patricia Jones-Bryant,
Harry Kimbraugh, Ronald G. King, Andre Knight, Rebecca Langan,
José Lima, Miriam Lock, Bryna Malik, Sharyn Marsh,
Joan Martinez, Gary Mauro, John McKenna, Max Mendes,
Nina Morris-Farber, Don Murphy, Irwin Nayman, Moli Ntuli,
David Pambianchi, Michael Quinn, Rosanna Rodríguez,
Steven Romagnoli, Nena Shaheed, Hale Simms, Richard Spiegel,
Barnaby Sprung, Andrea Stanet, ToniAnn Tepedino, Mary Tisi,
Sean Turner, Jo Ann Del Valle, Milagros Vazquez,
Tyona Washington, Anthony West, Myron Young

Cover art — Aaliyah, 2001. A mosaic created by Marcio Graham,

Christian Sexton, Done Blackwood, Christopher Graham, Steven Diaz,
Gregory Smith, Saleh A., Isaiah Strickland, Leo Rio, Gabriel Urena,
and Maurice Solomon in art classes taught by Donna Campbell.

Book Design on Quark Xpress by Richard Spiegel

The Waterways Project is a program of Ten Penny Players, Inc.

a NYS chartered not for profit 501c3 corporation.
Waterways, 393 St. Pauls Avenue, Staten Island, N. Y. 10304-2127
isbn 0-934830-69-X
Printed by The Print Center
©2002, Ten Penny Players, Inc.

ii
 Student contributors attend the following
NYC schools and programs:
Auxiliary Services for High Schools, Bed/Stuy Outreach, Brooklyn
College Academy, Bridges to Brooklyn, Career Education Center, City As
School, Crossroads, Ebbets Field Learning Center, EBC High School for
Public Service, Frederick Douglass Literacy Center, Horizon, Horizons
Academy, Hostos-Lincoln Academy of Science, Lincoln Square, Linden
Learning Center, Lower Manhattan Outreach, Manhattan ATD,
Metropolitan Corporate Academy, NYC Vocational Training Center,
Offsite Educational Services, Outreach Program, Passages Academy,
Project YOU, Queens ATD, RIEF, School of International Business and
Finance (George Washington Campus), South Bronx Job Corps, Street
Academy, Summit, The Sprungs, Unity High School, VTC at Dr. S.S.
McKinney Nursing & Rehabilitation Center, VTC at Bellevue Hospital,
VTC at Bronx Community College, VTC at Bronx Lebanon Hospital,
VTC at Educational Alliance, VTC at Haym Salomon

Coöperating Administrators:
Thomas Baskin-Bey, Sydney Blair, Michele Blatt, Frank Brickler,
Michael Cataldi, Marie Cassar, Joanna Chin, Gloria Claros, Frank Dody,
Christine Dooley, Shirley Edwards, Michael Fienga, Robert C. Galli,
McMillian Gerald, Lois Rekosh Goldberg, Benito Herrero, Dorita James,
Elayna Konstan, Jerry Long, Bob Lubetsky, Elizabeth McCullough,
Olga Mejía Glenn, Gloria Ortiz, Francesca Peña, Myrta Perez, E. Robinson,
Juliana Rogers, Robert Rogers, Paul Rotondo, Mary Shaw, Maritza Tamayo,
Carmen Walston, Loretta White, Sherry Zekowski, Robert Zweig,

Our thanks for their continued encouragement and support to

Arts in Education, The New York State Council on the Arts:
Amy Duggins Pender, Gary Dayton, Tanya Gallo, Kara Yeargans
Nathan Straus Young Adult Center of the New York Public Library:
Joanne Rosario
New York State Education Department:
Fran Hollon
and New York State Regent Emeritus, Norma Gluck.

iii
 Sixty Four Individual Poetry Chapbooks
published by Waterways
during the 2001-2 school year
A Friend, A Lover by Erica Crews Johnny Saillant
Amiris Ramirez Kadeema G.
Anthony Rolon Kareem Edwards
Anthony Zullo Kathianne Sandiford
Anthony Zullo Book II Kimberly David aka Heartbreaker
Ashley Wheeler Kimberly Harris
Carlos Matos Lauren Natalie Robinson
Catherine Marie Ayala Lauren Walton
Chad Rodriguez Leah Ariel Peterkin
Christopher Colon Linda Lowman
Contradictions by Jo Ann Gajadhar Liz Ann Panteau
Daniel Sielly Luis T.
Emotions by Tema Ryals McCartha Thomas
Felicia Ursule Ngassam Michael Muniz
Forced to Live in Jail Natasha Yvelise Victoria
by Ronald Blackman Osvaldo O. Mercado
Forced to Live in Jail Part 2: Poems by Edilma Ponce
I Still Don’t Understand Poems by Ismael Gomez
by Ronald Blackman Poems by Kibi-Anne Edwards
Ghost Stories I by Miguel Poems by Meggan Lugo
Ghost Stories II by Miguel Raecia Catchings
Gillian Guiseppi Ranisha Grossett
Haiku by David G. Safraaz Alli
In Jail for No Reason Salleen Michel
Ernesto Mateo Shavonne Henderson
Irvin Gill (Poetry and commentary Shawn Marshall
from SOL) Shayna W.
Is There Such a Thing? and Other Tameeka Gibson
Inspirational Poems Tariell Hilliard
by Tatyana Cabrera Tyrina Shantel Coward
It’s Over and other poems Victoria Johnson
by Fatima Choudhury Words From The Heart
JAY* LOVE: Life Filled With Pain by Dezroy Bobb
Jemel Jordan Works by Kelly
Jennifer DelaCruz: My Poems Yasoda Brathwaite
Jessica Marrero Young Love by Roxanne
Johnequa Shontel Furby
iv
 Forty Two Poetry Anthologies
published by Waterways
during the 2001-2 school year

2 Poets (I’Nish King and Snapshots Lines and Haikus

Niesha Brown) Some Times
4 Voices Tell the Air What I Believe
Andre Nugent with Delphia Brooks The Awful Scar in My Memory
and Phil Sharpe The Herb Book by R.I.E.F. Students
Disappointments The Street Has No Name:
Evidences and Explanations Streams On Line Discussion
Gather Together Things to Think About
Hearts and Souls: Whispered Thoughts of You
Words Poetry From Three Authors (Tiffany Hicks,
The Lost Generation Ramon Cabot, Joseph McDonald)
I Can Dream To Stay Strong
I Decided to Write These Words Two Poets (Maylin and
I Shared My Secret Language Stephanie Monsset)
I Walk Through the Streets VA
I Wonder How My Life Will Go Voices at Crossroads
In My Life Voices II at Crossroads
In the Summer I Show Myself Voices III at Crossroads
Is This My Word? Voices IV at Crossroads
Just a Memory VTC @ Bellevue Hospital
Lost in the Rain VTC @ Bronx Lebanon Hospital
Maybe Some Day VTC @ Educational Alliance
Not Part of My Plans VTC @ Haym Salomon
Nydia Clipper and Ruth Milius Was It All Worth It?
Sharing Personalities what I hear
Shine So Bright: Poems

Rashaun Nicholson’s Introduction to A Troublesome Teen

was first published in Keeping It Real edited by Don Murphy.

v
 In his “Enjoyment of Poetry,” Max Eastman uses the apt
illustration of a man crossing the river, we will say coming
into New York City on a ferry boat, to bring out the
nature of an esthetic experience. Some men regard it as
simply a journey to get them where they want to be — a
means to be endured. So, perhaps, they read a newspaper.
One who is idle may glance at this and that building
identifying it as the Metropolitan Tower, the Chrysler
Building, the Empire State Building, and so on. Another,
impatient to arrive, may be on the lookout for landmarks
by which to judge progress toward his destination. Still
another, who is taking the journey for the first time,
looks eagerly but is bewildered by the multiplicity of
objects spread out to view. He sees neither the whole nor
parts; he is like a layman who goes into an unfamiliar
factory where many machines are plying. Another person,
interested in real estate, may see, in looking at the
skyline, evidence in the height of buildings, of the value of
land. Or he may let his thoughts roam to the congestion
of a great industrial and commercial center. He may go on
to think of the planlessness of arrangement as evidence of
the chaos of a society organized on the basis of conflict
rather than coöperation. Finally the scene formed by the
buildings may be looked at as colored and lighted volumes
in relation to one another, to the sky and to the river. He
is now seeing ecstatically, as a painter might see.
Now the characteristic of the last-named vision in
contrast with the others mentioned is that it is concerned
with a perceptual whole, constituted by related parts. No
one single figure, aspect, or quality is picked out as a
means to some further external result, nor as a sign of an
inference that may be drawn. The Empire State Building
may be recognized by itself. But when it is seen
pictorially it is seen as a related part of a perceptually
organized whole. Its values, its qualities as seen, are
modified by the other parts of the whole scene, and in
turn these modify the value, as perceived, of every other
part of the whole. There is now form in the artistic sense.

from Art As Experience

John Dewey (1859-1952)
 STREAMS 16
TABLE OF CONTENTS
that is what I hear
Ask Momma by Jemel Jordan 2
Noise at Night Is What I Hear
by Javier Gonzalez 3
If I Were by Chinalese Ellis 4
Inside My Head by Andre Nugent 5
Music by Robert Taveras 6
What Happens To A Song Not Sung by Timothy D. 7
Lines by Lauren Walton 8

seems like yesterday

Introduction to A Troublesome Teen
by Rashaun Nicholson 10-11
Riann B. Winchester 12
My Job Site by Victoria Johnson 13-14
Yesterday by David G. 14
Looking for Me by Kyle B. 15
The Cutest Ones Are the Dirtiest Ones
by Natasha Yvelise Victoria 16-17
Journey to the Past by Jason Samuel 18-19
vii
 Sightseeing by Angel France 20
Riding the Staten Island Ferry by Curtis Trim 21-22
Crossing the Staten Island Ferry
by Fritzner Regis, Jr. 23-24
On the Ferry by Kelley S. Jones 25
Forever on the Ferry by Erikka Bolding 26-27
One Night Stand by Kimberly David 28-29
Unknown by Jason Irizarry 30
My Waves Stay Spinning by Kareem Edwards 31
Niemann by Edilma Ponce 32
Haiku by David G. 32

I’m afraid to go outside

Tell Me Why by Carolyn 34
Love’s What Made Me Strong by Kadeema Greene 35
Bad News by Ray M. 35
There’s a Three-Month-Old Baby
by Lauren Natalie Robinson 36
Dad’s Foot by Paul N. 37
You Stay by Leah Ariel Peterkin 38-39
Cruel by Jennifer DelaCruz 39
I’m Afraid by Tariell Hilliard 40
Think by Natasha Yvelise Victoria 41-42
Don’t Cry for Someone Who Makes You Cry
by Felicia Ursule Ngassam 42
Perihelion Freedom by Luis Torres 43
Day by Day by Ernesto Mateo 44-45
viii
 Haiku by David G 45
The New Place by Lewis Williams 46
Wasted by I’Nish King 47-52
A Sister in a Struggle by Erica Crews 53-54
Tears by Jennifer Jordan 54
Rainy Days by Raquel Marshall 55
Why Do You Do What You Do by Ruth Milius 56
No You Can’t Feel My Pain by Jessica 57-58
Look Through the Window by McCartha Thomas 58
War on America by Salleen Michel 59
9/11/01 by Seleana Scala 60

extend our thread of wonder

Free by Roxanne Williams 62-63
A Night Without Armor by Malikah Kelly 63
For the Humans of Silence by Niesha Brown 64
Times by Sandra Carillo 65
Taking a Vacation by Yasoda Brathwaite 66
A Learn and Serve Conference
by Reann Charles 67-68
Learn and Serve America by Kareem Phipps 68-69
The Way I Feel by Jamaria W. 70
I Refuse by Catherine Marie Ayala 71
Don’t Rush, Wait by Tameeka Gibson 72
Being Eleven Is Like . . . by Raecia Catchings 73
One of the Greatest Moments of My Life
by Bishaunti P. 74
The Perfect Drug by Ismael Gomez 75
Black Child of the Ghetto by Seleana Scala 76-78
When Do Dreams Come True? by Sandra Carillo 78
For the Educated Thugs by I’Nish King 79
ix
 Shadows by Niesha Brown 80

I woke up and thought

The Break of Dawn by Dezroy Bobb 82
Haiku by Edward S. 82
Confusion by Meggan Lugo 83
Confused by Salleen Michel 84
Confusion by Raymond Dickerson 84
Confusion by Edilma Ponce 85
Confused by Tameeka Gibson 86
Lies by Tema Ryals 87
Reflection by Jessica Marrero 88
Forgiveness by Geraldine S. 88
Where I Am From by Amiris Ramirez 89
Nicole England 90
Rainy Day Thoughts by Shayna Williams 90

concealed in a world full of jagged question marks

Forced to Live in Jail by Ronald Blackman 92-96
The Street Has No Name by Kareem Edwards 97
Time by Fabian Greene 98
She Lost Him by Jacobs 98
Spoken Thoughts by Osvaldo O. Mercado 99
The River of Ice by Anthony Andrew Zullo 100
This Is the World by Aris Lopez 101
Tears by Jennifer DelaCruz 101
Souls Die Without the Feeling of Nature
by Romy Henriquez 102
I Am a Car by Elvis Perez 103
Odell H. Pearson, Jr. 104
Finding My Missing Part by Jayra Marmolejos 105
The Problem by Brian Colon 106
Ode to O’s by Ebony Brokette 107-108

x
writing is my skill
Streams Poems by Fatima Choudhury 110
Diary by Cristina Santiago 111
What Is Poetry? by Andre Nugent 112
I Just Can’t Put the Words Right by Carla J. 113
Thomas Nash 114
Lidiana Rodriguez 115
Judged by Kadeema Greene 116
The Book by Ismael Gomez 117
Me by Fatima Choudhury 118
Haiku by Bishaunti P. 118
Word by Lauren Walton 119
Kenya Capers 120
Books by Taisha 121
Haiku by David G. 121

Comments on Writing and Publishing 122-124

2002-3 Streams On Line Workshops

Author and Title Indexes

xi
that is what I hear
Jemel Jordan
Ask Momma

Ask Momma.
Ask Momma,
What time is it?
She’ll shake
her head
and move her hips.
Her eyes
are stunning.
She’s sly
and cunning.
She’s quick to trick.
Momma,”What
time is it?”

2 — Streams 16
 Javier Gonzalez
Noise at Night Is What I Hear

Noise at night
that is what I hear.
Inmate crying
for his mom to be near
that is what I hear.
C.O.s screaming, saying,
“Shut up before I call
the turtles here,”
that is what I hear.
Airplanes flying at night far and near
that is what I hear.
Walkie-talkie from the captain
up and down the tier
that is what I hear.
Kids praying to God saying,
“I won’t smoke or drink beer”
that is what I hear.
Fifteen months of Island time
that’s the noise I hear.

3 — Streams 16
 Chinalese Ellis
If I Were

If I were water
I would make you clean.
If I were the sun
I would brighten your day.
If I were the wind
I would blow through your ear.
If I were a bird
I would sing you a song all day long.

4 — Streams 16
 Andre Nugent
Inside My Head

In my head there are pictures

of people swing dancing.
There are saxes, tubas,
trombones and clarinets.
The ladies’ spiked heels puncture my brain
with tender passion.
She strokes the dance floor with jungle fever
causing the tension to feel thick like pudding.
As we cut a rug I feel the slugs
crashing against my bones.
My ligaments tear and my blood
gushes in the air;
and now I step into the light
causing a sense of relief.

5 — Streams 16
 Robert Taveras
Music

Music is like my soul —

till death won’t let it go.
Music is the light to my goal.
Even if music never existed
I would know there was something wrong.
Taking music away from me
is like taking a loved one.
Music is an addiction in my life
and I will never let it go.
I won’t ever forget it
if I were brainwashed
so deep
I would be dancing in a coma.

6 — Streams 16
 Timothy D.
What Happens to a Song Not Sung?
After Langston Hughes*

What happens to a song not sung?

Does it get lost

like a spare set of keys
or roll like a wheel
and then fall?
Does it burn like a fire
or mold up like bread
or a sugar bun instead?

Or maybe it soars
like an exotic bird.

Is this my word?

*What happens to a dream deferred?

7 — Streams 16
 Lauren Walton
Lines

The lines on my paper help me

Flow with my words
So I can write my piece and my voice
Can be heard.
Ideas shoot out on these straight lines leading to
Abyss;
To that mystical question saying, “What will she
Write next???”
My lines don’t talk back and they don’t
Criticize me.
They help to take the words I learn
And form them into poetry.

8 — Streams 16
seems like yesterday
 Rashaun Nicholson
Introduction to A Troublesome Teen
THIS IS THE FIRST PAGE OF MY AUTOBIOGRAPHY "A TROUBLESOME TEEN" BY
ME, RASHAUN NICHOLSON. I HOPE YOU ENJOY THE BOOK THE SAME AS
I ENJOYED WRITING IT, IF EVER IT IS PUBLISHED. THANK YOU!

Early one Sunday morning… breakfast was on the table, I

sang as I sat in my cell thinking about the old songs my
mother used to play back at home. It was a song re-sung by
R .Kelly, that I remember my mother sometimes playing on
weekends, when she and her friends would stay up late,
partying. It never was much of a party, maybe three or four
of her girlfriends and their male friends, playing cards and
drinking forty ounces of Colt 45, and Budweiser. I had
always liked to see those old folks get drunk and start
dancing, it made me laugh every time. It was sort of like a
routine, Friday night my mother would clean and cook, and I’d
get sent back and forth to the store, and later on my little
sister, Phatima and I would get a front row seat laughing and
pointing. If my mother noticed she would send us off to the
other room, but we would sneak up front every now and then
getting ourselves caught, meddling in “grown folks
business,” they would say. “Rashaun!” I remember my mother
yelling one night, “bring yo li’l yella ass here!” I knew I was in
for it, but I would come along as if I hadn’t known anything,
trying to fade my smiling with frowning. “What da hell you
keep sneakin your li’l ass pass me fo’,” she said. Now, I wasn’t
smiling. The sad face was a regular whenever I’d have to
face my punishment. “Um…I…I… keep forgetting stuff, my
last dragon tape,” I was lying. The Last Dragon, is a movie my
family and I memorized from watching it over and over again.
“Get the damn tape and keep ya li’l ass in there,” she was
always cursing, it’s part of her vocabulary, “and whay yo sista
ass at?” She asked. “In there,” I replied, as I scurried
along with the tape in my hand, laughing to myself when my
back was toward her. “Tima!” she called, “Come here baby.”
10 — Streams 16
Tima always got off the hook easy because, she was the
baby, and the only daughter from my mother, Willie Mae
Nicholson. Besides, it was obvious she was following her big
brother. At least, one of her big brothers, it was a family of
four. First there’s Kelvin Nelson, we called him Kevin, or Kev,
my mother’s first and oldest son. Then there was Careem
Nicholson, my mother’s second son, who took my mother’s
last name. We called him “Tell It”, short for “Tell It All”.
We called him that because, if any thing happened, any
thing, he didn’t tell half the story, he would, “Tell It All.”
Next, it was I, Rashaun Nicholson, the 3rd and last boy. I
had no nickname as a child, but now, everybody and their
mothers call me Rah NassT. Because if you put me on the
mic, Rah is Nasssty!!! And last but not least, there’s the
baby of us all, Phatima Grant, who took on our father’s last
name. My sister and I shared the same father, but I took
my mother’s last name. My brothers, both of them, had two
different fathers. I can’t quite remember where my
brothers would be on Friday nights, but they were hanging
out someplace close. Somehow, they always made it back in
time to see the elders “bug out” dancing, but would leave
very quickly after. I often thought it was because they
didn’t want to get sent back and forth to the store or their
days of showing off dances for my mother’s friends were
over. Personally, I loved coming in the room dancing for
them. I thought I was Michael Jackson. I remember my
mother calling, “Rashaun!” and I’d answer, “huh?” “Come
here, come here, gohead boo, do that dance you be doin.” I
would act shy for a few seconds, get bribed into doing it,
then bust out sliding and twirling, doing all sorts of dances.
Now that I think about it, I would go overboard. Yeah, those
were the good ole days.

first published in Keeping It Real

11 — Streams 16
 Riann B Winchester

As I press the button on the elevator,

two persons are confused about the floors.
I fuss about the smell of cigarettes and a high perfume.
The floors as I approach were just the same,
with a glass door and people rushing to get in.

A long time ago it was quite different,

with loud songs echoing from door to door.
Different music, a different smell,
lots of friendly people with the time to say, “Hi.”

A run down building with old folks,

and gangster boys running away from the cops .
A different smell because it’s a different day.
Weed is the new scent of the day.

I see lots of different cultures,

and two little girls
speaking a language I can’t understand.
They greeted me with a smile
and they found the time to say, “Hi.”

12 — Streams 16
 Victoria Johnson
My Job Site

On a typical day I come and do my class work.

Then at 10:00 AM I go to my job placement. These are
some of the things that I do.
I tend to the older people and make them feel
good about themselves. Nothing has changed.
Everything is still the same. I like the responsibility
that they give me, because I love working with older
people.
This week was going good until I went to my job
placement and they told me that one of the older guys
had passed away. I became very sad, because I had just
talked to the man the day before. That was on Monday,
then Tuesday he passed. One day he is here, then one
day he is not.
The best thing that happened to me this week was
when Victoria, my supervisor, said I love the way you
work with the older people. That was my goal. I
accomplished it. I feel real good about myself.
The most difficult part of my job is when the old
people die. That is very hard for me, because I don’t like
it when people die. It makes me feel sad. I wish no one
ever had to die.
This week I did not like it when the nurse told me
that I could not have any ice.
I told her, “I get ice everyday. So what are you
talking about?”
She said, “I didn’t know that.”
I told her, “You should ask before you yell.”
If I were in charge I would have this place
working so nice that when you look outside you would
want to come inside because inside will be looking like a
place where cool older people live. I would expect nurses
to work for their money.
13 — Streams 16
 If I were a supervisor the volunteers would do the
same things that they’re doing now. And, I would never
ever treat them differently, because they are people
just like supervisors are people. They should be treated
the same and not differently.
The person that I find the most challenging is a
patient. His name is Mr. Lovell. I find him challenging
because you never know what he is going to do next. He
is a guy that keeps you on the move. But, that’s my guy.
My main contribution is to always be there with
the patients and always keep them very happy. I have
been doing fine so far. I will keep on keeping them happy
like I always do.
If somebody would ask me if I would change
anything, I would tell them, “No. I would do everything
the same. When I came here I was glad to be here,
because I love working with older people.”

David G.
Yesterday

Seems like yesterday

That I was out in the world
Chillin’ with my girl

14 — Streams 16
 Kyle B.
Looking For Me

I had a whole neighborhood looking for me

the time I ran away when I was 7.
It was the first time and I was terrified.
I was walking what seemed to be miles.
I visited every place in Brooklyn,
went to family members’ houses,
but no one was there.
After like an hour or two of walking
I finally got on the train.
I didn’t know which one it was but I was on it.
And my uncle found me on the train sleeping.

15 — Streams 16
 Natasha Yvelise Victoria
The Cutest Ones Are the Dirtiest Ones

I was on the Six Train when a man next to me

asked me for the time I said, “3:00.”
He was like, “Thanks Shorty.”
As the train stopped on 77th street going
uptown a cute fine light skin boy who looked
Puerto Rican but had that black complexion
got on.
He had some weird eyes, but they were the most
gorgeous eyes I had ever seen before in my life.
He had a black Coogi on and black suede Vasques,
had a platinum necklace with a cross on it.
There were diamonds all around the cross.
He had 4 rings on the fingers of each hand.
He came in the train and sat down.
I was standing up behind the doors.
He kept looking at me and when the train got
to 96th St. a girl came inside the train.
She had on a short mini skirt, a tight short shirt
showing her pierced belly button,
and a jean jacket.
She had on some leather high heel boots
that were actually leather.
She had long blond hair, a lot of make up on her
face, and she had her tongue pierced.
Once she came in, she said to the guy, “Hi, baby.
Wuz up?”
And he said, “What’s good, Shorty?”
She gave him a kiss on the mouth saying, “Hello.”
Like you could tell she was a bird.

16 — Streams 16
I said to myself I know he didn’t just kiss
that chicken head.
While they were talking I went to sit right
in front of them.
She was all up on him, touching him, and he liked
it, thinking that was cute.
So I kept trying to hear the conversation going on.
The girl said, “So, CJ, when you and me gonna
have our little party, huh?”
He said, “Yo, I don’t know. Holla at me later or
somethin’ whatever.”
When 103rd St. came, she got up and said, “Bye,
CJ. I’ma call you, boo.”
He was like, “Yeah, ma”.
Then when the train was moving he got up
and sat next to me; and he said right in my ear
with this soft slow voice, his breath just
taking me away, saying,
“Ma, you so fine. I make you mine.”
I was in a trance to hear his voice in my ear.
I turned to him and said, “Yo, papi.”
And he said, “What?”
I gave him a kiss and took a deep breath.
“Damn, you sweet, papi.”
And, then, he said, “All trains are now stopping
on 125 St. till further notice.”
And, I said, “What the hell you talking about?”
And, then, I woke up to find out my azz was
sleeping on the train when the train stopped
on 125 St. like 10 minutes ago.
And to see the guy had left.

17 — Streams 16
 Jason Samuel
Journey to the Past

I saw water. It was wavy.

Moss on planks bordering the land from the water,
birds of different colors flew overhead
dropping in and out of formation like cops chasing a
criminal but always following the ferry.
The water with its aquatic blue color gave the birds
a place to rest and feed.
Their call was so unique,
calling others to their feeding ground.
The sun, in its mid-afternoon glory,
peeked through the blanketed sky
ready to deliver its warmth upon the water.

Markers on the water, the Statue of Liberty in her

glorious splendor with her ever burning flame,
the color of the various objects occupying the water,
the different boats ranging from sail to speedboat,
to passenger, to freight carrier,
the cranes on the horizon did their best to rebuild
a landmark of history,
the outline of the buildings,
the papers on the water,
the navy shipyard with its cluster of boats,
the bridges blustering with their cargo,
all reflected the beauty of man’s hands
at work in Nature.

The people around us were curious about our activity.

Cellular phones rang.

18 — Streams 16
 People caught a nap before their daily routine.
Young and old walk hand-in-hand.
All traveled on the ferry.
The hustle, as everyone got ready to exit the ferry,
the crowded platform waiting to get on,
a man tried to make a dime before the ferry docked,
offered to shine one’s shoe.

Standing, sitting, walking around,

that’s what my classmates did.
Everyone concentrated on the task at hand.
We all dressed differently
but we were there for one purpose.
Everyone had a different agenda
but focused on only one thing —
to reenact a poet’s voyage over a century ago.*

To my generation of fellow travelers, you

will see the natural things; although Mother Nature
will alter her child, you will see what I saw.
This vessel I stand on will never be the same
in the generations to come, in a hundred years.

*Walt Whitman’s “Crossing Brooklyn Ferry”

19 — Streams 16
 Angel France
Sightseeing

Manhattan, see you later.

I can’t swim. I’m surrounded by danger.
It feels like I’m flying in water.
Birds fly in air.
The water seems fair.
I can see the sun is running.
I can see the clouds are coming.
I’m in a danger zone. The Atlantic is too deep to
jump in.
I can’t tell if I’m coming or going.
Everything is getting closer to me.
I can see Lady Liberty looking at me.
People take pictures.
Birds chirp.
People talk.
This is what I see.
We are writing.
My hand is getting tired.
We are complaining.
“The food costs too much. I don’t have enough.”
We are walking around the boat,
observing.
We are having fun. We are cold.
We are tired of writing. We are uninterested.
The people are sleeping
and some are reading.
Those listen to us speak.
They wait on line.
The great outdoors —
boat rides can be relaxing in times of stress.

20 — Streams 16
 Curtis Trim
Riding the Staten Island Ferry

The waves the water all in Nature’s bliss,

seagulls swoop to get a meal.
The trees going from green to brown,
the clouds building an atmosphere
of melancholy, a dreary mood,
Nature interacts as it feels and does as it pleases.

The boat in awesome splendor going to and fro,

buildings and skyscrapers that greatly amaze you
and send you into a state of awe.
Boats in their own magnificent accord as they go along,
each going about their own business.
Lady Liberty standing in elegance, proud
forever lighting the way with piers waiting to be docked.
Bedazzlement, amazement, awe,
the only things that come to you at such a majestic sight.

A collage of colors and races go by to work,

their costumes strange yet vaguely familiar,
races of white, African, Asian and Hispanic,
all gathered together in one —
not in unity but on the same boat.
Some people going to work, some people working,
or people who just felt like taking a tour,
touring to expand their horizons.
People with abilities and people with disabilities,
all in a hurry to get where they’re supposed to be.

21 — Streams 16
Boys and girls all gathered together,
working to help benefit their group,
their clothes in existence with mine.
Laughter and fun ensues, as we all have a good time,
‘cause we’re having fun.
Some in order, some in disorder,
all of us going through a life experience.
All amazed, aware, and feeling cold.
Yet with the enjoyment at the present time.
I’m sure they all had fun.

Despite the fact these are changing times,

to you it would appear to be similar,
though it’s practically the same.
The scenery and nature ever changing,
what I see today you won’t see tomorrow;
and what you see I can only dream of,
hoping that it remains as serene as it is today.
Though things may appear strange to you,
be amazed, excited and aware
because what you would be seeing are relics
from the past life of a great civilization.

22 — Streams 16
 Fritzner Regis, Jr.
Crossing the Staten Island Ferry

This is cloudy October 23 of the year 2001

When the first time I board a boat
I can feel the sensation of fear
The sensation of oscillation of the boat over the sea
As I look up at the sky, I realize the Creator is there
As the boat moves I contemplate the nature of the city
Yellow leaves, fallen leaves are viewed
The birds express themselves with their gray white colors
The sky is cloudy and moody
The wind blows on my hairy arms
I have enjoyed the trip
For me, I consider it as a gift
I’m barely observing the blowing waves by the boat
Life is precious and enjoyable
I turn my head to the left
I cannot believe the American symbol disappeared
Since then, life has been a privilege.
I stay calm for a moment and I feel a way
That I never felt before.
I’m in the middle of the sea
Observing gigantic ships, nano boats
Coast Guard ships, tiny islands, metal islands
Lady of Liberty, the Washington Bridge,
The skyscrapers

I think I’m alone

But of course I’m not
I turn around; I see the world
23 — Streams 16
All ethnics, all personalities, all occupations
Whites, blacks, tall, short, men, women, photographers,
Riders, workers, mothers, fathers, security guards,
Firefighters, students, writers, observers, teachers,
All are embraced by the orange boat

Dispersed are we
Most of us grab the top level for a better view
Few choose to stay inside to be dramatic.
Persis and I have the first and the craziest conversation ever
You’ll find us in every spot in the boat

Persis is a good looking young girl, friendly and lovable

Ricardo prefers to stay inside the orange duck
Joanne is out of my sight
Some people and I are haunted by the realistic view
Offered at the left side

I’m planning a trip myself again

As the 21st century is moving at once.
Next time I expect to be crossing to Staten Island
In an unimaginable space craft.

24 — Streams 16
 Kelley S. Jones
On The Ferry

I see the Statue of Liberty holding her torch up

high as ever; below her sits the American flag that still
waves to remind us we are still free. I was looking for
the Twin Towers that do not exist anymore. I’ve also
seen buildings I’ve never seen before. I see the boats
sailing, all kinds; one was going faster, so fast that I
could not keep track of it.
I see the waves moving in slow motion to the same
rhythm flowing back and forth; the wind is also blowing
through our hair and the trees are moving in the opposite
direction. The people I’ve seen on the boat were mixed
with all kinds. Some dressed up like they were going to
work, others dressed like me in jeans, a shirt and some
Timbs. Some were quiet, others were loud, talking about
events that passed back in the day.
The people from my class were different in many
ways. Some went outside to catch a good view, others
stayed inside; some of us were in groups, others were by
themselves, as my teacher came back and forth to check
up on us to make sure we were doing our work.
To my future generations, my advice to you is not
to eat before you go on this ride, and if you can’t take
the sea stay inside. You can still see the view completely
well. Who knows? This ferry may not exist anymore, but
by you reading this you will still be able to visualize what
I’ve seen.

25 — Streams 16
 Erikka Bolding
Forever on the Ferry

On the ferry this day, which to you seems so

far away
The clouds hang low as the water the ferry is
enveloped in sways.
The sun hides itself from me and I can’t see
the green of far away trees.
The wind blows, chill and slow, until the ferry begins
to speed.
Birds fly overhead as if they wish to take the ride.
I can see their colors clearly: black, gray and white.

In the background there are more buildings than

I can count —
Big, small, short, tall — what a vast amount.
There are historic points strewn about — all flew
the flag.
The Statue of Liberty stood with such posture.
She’s been there for years. What a back she has.
Ships, boats, cranes and things are spread about
the ocean.
A man talks about swimming this thing.
I laugh at such a notion.

The people stand along the railings relaxed by

Nature’s vision.
They use the last of all their film to take so many
pictures.
The clothes of all the spectators unsurprisingly varies.
The ones who dressed warm on this day are considered
very lucky.
26 — Streams 16
Some people are distant and look at others with
distaste
While others are social, spark conversation
as friendship falls into place.

I sit by a classmate and we talk about our poems,

How they are so different yet so similar.
I see my other classmates overwhelmed by the sights,
Being undecided on exactly what to write.
They talk to one another exchanging their ideas.
But, some are not as focused and talk about what
they should wear.
The many people on this boat ride make the ride
colorful —
The different personas, different appearances —
it’s a moment not dull.

To those who will ride the ferry in many years to come,

You may see different faces, buildings; the sun may
even shine,
But your trip will be quite similar, similar to mine.

27 — Streams 16
 Kimberly David
One Night Stand

Part 1
We were cool until this happened. Now it seems
like the audiences just stopped clapping.
What could I have done to make him stay?
Was it not good, as good and sweet
as that chick he slept with last week?
After all, I don’t know what it could be.
I was quite sure he’d be calling, looking for me.
He should have told me it was all about sex.
I would have been prepared for what happened next.
Was it my fault? He stopped calling,
or I’d call and he wouldn’t call back.
I can’t stand him. Why is he acting like that?
I thought he was different, but he’s the same.
He’s just like those other guys, nothing but lames.
I don’t know what it was.
We talked a lot. I was quite sure he’d be calling for more.
That one time was good, don’t get me wrong.
I can’t believe this, but I want some more.
The sex was great.
It was good to me,
‘cause after we finished I fell fast asleep.
Every time I see him I have flashbacks.
I remember my arms holding on to the towel rack.
He’ll call me again, maybe not today or tomorrow.
But, one day this week he’ll call me
to try and get another sneak peek.

28 — Streams 16
 Kimberly David
One Night Stand

Part 2
(Guy Version)
There’s this chick I slept with one time.
She won’t leave me alone, and she always seems
to notice whenever I’m home.
Calling me, paging me, leaving messages on my phone,
why won’t this damn girl just leave me alone?
I used to talk to her every night before she went to sleep.
I think she fell in love.
She fell too deep. It wasn’t that serious.
I got what I wanted.
Now she got me wishing I would have fronted.
Yeah, she’s cool. What can I say?
She’s not the type of girl I’d wake up to everyday.
But, besides that she’s ok.
I’m saying that one time was pretty good.
But, Shorty ain’t all that.
But, if I had to do it again I wouldn’t take it back.
I’m lying. Shorty is fine.
She’s more than a nickel. She’s a dime.
I did feel kind of bad after all that.
That made me seem real low.
And, Shorty probably thinks I thought she was a ho’.
I’ll call her. Not today or tomorrow, maybe one day
this week I’ll answer her calls and talk again.
But, I already hit it. Don’t you know it, my friend?

29 — Streams 16
 Jason Irizarry
Unknown
(FROM JAY* LOVE LIFE FILLED WITH PAIN)

At night having nothing to do,

I stare at the stars above
wishing I could’ve met you, mom.
Not knowing who you really were,
I feel you so close I know you are not far.
I feel you so deep in my heart.
I start to wonder why we are apart.
I start to picture how you may look,
and to know I’m correct
I pick up my picture book.

30 — Streams 16
 Kareem Edwards
My Waves Stay Spinning

My waves stay spinning

‘cause I brush them
over a hundred times.
I never miss a spot
‘cause they stay spinning
all of the time.
To get your waves spinning
like mine you gotta brush them
about a hundred times.
Brush each side equally
so that when you get finished
they could be spinning 360.
360 — going all around.
My waves spin so much
that I stay tripping,
falling, even stumbling.
I gotta keep my balance,
‘cause I don’t wanna hurt myself.
That’s why I wear a du-rag,
to keep my waves under control,
‘cause if I don’t wear one
someone might get hurt, you know.
And the most important thing
is that you should have the perfect brush.
The bristles shouldn’t be too soft
and not too hard, but in the middle.
The hair grease you use should be
able to be washed out easily.
But if I keep going
you might get dizzy,
‘cause my waves stay spinning.
31 — Streams 16
 Edilma Ponce
Niemann

Niemann the demon, is a homework freak.

He worked us off on the Greeks.
To learn the vocabulary words and write essays
make it for him in so many ways.
Essay day comes. Everyone moans.
He says come on, and do your work.
To fall asleep can be the worst.
He taps on the desk and says, “Get up Shawn!”
“The gum chewing is bad.” He says, “Mmm! throw it out.”
But, the students don’t listen and just go about.
For you to fail his class can be a drama.
He blabs it all out to your momma.
Read, read is the way to be.
To take AP brings him pride to teach.
For us to read is his treat,
and for him to hear you say, “I read,”
makes him proud to be.
This is the Niemann we will always see!

David G.
Haiku
5:30 wake up,
take a shower, and get dressed,
and then go to school.

32 — Streams 16
I’m afraid to go outside
 Carolyn
Tell Me Why

Please God, tell me why

friends have to die?
It’s not fair and it’s not right.
Oh God why that night?
I didn’t think life could end so fast.
She was so young, but
her years didn’t last.
Please God, tell me why?
Even if her soul is flying free,
now her dreams can never be.
Teens aren’t supposed to die.
I need an answer.
God, please tell me why?
Maybe life isn’t what it seems.
And not all teens get their dreams.

To you Aaliyah,
Rest In Peace
One love to Aaliyah

34 — Streams 16
 Kadeema Greene
Love’s What Made Me Strong

My broken heart will never heal.

Love’s forever left my soul.
My smiles are lies, my laughter’s fake.
There’s nothing left for love to take.

Ray M.
Bad News
There was bad news when I got home.
The news was that my grandmother had died.
Three hours earlier I was at home and then I went
outside with my friends to ride my bike.
While I was outside, my grandmother must have
passed away in her sleep.
When I came home she was stretched out on the
couch like she was asleep.
Meanwhile I went into the kitchen to get a soda out
of the refrigerator and then I went into the living
room.
I tried to wake her up because I thought she was
asleep, so I pushed her like eight or nine times to
wake her up and tell her that I was home, but she
would not get up.
So I ran out of the house.

35 — Streams 16
 Lauren Natalie Robinson
There’s a Three-Month-Old Baby

There’s a three-month-old baby crying

in the middle of the night,
as he lies there waiting,
waiting in the crib for his mother to come
his cries get louder.
He sees that his mother hasn’t come yet.
He just cries himself back to sleep, and
all he needed was to have his diaper changed.
The poor little baby boy just needed his diaper
changed, but his mother
was in a very deep sleep.
Then 2 hours later he begins to cry again
and his mother finally comes,
because she was in a very deep sleep.

36 — Streams 16
 Paul N.
Dad's Foot

I had a sick relative and his name was Joey R.

That's my father
and one day he went to the hospital
for a checkup
and the doctor told him
he had cancer in his bones.
So a couple of months went by
and my father got sicker and even sicker.
So one cold, freezing night
I went to bed real late
and I said good night and I love you.
He said it too.
So the next morning he died
right next to me
with his foot on my head.
RIP.

37 — Streams 16
 Leah Ariel Peterkin
You Stay
You stay try-na play me!
Do I look like a game to you?
We should be together having four season
brunch somewhere locking the malls down
like an umbrella facing bad weather.
But, you stay try-na run things.
It was just me and you.
I thought you loved my point of view,
‘cause I held no punches.
It seems as if you left for months
and still haven’t checked in yet.
Like you are in the city somewhere
holding a bunch of whores down!
It seems as if you want to get close now,
but your pride won’t let you show it.
I know you see it coming down my eyes.
So won’t you stop my tears now?
You are so used to hooking girls up with your
buddies that now they say they hate me!
Used to tell me you love me then they came
along again and they don’t remember that
and you don’t remember me!
I know you see them coming down my eyes.
The word when you left was that
I had a special friend.
I was giving away without getting at you.
That’s not my fault.
How many times have I forgiven you?
I know you are my man.
38 — Streams 16
I shouldn’t be doing things like that.
I won’t throw away what we have just like that.
You were just messing with the girls. —
You were going to get right back.
They say the moral of the story is this: —
Once a good boy’s gone bad, he’s gone
forever more. Forever, man.
You gotta live with the fact you did me wrong
forever.
I know you see them coming down my eyes,
so I gotta make these words cry!

Jennifer DelaCruz
Cruel

You’re super super neat.

You’re super super cool.
But, most of all, I think you’re super super
cruel.

39 — Streams 16
 Tariell Hilliard
I’m Afraid

I’m afraid to have friends

‘cause my feelings are so deep.
Every time I get hurt
I turn mad and hold heat.
I’m afraid to go outside.
I might get blown with wind,
never returning home,
and have my mother crying again.
I’m afraid to talk
‘cause my words are so powerful.
The way I speak the truth
you would say I’m lying.
But, I keep moving.
I’m afraid to get mad.
Dudes violate me.
Now I’m afraid to get back.
So this is how it goes.
I have no friends,
don’t even go outside.
I have no wins,
just a lost boy;
trapped in a world of sins.

40 — Streams 16
 Natasha Yvelise Victoria
Think

Have you ever wondered which hurts the most,

saying something and wishing you had not
or saying nothing and wishing you had?
I guess the most important things are
the hardest things to say.
Your heart decides whom it likes and whom it doesn’t.
You can’t tell your heart what to do.
It does it on its own.
Too many of us stay walled in because we are
too afraid to care too much for fear that
the other person does not care as much or at all.
Have you ever denied your feelings for someone
‘cause your fear of rejection was too hard to handle?
We tell lies when we are afraid...afraid of what
we don’t know, afraid of what others will
think, afraid of what will be found out about us.
But every time we tell a lie the thing we fear
grows stronger.
Life is all about risks and it requires you to jump.
Don’t be a person who has to look back and wonder
what they would have or could have had.
No one waits forever...
What would you do...?
What would you do if every time you fell in love
you had to say good-bye?
What would you do if every time you wanted
someone they would be there?
What would you do if your best friend died
tomorrow?
What would you do if you never got the chance
to say I am friends with all of my family
and they know I love them?
Some people love and some people die.
But I want to tell you that you are a friend.
If something happened to me tomorrow
you would be in my heart.
Would I be in yours?
If you care about the person who wrote this,
consider her a friend.

Felicia Ursule Ngassam

Don’t Cry for Someone Who Makes You Cry

Don’t have to stay with someone who makes you cry.

You will hurt yourself because he makes you cry.
Life goes on, you will find someone else.
He is not the only one in the world.
I know it is going to take a lot of time for you
to get better.
One day you will find somebody who is not going
to make you cry.
And life will go on.
Just be strong.

42 — Streams 16
 Luis Torres
Perihelion Freedom

It’s hard losing your physical feelings:

the loss of the fragrance of the city’s fresh air;
the loss of the drip drops of rain water
hitting the top of your air conditioner.
It is hard to see an image of the world’s true beauty
through an 8 by 4 white cell.
It is very hard to smell through the Plexiglas windows,
to smell the morning’s updraft.
It is hard to see yourself in a suit
that doesn’t pertain to business or fashion.
It’s hard being with people who you don’t know,
and the people who don’t care about you.
It is hard to eat what you’ll hate to eat, but have to.
It is hard. . . It is very hard

43 — Streams 16
 Ernesto Mateo
Day by Day

Day by day I wait for that day to come.

The day I can get released from this hell house.
I have no tears left in me.
I have suffered more
than a plant without water.
I am innocent. Why won’t anyone believe me?
Only God knows that.
Everyday I pray to have faith so I can get out.
But, why do the innocent suffer
more than the guilty?
Every day I sit by the window asking the Lord, “Why?
Why me? I did no crime. Why me?”
When I get visits it makes me
want to kill myself. It hurts when I see
my family coming to see me then say,
“Bye,” and wait a week to see them.
I am so stressed that
my hair is starting to fall out.
I’ve been trapped for weeks.
I am held responsible for a crime
I didn’t commit.
My life is ruined because of a girl.
Every day I wake up hoping to hear my name —
to get out — released from such a place.
Jail is like a tub with no water,
summer without sun, in other words no hope.
I am sick of walking up and down
the steps to eat.
I want to get out of here,
but they won’t allow it.
Why won’t anyone believe me?
Why me? Life in jail is not for me.
Day in, day out, all I do is pray
and think about my case.
I hope someone confesses, because —
I swear to God —
I am innocent.
When I sleep and have dreams
about me and my house I wake up, look around,
and cry and say, “This is not home. This is jail.”
I wait for that day to come.
I am already losing weight
because of the food they provide.
Lord help me.

David G.
Haiku

I squeeze my eyes shut,

knowing it is going to come.
And, it is over.

45 — Streams 16
 Lewis Williams
The New Place

I don’t fit in.

My inside is missing;
everything I once knew;
my hood where I once grew.
This place got me home sick,
much like the flu.
But, this is my home
now, so lonely and blue.
Just breathe the Brownsville air,
all I need to get me through.
The people are different.
The place is new.
But, after a year
I might miss here too.

46 — Streams 16
 I’Nish King
Wasted (Part 1)
Innocently
I walk down the depressed block.
Crack infested,
li’l boys tryin’ to be gangsta, drinking forties.
Black car rolls up
shiny metal piece rolls out the window.
I hear gunshots.
I hit the floor.
The gunshots stop.
The black car disappears.
I feel a stinging pain at my side.
I blink slowly,
so slowly.
I see the li’l boys standing over me.
“YO, SHE HURT,” they scream.
I hold my side. My hand is wet,
hard to pick up.
I feel numb.
I blink again.
I’m breathing hard.
I try to scream,
“Daddy, mommy.”
I hear sirens.
An ambulance,
two people,
one woman,
one man.
Slowly,
I blink again.
47 — Streams 16
I’m being lifted.
Let my eyes close.
I see nothing.
I see darkness.
I hear nothing
but a woman
in a low voice,
“We’re losing her.”
My life flashes before me.
Mommy dressing me.
Daddy taking me to school for the first time.
Riding a two-wheeler.
My first graduation.
My junior high graduation.
My high school graduation.
It took place just today.
I remember.
Remember
getting up to accept my valedictorian award,
accepting my Harvard scholarship.
Innocent children,
mothers running helplessly
down the block,
dropping to the floor,
holding their child’s lifeless body
close to their bosom,
holding onto what was once theirs.
The gates open once more.
A new member to my family.
Another mother screams.
Another father sheds a tear.
When will it stop?
No mother wants to give up a child.
48 — Streams 16
No father wants to let go.
Another gunshot.
Do you hear it?
The gate opens
and another seed
lost.
Another black car.
Another shot.
Another tear.
Another child
Wasted

Wasted (Part 2)
I left my brother that morning
at his basketball tryouts
gave him a hug
and told him that I loved him
till the day I died
then went to work.
I stood on the corner
in front of the bodega.

Crisp Vasquez boots,

a nicely ironed Girbaud shirt
with matching pants,
I chew on my gum
with perfect timing.
Every second comes in with a new chew
tick tock
tick tock
squish
squish squish. 49 — Streams 16
I’m waiting for my crew to roll up.
Yup dat black car
coming down the block
real fast.
“Get in,”
my homeboy tells me.
I jump in the car
no hesitation.
He hands me the piece.
We ride down three blocks.
I get prepared.
Li’l niggaz drinking forties
think it’s cool to mess with my niggaz.
Yet they don’t know what a day be like.
I start rolling down.
I see a girl
with a white cap and gown
in my way.
Feel bad for her,
but you gotta do what you gotta do.
He slows the car up.
I start shooting. Niggaz fall to the floor.
So does that innocent girl.
She fell slowly
like a strong wall
taking a fall
after a harsh cold bloody war.
I start chewing my gum again
but slower this time
squish . . . squish
squish . . . squish.
The car speeds up.
I roll up my window,
50 — Streams 16
close my eyes.
I ask myself, “Why?”
I just took a young girl out.
Purity written all over her face,
a white gown polluted with a mess I made.
I messed up this time.
I drop the piece
and start to cry a river of hot tears
mixed with sweat,
sweat of a guilty mind
after that day
I promised myself I would change my life.
POP!
A clear shot to the head.
I fall against the glove compartment.
Darkness is all I see.
I can’t move. I hear my echo
nothing more.
Then there’s a light.
I walk towards it.
A woman
a man
carry me in the direction of the Lord.
The Lord holds my shoulder
and touches a cloud.
He lets me see my little brother
crying,
crying over my stiff cold body
my cold face
no expression at all.
I lived horribly.
Died horribly.
Then my Lord
51 — Streams 16
shows me the future.
I see my brother
in my mother’s room
holding the piece
the same piece I took my first nigga out with.
He holds it to his head.
I try to stop him.
He hesitates
then lies down
and says,
“You said you loved me till the day you died.”
Puts the pillow over his head
and
takes his life away.
I stay speechless.
Once more
purity pollutes by my hands
I look at the Lord
tears in my eyes.
He stares down at me
and shakes his head.
I look at my brother’s lifeless body.
I now notice
from the day I placed a piece in my hand
it was too late for change.
I did what I did.
Can’t undo it.
My niggaz life.
Her life.
My baby brother’s life.
My life.
All
wasted.
52 — Streams 16
 Erica Crews
A Sister in a Struggle
Today is a bad day.
Wish I could say
I’ve never had one before,
but bad days consume my life.
I have no escape from them.
Today is a bad day when I wonder . . .
where is the support for us, sisters in the struggle?
When a man asks a woman to wait for him
while he’s in prison,
does he realize
what an incredible emotional sacrifice that is?
Does he realize, yes we are in the struggle, too?
When I made this choice to do this bid with my man
I didn’t know what it would mean to continuously
hand over the control
and happiness of my life . . .
not to my mate but to an institution.
From the very beginning,
my mate told me I had the power.
Do I?
I buy my clothes
according to what is acceptable for a visit.
At anytime I can go anywhere my heart desires,
but my heart desires to be trapped
within the prison compound.
So where am I going?
I stalk the mailman and won’t leave the house
until he comes:
waiting for a white envelope
53 — Streams 16
 with that familiar hand writing
that has taken the place of hugs and kisses.
I check the phone several times a day
to make sure it’s working;
waiting to hear it ring and see “unavailable” appear on
the caller ID,
a sight that has taken the place of my door count.
No I don’t have the power.
The prison guards have all the power.
The mailman has the power.
Father Time has the power.
I feel helpless and out of control.
Today is surely a bad day
and yes I’m in the struggle, too.

Jennifer Jordan
Tears
I see a girl on Franklin.
Tears were falling.
I see myself.
Tears were falling.
I see a baby at the hospital.
Tears were falling,
falling,
falling,
falling,
Tears were falling for you and me,
but what are the tears for?
 Raquel Marshall
Rainy Days
Rainy days bring back memories of you.
How can I move on when my life is so confused?
Promises you made never came true.
Promises you’ve broken made me blue.
I finally realized that your love for me was fake.
Is love supposed to hurt like this?
Is my heart supposed to ache?
Never thought I would ever have to go through this.
I can’t believe it hurts like this.
Mother always said, “Love is pain.”
That’s why every time it rains I think of your name.

I gave you my all. You gave me trials.

I gave you my love. You gave me a child.
You left me alone, hurt, and depressed. Now
you’re off with your girlfriend on another quest.
You are the only boy I know.
For you to leave me now, it can’t be so.
I’m sixteen with a child on the way
and for a boy my age that means stay away.
It’s hard for me now to just let things be, because
the one who gets hurts after all this will be me.
I know it’s my fault for not taking caution,
I couldn’t see myself getting an abortion.
I can’t turn back the hands of time.
Even if I could he’s too damn fine.
Everybody says he’ll change once the baby is born, but
the damage has been done.
My heart’s already torn.
55 — Streams 16
 Ruth Milius
Why Do You Do What You Do?

As I stared down the barrel

I asked the gun,
“Why do you want me dead?”
And it replied
“It is not I who wants you dead
But the one who bought me
It is not I who is going to kill you
But the one who pulls my trigger.”
And again I asked
“Why do you do what you do?”
And the gun replies with great sorrow
“I can only do what I was meant to do.”
Then the gun asked me
“Why do humans use me to
rid themselves of their enemies,
are there no other alternatives?”
And to that I had no reply.

56 — Streams 16
 Jessica
No You Can’t Feel My Pain

When I was a child no one felt my pain.

I grew up no one felt my pain.
Why didn’t anyone feel my pain?

Maybe no one cared.

Maybe no one noticed me.
I guess I didn’t show or express myself clearly.
No, you can’t feel my pain.

I was 14 when I started getting locked up.

I was 14 going on 15 when I was in jail.
A month later I finally got out.
I guess no one felt my pain.

I was 13 when I started smoking.

I was 13 when I lost my virginity.
No, you can’t feel my pain.

I lived on my own since I was 13 going on 14.

I was raising me, myself and I alone.
Why couldn’t anyone see my pain?

People say they understand.

They say they been through it.
How come if they did
Why didn’t they see my pain?
I was 14 when I was selling my body.
I continued till this very day;
Until I learned my lesson.
57 — Streams 16
I was 15 and spent my “Sweet 16” in jail.
No one feels my pain!

I lost my family when I was young.

I been on my own since I was very young.
I regret everything I have ever done.
No, you can’t feel my pain.

McCartha Thomas
Look Through the Window

My window is small.
My window is faint.
My window is gone.
Help, help, help me!
I’m fallin’ fast.
I need help to
step back in the class.
Look through my window
and see how I feel.

58 — Streams 16
 Salleen Michel
War On America

Of all the tragedies I’ve ever seen

this is the one that was truly mean.
One plane flies through the sky
with a horrid, evil and vengeful eye.
With no concern for whom they would hurt.
Boom! Into Tower 1 like a child kicked a pile of dirt.
Tower 2 was told, “It’s ok. You can stay.
Tower 1 will be safe for the rest of the day.”
Boom! Tower 2 was hit shortly thereafter.
Now this is a truly horrible New York disaster.
War on America! Is what this is,
But we must all work together,
Stay strong and protect the kids.
Many people hurt, many people gone.
Yet the spirit of America will stay strong.
Like me! I’ve lost a sister, a friend,
and an uncle yet to be found.
But, I know it’s not the end.
I have family who love me, friends who care,
and even enemies won’t sneer.
In an odd way this evil has brought us together.
America shall stand strong
through all stormy weather.
59 — Streams 16
 Seleana Scala
9/11/01

September 11th, 2001,

a day of sorrow and grief,
an explosion so high up in the sky
that affected me so deep.

A day that started off so sunny

had turned so very cold
from all the death left in the streets
and all the floating souls.

September 11th, 2001,

a day I’ll never forget,
the beginning of WW III,
a brand new chapter of life,
and I’m around to see.

60 — Streams 16
extend our thread
of wonder
 Roxanne Williams
Free

I am a little girl
named Marie.
My parents are
brave warriors.
My mother has
brown hair and
blue eyes.
My father has
black hair
brown eyes and
sweet lips.
I hear the joy of
happiness.
It smells wonderful.
It is also beautiful
to look at,
like being able to
hug my sister
and dance around
with joy.
I’m afraid of going
back the way it used to be,
being afraid of not
going out,
being locked up,
hiding for so long.
The day when the war
began,
people being shot,
bodies everywhere,
the streets were covered with
62 — Streams 16
 people’s blood.
The war is over.
Right now
my body feels
like a bird
being able to fly
free.

Malikah Kelly
A Night Without Armor

Tonight I walk the garden of my soul

Bare, pure, naked
Free of any and all boundaries, inhibitions
Free of the fear and the hate
Free of my anger, my sorrow
Tonight I walk
Tonight I dance
Tonight I dance in the garden of my soul
I taste the sweet breezes of victory and love
I bathe in the cool waters of what I do not know
I explore the dark valleys of where I have not been
And I smile cause I’m not afraid anymore
Tonight I can get lost in myself
Tonight I can step out of myself
Tonight I can see myself
Without armor
Vulnerable soul
Exalted spirit
Tonight I walk the garden of my soul
Without armor

63 — Streams 16
 Niesha Brown
For the Humans of Silence

Mute beings, who are unable

to let the flow of words roll
off their tongues and out of
their mouths, are often wise beyond expression.

They use different paint

brushes and colors to paint
the same beautiful portraits
as we do. They sculpt with the same hands.

Their voices blow with the wind,

yet their ideas leave a
mark on our minds and extend
our thread of wonder and astonishment.

Singing the song of silence,

their invisible voices resound
in ink, paint, clay, and music.
The magic of silence travels far and wide.

Where will they go? Who and what will

they change? What stunning beauty
will they reveal? How far will
they stretch the rubber band of fascination?

64 — Streams 16
 Sandra Carillo
Times

There are times when I

speak to you and don’t
know what to say. There’s
such an eloquent silence.
Whatever you wanna know
you might as well ask
‘cuz my mind is as open
to the world as it is to
your heart. You ask me for the
world and I give it to
you. I give you my
trust. Do you trust me?
Do you know me just
by how we talk? Do
you listen to me like
I do to you? Are
we friends or are
we what? What will
we become when
we’re together? Or will
we still have an eloquent
silence?
65 — Streams 16
 Yasoda Brathwaite
Taking a Vacation
I gazed anxiously at some travel brochures trying very
hard to select the very best vacation spot. Should it be a
quiet and peaceful vacation, or a thrilling and exciting one?
Finally, I found the perfect place in the Caribbean while
browsing through some magazines I had bought while shopping
for groceries. I immediately made reservations with an agent
and got everything ready for the following weekend. I
reached my destination after a tiring four-hour flight. As I
departed from the aircraft, I looked around and was
overwhelmed by the beauty that I saw. There was beauty
everywhere, and lots of smiling faces that greeted me saying,
“Welcome to Barbados.”
I took a cab to a nearby hotel and got a glimpse of parts of
the exquisite land. I had such a fabulous time shopping and
trying the different tasty Caribbean dishes. The tourist
attractions were amazing. There were magnificent caves that
glittered as though they were painted with diamonds. The
flower gardens were filled with all types of exotic plants and
animals; it was absolutely fantastic.
The beaches were the most breath-taking part of the
entire trip. The waters were crystal blue and the sands golden
brown with shells of all kinds. I kept a few of them as
souvenirs. I took long soaks in the sea as I watched the
children playing with the tiny puddles of water on the rocks.
As I relaxed on the shore, I was hypnotized by the different
shades of fluorescent pink and orange that painted the sunset
on the evening skies.
Before I knew it, my ten days were up and I hated the
thought of leaving this beautiful island to return to the awful
polluted city. I watched helplessly through my little window as
the island got smaller and smaller and disappeared into the
Caribbean mist, and it was nothing more than a memory.
66 — Streams 16
 Reann Charles
A Learn and Serve Conference
I went to a school conference, Learn and Serve
America, with my teacher and three of my classmates.
This took place at Hudson Valley, New York.
We left Brooklyn around 10 o’clock. We arrived at
Manhattan around 12 o’clock. There we met with
students from other schools. It took us three hours to
reach our destination. On the bus we watched a movie
while others took a nap. The bus made a stop. We all got
out of the bus. Some went to the bathroom or got
something to eat.
When we arrived at the hotel we checked in and got
our nametags. We went upstairs to put our bags in the
room. Then we went back downstairs to set up. While
we were waiting for Ms. Moli to come back, Nadine and I
took a walk to see what kinds of displays other schools
had. Our teacher came down and we all put our best
work into setting up.
Our table looked great. We got a lot of compliments.
We also conducted a workshop. The workshop was “Bias
and Conflict Resolution.” It was presented by Ms. Moli
Ntuli, Kareem, Ansel, Nadine and myself. Although we
were in charge of the workshop, I learned a lot about
bias because I did not know what bias was about.
In the night time I changed my clothes and headed
straight to the gym. I worked out a lot. Then I went to
the spa. The night before I went to the pool with
Nadine, Ansel, Kareem and Ms. Moli (but she did not get
in the pool). I also made a lot of friends, and met some
real nice teachers.
67 — Streams 16
 Learn and Serve was a great experience for me. It
was just great to see people of all nationalities. We saw
teachers and students share their personalities. We had
always conceived teachers as authoritarian figures. Also
the variety of the workshops were spectacular. I don’t
know how other students were able to choose workshops
to go to, because it was hard for me to choose. All
workshops were great.
This was a learning experience. Thanks to Barbara
and Richard for sending us.

Kareem Phipps
Learn and Serve America
The Learn and Serve America Conference was a new
experience for me, because I’ve never been to a
conference where other schools and students were
involved. When we reached the hotel, the first thing we
did was get our nametags, check in, and then go to our
room. The room was spectacular. It was big with two
double beds, a television, and many more things that
were real nice.
We then went to the 2nd floor Share Fair room, to
set up our table. This was the room that was used for
the schools to share information about their work. At
our table we had the VTC tee-shirts which we designed
ourselves. We also had other things, such as pictures,
VTC brochure and more information concerning VTC.
Our table was really attractive. A lot of people liked it.
I had an opportunity to run a workshop on conflict
resolution. Our workshop was creating writing and
performing conflict dialogues. The objective of this
workshop was for people to look at their own bias, to
understand how bias impacts human lives, and to develop
strategies on how to solve conflict non violently. We also
had a great icebreaker, which was a good introduction to
the workshop. It was a prediction game. This was to
help get to know each other. The main purpose of this
icebreaker was to show how people judge each other
without even knowing the other person. We had
students and teachers make predictions about each
other. This activity was to show that, “You shouldn’t
judge a book by its cover.” By just looking at someone
you couldn’t tell what his or her background was. The
activity included role-play about conflict resolution.
Students and teachers had to write a conflict dialogue
based on bias and role-play it. The outcome of the role-
play was to see why bias could cause conflict.
In conclusion, this conference was to introduce
Service Learning as an instructional tool to all who
attended, both students and teachers. I also felt that it
enhanced what we already know. Students and teachers
shared what other schools did. The conference for me
was a big success. Everything ran very well and everyone
from the Dr. Susan Smith McKinney Nursing and Rehab
Center had a very good time and wish to go back.

69 — Streams 16
 Jamaria W.
The Way I Feel

The way I feel can’t be explained.

I’m experiencing a lot of anger and pain.
I’m going away from this comfortable place.
Maybe never again will I see your face.
I’m really feeling quite confused.
I fear that again I’ll be abused.
Maybe never to see New York again.
Maybe never again to make a friend.
If I feel lonely while we’re apart,
I’ll remember I’m blessed
and really quite smart.
I’ll keep a good focus on love that is true,
and I promise that I’ll look for
some more folks like you.
For none of your lessons were taught in vain.
I’ve learned them quite well.
I can chase away pain.

70 — Streams 16
 Catherine Marie Ayala
I Refuse

I refuse to be another pregnant teen.

I refuse to be naïve.
I guess that ‘s why I’m mean.
I’d rather be considered utterly cruel,
than to play the role of anybody’s fool.
People may think I’m crazy or ballistic,
but I refuse to be another statistic.
This is simply the life I choose to lead.
Love is something I want, not something I need.
Though I may hangout with so called “thugs,”
I refuse to be weak and on drugs.
Because my life has just begun,
I refuse to be another victim shown on TV.
So, if you look into my eyes I want you to see me.
I also want you to say, “This girl doesn’t get abused.”
And I will say, “It’s because a long time ago I refused.”

71 — Streams 16
 Tameeka Gibson
Don’t Rush, Wait

Don’t rush, wait.

Soon everything will
fall in its place.

Don’t rush, wait.

And, our love
will be stronger
than it is today.

We have to wait,
‘cause unless we trust
the feeling, what we have
will just be lust.

72 — Streams 16
 Raecia Catchings
Being Eleven Is Like . . .

Being eleven feels pure, like the world is waiting on me.

Being eleven tastes like yellow platanos, because I was

sweet with a hint of brown.

Being eleven sounds like innocent classical music before

the lyrics kick in.

Being eleven looks like old Harlem, when my grandpa

walked me to school every day and I played double dutch
in front of my grandma’s building with my friends.

Being eleven smells like fresh fall air and pool water in
the summertime.

This is what being eleven feels like.

73 — Streams 16
 Bishaunti P.
One of the Greatest Moments of My Life

My graduation picture — I remember the whole

school was in the auditorium. People did plays, sang,
rapped; my whole class was on stage. I had the mic in my
hand with my cap and gown on. The girls and the rest of
the class had caps and gowns on, too. I had just finished
rapping for my class and my best friend was on my left
side. His name was Evan. I was so happy my whole family
was there.
We took the picture outside in front of the school,
P.S. 116. I was posed with my head up high and most of
the rest of the class did the same. My girl had just
shown up. I didn’t know she was there. She told me that
she loved me and then we took another picture, just me
and her. I saw my mother on the far right and my
brother on the far left and all of my old teachers. Those
were the good days.

74 — Streams 16
 Ismael Gomez
The Perfect Drug

I boarded the bus. I didn’t pay attention to all

the people because they all looked the same,
with smiles on their faces as if they had some malevolent
plan to kill me. (Or maybe it was just my paranoia.)
I looked outside and my heart got a shot of adrenaline:
It was like the perfect drug.
I saw her sitting on the floor
where everyone spits and vomits when they’re drunk.
I got the chance to look at her closely.
She was the total opposite of everyone around.
Her clothes were ripped and old. But, when
I looked at her face I felt salvation, a feeling more real
than if you’d spent your whole childhood in a church.
I was scared. I didn’t know what to do.
My mouth was zippered with barbed wire
while my eyes admired. It was too late.
The bus started to move and I saw
how she disappeared inch by inch.
Now all I have left are memories of
her beautiful eyes looking at me.
Am I a fool? Or was that feeling true?

75 — Streams 16
 Seleana Scala
Black Child of the Ghetto

I think sometimes as I lay sleeping in my crib,

someone must have leaned over and whispered,

“Don’t dream.”

I think when I open my eyes wide enough

to see the stars in heaven, someone whispered,

“Don’t dream.”

When I open my arms to embrace the world,

to taste all that should have been promised
to me, someone whispered,

“Don’t dream.”

When I began asking questions,

my mind hungry for the beauty of learning,
the adventure of education and reading,
someone passed me a note that said,

“Black child of the ghetto, don’t dream.”

My heart opened, my heart flowered,

I became over powered with the thirst
that remained unquenchable even for an ocean.
I thirst for love, security and a way to be me.
The hunger grew, yet someone gave me
a bowl of alphabet soup which said,
76 — Streams 16
“Don’t dream.”

When I found my voice

and the courage to speak,
I needed to know why this should be so.
Was I not the same as my neighbor,
and she was encouraged to dream.
Was I not as pretty, or as good as she?
Yet she did it all the time.
I don’t think she was ever told not to dream.
“So, why,” I ask, “is it wise for me not to do it;
wise that I not dream?”

“You’re a child of the ghetto, of questionable

birth and brought up on welfare, wearing
hand me downs from family and friends
and strangers your parents cleaned for.
To top it all off, my child, you are black,” was
my ever given answer. “For a better life
you have no right. Settle for what
you have and expect no more, and most of all,

Black child of the ghetto, don’t dream.”

So in case somewhere in this overcrowded

universe there is another black child of the
ghetto, this is for you. This is for any child,
anywhere, who has a conscious thought
capable of dream —
Do not listen to those who say,

“Don’t dream.”
77 — Streams 16
 Do dream!
Do hope!
Do believe!
Sometimes these are all you have to give.
Your strength and courage to try and achieve what
you want to be in this life.
Tempered with a dose of reality, a dream
is a place of beginning.
So turn a deaf ear to those who say,

“Black child of the ghetto, don’t dream.”

Sandra Carillo
When Do Dreams Come True?

When do dreams come

true? As life dies
do they ever?
Do you know when they do?
Can you tell them apart from the rest?
Does life go on without them
or does life wither away
just like the dreams?
Do your dreams just float away?
Do you dream or are you a dream?

78 — Streams 16
 I’Nish King
For the Educated Thugs.

For my people who stand

in front of the bodega by day
but in their college classes by night.
For my people who sit on the steps
in front of my building rhyming about their life.

Yeah, my people who kill people—

not with guns, but with their educated words.

My thugs who come from the piss-smelling projects,

who become CEOs of top companies.

My thugs like different colored roses growing

beautifully through the cracks in the concrete.

There goes another one of my thugs

just made himself the first black president.

Yes, he became another rose.

This is for my thugs, my educated thugs.

79 — Streams 16
 Niesha Brown
Shadows
“Attention! Purchase your tickets to see the amazing
actress perform her most challenging role.”

Ever since I was born, I hid myself from the world.

I wanted to die in my mother’s womb, to avoid the
world.

Acting was my only way of hiding in the shadows of my

own image. The world hates me. They love
Alexandria, the furious dame.

Or Celeste, the passionate lover. But not me.

I hide from my family, the flashing cameras and all
the latest fashions.

I don’t bother to look in my magic glass.

Every day I see someone different.
Strangers sleep in my bed every night.

My shadows get all the attention from everybody,

while I stay secluded in my little lake of loneliness.

The lake speaks to me. She cries every time

I want to leave. She shows me the world.

My creator, my mother, my life, and my soul.

If I need a place to hide, she embraces me with her
arms.

80 — Streams 16
I woke up and thought
 Dezroy Bobb
The Break of Dawn

There was no one in sight,

but you felt like you were
in the middle of a war.

The wind blew in rage

and sung the songs of death.
The animals cried out for mercy,

when the great fireball got thrown

out of the heavens.
Are the gods at war with each other

or is the world going to end?

A bright yellow light came over the Earth.
“We are going to die,” a voice said, “I’m gone.”
I turned around and he said it was only dawn.

Edward S.
Haiku

For seven seconds

I was dreaming of nothing.
I woke up and thought.

82 — Streams 16
 Meggan Lugo
Confusion

The train is coming.

Your paper falls on the floor.
Oh, $#&! Quick, calm down, just pick it up.
It’ll be all right.
Bam.
Someone pushed me.
My paper fell again.
Picked it up, on the train safely.
Damn, I missed my stop.
Paper fell again.
People are coming, pushing me.
Time slip slip slipping away.
Drifting off in a world with no confusion.
No mistakes, no no no
BAM.
Back to where I left off.

83 — Streams 16
 Salleen Michel
Confused

Everything I want I don’t have.

Everything I have I don’t want.
I want love, I get hate.
I want trust, I get lies.
Life is not given to you how you want it!
So I go for what I want and I don’t back down.
The hate I have I get rid of.
The love I don’t have I take.
Never realizing I hurt others
and cause more pain to get what I want.
I’m confused....

Raymond Dickerson
Confusion

Confusion is an institution of your illusions.

If your capability is to unravel,
why have your thoughts in a scramble?
If you are able to solve things,
why make it a hard thing?

84 — Streams 16
 Edilma Ponce
Confusion!

That cold blowing wind

running through my bones
that makes me stone my inner self
into this one stored place in your heart.
Why? Why? This reaction that we have
toward each other can deceive us both with lies.

The lies that we both can’t confront,

that maybe we are not the ones for each other,
and that there is more to go.
Don’t undergo and leave that empty space.
Empty when you can fill it
with something you cherish and have time for.
My strength can’t go any further.
Trying to keep up with you and me is not happening.
The precious time to have, the precious time to give,
I have plenty but it seems that
I have already given you enough of that.

My confusion keeps on. Please clear it up!

Because this seems not to be working for me right now!
So, make sure to “get right back.”
85 — Streams 16
 Tameeka Gibson
Confused

I have a boyfriend,
but I’m feeling you.
I’m confused,
and don’t know what to do.

I want to get to know you,

and maybe just talk.
But I’m afraid —
afraid of these feelings.
I want to be able to trust you.

So I will hide it from all,

and tell no one, that it’s you I adore.

86 — Streams 16
 Tema Ryals
Lies

Why do we lie?
Do we know that we are lying?
Do we lie to protect the person we are lying to?
Or do we lie cause we have nothing else to say
when we are caught?
What is a lie?
IS there a difference between a BIG lie
and little lie?
How far would you take your lie?
Do you lie every day?
Do you lie to the people you love?
Will your lies help you when you are in trouble?
Will your lies just make it worse?
Why lie?
When will you tell the truth?
Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies.
Will they ever end?

87 — Streams 16
 Jessica Marrero
Reflection

I look in my mirror at my reflection,

and feel nothing inside but pure ugliness,
to know that a girl, like me,
will never amount to anything;
and yet still wish to be
like everyone else I see.

How can I find the confidence

to let the true me be free,
to show the world that it’s not
what is similar, but what is different
that makes everyone unique?

Geraldine S.
Forgiveness

I feel sad for myself and it feels so strong.

Still I have been hurting for far too long.
If forgiveness is the key to heal myself,
I would gladly forgive someone else
to think of someone other than me
and let go of insanity.
To forgive myself from the awful past
I would forgive others first
and forgive me last.

88 — Streams 16
 Amiris Ramirez
Where I Am From

I am from the cold and fresh winds in the river,

from the sweet smell of pink roses,
from the scent of the trees in the morning.

I am from Quisquella la bella,

from merengue y bachata to perico ripiao,
from church bells that sound on Sundays,

from the words Dios, Patria y Libertad

which make me proud of who I am.
I am from the feeling of sadness, the feeling of not
putting my head down and giving up on myself.

I am from the promise of friendship and love,

from “always be yourself,”
from “believe in who you are.”

I am Latina and I have to represent my country.

I am also from rice and beans, roast chicken and
pernil, and from platanos, too.
I am from the mangoes, bananas, coconuts and sweet corn.

I came from beautiful green grass gardens with palm

trees on the sides.
I am from mountains and the precious blue sky.
I am Dominican, and I am proud of who I am!

89 — Streams 16
 Nicole England

My favorite hiding place is in my mind.

Whenever I don’t want anyone to bother me
I just start thinking about something
and drift off into my own world.
I block out all the sounds and distractions
around me when I do this.
The bad thing, though is,
when someone tries to talk to me.
It takes them a couple of times
saying my name to get my attention.

Shayna Williams
Rainy Day Thought

I’ve slept most of the day.

I am tired. It’s boring today.
We don’t have any school today,
besides it’s a rainy day.
I’m dreary and tired on rainy days—
It’s nothing new.
I really just want to be alone.

90 — Streams 16
concealed in a world full of
jagged question marks
from Ronald Blackman’s picture books
Forced to Live in Jail

When am I
returning home?
When am I leaving
this place? When
will I be free? When
will I be able to
be with my mother,
my father, my four
brothers, my girl?
When will be a new
change in my life?
When will I be able
to relax again? Have no
worries again? When will
the judge see that I am
innocent? When?

92 — Streams 16
You know when
you lie and lie and
lie about little petty
things. Then when
you tell the truth,
that's when no
one believes you!
It's true,

Tired
A hole
that I can't get out of.
Home is so far away
like a blur in my eye.
The law
is suffocating my life
for a crime, a crime
I did not commit.
Time and time,
day by day,
I wake up
and see
the same
terrible place.
Why can't I go home?
That's all I want.

93 — Streams 16
 At Times

At times I think about what I'm going through.

At times I try not to think about it at all.
At times I just bend my knees and beg the Lord.
At times I feel like there is nothing I can do.
At times I try to erase the fact that I'm in here.
At times I wish I never came here.
At times I want to beg the judge to show me at least
a little bit of love.
At times all I want are hugs and kisses from my mother.

94 — Streams 16
 Time after time,
again and again,
I wake up everyday
in the same place,
a place where
you only see
one or two faces.
My uncle died
while I was in here.
It's taken a lot
of time and money
to get me out of here.
Life doesn't seem
right to me.

Every day and night

I think of my life.
Why am I being treated like this
for something I did not do?
How much longer do I have to
go through this torture?
It's like I'm in deep mud for
nothing. The mud monster is trying
to drown me for no reason. Why!?
95 — Streams 16
 Why Is That?
Why is it
when you do right
you're blamed for wrong?
Why is that?
Why is it
when you have everything
together - you've stacked the last block,
then someone comes and pushes
over all your blocks?
And, you've stacked so many blocks
that you don't know when
the falling of the blocks is going to stop.
Me?
I can only
but wonder
how many blocks
I have to
pile back
to the top.

96 — Streams 16
 Kareem Edwards
The Street Has No Time

The after-school programs close at a certain time.

The recreation centers close at a certain time.
The libraries close at a certain time.
But, the street never closes.
There is no time limit on the street.
The street stays open 24/7, 365 —
open all day and all night.
To some people the street is their home;
a place to walk around but there’s no place to roam.
Walking down the block and around that corner
just might be a dead end.
Not knowing that your life might end because of
how you look, dress, walk, or talk.
The street is a broken clock. It has no time.

This poem was made on March, 11, 2002

by Kareem Edwards, Irvin Gill, and Jeffrey Gilbert
because it was a collaboration of lines.
Irvin said the first line. Jeffrey said the second line.
And, I started it all by saying, “the street has no time.”
To find out the whole story you would have
had to have been there to understand it.

97 — Streams 16
 Fabian Greene
Time

Time is what you make it.

Time does not wait for anybody.
Time has no weight or height.
It’s just there, no telling what may happen next.
Time is something I have not on my hands.
Time is like a bad tan.
Time moves with the moment,
but it seems like nothing ever moves.
When time runs out I won’t be standing still.

Jacobs
She Lost Him

She found him in school,

but the girl lost him
in a dark hallway called life

98 — Streams 16
 Osvaldo O. Mercado
Spoken Thoughts

My life has just left my flesh.

Now I'm lifeless.
To me life is priceless.
The way you put a price on this and that is whack;
especially the way my brothers and sisters act
like they don't love each other when deep down inside
they just want to hug each other.
To all my Latin Kings, Bloods, Crips, Folks and Ñetas
buñetas — Let's stop fighting and let's come together
so that we can one day control the weather.
Each gang I spoke of
somebody in my family
is down with
or died because.
Race is irrelevant.
Or, should I say
color, because, that
is what you racist m-
fs look at.
Besides that,
you parents need to
stop, look, and listen.
See what you have been missing in your kid's life
and stop being trife.
At any given moment God could strike and take a life
and it could be your seed lying there in need of pappy.
But, you are nowhere to be found.
Then you will be wishing and praying you had been around.
99 — Streams 16
 Anthony Andrew Zullo
The River of Ice

The river of ice...

As I walked through
A walkway that shone like crystal...
The ice slowly started to melt...
I started to run...
But it was too late...
The ice melted into water...
But...

I was still walking...

The winters of ice have melted with life...
The life that grew with us all...
Became alive again...
Until the cold days of death came once more...
But...

As I walked...
As I searched...
As I waited...
As I wondered...
When would she come...
When would my love come..?
100 — Streams 16
 Aris Lopez
This Is the World

One giant sphere of water and rocks— that’s the world.

It is a majestic huge portrait of many shades and colors.
It is a wonderful masterpiece of beautiful creations.
When will all this stop?
When will all this wonder fade away?
I hope all this beauty won’t be destroyed
by our own goals and aspirations.
Most of the time people don’t stop and watch
the enchantment of the world’s own art
because sometimes people are too busy with their lives
and worrying about things that just pass you by
in an instant
and then many times they are forgotten forever.

Jennifer DelaCruz
Tears

If I could be anything
I would want to be your tears
because I’d be born in your eyes,
live in your cheeks,
and die on your lips.

101 — Streams 16
 Romy Henriquez
Souls Die Without the Feeling of Nature

For many years I wandered

lonely as a cloud.*
I saw as a corpse in the ground
yet I felt the wind whispering
in my deaf left ear.
Trees called, “It’s time!”
The jungle opened as wide as
a shark eating its prey.
Many lost souls went at the
whisper of the wind.
Yet, that one corpse stayed.
Why? The waves beside them
danced as broken records.
“Rainbow,” they called, “Rainbow.”
But that one corpse found
the meaning of nature.
Yet the others didn’t.
Nature was a target
but wanted, needed and even
envied by so many lost souls.
But the one soul seemed to
stay the same level of nature.

A poem describes how I think I am. It explains a part of

me. Demonstrates who I see in me. Nature is incredible
and I really enjoy viewing and studying how it can destroy
yet maintain so stunningly. Nature is unique in many ways

*William Wordsworth

102 — Streams 16
 Elvis Perez
I Am a Car

I am a car.
Here is my brain like a motor;
fierce to crunch power to my demand.

I am the gas peddle

screaming through high revs,
bursting through burn outs.

I am the interior.
I yet stand still and frozen.

I’m the seat of the car.

While emotions get high with a companion,
I’ll still be the seat in the car.
But, the crest of a female’s @$#
yet to lean on me gives me torque

I am a roof
yet to reflect sex and compassion.

I am a car
that’s not calm;
I get fast and furious.
I have demands try and stop me.
103 — Streams 16
 Odell H. Pearson, Jr.

Floating on a stepladder in the concrete sky

concealed in a world
full of jagged question marks
where the paint of understanding
is nowhere to be found.
I see a citizen standing upside down
with his body inside out,
like the kid flowing hard hanging off a boat or
falling on a bridge. Take a bite out of crime
from the bite that was
already taken out. “Comma,”
it was written, “the end.”

104 — Streams 16
 Jayra Marmolejos
Finding My Missing Part

I saw a piece of black paper in the bus.

All that came to my mind was evil.
I just remembered all the global classes and
remembered all the disasters. I felt cold and
isolated. I stared, stared and stared at
the piece of black paper that seemed
like a disease, maybe the plague or
whatever it might be.
It just felt like it was a part of my
life. And, I just discovered that it was
there all along.

105 — Streams 16
 Brian Colon
The Problem

She breaks my heart

and I can not understand it.
I wish I would be able
to solve all her problems.
Yet, she is so difficult and complex
that she breaks my head.
This is why I cannot understand her.
Her name is MATH.

106 — Streams 16
 Ebony Brokette
Ode to O’s

The letter O

O is for the ocean waves

which move like the wind

O is for orange
like the fruit
like the shirt

O is in my name
right in the middle

O is for the October

we’re in

O is for Oreos
which are tasty chocolate candies

O is the shape of my eyes

as bright as my smile

O is for the outstanding

person that I am
107 — Streams 16
O is for overlooking
the sun which shines brighter than
a shooting Star

O is the shape of the earth

which floats in the air

O is like the tear drops

which rain like cats and dogs

O for the obvious feelings in my heart.

108 — Streams 16
writing is my skill
 Fatima Choudhury
Streams Poems

When you read poems like these, you know

for a fact that this is coming from the heart,
and coming from experience. I like reading poems
like this because you know that what you’re reading is
someone expressing great feelings in writing.
It’s not like other poems
that are simply made for the satisfaction
of writing a poem and having every word at the end
of that line rhyme. A poem like this can apply to
many people in the world, and can have a great
effect on many children that feel the same way.

110 — Streams 16
 Cristina Santiago
Diary

My personal treasure is my diary,

because it helps express my anxiety.
Sometimes when I am sad,
I sit down and write about the past.
Regrets start coming to me and
I pray to God that He could help.
So, I sit and write about secrets that will be mute for life
(just like a confession that will remain unspoken).
To the treasure of my life I write about
my unhappiness and insecurities,
also about life’s opportunities.
I write about hate.
I write about love.
I write when I am sad.
I write when I am mad.
I write about my goals, dreams,
and in what I want to succeed.
I write about violence.
I write about nonsense.
I write in my diary to express my reality.

111 — Streams 16
 Andre Nugent
What Is Poetry?

Poetry is my salvation;
it gives me a sense of relief when I’m stressed.
Poetry is my way out from
this miserable torment that I call my life.
Poetry is my solution to most of my problems—
the sadness and despair,
the loss of a loved one; life is so unfair.
Poetry to me is my window to another world.
I see the faces of past loved ones
that I keep so dear, so close to my heart
that I have no fear.

112 — Streams 16
 Carla J.
I Just Can’t Put the Words Right

I want to tell you my deepest thoughts

but I can’t put the words right.

In my head they’re all right,

but from my mouth? What a fright!

I just can’t put the words right!

In my head my feelings are strong,

but on paper it sounds all wrong!

I just can’t put the words right!

Why can’t I put the words right?

Maybe when I come home; one night!

113 — Streams 16
 Thomas Nash

I don’t think that criticism

is all that bad as long as
it comes from someone
who is qualified to give it.
Adults and people who I respect
are allowed because
they have either experience
or wisdom to give it.
It helps you to get out of bad habits
or reminds you of wrongs
you should make right.

114 — Streams 16
 Lidiana Rodriguez

I think criticism can be a good thing,

but it all depends
On how you word it,
and also how sensitive
the person you are criticizing is.
Productive criticism is a kind of criticism
that helps someone improve one’s self.
Negative criticism is a type that puts
someone down and hurts one’s feelings.
There are people that don’t take
productive criticism the right way at times.

115 — Streams 16
 Kadeema Greene
Judged

Being judged wherever you go

is a hurt and pain people will never know.
They judge you when you hurt the most
until it comes time you just can’t cope.

You hurt so bad, you could take your own life.

And, those that judge just ask, “Why?”
The answer lies within their own eyes.
And, when they are judged, they’ll know why.

116 — Streams 16
 Ismael Gomez
The Book

In a long afternoon where boredom ruled,

I decided to open my doors of perception
and read a book.

This book had such a powerful smell,

it was like a magic spell.
I instantly fell into a trance
and through my mind passed flashbacks.

Though they were quick, I recognized them:

I saw the time when they took me to the principal
for not praying to their God to which
they devoted their lips.

But the one memory that stood out the most

was when I refused to say, “I’m Christian.”
Being that it was a Christian school,
I was exiled.

I was put to the side like an old video game

that after a week nobody wants to play.

Someone was calling my name — a sweet, soothing voice,

a familiar voice. Hearing my name again and
again, I woke up from my reverie, my heart rushing
as though I’d just got off a roller coaster.

As I opened my eyes, I saw the face of a woman.

It was a face that made me feel safe
from the vampires that society really is.
It was the face of my mom.
117 — Streams 16
 Fatima Choudhury
Me

Please don’t judge me by my face,

by my religion, or my race.
Please don’t laugh at what I say, or how I look.
Please look a little deeper, way down deep inside of me;
and although you may not see it, I have a lot to hide.
Behind my clothes the secrets lie.
Behind my smile, I softly cry.
Please look a little deeper, and maybe you will see the
lonely little kid that lives inside of me.
Please listen carefully to her.
She’ll show that she is insecure.
Please try to be a friend to her; show her that you care.
Please just get to know her; and maybe you will see that
if you just look deep enough, you’ll find the real me.

Bishaunti P.
Haiku

Even my old friend

doesn’t really know me who
knew him my whole life.

118 — Streams 16
 Lauren Walton
Words

Writing is my skill.
My hands know the deal—
That when my hand starts moving
It’s an unstoppable wheel

Rolling on and on with ideas

To be written on paper.
But, I don’t write stories, not even
Ones with heroic capers.
I write because I know words—
Those adjectives and verbs
That make sense when written down
For prying eyes to see;
That words are not only an outlet
For me
It’s how I keep a record of what’s to
Come and to be.

119 — Streams 16
 Kenya Capers

My favorite thing to do alone is read.

Reading to me is better than watching a movie.
If it’s a good book I can see the whole book
play before my mind’s eye
and feel every emotion.
I get my best reading in late at night
when everyone is asleep.

120 — Streams 16
 Taisha
Books

I did it!
I did it!
Come and look at what I’ve done.
I read a book from someone long ago.
For me to read how did I know?
That was the book I took from the shelf;
I really read it just like that — word by word.
I slept with this book in bed.
This the first book I’ve ever read.

David G.
Haiku

Standing in the crowd —

but it was too packed to stand.
So, I had to sit.

121 — Streams 16
 Roberto A. Lima, Jr.
If someone were to rip off my
poetry I would be furious. The
reason why I would be furious is
because it is my work. I am
expressing my feelings in my poetry
and it wouldn’t be right for someone
to claim my poetry. It would be like
someone is trying to take my feelings
from me. I took my time to express
myself. It just wouldn’t be right.

Jeffrey Gilbert
In this world today, people rip off
other people’s work. If someone
tried to rip off my poetry I would be
very upset. Not just me, but anyone
else would be, too. People would be
upset to see someone taking credit
for someone else’s work. I mean you
can use the idea and make something
else that’s your own. That’s what
poems are made for — to encourage
people to write new and better things.

122 — Streams 16
 Christopher Colon
If some one ripped off my work
I’d feel violated and hurt because
that is something that came out of
my heart, soul, and mind. I’d feel
heart broken because my poetry is a
piece of my heart that I am willing to
share with others. My poetry is like
part of my journal in which I write my
feelings and everyday experiences.
It would be a violation to pass
someone else’s work as your own.
I write to express my thoughts
and feeling. Some people have a hard
time talking about their thoughts or
feelings. Because of this they write.
One who is silent through words may
be loud with the pen. And with that
knowledge we must remember the pen
is mightier then the sword. My use of
the pen is to state words from my
heart. Instead of speaking directly
to the person and revealing my heart,
what I do is cover it up to protect it.
If a person drops it, it will not be
broken.

123 — Streams 16
 Anthony Andrew Zullo
If someone tried to rip off my poetry, I would
feel disappointed, hurt, and upset. It’s not right for
anyone to plagiarize anybody’s work. Everyone should
come up with one’s own poetry and not copy other
people.
My work is automatically protected by the
copyright laws. So writers, like me, won’t be a victim
of plagiarism. Thanks to you, Barbara, I know my
rights as a writer. I hope you keep on writing back!
I like to write poetry because I like to express my
feelings and tell the world about different things
without giving a boring lecture. If people are bored,
then they won’t care about what I am trying to say.
Even though I don’t write to get people’s interest, but
it is still important as a writer.
To me, poetry is very beautiful. The words of a
poet have the power to change the mind, heart, and
the spirit. In my poetry, I try to make people see the
unseen. People have to realize that there is more to
life than money, power, or material things. Many
people don’t see what is inside the mind, heart, or the
soul. Those things are the most important things
about life. I write to show people the truth and I try
to guide them. There is no point in being wise if the
wise don’t try to give others wisdom. A lot of people
are so busy with their own issues that they don’t see
the important things. I don’t know everything.
Nothing or no one does. But, I do know about what is
important and my goal is to write to make myself
happy, as well as to give people whatever wisdom I
know.
124 — Streams 16
 STREAMS ON LINE
AN ON LINE POETRY WORKSHOP

The Waterways Project of Ten Penny Players, Inc., an Arts-in-

Education program working collaboratively with New York City
schools since 1980, hosts Streams On Line (sol.tenpennyplayers.org)
an Internet based poetry workshop.

The theme for the 2002-3 school year workshop will be Maps of Our
Difficult World —

What maps do you find fascinating? How do maps affect

your life? Could you write a poem about a road map, a bus
map, or a subway map? Could you create a poem describing a
route on a map? Could you map your life? Would you write a
poem about making a map? Or about people who made maps?
Would you write about a topographical map? Would you
write about a map of the world, or an area of the world that
fascinates you. Perhaps you could write a poem about
longitude and latitude, time zones, or the International Date
Line. Are maps truly able to represent the world? Perhaps
you could write about the difference between a map and the
territory. Why do maps grow old and need to be revised?
Write what you really think. Write a poem about getting
lost and using a map to find your way. Write about how maps
can be confusing and impossible to follow. Write a
description of your favorite map. Have you ever seen a map
of the stars? Write a poem describing a map of your
favorite street, and the sites you would see there.

*The title is derived from Adrienne Rich’s book of poetry, “An Atlas of the Difficult World.”
 SOL* is an easy to use Internet based program
where in addition to writing their own poetry,
students comment on the work of their peers, while
they in turn receive comments on their work by
peers, teachers and artists.

This will be a closed workshop open only to

registered participants who will receive a user id and
password. Students register by emailing
water@tenpennyplayers.org. Participants will join
age appropriate collaborations.

Students who write 21 poems will be published in

individual poetry chapbooks. Authors will receive 10
copies of their limited edition poetry chapbook (24
pages, saddle-stitched, 4.25x5.5 inches).

Poets who are New York State licensed teachers will

supervise all work on the Internet.

There is limited enrollment (first come, first served)

for the 2002-3 school year. When a teacher enrolls
his or her entire class, the teacher shares online
supervision with Waterways staff. Waterways will
do professional development for teachers, students
and parents.

For more information visit Ten Penny Players website

at www.tenpennyplayers.org.

*SOL was designed for The Waterways Project by lrw.net

 AUTHOR INDEX

Marie Ayala 71

Kyle B. 15
Ronald Blackman 92-96
Dezroy Bobb 82
Erikka Bolding 26-27
Yasoda Brathwaite 66
Ebony Brokette 107-108
Niesha Brown 64, 80

Kenya Capers 120

Carolyn 34
Sandra Carillo 65, 78
Raecia Catchings 73
Reann Charles 67-68
Fatima Choudhury 110, 118
Brian Colon 106
Christopher Colon 123
Erica Crews 53-54

Timothy D. 7
Kimberly David 28-29
Jennifer DelaCruz 39, 101
Raymond Dickerson 84
Kareem Edwards 31, 97
Chinalese Ellis 4
Nicole England 90

Angel France 20

David G. 14, 32, 45, 121

Tameeka Gibson 72, 86
Jeffrey Gilbert 122
Ismael Gomez 75, 117
Javier Gonzalez 3
Fabian Greene 98
Kadeema Greene 35, 116

Romy Henriquez 102

Tariell Hilliard 40

Jason Irizarry 30

Carla J. 113
Jacobs 98
Victoria Johnson 13-14
Kelley S. Jones 25
Jemel Jordan 2
Jennifer Jordan 54
Jessica 57-58

Malikah Kelly 63
I’Nish King 47-52, 79

Aris Lopez 101

Roberto A. Lima 122
Meggan Lugo 83

Ray M. 35
Jayra Marmolejos 105
Jessica Marrero 88
Raquel Marshall 55
Ernesto Mateo 44-45
Osvaldo O. Mercado 99
Salleen Michel 59, 84
Ruth Milius 56

Paul N. 37
Thomas Nash 114
Felicia Ursule Ngassam 42
Rashaun Nicholson 10-11
Andre Nugent 5, 112

Bishaunti P. 74, 116

Odell H. Pearson, Jr. 104
Elvis Perez 103
Leah Ariel Peterkin 38-39
Kareem Phipps 68-69
Edilma Ponce 32, 85

Amiris Ramirez 89
Fritzner Regis, Jr. 23-24
Lauren Natalie Robinson 36
Lidiana Rodriguez 115
Tema Ryals 87

Edward S. 82
Geraldine S. 88
Jason Samuel 18-19
Cristina Santiago 111
Seleana Scala 60, 76-78

Taisha 121
Robert Taveras 6
McCartha Thomas 58
Luis Torres 43
Curtis Trim 21-22

Natasha Yvelise Victoria 16-17, 41-42

Jamaria W. 70
Lauren Walton 8, 119
Lewis Williams 46
Roxanne Williams 62-63
Shayna Williams 90
Riann B. Winchester 12

Anthony Andrew Zullo 100, 124

 TITLE INDEX

9/11/01 60

Ask Momma 2

Bad News 35
Being Eleven Is Like . . . 73
Black Child of the Ghetto 76-78
Books 121
The Book 117
The Break of Dawn 82

Confused 84, 86
Confusion 83, 84, 85
Crossing the Staten Island
Ferry 23-24
Cruel 39
The Cutest Ones
Are the Dirtiest Ones 16-17

Dad’s Foot 37
Day by Day 44-45
Diary 111
Don’t Cry for Someone
Who Makes You Cry 42
Don’t Rush, Wait 72

Finding My Missing Part 105

For the Educated Thugs 79
For the Humans of Silence 64
Forced to Live in Jail 92-96
Forever on the Ferry 26-27
Forgiveness 88
Free 62-63

Haiku 32, 45, 82, 118, 121

I Am a Car 103
I Just Can’t Put the Words Right 113
I Refuse 71
I’m Afraid 40
If I Were 4
Inside My Head 5

Journey to the Past 18-19

Judged 116

A Learn and Serve

Conference 67-68, 68-69
Lies 87
Lines 8
Look Through the Window 58
Looking for Me 15
Love’s What Made Me Strong 35

Me 118
Music 6
My Job Site 13-14
My Waves Stay Spinning 31

The New Place 46

Niemann 32
A Night Without Armor 63
No You Can’t Feel My Pain 57-58
Noise at Night Is What I Hear 3

Ode to O’s 107-108

On the Ferry 25
One Night Stand 28-29
One of the Greatest Moments
of My Life. 74

The Perfect Drug 75

Perihelion Freedom 43
The Problem 106

Rainy Day Thoughts 90

Rainy Days 55
Reflection 88
Riding the Staten Island Ferry 21-22
The River of Ice 100

Shadows 80
She Lost Him 98
Sightseeing 20
A Sister in a Struggle 53-54
Souls Die Without the Feeling
of Nature 102
Spoken Thoughts 99
Streams Poems 110
The Street Has No Name 97

Taking a Vacation 66
Tears 54, 101
Tell Me Why 34
There’s a Three-Month-Old Baby 36
Think 41-42
This Is the World 101
Time 98
Times 65
A Troublesome Teen 10-11

Unknown 30
War on America 59
Wasted 47-52
The Way I Feel 70
What Happens To A Song Not Sung 7
What Is Poetry? 112
When Do Dreams Come True? 78
Where I Am From 89
Why Do You Do What You Do 56
Word 119

Yesterday 14
You Stay 38-39

A Ten Penny Players

Waterways Project
Publication
www.tenpennyplayers.org
isbn 0-934830-69-X