Write: Who Are You?

Emily Dickinson

Our last club meeting of the school year. Thanks for participating everyone!

Write an answer to this question. What are all of that different things that you are right now? Try to capture them in writing.

Who are you?

by Monireh Ghaedi

My face never shows who I am

People read me calm, kind, and quiet

Inside I am angry with myself, with the world

The rose is my feeling

I break easily when the leaf falls

I tell my sense to the sea, rain and nature

I feel people don’t understand me

People, is it hard to understand me? 

I am a curious about everything around

Small smell I smell

Small sadness made me sad 

I am alone, but I have friends

The corner of the room is my place

I am

by Dana Sulaiman A-Hamadi

I am a sister who has many responsibilities for her brother, I am their teacher

I am an ambition who wants to be a doctor

I am a girl who doesn’t like to see bad boys sitting together

I am a creative who likes to change and recycle, whatever

I am a friend who is with her friends in difficult times forever

I am an achiever, who likes to achieve impossible things, 

I, I am

by Ahmad Alony

I still don’t know what I will look like as a final product, but I am in the process of finding out, although I don’t know when. I would have never imagined that I’d be constantly working so hard at the age of 18. The instant shift from my teenage life to adulthood was silent, a different level of maturity struck me. I automatically started shaping my relationship with my family, my friends, and my future. I don’t know what I want in life, but without knowing your roots you can would never know your place in life. Wehther it’s cousins, parents, brothers or nephews, I am working with them to leave an eternal memory of them. Without my family, I would have been devastated with academic failure, they are a fuse for failure and success. They are moderators, and without them I would have no directions in life.

What am I Today?

I'm a son, a brother, a bother,
     a cousin, a nephew, an uncle, a dozen,
     a husband, and a father. In short, a family man.
I'm famous with that crowd.
I'm allowed to be loud or quiet. I'm a son-of-a-gun. POW!
I'm lucky. I'm a friend and an enemy. I'm a virgo.
I'm a peacemaker. I'm spent.
I'm heaven-sent.

I'm just over seven years of bad luck. I'm still stuck.
I'm a love-letter sender, a never-ender, both a borrower and a lender.

I'm a teacher, a preacher, a far-reacher.
I'm something that helped make you
      the creature from the black lagoon
      in another life.

I'm too soon and too later. I'm a hater,
     a hook-baiter. Just wait.

I'm a successor.
I'm a failure, I'm sure.
I'm an undiscovered cure.

I'm a winner, a loser, a finisher,
     a diminisher, a world traveler,
     an unraveler. See?

I'm Finnish (partly), Italian (some), American (mostly),
     that's where I'm from.

I'm only just begun.

I'm lonely.
I'm not the only one.

I'm so much--
keep in touch

Write: A List Poem

Write a list poem about your idea of home.

Home

Home is where I can be myself,

where I don’t need to pretend in order to please.

Home is the job I can’t wait to wake up to go to,

Special Assistant to the Director of the ABP.

Home is the friend I feel inner peace around.

Home is wherever I can make a difference.

Home is where my daughter is healthy and happy,

where she played with rabbits by the Euphrates

instead of breathing smoke in Baghdad

Home is a warm slice of my mom’s cake with a glass of cold milk.

She experimented with the recipe over the years

in an attempt to make it healthy, yet addictive;

a recipe I still fail to bake the way she does.

Home is the smell of the cloud that rises

from my dad’s Cohiba cigar,

and Erinmore Flake tobacco

when he smokes his pipe.

Home is in his eyes,

in his voice, in his presence.

Home is bigger than a building,

A country, a continent

Home is the world.

Where is my Home?

by Bob Marcacci

Is Doha, where I live now, my home? My apartment in education city housing lot two?

Is my home in California, in the United States, where I was born and lived thirty years of my life before moving abroad and meeting my wife?

Is it in Japan where I met Angela and we lived together and rode bicycles and went to picnic in the falling cherry blossoms near Osaka castle?

Is it Beijing where we planned our marriage and more?

Is it in my memory?

Is it at my grandmother’s house in Vacaville, my hometown? My grandmother moved there after an earthquake destroyed her home in Napa.

Is it there where we returned for a job and Vito lived the first few years of his life?

Is it my parent’s old house at 563 Ridgewood Court? They sold the house many years ago and moved to Nevada. Is their new house in Nevada my new home?

What makes it a home? The same old things are in the new house. There are some new things, too.

Is it 1495 21^st Avenue in San Francisco my home where I lived with my brother and others?

Is my home in Italy with Angela’s extended family?

Is my home with me, where Angela and Vito and me bring it?

Home is a bowl of soup

Home is away
Home is where I am not
It is a dream
of a bowl of hot
tomato soup with a spot
of sour cream.

by: Magda Rostron

Write: A Letter from a Favorite Childhood Toy

Write a letter from a favorite childhood toy. Post your responses here.

Thanks to Writer's Digest: <http://tinyurl.com/cgjo8bw>.

My Toy

by Ahmad Alony

Dear Ahmad,

I miss you. I knew you bought me after you saw Robin Williams create me in that movie that you and I love. I miss you. I long for the day where you opened my green container and gave me the widest smile I had ever seen as you held me. I miss you. When you would place me on the top shelf in your room so that I was untouched by any intruders. I miss you. Remember when mom told you to change your clothes as soon as you came back from school, yet you ignored her and rushed to play with me? I miss you. When you fitted my flexible body into all types of receptacles, amazed with my physical capabilities? I miss you. But then Lego Technic came out, and every day you would inspect my green body, and split me into chunks. I hate you. You shoved my gelatinous body between your old toys as you played with your Lego. I detest you. You left me in a dark place, with the rubric’s cube squashing my body. Who are you?. What about the time when you picked me up and used my body as a dust cleaner for your laptop? I miss you. Now I’m in your trash bin, waiting to see you pick me up and play with me again. I miss you.

From: The Toy Box

Dear Asmaa,

 I can't believe I finally got your email. Qadu found me while packing some of your stuff to be moved to your sister’s house. I'm sure you know they are planning to sell the old place, but they have been talking about it for so long, I doubt they will actually go through with it. They might renovate it and rent it.

I'm still wearing my pink pajamas, or shall I say grey? They definitely need to be washed.  Dust doesn’t smell like baby powder.  I miss my bubble bath, but I don't miss being combed so many times a day. It made my hair frizzy. I still remember the day you gave me a hair cut thinking that the frizz will disappear! The good news is that I don’t need a diaper change!  It must have been all the water you used to give me in that bottle! Are you still sewing little dresses every Eid the way you used to? You must be in your forties now, what kind of toys do forty year olds play with?

Write: A Recipe

Find a recipe and replace all of the food words with other words to make a "new" recipe.

Peace Pops

Ingredients

1 (12-ounce) can frozen serenity concentrate
3 cups cold harmony
1 (16-ounce) package frozen sliced reconciliations

In a large agreement, anonymize together the serenity concentrate and harmony. Place reconciliations into the repose of a tranquility, and friendship until smooth. Pour in some of the serenity if necessary to facilitate tranquility. Stir reconciliation friendship into the serenity. Pour into unity, and truce until calm, about four hours.

Life Recipe

by Ahmad Alony

Get a bowl, add a few cups of love, take one table spoon of patience, one tea spoon of generosity, take one pint of kindness, take one quart of laughter, then proceed to add a pinch of concern. Then mix willingness with happiness, add four cups of faith. Stir it well, then spread it on a span of a lifetime, then serve it to every deserving person you know.

How to make war

Take two flags of different colours and wave them in opposite directions. Add a moustache (any size will do) and a cap with a feather. Cover evenly with approximately 300-479 words, such as fatherland (can be replaced with motherland, depending on the language you are cooking it in), brotherhood (do not use sisterhood as it may add a slightly unusual flavour), life, love, children, future, dignity, freedom, liberation, equality, justice, and victory. The words can be used in varying proportions and sequence, and adjusted as you proceed. In some cases freedom works better than justice, but adding victory is essential. Beat them together until stiff, sharp peaks appear. Stir the foam into the rest of the ingredients and wait until the mixture rises, forming bubbles and giving out pungent black smoke.  

Add about 20 thousand men* mixed with an equal number of guns – choose shiny ones when buying them from the warmonger’s since rusty guns tend to spoil the overall final effect of this dish. Divide the men with guns into two, roughly equal, rows facing each other, and soak in liquid testosterone for about 8 hours.

When ready, put the mixture into a food processor and combine on maximum speed. Pour into an armoured vehicle. Before baking in a very hot oven, spread a few additional words on top, such as sacrifice, hero, immortal, glory and fame, dotting them here and there to soften the surface.  

Place the dish in an oven, preheated to 500° F, and leave the country where it is cooking, collecting your loved ones and friends, photographs, books, scarves, sunglasses, and perfume. Don’t look back.

* If you have access to the black market, you can replace 10 thousand men with 1 nuclear warhead. Please, note that using a nuclear warhead will eliminate the need for any additional ingredients and further cooking procedures.