CREATIVE WRITING
at the Ruth Asawa School of the Arts in San Francisco
Welcome! CW develops the art and craft of creative writing through instruction, collaboration, and respect. This blog showcases STUDENT WRITING and how to APPLY to Creative Writing.
Tag: high school poetry
-
by Abigail Schott-Rosenfield (’14) Birds ring the frame where the ceiling used to be. They stare, they dip their beaks into the empty cabin: the indented seat, the floor covered in gray prints. He worked alone— stepped hard and emerged often, removing rocks and other hard things. Break it up, break it up. Others will…
-
by Shanna (’13) i didn’t eat for 3 days and 3 stupid boys told me i looked skinny enough to toss in a bed and i broke 3 nails punching them out you’re scared of me because i curse like it’s my first language and i act like i’m 6’2 even though i don’t wear…
-
the sky smells pink and hard when i walk through it in the mornings the sulfuric dusts the dawn a fruit-bowl full rosy belly bent backwards that loud gray groan inside the skin pierced and peeling like a salty apple swollen hot choleric elderly clouds left over damp winds scraggle across dimly like some stale…
-
We grab the black binoculars With the thick black strap And the book about constellations And a beach towel We get into the car Sit in the leather seats, And you drive as I gaze out the window At the city lights And up at the starless purple sky, That reflects the city lights back.…
-
Pellucid winters show the raw brush, Raw proof of an earlier time. You wait, you wait. The chalky dust is cold. There is no snow to take the edge Off the dry log. You sit. The well-water Is black, the rope is clasped By what flowed through its fibers. The water is black. It will…
-
You could’ve left me in the drawer weighed down with wooden wolves and carved peace signs you could’ve let me lay by the bedside my strings frayed untying myself because I don’t know better but you cut off my edges tied a slipnot and threaded your head through me cause you feel naked now without…
-
SLEPT WITH A SNAKE A snake under my covers ate and didn’t clean— crumbs left for me to find one bright cold saturday— I find her sheddings scattered tucked inside the sheets— sheets that are quite yellowed from hazy grainy dreams— she used her tongue to find me hissing as she rose— and when the…
-
by Justus Honda This house has spirits living in mouse-holes, The kinds you come across Spinning through a gray-green daydream; Spirits that live off the disembodied hum From a refrigerator in the dark, Spirits that swoop and catch dust motes In copper waves of lamplight. This house has disinterested spirits, All-too-ancient things snoring In cobweb…
-
IT’S TOO LATE TO WATCH THE SUNSET It’s 7 pm on a Sunday, one of those hey-let’s-be-alone-days, not particularly out of choice, but I like it anyway, because I can do what I want, listen to what I want, eat what I want, act as I will. I’m hungry, going out for a bite to…
-
EXHIBIT C You do it for me, in so many words I would like t o know where you come from like a c rumple d document tossed off a boat or a bundle of a baby and silverware, tucked under your coat. How the grit erodes your cheekbones and sand lightens your eyes. You…
CREATIVE WRITING 