Red

written by Eva, Romeo and Ollie in Michael’s 4th & 5th grade classroom
edited and illustrated by Kayla Kennett

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Red is the color of
a ripe cherry,
falling
from a tree;

cinnamon candy,
sizzling
on your tongue;

a lobster,
drifting
in the ocean.

Red is the color of
a red panda,
climbing
a bamboo tree;

an apple
on a branch;

pepperoni pizza,
melting
in your mouth.

Red is the color of
lava,
engulfing homes
and,
unfortunately,
people.

Orange

written by Eleanor, Santi and Beka in Michael’s 4th & 5th grade classroom
edited and illustrated by Kayla Kennett

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Orange is the color of
coral,
in the deep,
indigo
sea;

hot coals,
in a campfire;

a pumpkin,
fresh
from the garden;

A sweet,
juicy
mango;

a beautiful bird,
swooping low,
over the trees.

Orange is the color of
sunrise —
bright,
blazing;

a clownfish,
swimming
through seaweed;

Garfield,
from the comics;

the tangerine,
in your lunchbox.

Orange is the color of
a tiger,
prowling
deep in the jungle.

Yellow

written by Michael’s 4th & 5th grade classroom at Trillium Charter School
edited and illustrated by Kayla Kennett

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Yellow is the color of the sun’s rays,
reflecting off the ocean,
after its nighttime slumber;

a solo goldfish,
in the midst,
of other kinds of fish,
in a faroff pond,
away from all human settlements;

Homer’s head —
shiny,
glistening,
bald;

the warmth of your heart,
when you eat
buttery,
crunchy
popcorn.

Yellow is the color of
a pufferfish,
expressing its emotion,
in the fresh,
salty
sea;

A bumblebee,
flying,
in a field
of bright,
blue
flowers;

cheddar cheese,
falling
from your sandwich,
its potential,
suddenly,
wasted;

Draco Malfoy’s hair,
turned bright,
by a horrible childhood.

Yellow is the color of
the first leaf
fallen,
the first sign
Autumn has arrived.

Blue

written by Emma, Asa, Blue and Kaya in Bijal’s 4th & 5th grade classroom
edited and illustrated by Kayla Kennett

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Blue is the color of
fresh-picked blueberries;

the ocean,
shimmering in sunlight;

a recess ball,
waiting
to be played with;

a clear sky.

Blue is the color of
a bird,
chirping
from a high tree;

thick paint,
in a metal can;

and denim jackets.

Blue is the color of
Satya’s hair,
lighting
up the room.

She gave us inspiration to write this poem!

 

Pink

written by Michael’s 4th & 5th grade classroom at Trillium Charter School
edited and illustrated by Kayla Kennett

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Pink is the color of
cotton candy
at the fair;

tulips,
basking in sun;

and new erasers.

Pink is the color of
a beautiful,
flowing
dress;

flowers,
on a peach tree;

hearts,
on a Valentine’s card,
for your best friend;

and bubblegum.

Pink is the color
of a piglet,
before it rolls
in the mud;

a hummingbird,
whizzing,

or a crocus,
peeping,

all signs
Spring has arrived.

 

 

 

 

Silver

written by Chloe, Oliver and Conrad in Michael’s 4th & 5th grade classroom
edited and illustrated by Kayla Kennett

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Silver is the color of
a dolphin pod,
swimming
in the ocean;

A shiny
bottle cap
on the ground,
waiting
to be picked up
and added
to a collection;

a brand new
paint tube
in Art class;

a stone,
at the bottom
of a wishing well;

a motorcycle,
engine purring,
before it zooms
past all the cars.

Silver is the color of
rare
diamonds.

Bender’s bottom —
glamorous,
metallic;

the fog
on a cold winter’s day;

a castle
from a Grimm fairytale;

smoke —
thick,
polluting,
following close behind
a spaceship.

Silver is the color of
a dog tag,
on a newborn puppy,
in a sad
and no-fun
kennel.

Black

written by Lou, Kaden and Rory in Michael’s 4th & 5th grade classroom
edited and illustrated by Kayla Kennett

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Black is the color of
Halloween night;

darkness,
magnifying your fears;

the concept of time,
confusing
but deep;

the unknown
end,
the beginning
of everything;

dread and excitement,
alike.

Black is the color of
an Xbox,
your favorite
relief;

a tire,
moving slowly,
as you run
out of gas;

rocks —
wet,
shiny,
as they travel
down
the swift
creek.

Black is the color of
the midnight sky,
in its moonless season.

The Muse

Reading her poetry, it stirred me up,
with eye of newt, wing of bat,
and things like that,
so I stopped.

When I called, there was no motion;
there was no potion, yet I fell.

Instead, she slipped a note,
and I read what she wrote:

“Reading your poetry, it stirs me up.
Afterward, I can never remember
what to do with letters.
I connect consonant to vowel,
then vowel to consonant,
but what comes out…
is no language I recognize.”

That’s just how it was;
it happened just like that.

She came out,
in a collared dress,
with thimbles on her thumbs,
and flushed cheeks
that seemed
to say:

“I know more of
hugging and kissing
than I will ever care
to admit.”

And taught me —
how to color my lips,
with pencil crayons,
and keep inside
the lines;

how to be
a sometimes red,
other times deep magenta
kind of girl;

how to come out,
and say
I FELL IN LOVE WITH A WOMAN.

Enacting our poetry, it jumbled us up,
with each forgetting that she
was not the other,
so we stopped.

The Poet

Turn the knob, he said.
Don’t be a stranger.
Come in.
Have a seat.
Allow me
to pull out your chair
to pin up your hair
to —
introduce yourself, I said.
Don’t be pedantic.

Not I, he said.
Haven’t you met a true Romantic?
    I fear thy mien, thy tone, thy motion,
thou needest not fear mine;
innocent is the heart’s devotion,
   with which I worship thine.

May I have a drink?
Just water, he said.
No wine.
On second thought,
you’re fine.
    Here lies one whose name was writ in water. 

In order to catch up,
with the spirit of the times,
I indulged this verbal eroticism,
tracing the vowels
of Shelley and Keats
back onto him.

I veiled my conceit,
in a deep-twin sheet,
and introduced myself
to The Editor.