3 Fiction Lesson Plans

Lesson: Telling a Story from a Picture

Objective: To have the students write a creative story that is inspired from a picture the students will receive.

Time: This unit will take 9 weeks to complete. This unit will be considered a quarter project. Students will work on this every monday during class and will be expected to write at least 10 minutes every day outside of class to complete the project on time.

Expectations:

The students will write a short story. Complete with a beginning, middle and end

Students will be able to writing using language that shows

Students will be able to give and receive constructive criticism to help their writing grow.

Students will use the picture as a starting point for their story.

Procedures:

1. Each student will receive a different illustration from a children’s book. The illustration will not be from a current book, but the illustrations will be from a story that they are familiar with (e.g. Cinderella, Wizard of Oz, etc.).
2. Discuss what is going on in our picture. What is happening at the present? How about the past? What are the characters backstory? What about the future? If we were to see more pictures, what would it show?
3. Students will create a graphic organizer that allows them further develop characters, story, plot, setting, etc.
4. Begin creating a rough draft of the story based on their graphic organizer.
5. Students will get into groups and peer edit and give constructive comments on how to make the story more realistic and how to show the story instead of telling.
6. Students will take their edits and write a final draft.
7. Students will turn in their writing and then we will read their story aloud in class and then reveal which story their picture was from. Students will compare/contrast the difference between the original and the students version.
8. Discussion about whether or not the visuals helped us in developing our writing. Was it more or less effective than a traditional writing prompt? How do you think your writing has improved? Or not?

Lesson: A Story in Pictures

Objective: To have students visualize the action in the story and focus on showing the reader what is going on versus telling.

Time: This will be a two-week unit

Expectation:

The students will be able to use pictures to visualize their story

Students will be able to think about their story and create a story that has a smooth plot arc

The students will be able to look critically at other visual stories and understand the story

Materials:

Graphic Novels

Pencils

Pens

Paper

Procedure:

1. The students will look at graphic novels and we will discuss how the story moves along only using pictures. Dialogue is used, but sparingly, the pictures can drive the story. Students will need to focus on “showing” the action and interspersing their dialogue to make their story believable.
2. Discuss the how action is portrayed, facial expressions, body movements/poses
3. Students will begin by creating a graphic organizer about a event that happened to them in the past. They will list the people involved, the setting, what happened (plot) and anything else they deem necessary.
4. The students will sketch out on paper their story. Concentrating on showing the viewer what exactly is going on. The pictures should drive the story, not the dialogue.
5. Students will share stories with peers and give/receive constructive comments about how the story is working and where it needs improvements.
6. Students will edit their work, incorporating peers comments
7. Students will then create a final copy of their story on bristol board and use special ink pens similar to those in the graphic novel/manga industry.
8. Students will share their final version with the class
9. Scan stories and send to printer to be bound as a book, which students will have the ability to purchase
10. Place in the library catalog.

Lesson: Your Characters Personality

Objective: To fully understand your character and how they react in different situations

Time: 1-2 days

Procedure:

1. We will discuss our personalities and how we react in different situations. For example, how we react when someone is harassing us, or when someone tells a funny joke. The key is to make your character act in a believable and human way.
2. Show some examples from other stories we have read in class and predict how that character would react in a situation.
3. The students will take a character from their story and try to develop it further. Students will place their character in situations and write about how they react. As guidance I will provide the first few prompts, the students will then be expected to come up with 5 other examples of situations their character reacts to.
1. Your character has just broken up with their boyfriend/girlfriend what is their reaction? What do they do?
2. Your character is sitting in English class and a friend passes a note and asks you to pass it on, What do they do?
4. Students will turn their responses in for a grade
5. Come together as a group and discuss why it is important to know our characters on a such a deep level.

What If Exercises - Week of 4/19

VI: Plot

Exercise 30: Three by Three

Carter leaves Earth

Heir to power

Vanquishes his enemy

VII: Story Elements as a Given

Exercise 40: Pyscho: Creating Terror

I pulled the shower curtain open slightly and poked my head out. I could have sworn I heard a scratching on the door. With all the steam from my shower, I wasn’t so much looking as I was listening, but there was nothing there. I shrugged my shoulders and re-entered my own personal waterfall. Sometimes living by yourself can give you the creeps.

I stepped out of the water stream, grabbed the bottle of semi-translucent shampoo off the shelf and lathered my hair up, getting a good handful of suds. Turning around I let the water droplets bounce off my head and cascade down my shoulders and back. Odd, the water doesn’t feel quite as warm and it was a moment ago and now it had...a different feel. My eyes opened up and looked down, a scarlet colored substance all over the floor of the white basin. I knelt down and reached out my hand when I saw that there were red beads of the stuff on my arm. I lifted my fingers to my nose, the substance smelled vaguely like blood. That was when I turned my head and gazed at the horrific sight of red liquid pouring out from the shower head. Panic took over, I freaked out, I scrambled to get out of the shower. I slipped on the liquid hitting my head hard on the side of the fiberglass tub. I reached up and grabbed the curtain, trying to pull myself up and out, while the blood was spraying my chest I quickly noticed that it was rising in the tub. I raised myself off the floor of the tub only little ways when I heard the plastic tear and fell back into the blood, the shower hooks spun around the their rod, making little clinking noises.

The brass doorknob violently rattled back and forth, the white door shook in its doorframe, little chips of paint littering the floor and the counter nearby. A blinding florescent light filled the room from the gap under the door. As quick at it began, it all stopped. The door stopped rattling, the green light dissipated and the blood flow from the shower head ceased. I carefully got out of the tub and wrapped my towel around my waist and walked over to the door and timidly reached out for the doorknob. If I wasn’t freaked out enough already, the lights flickered and went out, my breath started to come in ragged gasps, I could feel the blood drain from my face and my head get dizzy with nervousness. The lights flickered back to life bathing the room in 100 watts of pure daylight. I let out a nervous laugh. I’m being ridiculous getting freaked out over nothing, but then how would I explain the shower of blood.

I started to turn the brass handle when I smelled a pungent aroma from behind that tickled my neck and wafted into my nose. I looked out of the corner of my eye into the mirror, still streaked with steam. Oh shit.

What If Exercises - Week of 4/12 Part II

V: Dialogue

Speech Flavor, Or Sounding Real

“I duhn know what happen. One minuh he wah dar and da next he wah gone.”

“Who are you?” A deep voice rumbled seeming to come from everywhere all at once and yet nowhere. “Name yourself.”

Narim menacingly held his metal staff diagonally across is body, “I yearn to destroy you boy.” Raising his voice, “Let this be our final battle.”

“What is going on?” Panic welled up inside, “Why can’t I get home?” I spun around with a look of dread fixed upon my face.

“Welcome my Lord,” the Captain of the guard said as we rounded a bend and exited the mountain pass, “to Ardinor.”

The Invisible Scene: Interspersing Dialogue with Action

“This is ridiculous Captain. I told you three days ago that I am not a Lord,” I snapped the leather reigns and picked up the pace of my slowing horse. “I don’t know much about what I am, but what I do know is I am no Lord.”

The Captain turned to look at me and smiled, but there was twinkle in his eye almost like he knew something that I did not. Whatever he knew would have to wait because at that moment we exited the mountain pass. “My Lord to Ardinor.”

I pulled up on the reigns halting my horse. I gazed, slack-jawed down into the valley with the twin suns setting, seeing the dirt road snake its way across the land and to where it joined the stone bridge that provided the only noticeable entrance or exit to the city that rose above the water.

“My Lord,” the Captain again turned to me, “welcome home.” His smile widened and wrinkled the weathered skin around his eyes.

“M-my home?” I stammered.

What If Exercises - Week of 4/12 Part I

IV: Perspective and Point of View

An Early Memory, Part One: The Child as Narrator

I love the swings. They were the first thing I ran to on the playground after our nap. A few of my other friends came with me and we sat down on the seat and tried to see who could get the highest. I was pretending to be Superman, flying high over the city. I liked how it made my tummy feel as I came down and that is when something hit me in the back and I fell off the swing. I guess I kind of flew off the seat because I was far from the swing seat. I hit the hard black cement with my face. I began to cry because it hurt. My nose hurt so bad and it didn’t feel right. I thought I felt boogers on my lip to wipe them away but it was red. I must be bleeding so I began to cry even harder. Pretty soon one of the nice ladies who are in my class came running over and held my face in her hands. Are you alright? she asked? I wasn’t, my face was hurting really bad. I didn’t want to talk so I just shook my head no. She looked at the other kids and asked what happened. My friends they pointed at the boy who pushed me from the swing. I think he got in trouble because as they were taking me inside I remember him getting pulled off the swing by his ear. The teacher lady she took me inside and tried to clean the blood off my face. She said my mommy and daddy were coming to take me to the doctor in just a little bit. She then gave me a bag of ice to hold on to my face. That made me cold and I don’t think it helped my nose much. When mommy came in she was crying, she said it was because she was worried about me. I sat there quietly with the bag of ice on my face as the teacher told her how I got hurt. Mom didn’t look happy. I thought she was going to go spank that boy. Mom picked me up and drove me to the doctor. They looked a lot at my face and took a picture of my nose. The doctor came in to the room again said my nose was broke, but I was lucky that it didn’t get hurt worse. I didn’t have to go to daycare for a few days, but I know that when I go back I am going to stay away from the swings, for now.

An Early Memory, Part Two: The Reminiscent Narrator

Sand littered the faded black top as I ran toward the swings at the far end of the playground. The sound of my friends shoes clapping on the pavement as they chased me on our daily race to acquire one of the eight popular seats. The nap I had just finished energized me, charging the muscles in my legs and giving me the strength to propel my body forward faster than my classmates. I reached out, my hand securing the chain to one of the seats. I spun around and sat down on the hard black rubber. The rubber bent into a nice u-shape giving me a secure feeling, a feeling that I am ready to launch myself into the sky. I backpedaled slowly, eyeing my runway. I ran forward and tucked my legs underneath my seat. My momentum took me up from the ground until gravity decided to reassert itself and carried me back to the ground, the chains carrying me into a beautiful arch that tickled my stomach and lifted my spirits. A smile spread across my face. I hit the highest point at the end of the curve again and this time I thrust my legs out ahead of me and leaned back, my back arched. My speed picked up as I rocketed through my curve. This was ecstasy, pure enjoyment. I was flying towards the sky, my face warming in the sun when the air when out of my lungs. I felt like I had been punched in both lungs at the same time. My arms flailed wildly grasping only air as my body continued its upward climb. I gasped for air and my eyes widened in terror when I beheld what was rushing up towards me, the sand littered black top. There was a sickening crunch as my nose made first contact with the hard surface. A warm, iron tasting liquid streamed into my mouth, tears welled up in my eyes and a scream burst from my mouth. I wiped the blood off my lips and it was quickly replaced by more. The sand from the black top merged with my mouth and clung to my tongue choking my scream and forcing me to spit blood on to the ground. Tears rolled off my cheeks and darkened the warm pavement. I was dazed and unsure of my surroundings when two soft hands cupped my chin and lifted my face. Oh my god, what happened? I sniffed and wiped more blood away. I had to breath through my mouth because my nose felt it was plugged. Are you alright? I shook my head no, it was all I could manage to do through the searing pain that was attacking my face. I made an attempt to stand up and the lady who held my face helped to keep me up. What happened, she looked directly at the other kids. Immediately all the boys and girls pointed at the rough looking boy who had replaced me on the swing. I was escorted into the daycare and given an icepack that was supposed to help take the swelling down. If anything else it hurt more to put anything on my face. In a weird way, I did feel good knowing that the boy who pushed me off the swing was going to get in trouble. Right before the door shut as we entered the building, I saw him lifted off the swing by his ear. At least there is some justice. When mom finally came to take me to the doctor she looked pissed, but scared. It is amazing how your day can start so well, everything seeming to go your way and with one simple choice the day can change dramatically and you find yourself walking out of the doctors office at the age of four with a broken nose. Weird, huh?

Fiction Week 2

IV: Perspective and Point of View

An Early Memory, Part One: The Child as Narrator

I put away my toys and went to look for dad. Mom was washing our dishes from lunch and she said dad was in the basement. I opened the door and went down the stairs to looking for him. I don’t like those steps. I’m always scared that a monster is going to reach through the back of the steps and get me. Dad was working on some white round thing in the corner. I think it had something to do with water. I sat on the bottom step and was throwing a small rubber ball against the wall and catching it as it bounced back while dad was talking to me. I was talking to dad when there was a really loud sound. It sounded like thunder and then it got really bright and hot. I just sat there on the bottom step not moving, I was also wet. Mom came running down the stairs yelling questions and asking what happened? I looked up at mom and she ran down to me and held me. She was asking dad what happened and putting her hands on my head and face. Dad came over and looked at me and told mom that the water tank blew up. I looked at my dad and he was missing hair on his face. I think that is why mom had her hands on my face. Dad carried me upstairs and sat me on a kitchen chair. Mom got on her knees and hugged me and was crying. Dad picked up the phone and called someone, whoever it was I am just glad it wasn’t me they were really getting yelled at.

An Early Memory, Part Two: The Reminiscent Narrator

I had just finished playing with my He-Man toys and put them back in the box so that my dad would not get mad at me. One of the things that I learned at an early age was to put my toys away otherwise I could pretty much guarantee that I would not be seeing them again. I walked into the kitchen with a bounce in my step and questioned mother about where dad was. She was cleaning dishes from our lunch. Mom said that dad was down in the basement fixing the water heater, apparently our landlord hadn’t been around to repair it so dad was taking the initiative. I remember walking down the wooden steps that had no back on them, they creeped me out. I was always terrified that some slimy hands with sharp claws were going to shoot out, grip my ankles and pull me through the opening just like one of those horror movies where the person is never to be seen again. After I rushed down the steps I picked up a small ball that bounced easily and tossed it against the wall, watching it ricochet off the floor, the wall and then back to me. I repeated this over and over as dad asked me what I was up to. I told him that I was playing with my He-Man toys and I wanted to come down and see what he was doing. He was over by the water heater, using a wrench and turning something. I am not really sure what happened next, but it got really bright and hot fast. A loud noise ripped through the basement and mom came tearing down the steps as dad dove for the ground coming towards me quickly. Somehow the water heater exploded and both were looking me over making sure I wasn’t burnt. Dad and I escaped with just singed hair and we both were eyebrow-less for quite a while. We sat there and hugged for a few moments in our now wet clothes. Dad carried me upstairs and sat me down in the kitchen on a dining chair while mom, proceeded to smother me with more hugs. Dad picked up the receiver on the wall and dialed the landlord. It was great to hear someone else getting their butt chewed out by my father. I am very much aware of my fathers temper and I was relishing the moment. I could easily picture the person at the other end of the line holding the phone three feet from their head and still being able to hear my dad clearly. With the potential for getting killed in the basement I was not the least bit sorry for that landlord because my dad had called him numerous times to come and fix it and he never did. Now it ended up costing him a lot more.

V: Dialogue

Speech Flavor, Or Sounding Real

“Flo-duh? What is a Flo-duh?

I craned my neck back and shielded my eyes from the twin suns. The massive crystal pillar seemed to touch the sky. I slowly brought my head down and looked over at the group gathering nearby on the cobblestone plaza. “You’re joking, right? You seriously want me to talk to this...rock?”

Sinn let out long spine tingling maniacal laugh. “Foolish miscreant; nobody mocks Lord Narim Sinn and lives, boy. Instead of being a merciful Lord and killing you quickly, I am destroy your entire existence and everything you hold dear, beginning with with her.” Lord Sinn pointed his staff directly at Kimmy.

The bright blues eyes stared up at me. “Dad, you like?” I nodded my head yes. “‘Kay. I go get more.” A streak of blonde hair dashed from the room and a smile spread across face.

“How could you?” She yelled, the blood reddening her cheeks. “Am I not pretty enough? Is there not enough sex?” Suddenly, her voice lowered, almost to a whisper, which was worse than the yelling. “I have put everything into this relationship and here you are fooling around with other women.”

The Invisible Scene: Interspersing Dialogue with Action

“You are not actually thinking about going, are you?”

I slammed the drawer shut, frustrated that the conversation even got to this point. “Yes, I am.”

A hand gripped my shoulder and spun me around. Kimmy looked intently at me. “This is insane. You sound insane.”

“I am not insane,” I yelled. I took a deep breath and let my shoulder slump, the weight of the past almost too much to bear. This time I speak softly, “I have to go, I know this is real.” I pick up my black duffel bag from the floor and begin step around Kimmy. I hesitate at the door, “I’m sorry.”

Kimmy lets out an exasperated sigh. “This is nuts, I must be nuts,” she turns around an expression of annoyance masks her face before transforming into one of trust. “C’mon, I need to gather some stuff before we go.”

A boyish grin spreads across my face.

What If Exercises - Week of 3/30

Section 1 Beginnings

1. First Sentences

A loud whip like crack broke the stillness of the forest startled a bedded deer nearby in the brush. As quick as the sound came it was gone.

5. Ways to Begin a Story

A loud whip like crack broke the stillness of the forest startled a bedded deer nearby in the brush. As quick as the sound came it was gone. Not usually curious, the deer pushed herself to standing, the leaves rustling as she exited the brush. Her neck slowly swung to her left and right pausing to listening for the source of the unfamiliar noise. Silence again reigned over the forest, nothing moved, the only sound she heard were the chirping of crickets the distant muffled sound of the waterfall. She took a few cautious steps over to natural crevice formed by the earths crust pushing up the ground. when a blinding white light streaked down the length of the crevice and shot up into the sky accompanied by a high pitched whistle. Terrified she reared back on her hind legs and spun around as the ground rumbled beneath her. She could hear the loud splitting of rocks as she tore through the brush, bounding over fallen trees and sprinting as fast as she could away from this place. Fortunately, she did not see or encounter the large shadow rise from the crevice. Others would not be so lucky.

Section 2 Notebooks, Journals & Memory

8. People from the Past; Characters of the Future

Scott was an ass. I never had much interaction with him except for that short time in seventh grade when he decided I was going to be his target. Scott, with his shaggy, dirty blonde hair and skinny limbs was never much a bully, unless he had a group to back him up. For some odd reason, he picked me as he ‘weakling’ for the day in gym.

The red rubber balls were slung through the air by adrenaline pumped arms aiming for moving targets. Generally, the idea of trenchball is to hit the people on the opposite team. Scott must have missed the rules or just didn’t care and was throwing his ball at my head and making comments that stung. After just hitting me in the back with his ball he walked over to pick it up and shoved me in the back. I regained my composure and with all the blood rushing into my head I cocked my right arm and swung my fist into his face. Too bad for him he was wearing glasses. I was not the strongest kid in my grade by a long shot, but he never expected that shot. I never saw him much after that.

Occasionally, I find myself thinking whatever happened to that bully. I haven’t heard of him except rumors that have floated through many mouths. He was drinking a lot, a heavy user of drugs and even had a kid or two. Come to think of it, I don’t remember him at our high school graduation. He is probably living in some run down apartment with his live-in girlfriend (who isn’t the mother of his kids) drinking Busch Light, chain smoking and watching the game show network. In a few more years he’ll be locked up for trying to rob a convenience store for his fix of alcohol and then he’ll know what it is like to be someones’ bitch for a change.

1. Mining Memory

Things that made me angry

1. My building principal who accused me of making mistakes over my wife’s disability.
2. Not being able to wrap my mind around concepts that require me to think logically, namely math.
3. Getting two tickets to last summers Jimmy Buffett concert, booking a hotel room and then having the mother-in-law back out and refuse to watch the kids. I ended up selling those. All of a sudden my mother-in-law was free to come and visit if there were no responsibility.
4. Shoveling in the winter and getting my shovel stuck. I couldn’t move the stupid thing. I was pissed.
5. I try to have patience, but when I need to give directions to students (generally the same ones over and again) multiple times because they were not listening, talking or just plain ignoring me and when they do something wrong it is somehow my fault.
6. This 7th grader in one of my sections of art. She just has this attitude that rubs me the wrong way. I have never wanted to be rid of someone so bad in my life.
7. Sitting in a movie theater and having people talk loudly through the film, mainly about topics that don’t relate to the movie in any way.
8. Completing assignments for class that I cannot connect to. If I cannot find a connection, boy, I get frustrated fast and take it out on everyone.
9. My wife asking me if I am grumpy. Maybe I come across as grumpy, but I’m not. When she asks me if I am, that just burns me. No offense hunny. I love you lots! Perhaps I should just work on my demeanor.
10. When I am trying to fix something and whatever it is I am doing is not going right. At times a piece may be stuck or something else broke or something won’t attach right. I don’t like it, but I get mad very quickly and maybe even toss in a few obscenities for good measure.

Section 3 Characterization

1. Funny - You Don’t Look Seventy -Five

• Hairstyle
• How he carries himself
• Color of his teeth
• His voice - is it deep or higher
• The tone of his skin
• Musculature/physique
• Where does he go on Friday nights?
• Style of clothing
• Color of hair/facial hair
• The color of the whites of his eyes

1. Naming Your Character

• Peter Feldspar
• Narim Sinn
• Carter McCloud
• Xavier Pembrooke
• Reb Ryoat

Collection of Poems

For this collection of poems I wanted to try writing a few more haiku’s, a stanza poem and a prose poem. I really enjoyed those as I wrote them over the course of the semester so far and I wanted to tackle different topics in them. This go around I tried to keep the mood more upbeat and pull the anger back and tried to insert a different emotion. For example, the pride of a father in ‘My Little Olympian’ or humor in ‘Stats’. For me I wanted to try a new poem where I only take Jimmy Buffett song titles and form a poem, I accomplished this, but I struggled with knowing if it sounded right or even if it sounded finished. I’m sure as with my other poems it could be reworked and made better over time. I decided to use haiku’s on three different occasions in this collection because I like the challenge they provide in developing them. I like how it forces me to consider good word choice and using descriptive words to conjure up an image in such a small space. Finally, I could not resist the prose poem. This one I thoroughly enjoyed and laughed almost all the way through, maybe you won’t, but it was fun. Hopefully, you find this as enjoyable as I did.

Drink

Before bed I drink

Calming, soothing, relaxing

Damn, that tea is good

Stats

Response variable is also called an outcome variable

Would you please just use one term so I can understand what is being asked

Mean, median and mode

Which means middle again?

Standard deviation

How in the hell should I know what number is deviating and how much?

Bell curves

Yep...looks like a bell to me, now what?

5 number summary

Okay, I got five numbers...Oh I got it! Nope, still don’t know what they mean.

Random Sampling, Random Digit Dialing, Cluster Sampling....and more

How to choose? Eenie, meenie, minie mo....

Statistical Method I

I was confused before this class and I remain confused.

Exhausted

Kids waking at night

Yawning, groggy, and cranky

I just want a nap

My True Love

This girl has got it. Her figure is perfect and her curves are in all the right spots. I know what buttons to press to really get her going. It really is a joy to see her face light up like the sun rising to push away the night when I turn her on. Dressed in dazzling white and elegant silver she waits for me to take her out or enjoy her company at home. This diva is who I love spending time with. Together we have enjoyed many intimate moments and elicited many wild adventures. She knows how to take it slow and boy does she know how to kick it up a notch. And when I’m feeling down, she is there in my hands not saying a thing. Without inhibitions she introduces me to new women and the occasional man. A guy could not ask for a better friend and companion, she is truly amazing and I am not ashamed to say that I really love my Kindle

My Little Olympian

Marching across the ice

Like a soldier in uniform

She flies past the others

My little Olympian

Blades strike the frozen pond

Shards of ice cake the cold steel

Chips fly has she digs in

My little Olympian

Moving with ease

Slowing with difficulty

Those falls hurt from here

My little Olympian

A smile ear to ear

Concentrating on her training

A ice fairy of my own creation

My little Olympian

She might win the gold

She might not win at all

But no matter what she always be

My little girl

Headache

Prowling inside my skull the intruder swings the hammer hard.

Ode to Jimmy

The Wino and I Know

Nobody Speaks to the Captain No More

When the Coast is Clear

Meet Me in Memphis

Everybody’s Talkin’

In The Shelter

Why Don’t We Get Drunk

Sweet Caroline

Jolly Mon Sing

It’s Five O’Clock Somewhere

Livin’ It Up

On a Slow Boat to China

Someday I will

Bring Back the Magic

Miss You So Badly

Margaritaville

Lesson Plan Number 3

Hi-Tech Performance Poetry

Amount of time to complete unit: 2 weeks

Materials:

Flip Video HD or DVD camera

iMovie

iDVD

Props (clothing, etc.)

Objectives:

• To learn about spoken word poetry
• Look at contemporary spoken word poets
• Become familiar with iMovie
• Create a digital performance poetry

Process:

1. We will begin by watching videos on YouTube about different spoken word performance artists. As the students watch the videos they should be asking themselves:

• What makes this effective?
• What could be improved?
• What makes this poem a performance?

We will watch three different videos by three different performers. Afterwards we will have a group discussion. We will discuss the students answers to the above questions, how poetry has evolved, how it can become engaging and how performing can either help or hurt the poem.

1. The students will begin to write their own piece of spoken word. Students should keep in mind that most performance poets usually address issues going on in their lives, social issues or even events that they have witnessed or participated in. Students will write for two days. We will then revise at a later time.

1. Introduction of iMovie to the students. I will show the students our iMovie program and how they can import video clips, cut frames apart, splice together, add audio and add effects.

1. Students will take either a Flip or camcorder and begin to record some setting, action or image that they want in their performance. These clips will be spliced together. The process of recording images should take two to three days.

1. Students will exchange poems and begin to revise. We will do a long and hard revision. Students should look at word choice, phrasing, pace of the poem and the emphasis of words.

1. Students will record themselves to either a Flip or camcorder doing their spoken word. Upon completing this, students will edit out the background on themselves and layer it upon the video footage they have already recorded.

1. When completely finished with editing the students will burn a copy of their performance to iDVD and we will then share these with the class and the students will have a copy for their portfolio as they move on to high school.

Assessment:

The students performance poetry will be assessed by looking at how understandable the student was, the length (must be between 2-3 minutes), if the background images related to the poem (this would have been specified in the appropriate lesson) and if their message was clear and well conveyed. Their will also be a spot for comments.

The rubric will be handed out to the class. Each student will receive a grade from their classmates along with comments (we will have already discussed how to grade appropriately and how to give meaningful comments. I will also fill out a rubric and mine will be the one that counts, but student giving the performance will receive all the rubrics, giving them an idea of where to improve for next time and what was done really well.

Response to Allan Wolf

I think that this performance works because Allan is very engaging with the families. He runs off stage to interact with the children and the adults. It also helps that he does his own music instead of having a recording. He is a one man show.

Allan Wolf works by using verse of his own as well as poems of famous poets. He takes these poems and adds his own unique blend of music, humor and what I'd like to call theater to the poetry to create his performance. In his poems there is a lot of rhyming, expression and a flow that lends itself to this kind of work.

In this video I definitely admire the humor of Allan Wolf. He seems like he is able to make people forget they are listening to poetry. I also like his exaggerated expressions and poses. I am not sure of his background, but it almost appears as if he had some training in theater or I could be way off base and he is just great at mimicking other people.

As far as what is not good I would say that while it was humorous to watch the theater-esque performance, sometimes I felt that it was too over the top and I found myself more intently focused on that than the poetry. But then again, I'm not all that familiar with this medium so maybe thats what is supposed to happen.

I felt that this was poetry as well as a performance because some of the poems Wolf used were created as written poem, probably, not intending for them to be performed in the way Wolf did. An example of this is 'Fog'. Also, you can hear the different stanzas as he goes through his poems, he is adding rhymes, and creating rhythms with word choice. What makes it performance though, is his ability to bring the poems to the people, get them engaged, laughing and a part of the process.

Performance Poetry

Here is the link to Allan Wolf doing his performance poetry for an elementary class.

Poem Number 4 - Spoken Word

Ughh...here was a tough one. I needed to continue on this theme of harassment. I have tried to let it go, but as of right now one of the few things that helps me to cope is writing about it. Thankfully this class came at just the right time for me.

I posted this, but just don't feel comfortable with it up. I will email the class the poem. I'm too nervous I am being watched by Big Brother here. Unfortunately nothing is safe or secure.

Lesson Plan Number 2

Musical Poetry

Objectives:

• To have students concentrate on the sound of music (the beat, the rhythm, etc.)
• To have the students write their own lyrical poetry that will go with the music
• To understand that poetry is everywhere
• Think about how emotions/images can be conveyed through music and words.

Materials:

• CD players
• Variety of music that has no lyrics attached. Actual lyrics will be used after the lesson
• Eye of the Tiger
• I Love Rock n’ Roll
• Livin’ on a Prayer
• Come on Eileen
• Africa
• Summer of ’69
• Billie Jean
• Jump
• Addicted to Love
• Paper
• Pencils

Process:

Day 1:

• Turn on music that students are interested in. Will need to be clean of course.
• Discuss the patterns in the lyrics, the enunciation of the words, the stresses and the breaks
• Read the lyrics to the class aloud without sound. Do the lyrics have the same effect? What is more powerful the music or the lyrics?

Day 2:

- Students will break into groups of 3 to 4 and get a cd that has music on it

• Spend the rest of the hour writing a poem that matches the mood, tempo, beat of the music

Day 3:

• If necessary give extra time to write the poem
• Share the poem with the class along with the music
• Then play original song with music
• Which was more effective, the original lyrics or the new poem?
• Did the poem create the same meaning and feelings as the original?

- Discuss how the music either enhances or detracts from the poems.

Poem Number 3 - Haiku

This last week was a rough one for my wife and I. There were a lot of surprises and not a single one of them was good. I tried to rack my brain and put together something really complex, but I have so many emotions running inside of me right now that everything is coming out in short bursts. Therefore, I have decided to create a haiku. I hope this gets my point across.

Working tirelessly, my work for naught, I’m forced out against my will.

- Jeremy Johnson

Lesson Plan

Picture Poem

Objectives

• To use our Elements of Art and Principles of Design to visually assess the qualities of the painting
• Discuss the positives and the negatives of the painting
• T write a poem that describes the painting with visual language

Process

As a class we will take a look at Vincent Van Gogh’s painting Starry Night. Using our Elements of Art and Principles of Design we will analyze the painting. How Van Gogh applied the paint, how the image is balanced, why he cropped the image the way he did, the use of color, etc. 10 Minutes

We will then move in to discussing what the positives and negatives are about the piece. Students are asked to give concrete examples about why they liked something or what they disliked. For example say: I really liked the darker colors because it reminds me of a dark evening where the only light is from the stars and moon. Not, I like it because its cool. The word ‘cool’ tells us nothing. 10 Minutes

The last half of the class we will be concentrating on writing a poem. In this poem the students will try to ‘show’ the painting Starry Night with visually descriptive language. I will emphasize the process of good word choice and how it can either make or break the poem. Upon completing the poem the reader should be able to visualize the painting in their head.

Poem Number 2

My Friend the Torch

Alarmingly nerve wracking is what it is. This narrow head, small mouthed fire breathing brass colored dragon. It is my ill patient, only able to live on a special mix of gas in his protective gut. With its cumbersome tube like neck twisting upon itself, between my feet, crawling up my back and over my shoulder like a snake getting ready for the final squeeze. I find it difficult to trust this fire devil as a faithful assistant, but he has been there for me when I needed it. My friend is quick to anger and is a volatile and explosive killer. Ignorant of friend or foe, he can lash out without regard to who is in the way. When working on our jewelry he is my teammate, without him I wouldn’t be able to complete my designs. Once we were working on a pendant his blue flame leapt from his mouth heating up my design to a warm rose color. Then my faithful companion got sick. He had a belly full of his special food and when he went to spew forth his flame he choked and swallowed that beautiful blue flame. The fire burned down his throat and erupted from his gut severing his neck from his body. For a moment, time stood still - his special food feeding his flame, now out of control, engulfing our table and dancing up the walls as acrid black smoke filled the air. Alarms went off, the shrill noise puncturing my ear drums with intense pain. I grabbed another little monster I keep nearby. I jerked the rod I store in his neck out and forcefully squeeze his skull. He belches out a yellowish-white chalky cloud blanketing everything in the vicinity, extinguishing the flame and snuffing the life out of my old friend. Had he not choked, the wall would be in better shape, but because of his sacrifice he made sure that I got a new work area. I now have a younger friend, one that has evolved in the thirty plus years since my old friend was born. Yeah, sure he is new and can do tricks that my old friend cannot, but I still miss that little guy, the brass colored blue-flame breathing dragon. The reckless one who almost burned down my school.

Poem Number 1

I'll be honest and say right now that I've never had an affinity for poetry. For me, a medium that begs for the poet to reveal their emotional selves is difficult to work with. My wife can easily attest to my occasional lack of emotions I am sure. That being said, while this was challenging, I will continue to persist.

THE GREEN BLIP

The green blip races across the screen.

It leaps up, leaving a streaking green trail

and crashes back to the ground

My heart thuds against my chest,

Beating rapidly.

THUD, THUD, THUD

The clear plastic box sits in the corner of the room.

A plethora of pictures are taped to side.

Wires twist and twine toward the box

like tentacles searching for food.

Salty water falls from my face to the floor

DRIP, DRIP...SPLASH

White coats rush in and out.

Pens scratch notes on charts.

The head in the box lifts,

strains against the confines of the plastic prison.

The tiny mouth opens and out comes

NOTHING...NOTHING...NOTHING

The blue accordion in the cylinder

slides up and down

Air rushes in and blows out.

The chest in the plastic box rises and falls.

Days sitting, long hours passing, imperceptible change, fingers

TAPPING, TAPPING, TAPPING.

The green blip, the plastic box and accordion in the cylinder

Pictures, heart beats, pen scratches

The rush of air, the lack of sound

In such a place, that can be as busy as this

It can also be the loneliest place.

LONELY...LONELY...LONELY

The green blip races across the screen

It leaps up, leaving a streaking green trail

and crashes back to the ground

My heart thuds against my chest

Beating rapidly.

THUD, THUD, THUD