It was a dark and stormy night… No, wait, scratch that. It was a sunny (albeit cold) and bright day, a Monday in fact, and the students of PS 279 don’t need to borrow anything so cliched as “a dark and stormy night”. They’ve been busy creating their own unique gothic tales a la the likes of Edgar Allen Poe after an inspirational trip to Poe Cottage back in November (see our previous blog on their excursion).
Each class has spent the last few weeks collaborating as groups to create their own epic gothic poems. After many group “brain-splats” and collaborative activites, the epic poems are starting to come together. Here are a few sneak peeks at some of the exciting work happening at PS 279 this year.
Class 501 – Community Poem Draft:
A long time ago,
in a country called Domerico,
an ominous day was approaching
like a slow heart dripping
in a gloomy, abandoned school.
Rusty roof, spiderwebs thickly covering the doors,
windows knocked out, and dirt swept away by rain that pours
hard for years and years, revealing a hidden graveyard nearby.
No one dares to enter. I wonder why?
One day, three brothers were waiting
for their music lesson from Mr. Scott.
In their dreams, they heard eerie music creating,
a vision of him caught
inside a piano deep
in the abandoned school.
“Let’s go in!” said one brother,
“Are you crazy?” said the other.
“We have to save Mr. Scott!”
They nodded in agreement, whether they like it or not.
Class 519 – Community Poem Draft:
In a country very far, known as D.R.
The streets were filled with rain,
at night, silence remains.
The ground is slippery, slick as ice,
the trees around me seemed alive.
I was working at the carnival,
a job quite unremarkable.
But today, with knotted eyes the trees
seem to follow me…
Wait, what was that?
Something shattered in the distance.
Things are falling out of the air:
bacon, Cheerios, bursting red balloons! It gave me quite a scare.
The rain is turning green, the sky black,
Should I continue or turn back?
Class 951 Community Poem Draft:
Once in a haunted subway that
smelled like rotten eggs,
rusted tracks screeched and rattled
in tunnels of black, blue, and grey.
Purple headlights shone like stars,
clowns, clouds, the universe and
green slime dripped down the tunnel walls
like sour tomatoes and moldy ham.
Disobeying their teacher, Class 951 – made of thirteen kids –
descended down into the subway.
A driverless train screamed into the tunnel and the class
climbed in – are they crazy or brave? –
the doors shut with a clang.