Of course, we will then do a workshop where we play with language. Aligned with best practices, I have participated in my own workshop and will write with students. I've already taken my thoughts through my own activities, and came up with the following poem which will be presented at the end of the 2.5 hours.
Then we get to eat lunch. Man, do they love lunch at Fairfield University. Here we go!
On a Crusade With Columbus Poets
We write with wet words on Wednesday,
as a library of knowledge & Ms. J display.
We dance a poetic ballet
(some call it a hip hop hooray)
of expression, an expressway,
of sweet & sour sauce.
We create a candy corn cafe of Philosophy
with our power to fly with words
(or disappear into our dreams).
We are magic of frogs
who come out of the hat with wisdom with rabbits
before we saw self-doubt in half.
We are Columbus,
philanthropists who fanatically burst
flames from a magical wand.
We are perky pineapple poets,
tiptoeing journeys through the sands of Sea Side,
before joining the circus of cultures
who whip through eastern winds and ice storms
(like it’s a snow day or school is about to end).
We, are the writers, sunsets and sunrises, Skittles,
apple pies or sizzling fresh french fries
who set the world ablaze with
our linguistic gasoline and clorox
in a pair of sweaty socks.
We burp. We fart. We play. We laugh.
We do as adolescents should do.
We shout. We complain. We Gossip.
with fingertips tapping
on piano keyboards,
like hip hop beats
drowning out the morning announcements.
We worry. We doubt. And we scream at our adolescence.
like we are a fire drill,
and oh, how we try
to learn to fly at our Mic on a college campus,
speaking truth to the world,
amplifying voice to be swirled
into the craziness of writing our lives.
We, Bridgeport, are the future,
the higher education that triumphs over low expectation,
who turn ourselves around,
becoming Connecticut stars.