145th street
Writing
Mother Fletcher
By Tripp ShertenliebFull-grown Harlem lady
Eyes as black as night
If caught in a situation
Her decision would be right
Full-grown Harlem lady
Welcomes every child
If one makes a wrong decision
They will be reconciled
In The Morning
By Elly HermanIn the morning, I open my eyes
Sit up and stretch, and let out small cries.
I wiggle my toes, and crinkle my nose,
And get out of bed to the sound of rooster crows.
I slip on my jeans, and my long furry coat,
The Tigros
By Sophia DanielThey are dangerous and frightening,
Like a strike of lightning.
You have to watch out,
Because they can black you out.
You try to hold back,
Until the police come attack.
Watch out they’re coming,
Angela, 10 Singer
By Greta PereiraOut of my mouth
Comes a beautiful song
All of Harlem
Sings along
In the church
Bells ring
Saluting our friend,
Big Joe, they sing
The world dances to
The sweet sound
The best is the
Leroy Brown, 55 Band Leader
By Connor O’BrienMy pulse rises when we begin to play
“Amazing Grace” and “One More River to Cross”
This is where I belong
Playing with the All-Star Stompers all day long
I hope they play on my dying day
Freddy Deceased & Homeless
By Chad RobertsFreddy oh Freddy
Is an alcoholic
He will beg you to lend him spare change,
To grab an ice cold beer at the bar.
He will never be quiet!
He is underground laying in a coffin.
Freddy oh Freddy.
Mother Fletcher
By Ashley RuckmanMy skin dark as a winter’s midnight,
Tiny body as delicate as morning light.
As worn as dusty books on the attic floor,
Don’t expect things to happen on their own anymore.
My eyes like coal in a lifeless fireplace,
Poor Great-Great-Grandmother
By Calla HinderksA creaking windowpane,
Pelted with snow,
Reflecting light onto the dusty, deep brown floor.
The rooms seems to sigh, pained with age,
Abandoned; left waiting,
The cold is kept at bay by a single lamp,
Growing Old
By Hunter WoosleyI used to be young,
Running around Harlem having fun.
But now I grow old,
And the angels are calling.
Time to go home,
Time to go home.
Let Me Show Me
By Bailey ReinoehlLook at her,
I look at myself.
I see him,
I see myself.
I find what I want...
It’s not an option.
Restaurant owner
By Abby HeadleyWhat makes me me,
Is the way I see things.
The happiness it brings,
That tells others what I see.
O’Brien’s Gun
By Anna CastilloA gun’s cause’s harm
To the innocent
And gives fairness to the verdict
It’s not really the gun but,
The soul behind the gun
Kathy O’Brien
By Alexandra GordonSo much stress is on my mind,
she’s your daughter just as much as she is mine.
I brush her hair and iron her sweater,
when the winter brings such unfriendly weather.
You might say your work is rough,
My Job: Will O'Brien, policeman
By Ryan FitzgeraldI met a woman
Old as dirt
Yet nice as the morning sun,
Living where some considered
The worst part of town
Yet somehow
She finds time
To knit me a sweater
Of dark green string
Straight from the soul
Officer Bill O’Brien
By Alexandra GordonMy job is so exhausting,
I don’t have time for parenting!
Maybe my wife should try fighting crime,
and I can stay home all day wasting time.
All she does is cook and shop and clean,
I don’t understand how it’s difficult to do those things.
O’Brien, 35: Patrol officer
By Emma Van LieshoutWalking up and down every street,
Every day – thump, thump, thump
Go my boots.
Walking past the park
Every day – thump, thump, thump
Goes the wino’s stereo.
Steve Harmon, age 16: Prisoner
By Paige BreyfogleThey say they help,
They ain’t no good.
Ask for food,
Barely get kelp.
I wish I could just be
F r e e
Anthony Witherspoon
By Tori ShephardEating my thoughts,
Twisting my mind,
Her shadow passes through,
My words I can’t find.
She looks to me, waiting,
Her eyes pierce my heart,
I know what is coming,
I can’t let it start.
Lonnie Jackson
By Jacob McIntireThe days are piling up,
But I can’t move,
So little motivation,
Yet so much to prove.
I don’t want to be here,
But don’t know how to get away,
My only escape,
Is the game that I play.