Student Assignment: Creating a Collaborative Poem

This assignment is adapted from a speech given by Deborah Appelman at the MCTE conference in Duluth in April, 2010. It reflects an assignment she created during her work with inmates incarcerated at Stillwater Prison. Her assignment was inspired by Eve Ensler's work with inmates in the Bedford Hills Correctional Facility in New York.

• Begin with a discussion of the power of words. Use familiar examples like Martin Luther King, Jr. versus Malcolm X.
• Have students brainstorm (write) the most powerful words or phrases they can think of.
• Have students volunteer to share their "most powerful" word or phrase and explain where they heard it and/or why they think it is so powerful.

• Show clip of Eve Ensler's video, "What I Want My Words to Do to You"
• Discuss the many uses of words and the power they can wield.

Discuss the idea of collaboration and what it means. Have students think of projects that need collaboration versus those that are individual. Ask students what poems are: collaborative or individual? Have students describe a poet: Where does she work? Does he work alone? Is she a happy person with a lot of friends? Have them explain their answers.

• Introduce the idea of a collaborative poem and explain how the poem will work. (Each student will write as much or as little as he/she can by completing the sentence provided. Then, each student will choose one or two to share with the class. At the end of the class, a podcast will be made (or video, if desired) of students reading their portions of the poem, in turn, to create a collaborative poem.)
• Introduce the phrase, "I want my words to..."
• Share an example of this with your students. Here is my example:

I want my words to affect you.

I want my words to inspire you.

I want my words to sit on your shoulder and whisper in your ear and be the voice you need to hear.

I want my words to push you toward your goals and remind you of what you said you wanted.

I want my words to haunt you at night.

I want my words to make you laugh and shake your head at my silliness.

I want my words to make you care enough to disagree.

I want my words to make you think.

I want my words to be heard.

• Students write their own completions for the phrase, "I want my words to..."
• Students share their "top two" sentences.
• As a class, the sentences are organized into a collaborative poem, taking into consideration length, flow, subject, etc.
• Students create a podcast (or video, if desired) comprised of each student reading his/her sentences, in the order determined by the class.
• For a more authentic audience, podcasts may be uploaded to facebook or myspace pages.

Student Assignment: Creating a Collaborative Story

Lesson #1: Simple Collaboration

Like a childhood car game, this exercise will be simple and fun. Students will learn that there are many directions a story can go and might be surprised at the creativity of their classmates.

• Have each student write the first word of a sentence on a blank piece of paper. (The student originating the story should also put his/her name on the paper.)
• Each student will then pass the paper to his/her left.
• Students will write another word on the paper they receive.
• This will continue for at least 50 rounds (about a paragraph).

At the end of the class, return the newly formed stories to the students whose names are on the paper. Have students volunteer to read "their" stories aloud. Ask the person who "originated" the story if he had any idea the story would turn out the way it did. Discuss, as a class, how easily and quickly a story can change direction.

Lesson #2: Start in the Middle (based on our text)

• Gather clips of beginning scenes of sitcoms and movies that show the idea of "starting in the middle."
• Show 10-20 second clips of 2-3 different shows/movies. It is best to use clips the students will be unfamiliar with.
• As a class, make a list of all the things you know and/or don't know about the setting, characters and plot.
• Gather 5 sentences from novels or short stories that start in the middle. Discuss how this is similar to the show/movie clips.

• Students write 5 beginning sentences that start in the middle.
• Students choose 1 sentence from the 5 that they think is best, or could imagine turning into a story.
• Students write the chosen sentence on a clean sheet of paper.
• Each student passes the paper to his/her left.
• Each student adds one sentence to the paper she receives.
• Rotate 5-10 times, depending on the time available and the writing level of the students.
• Return the completed stories to the original sentence creator.
• Have students explain what type of story they had in mind when they started the story and if they were surprised by the way the story ended up.

Discuss, as a class, the value of input of other students in the room, especially when experiencing "writers' block."

Chapter 8: Resolution and Final Meaning

Exercise: Chapter 45
Titles and Keys

Just playing around with some titles for the story I’ve been working on.


“Accusations and Arguments”
“The Waiting List”
“Last Adult Standing”
“Option Impossible”
“Shades of Green”
“Full Circle”
“Half Smiles”
“Almost There”
“One Last Option”
“Optional”
“Not Optional”
“Opt In”
“Against All Advice”
“No Slowing Down”
“After the Fall”
“Steps and Staircases”
“Steps”

Chapter 7: Story Elements as a Given

Exercise: Chapter 44
Stirring Up a Fiction Stew

chef (replaced by mother)
hostess (replaced by daughter)
gas station
root beer
knife
blue
patriotism

As suggested in this chapter, I had my husband go through the list of words, and I started to write a scene. But, I didn’t think this would help my story, so I took his words and applied them to the characters I have been working on, in the hopes I could use this in my story. It was an interesting exercise, but I could only manage to incorporate three of the five words he suggested.


The gas station was closed, but we could see a man through the window, cleaning up inside.

“I’m sure he’ll open up so I can buy a root beer. Go ahead and pump the gas. I’ll be right back.” My mother twisted around, struggling to get her sticks—her pet name for the crutches she now depended on to walk even a few feet—from the back seat.

“Mom, stop. Just let me pump the gas. You don’t need a root beer this late at night anyway. Just sit still. I’ll be done in a minute.”

It was as if I hadn’t spoken. The sticks bumped against the windows, the roof, the seats. She had one leg dancing outside the car door as she placed her right forearm into the brace that helps her keep her from losing her grip.

“Mom. Really. I’ll stop at the grocery in the morning and pick up some root beer. It’s going to take forever and the store’s not even open.”

Outside the car, she stumbled her way across the asphalt, each steady crutch leading the way for her faltering legs. The man inside looked up from his spray bottle and waved her away, shaking his head, mouthing the words, “Sorry, we’re closed.”

She kept moving forward, waving back, crutch dangling by its cuff from her forearm, then leading the way once again.

“He’s closed, Mom,” I called from across the station, filling up the tank.

“Honey, I just want a root beer. I’ll be right back,” she answers without turning toward me. She gives the man another wave, as if he didn’t see her coming toward the door already.

I watch as she knocks on the glass, announcing her arrival at her destination. Wearily, the man makes his way toward the door, shaking his head and talking through the glass. She must be able to hear him; their faces only inches apart, separated by a bullet-proof slab of glass covered in red, white and blue stickers of the American flag. He turns away from her, but she waits.

“Come on, Mom. I’m done. Let’s go.”

And then the man returns. His oily hands open the door and hand my mother a can of root beer. It is only then that I realize she doesn’t have her purse; she has no way to pay. I start to walk over to pay the man for the soda, but this time, he waves me away.

“No charge,” he calls from across the asphalt. I smile and wave back, knowing it will do no good to argue. Returning to the driver’s seat, I wait for my mother to make her way to the car and tell me all about the nice man inside.

Chapter 6: Plot

Exercise: Chapter 32
From Situation to Plot

Character: a mother with Parkinson’s Disease who lives on her own, but whose children want her to move into an assisted living facility.


Situation #1: Mother and two adult children get in a car accident. One of the children was driving. The accident was the child’s fault. The mother is hurt and is forced to move into a rehab facility, with a plan to move into assisted living afterward. All of this is because of the accident, not because of the Parkinson’s.

Reactions #1: Mother is angry at and resentful toward the child for his mistake and consequential accident. Mother feels self-righteous because she knew she would not have ever had to go into assisted living if it were up to her, but the accident has forced her into it. Mother blames child for having to move into rehab/assisted living. Child thinks that mother would have ended up in assisted living anyway and takes no responsibility for the premature move. Other siblings side with child. Mother feels abandoned at assisted living and starts to believe the accident was a conspiracy. The more the siblings defend the child, the more “evidence” the mother collects against them. Mother becomes more and more withdrawn and depressed as her obsession to prove her conspiracy theory grows.


Situation #2: One of the children is diagnosed with Parkinson’s, as well.

Reactions #2: The mother is defensive: she thinks blame is being placed on her for passing the Parkinson’s through biology, even though no one has accused her of this. As the children convince her that no one is blaming her, the mother becomes more confident and takes on the role of “expert” because she has had the disease longer. The mother feels a new connection with the child because they share this diagnosis, but the child wants nothing to do with this type of “connection.” The mother takes the child’s defiance as not wanting to be anything like her, while the child can’t understand how the mother can think of this as something to bond over. The child eventually moves to another city, rather than live the life she sees her mother living.


Situation #3: The children hire a painter to paint the interior of the house so the mother won’t get hurt doing it herself. The painter turns out to have some marital and financial problems and is living in his car.

Reactions #3: The mother is overly concerned with the painter’s life. She feels incredibly sorry for him. She enjoys having someone around her whom she considers to be “worse off” than herself. Because the children have been worried bout her living alone, she offers to rent her spare bedroom to the painter in order to have someone around at night to help her in case of an emergency. While she says he is there to take care of her, it is obvious to everyone else that she is taking care of him. Clashes occur over the possibility of her being taken advantage of and of the painter’s character and motives. More details about the painter emerge, a few “close calls” occur, and the mother finally tells the painter to move out. After some delay, interpreted differently between the children and the mother, the painter moves out. Since nothing horrible has happened, the mother feels vindicated, while the children feel this is proof the mother has lost her ability to make logical decisions.

Chapter 5: Dialogue

Exercise: Chapter 28
Not Quite a Fight

“What are you going to do if there’s a waiting list? When you need to get in, you’ll wish you had signed up.”

“When I need to get in, I’ll sign up,” my mother answered with a flippant air of impatience.

“That’s what I’m saying. When you go to sign up, you won’t be able to get in. Then you’ll get stuck somewhere you hate. What’s wrong with thinking ahead, being proactive? Let’s just put your name on the list. If they call, we can say you’re not ready and they can keep your name ready for the next opening.” I sat down on the bed, careful not to bump my head on the triangular grab bar hanging inches away.

Mom held onto the wall bars she had just had installed throughout her bedroom and half-walked, half-fell toward her dresser.

“I don’t know why everyone is making such a big deal of this. If you want to sign someone up for something, if that’s what you like to do, sign people up for things, then go ahead, sign your kids up for something…camp or something. As for me, I don’t need to sign up for anything. I like it here. I don't want to go anywhere else.”

“Camp? Mom, are you serious? Can’t we have an adult discussion about the options here?”

“What options? I don’t need any options. I live here. That’s my option.” She moved slowly but surely away from the dresser with a necklace in her hand, held it out to me, and asked me to put it on for her. She can’t work the clasp anymore, but hasn’t had a chance to get this particular stone switched to a chain long enough to slip over her head.

“What are you going to do when you fall down the steps and break your hip and there’s no room at the assisted living place you want to go to? If you were on a list, you’d be the next one in.”

“I’m not falling down any steps. You sound just like your siblings. You're like a stack of broken records. What if you fell down the steps? What if your sister fell down the steps? What list are you two on? You know, anyone can fall down steps any time. You don’t have to have Parkinson’s to have an accident.”

“No, you don’t, but it sure makes it a lot more likely.”

Ignoring me, she headed for the bedroom door and downstairs. “Here I go,” she bragged, “down the steps!”

I followed behind, unsteady and unsure.

Chapter 5: Dialogue

Exercise: Chapter 27
The Invisible Scene: Interspersing Dialogue with Action

“Upstairs!” she called when the dog barked, alerting her to a guest in the house.

At the top of the stairs, looking into her bedroom, I saw her left foot, clad in a man’s white tube sock, twisting uncontrollably at the behest of its big toe. The rest of my mother lay sprawled between the bedroom and the bathroom, almost upside down, as her entire left leg jumped and danced to its own beat, while her right hand attempted to paint the bathroom door frame. With paint all over her shirt and more green in her hair than gray, she smiled up at me, “Isn’t this a fabulous color?”

Chapter 4: Perspective and Point of View

Exercise: Chapter 22
An Early Memory, Part One: The Child as Narrator

Like us, the Siegels have a Black maid. I don’t know her name, but ours is Doris. This lady looks a lot like Doris, and she’s really nice, just like Doris. And, she thinks my little brother is the cutest thing ever, same as Doris. Her and Kenny have been playing in the kitchen since we got here. We had to come early because Mom had to help Mrs. Siegel get dinner ready for Seder. You wouldn’t believe how much there is to do, my mom kept saying. Between the matzoh ball soup and the charoset, you’ve got the hard-boiled eggs and the gefilte fish. Mom’s been talking about it for weeks.

Mom and Mrs. Siegel are sitting at the dining room table rubbing that gooey stuff on the silver and talking about all the people coming over later. I’ve been upstairs to the playroom, but the ping-pong table is boring by myself and they won’t let me play Barry’s drums because they’re too loud, so I’m back downstairs now. The maid is really nice to me, too, and gives me and Kenny both three squares of Hershey bar because we helped put the water glasses on the table and didn’t break any.

She reaches down to wipe chocolate off Kenny’s face. I don’t think I have any on me because I’m older and know how to eat a candy bar, especially when I have on a nice dress. Hold still, sugar pie, you’ve got chocolate all over your sweet little face, she tells him. Let me just rub that off you, child.

Kenny doesn’t sit still too good. He doesn’t really like when people try to clean him up. Next thing I know, he tells her, Why don’t you rub it off you? You’ve got chocolate all over your whole self!

The maid is laughing now like nobody I’ve ever seen. She says, Child, if I could wipe this chocolate off me, you know I would, but this here chocolate is here to stay! She keeps laughing and pretty soon Mom and Mrs. Siegel are laughing and Kenny and me are laughing, even though I’m not sure Kenny really knows what he’s laughing about. Mrs. Siegel even lifts up her glasses and wipe her eyes; she is crying from laughing so hard. The maid keeps laughing all night long, Wipe that chocolate off myself! Oh, child!


Exercise: Chapter 23
An Early Memory, Part Two: The Reminiscent Narrator

It seemed every Jew in Memphis had a Black maid. If you lived in a certain neighborhood, even though it was the South, you could go days without seeing another Black person except for your maid. So, while we grew up with a Black person in our house every day after school, we didn’t really know any.

Like us, the Siegels had a Black maid. I don’t remember her name; ours was Doris. At the time, it seemed normal there would be a Black maid in every house we visited. They were more like family members than people who were getting paid, or at least that’s what we liked to believe: Sweetheart, meet Mrs. Seigel, her husband Mr. Siegel, her son Barry, her daughter Wendy, and her maid whose name I can’t remember.

The Siegel’s maid was helping out with Passover Seder, which meant she was expected to do any combination of cooking, cleaning and entertaining the kids who were getting in the way. She definitely had a soft spot for my little brother, as did most adults who met him. We had arrived early because my mother insisted on helping Mrs. Siegel get dinner ready. You wouldn’t believe how much there is to do, my mom kept saying. Between the matzoh ball soup and the charoset, you’ve got the hard-boiled eggs and the gefilte fish. Of course, she didn’t mention the extra help she was getting from the Siegel’s maid, or the help she had gotten from Doris earlier in the day.

As mom and Mrs. Siegel sat at the dining room table, polishing the silver and talking about the guests who had yet to arrive, Kenny and I were getting bored. After exploring every inch of the upstairs playroom, we returned to the main floor and proceeded to get in everyone’s way. The Siegel’s maid made us a deal: three squares of a chocolate bar if we helped put the water glasses on the table and didn’t break any. Done.

As we finished up our candy, the maid reached down to wipe chocolate off my little brother’s face. Hold still, sugar pie, you’ve got chocolate all over your sweet little face, she told him. Let me just rub that off you, child.

Kenny, cute and adorable and precocious, smiled up at her and said, Why don’t you rub it off you? You’ve got chocolate all over your whole self!

My eyes darted to the dining room where my mother sat. I expected someone to scold him, to explain that her skin is not made of chocolate and that what he said was certainly rude. But, my mother simply looked up, saw that the maid was laughing, and began laughing as well.

I heard the maid say, Child, if I could wipe this chocolate off me, you know I would, but this here chocolate is here to stay! We all laughed and the story was told again and again as each new guest arrived. Kenny stood, the center of attention, only slightly embarrassed by his mistake. It looks like chocolate, he insisted.

To this day, I still wonder why it was so funny.