A Blog of Seattle Arts & Lectures
My Names the last name is my dad. white. a dog full of unconditional love. me as well. crooked teeth, not common but common enough to know how to say and spell like you know me. cooper. my middle name...
Compass That Points her Home My mother is Korean, from a small fishing village (not so small now), in South Korea. It’s called 퍼 항, ...
Give Me Your Tired I can say all that where I come from to where my parents, and their parents were born.
Butterflies or Eleven Responses to the Phrase “You’re So Quiet” 1 oh really? i hadn’t noticed 2 talking to dreamers with big smiles and small consciences is like floating on indest...
Yes, My Skin Don’t like this poem because I’m telling you to But let me tell you a story about this girl Named Hinari Just ’cause I want to Came from Ethiopia when she was seven Was considered b...
Breaking Rules Do not litter unless you are in the middle of the desert and a giant army of camels with hammers is chasing you and the speed limit is at 5 percent. In this case you should go over the ...
By Kathleen Flenniken, WITS Writer-in-Residence This fall, I’ve been teaching poetry to fourth graders at View Ridge Elementary in Seattle. Each week before I share the poem that will be our mentor ...
From my mind to my heart: a message to me One of those late night conversations and I found me The real me Age eighteen I understand now Took the time to look back And I thought Wow Childhood It was a...
Fear When I was little, I was scared of fire. When it lit up, my face looked like a ghost, and my heart sounded like waves crashing on a beach. But now, I when I get scared, I become the thunderstorm.
By Katy Ellis, WITS Writer-in-Residence I have to admit revision has never been my strong point as a writer. Only in the last ten years have I truly grasped the fact that my second (or third or fourth...