Middle Grade Poems - Outspoken Lit
Middle Grade Poemsby Sara Holbrook and Michael SalingerAuthors retain rights to the poems. Students and teachers may use these poems to illustrate,respond to with their own poetry, turn into an ebook, podcasts, videos or whatever strikes theircreative fancies. Any money that may be generated by selling the any products created by theschools should go to a worthy non-profit (to be determined by the school).Student artwork shall remain the property of the creators.
Confusedby Sara Holbrook (originally published in Am I Naturally This Crazy, Boyds Mills Press1998)Stacked and squashed.Crammed and bruised.My bureau looks a bit Bconfused.A soccer shoe, a music box,a china lamb,five unmatched socks.A magazine and candy wraps,an old stuffed dog,two baseball caps.A Lego car, a compact disc,a watch, a comb,one bowl (no fish).Its drawers are drooling everywhere,legs and sleeves and underwear.Nearby a chair is nearly dressedwith cut-off jeans and Sunday best.Above it alla stickered mirrorreflects MY face.I m growing here!
Coming Soonby Sara Holbrook (originally published in Am I Naturally This Crazy, Boyds Mills Press1998)I am how I actandI am what I eat.I sometimes react,andI'm not yet complete.Nothing about me is permanent.Growing upis a chain reaction.The mirror may reflectugly duckling,but inside I'm acoming attraction.
Gamingby Sara Holbrook (Interface, Rubicon Publishing, 2012)Who knows the far off dogwhose bark bangs against the hollow canof night?Bang!I snap to attention,shouldering a cartoon gun and spring from behind boxes,through the doorway and across a crumbling bridgeshedding boulders into the black abyss.Jump! Oncoming train!Spring. Land. Pivot.Protect my flank.Sweep the room.Bang. Bang.Panting, my back againsta brick wall, bullets whizzing by.Thumbs itchy,eyes full of cascading lightstwitch.I try to combat crawl into sleepthen jump like Istraight-snatched my chain.No rest.My head’s still in the game.
Nothing’s the End of the Worldby Sara Holbrook (originally in Nothing’s the End of the World, Boyds Mills Press 1996)Mother Nature is my mentor,She tells me I'll be back,even when my brain gets bruisedand my heart takes forty whacks.That when I kick up stormsand my wind and hail bring pain,She shows me sun can shineafter hostile hurricanes.That breathless, cliff-clinging highsand pelican-plunging lowscrest and fall like wavesand I can surf in this natural flow.That every stageseems reasonable,if I look at lifeas seasonal.That what slips and goes deepfinally rises.That what's dullhop-toads with surprises.That even strip mine woundscan heal,and the promise of springis real.That sand in an oystermay pearl,and that NOTHING'Sthe end of the world
SLIPPEDby Sara Holbrook (originally in Am I Naturally This Crazy, Boyds Mills Press 1996)I slipped.Everything seems to stink.I bettercheck my shoe.I can't tellwhere or whenbut, yes,I guess,I stepped in a rotten mood.Peeeee-u!
The Fear Factorby Sara Holbrook (The Poetry Friday Anthology for Middle School, 2013)I know you.You.Courage,how you ask for what is mine.How you swell in my chest,speak up,straighten my spine,and whisper in my ear,Okay, you say.Okay.It’s going to be okay.More thanthe shoe, the step,the doorknob turn.More than a precipice.A fall.A burn.I fear you will abandon me,evaporateand not return.But every time,when faced withchoice or changeit is your voice thatcuts through clouds of gray.Okay, you say.Okay.It’s going to be okay.
Victimizedby Sara Holbrook (originally in Nothing’s the End of the World, Boyds Mills Press 1996)I'm the victimof the worst hair cutthat ever sat on a head.It took twenty minutesand fifteen bucks.I wanted a TRIM,instead,I got weed-whackedin a shear attackby that scissor-handed fiend.My friends will laughand hoot and gasp.I'm a fall-down,fright-wig-scream.Life can be so mean.
Born to Skateby Sara Holbrook (The Arrow Finds It’s Mark, Roaring Book Press, 2011)Wood pusher.Curb jumper.Helmet head.I could besittin' safe, insteadwrist guards,kneepads,scuffed up jeans,driveway tricks,and half-pipe dreams.Soften knees,duck, jump, drop,kick-it, big spin.Hope! Believe.Grabbing air,ollie, slide.Each rail, each rampa high risk ride.Practicingfirst light ‘til late.Foot pumper.Stair bumper.Born to skate.
I Want to Move Across the Streetby Sara Holbrook (originally in Nothing’s the End of the World, Boyds Mills Press, 1996)I want to moveacross the streetwhere the crackers aren't staleand the closets are neat.Where the furniture's polished,and the carpets are swept,and the scissors are foundwhere the scissors are kept.Where they're not out of tissuesand no one is late,you can always find house keys,both sneakers and tape.Where nobody swears,hogs the last slice of bread,fights over chairsor wishes me dead.Across the streetthe fruit's never brown,and nobody's yelling to"Turn that thing down."I want to move to a new homewhere the loudest soundis the telephone.To where Mrs. Wilson lives . . .alone.
Shoppingby Sara Holbrook (unpublished)Would this sweater make me popular?Make my teeth straight?Bring me joy?Would I be famous in the hallway?Could it helpattract a boy?Will this sweater make me skinny?Tall? Exceptionally brave?Would it text me when I’m lonelyor make my hair behave?Should I borrow from my momor borrow from the store?Put this thing on credit?Would this sweater make me morethan who I am?Hanger in my hand,I eye my future debt,weighing what I wantagainstwhat I’ll really get.
Labelsby Sara Holbrook (originally in Am I Naturally This Crazy, Boyds Mills Press, 1998)People get tagged with these labels,like African, American,Native, Indigenous,White,Asian, Hispanic,or Euro-Caucasian -I just ask that you get my name right.I m part Willie,part Ethel,part Suzi and Scott.Part assembly-line worker,part barber, a lot of dancerand salesman.Part grocer and mailman.Part rural, part city, part cookand part caveman.I m a chunk-style vegetable soupof cultural little bits,my recipe s uniqueand no one label fits.Grouping folks togetheris an individual waste.You can t know me by just a look,you have to take a taste.(Note from sara: This is an international version of this poem. The US version reads:People get tagged with these labels,like African- American,Native-American,White,Asian, Hispanic,or Euro-CaucasianWhy do you think I changed it for an international audience? Does the poem still work?)
Cool Food for Thoughtby Sara Holbrook (The Poetry Friday Anthology for STEM, 2014)Plants!The original solar panels,whether swaying or standing stilltransferblue and red wavelengths of suninto 30 shades of greenknown as chlorophyll.Whether you pluck your food from a treeor eat it on a bun,of all the lion-human-stinkbuglinks in the food chain,plants are number one.But plants not only feed our stomachs,they also scrub the air,converting carbon emissionsinto the oxygen we share.Sustained by an army of organisms,7 billion in every teaspoon of healthy soil,plants feed us and cool the atmosphereso people don’t starveor start to boil.
Note from sara: Here are three poems that I often read as a single set without any breaks. The First is What’sReal (Am I Naturally this Crazy), the second is Scream Bloody Murder (I Never Said I Wasn’t Difficult) and thethird is Violence Hurts (Walking on the Boundaries of Change).Pictured between rerunsand what commercials want to sell,explodes another war in some far placethat I can't spell.To me, war appears as broken bodiesburning buildings, and smoking gas,interrupted by auto salesmen, frosty colasand kitchen wax.Every evening around dinnerdevastation is served up with my meal,then sprinkled with laughs and laundry powder.Can you tell mewhich pictures are real?When I see bodies on the newsit makes me want to cry all night.'Course even if I doit doesn't bring them back to life.What's the use in caring?Can't we just pretend?That everyone is niceand that all lives have happy ends?If I turn my back to horror,if I hum and close my eyes -If I just refuse to see,does it meanthose wrongeddied twice?Flailing fistscan be one solution,one way to conflict resolution.So's an insult. So's a gun.We could fight to the death, get vengeance obsessed,or strike like a hit and run.Or we could huddle on neutral ground,pass a few words around.For once, we could see if just talking works.Maybe settle this.Violence hurts.
Running Lapsby Michael Salinger (unpublished)Frank and Matt messed around on the bus,they kicked the seats, made animal noises,I think Frank even cussed.So now we’re all running lapseven though we won our match.The cramp in my sidefeels just like a knife;my calves they are on fire.Our coach says there isn’t any I in teamand I’m not calling him a liar,but why do we all have to sufferbecause of two guys who didn’t think ?I want to give Matt and Frankpink bellies, or maybe a punch in the arm.I’d teach them a lessonthat would really last,but rats!Those two are just too fast!
Don’t You Boys Know Any Nice Songs?by Michael Salinger (High Impact Writing Clinics, Corwin 2013)the drummer’s playing ultra-loudand he’s out of time againthe bass guitar is tuned too flatour keyboard sounds like a startled catwe’ve been practicing for over a weekand I don’t think we’ll ever get itI am pretty surethe singer makes up the wordsas he goes alongand I figureI‘ll be an old man before this songsounds like anythingbut an ear destroying train wreckthenlike marbles circling roundcircling round a steel bowlslowing downslowing down and gatheringin the middlewe stumble upon that magic groovemy guitar becomes a part of meand everything starts to movelike slow motionand everything and nothingis happening all at oncea surrounding sound ofpower chords, slaphappy bass,cymbals sea-wave crashing,floor tom keeping paceyeah we’re a REAL bandand then I hear my mother’s voice“YOU BOYS ARE MAKING TOO MUCH NOISE!”and I shout back, “FINE,we’ll shut things downafter we play our songjustONE MORE TIME!”
911by Michael Salinger (A Bear in the Kitchen, Red Giant Press, 2013)hate is extremely flammableits vapors may cause flash firehate is harmful if inhaledkeep hate away from heat, sparks and flamedo not breath the vapors of hatewash thoroughly after using hateif you accidentally sallow hateget medical attentionprejudice is an eye and skin irritantits vapors are harmfuldo not get prejudice in eyesor on clothingprejudice is not recommended for useby persons with heart conditionsif prejudice is swallowed induce vomitingif prejudice comes in contact with skinremove clothing and wash skinif breathing is affected, get fresh air immediatelyviolence is harmful if absorbed through the skinkeep violence out of the reach of childrendo not remain in enclosed areaswhere violence is presentremove pets and birds from the vicinity of violencecover aquariums to protect from violencedrift and run off from sites of violencemay be hazardousthis product is highly toxicexposure to violence may causeinjury or death.
Cookoutby Michael Salinger (A Bear in the Kitchen, Red Giant Press, 2013)Arrange your ideals in a pyramid in the center of the grill.Open your mind by pressing thumb firmly on the red dot.Squeeze 1.6 fluid ounces of your principles per pound of belief.Set beliefs on fire immediately.In approximately 15 to 20 minutes or when beliefs are ashed overspread ideas evenly.Wait 5 minutes and begin writing.
GRUESOMEby Michael Salinger (High Impact Writing Clinics, Corwin 2013)Gruesome is kind of hard to look atBecause he is not the prettiest sightHis appearance could make your motherGasp, groan and shudderAnd eyeball dangling out of its socketIntestines outside instead of inBody parts strewn across a roomMaggots crawling out of the skinHis flesh is peeling off his bonesHis hair is full of wormsHe takes you out of your comfort zoneHe’s gonna make you squirm
MAYHEMby Michael Salinger (unpublished)Mayhem may be short on charmBut he is an overachieverWhen it comes to doing harm to othersInflicting injury on purposeIs his favorite ployHe seems to truly enjoyMutilation and destruction as a meansTo an endThis includes rendering his victimsUnable to defend themselves or othersWhether planned or randomMayhem supports reckless abandon
Digestionby Michael Salinger (High Impact Writing Clinics, Corwin 2013)I have a mouth where the food goes inMy pharynx decides which path it should takeDown the esophagus my munchies passPeristalsis pushing and squeezesThe chewed up goo into my stomachMixing with acids and enzymes (and a little gas)For a bit of timeThen into the small intestinesWhere my bloodstream receives a nutrient injectionOnce we’ve squeezed all the good stuff outWe visit my large intestineWhere compacted waste is sent for collectionThen stored in my rectumAnd when the time is rightIt’s expelled through my anusWhat’s for dinner tonight?
Dietby Michael Salinger (A Bear in the Kitchen, Red Giant Press, 2013)I have recently begun eating my wordsBoiled they slide from the page like a pat of butteracross the bottom of a heated sauté panbut their texture and flavor is blandlike overcooked polentarib spackling filling but overalllackingSo I try againChopping and dicingspicing them up with chilies and cardamomstir frying then serving over saffron riceThey become lost in the seasoningartifice masking for meaningBaking I decidethree hundred and seventy five degreesfor forty five minutes only left my words drysticking to the bottom of the tinSo I threaded my utterances onto a skewerAn orderly syntax shish kabobmarinated in olive oil and pepper infusionroasted over glowing charcoal briquettesof mesquite and cherry woodClosebut not quite good enoughfor dishing up to persnickety companyFinally I just rinse them in a colanderunder the tappile them free of pretenseraw into the wooden bowlsitting on the countertopto be absentmindedly snacked uponwhile reading a good book
DECAPITATEby Michael Salinger (unpublished)Decapitate has literally lost his headBy guillotine, sword, or axeHis noggin’s been removedAnd it ain’t coming backTo rest on his shouldersWithout a whole bunch of stitchesAnd even then it probably won’t stick‘Cause sewing a head back onto a neckWould be one heckuva trickDecapitate should always rememberThat his “to do list” had better startWith keeping his head affixed
If I were a Gearby Michael Salinger (High Impact Writing Clinics, Corwin 2013)If I were a gearI’d have teeth but not a toothbrushI could mesh with other gearsI would turn in ratioDepending on the size of my neighborIf they were biggerI’d be quickerIf they were smallerI’d spin slowerI’d turn in the opposite directionOf my partner nearBut together as two gearsWe’d get the job doneWhether used in a watchA transmission or a winchRemember to keepYour fingers clearOr else you just mightGet pinched.
JINXby Michael Salinger (High Impact Writing Clinics, Corwin 2013)You could say Jinx is loaded with luckAs long as you admit, all of it is badWhen a project is chugging on trackJinx will show and make things worseIt’s as if she carries a purse filled with broken mirrorsBlack cats to cross your path, or salt to spill at your tableBut something’s definitely going wrongUnless some way, somehow you are ableTo ward her off by knocking on woodCarrying a four leaf clover, or avoiding sidewalk cracksBecause jinx is a noun and a verb just walking aroundPlanning her sneak attacks.
Middle Grade Poems by Sara Holbrook and Michael Salinger Authors retain rights to the poems. Students and teachers may use these poems to illustrate, respond to with their own poetry, turn into an ebook, podcasts, videos or whatever strikes their creative fancies. Any money that ma
moralizing poems, love poems, philosophical poems, religious poems, mythological poems, jokes, riddles in short: all kinds of poems. Within each part, the poems are organized by topic, and you will find the topic(s) listed at the bottom of each page. You will see that the poems come from all periods of
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