'Showing' not Telling Poetry

Enjoy these examples of Where I'm From...poetry written by your classmates. Notice the use of vivd descriptive 'showing' language.

I am made of the colors red and gold
Huge celebrations with dragons so bold
I’m from secret escapes from an island
and I’m a swordplayer in demand
I’m a lover of water, sunlight, and sand.
I’m from saddling up and falling right off
and little beany critters going aloft
A melody of any is a joy to me
It’s like I have gills some may say
and I like dreaming even during the day
I’m always showing my teeth,
and with my stomach, I’m likely to be green
I was given the gift of song
and I hark from the land of the gong
I’m ham-handed as can be
But I am exuberant, so I hope that you will like me.
by Katherine Lim

I am from sun blocking banks, law firms, and construction sites
From juicy, crunchy, delicious fried chicken and birthday foie gras

I am from 5 o’clock rush hour on Providence road
From the close calls of Bobcats games and the roar of the crowd as the Panthers play

I am from fireworks and cookouts on the Forth of July and that truly great Oreo pie
From the smell of gooey cookies right out of the oven

I am from the screams and laughs at Carrowinds and the costumes of characters as they greet the fans
From the smell of fried Twinkies and funnel cakes and the crowded but still very fun speed street
I am who I am and that can’t ever be changed

Makaela Sides




When you write descriptively...will you attempt to 'show' your readers like these examples below?

The pizza was delicious.

Steam rising up off the melted cheese made my mouth water. The first bite, my teeth sinking into the cheese through the tomato sauce and into the moist crust, made me chew and swallow rapidly. Even the cheese and tomato sauce, sticking to my fingertips, begged to be licked.

He is angry.

Sitting at his desk, his jaw tightened. His eyes flashed heat waves at me. The words erupted from his mouth, "I want to talk to you after class." The final hiss in his voice warned me about his feelings.

The morning was beautiful.

Behind the mountains, the sun peaked brightly, ready to start a new day. The blue sky remained silent yet showed signs of sadness. The wind whispered through the trees as the cheerful sun rose. The birds sang gently by my window as if they wanted to wake me up.

The coffee was enjoyable.

She cradled the mug in both hands and leaned her head over it in the rising steam. Pursing her lips, she blew softly over the clouded surface and let her eyelids drop. Her shoulders rose slightly as she breathed in, and she hummed with her head low. I lifted the tiny porcelain pitcher and poured a brief rotating arch of white into the black depths of my own cup. She opened her eyes, and we looked at each other across the table without speaking.