Tea Song

 Seasoned hands pluck leaves from gardens of green, black, and Oolong somewhere in China.*

Dainty white gloves lift porcelain from delicate saucers somewhere in the Northwest.*

Production of baking in sunlight*

Consumption of drinking on a cold night*

Withering and wilting invigoration bursts free

Growing and developing the passage of time and age rapidly accelerates ???

Bruised, beaten and torn to pieces the leaves are left alone.

Shattered and scattered the ceramic shards are adhered back together.

Revived by the sunlight, melding into their final form

The fragrance is pure; Fresh and Mellow.

Lost in imagination and daydreaming, youth is left intact

The aroma is carefree; Comforting and Zesty.

Grown in lush green clusters at the height of a hillside

Born of imaginary friends and dress-up clothes

Both are elapsed threads of time.

Both are reflections of the past and appreciations for the future.

One from 5,000 years ago

Another only 27 years young

Regarded as a necessity on a list of seven to begin the day

Considered as an indulgence to sooth and energize the senses ???

Respect and an apology steeped in water

Childhood and abandonment tasted in liquid

An anchor to memory, tradition, and belonging

Gathered around a teapot family ties are reestablished somewhere in China.

Gathered around a teapot floppy ears and button noses partake in make-believe somewhere in the Northwest.

Tea is Geography

Tea is Culture

Tea is Remedy

By Blakelee Kelley

Silk is Love, Silk is Life

Slow and time consuming

The worm waves a cocoon.

Many worm lives were lost that day.

White like the snow the thick soft cocoon transforms.

Threading the silk back and forth

A colorful pattern is created.

Decorative and glistening with magic

The silk shines in the sunlight, reflecting red, gold, and bronze.

The silk is as wonderful as an explosion of fireworks.

And as fashionable as Michael Jackson.

As you walk down the street the silk shimmers in the moonlight.

The silk worm is a majestic creature, but the silk it creates is even more beautiful.

Silk is Love, Silk is Life.

By Ms. Kelley & Mr. Katain’s

3^rd Period 6^th Grade Humanities Class

Spring 2016

• I wanted to share this poem with you all because I am so incredibly proud of what my students produced. We are working on a poetry unit with Ancient China. Where the students are writing poetry about whatever topic they want to as long as it connects to Ancient China. We wrote this poem as a class and almost every word came from my 6th graders! If you have any feedback for them I will gladly share it with them.

Puddle Dancing to Escape Obligation

“I’ve had as much of this as I can take. One more minute of this dense reading and my eyes will permanently glaze over and my soul will crawl out of my skin.” My brain screamed and threw a tantrum like an incited two year old. I could no longer abate the feelings of irritation pooling inside my head and seeping onto my desk like a thick unstoppable oil spill.

The irritation was severed by the trickle of raindrops condensing against my window and the physical lack of will power to trudge through yet another monotonous reading assignment about the detriments of the education system or the benefits of backward design, or whatever it was that I was presently torturing myself with.

My attention returned to the droplets that were weaving and smashing against the panes of glass. They collided as if hoping that their sheer numbers would permit them to break through.

I slumped out of my chair and riffled through my closet to retrieve my raincoat saturated in the color of Pepto-Bismol. My plaid and emerald rain boots stood at attention by the door, as if they were trying to make an escape. The raincoat felt icy and slick as it skimmed along the bare skin of my arms leaving a trail of raised bumps. The rain boots echoed a suction cup sound as I treaded along the tile floor.

On my way out the door I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and I was reminded of an x-ray machine. The transparent quality of the raincoat revealed my pajamas underneath in all of their floral glory. In all honest I looked like a disheveled leprechaun that pulled an all-nighter at a party and was puked on by a rainbow. But there was not time to contemplate my wardrobe, not while there was rain dancing and puddle jumping and freedom waiting beyond the walls of my study session prison.