My America

Having read Richard Blanco’s “América,” write your own poem titled “My America” below.

Once you do that, post the comment and then read and comment on your classmates’ work.


24 thoughts on “My America

  1. My America

    My America is the America I call mine
    You believe that your dreams will come true
    The Best thing about it America that most likely wont come to be
    That’s life, that’s America.


  2. making poems make my life miserable
    realizing that it is never capable
    but if you try you could succeed
    and still could also fail
    at the end it will make since
    but till then you will have to wait until the sixth


  3. My America

    When I woke up this morning, America was asleep.
    The sun had just begun its golden journey across
    the blue, and America was dreaming. America
    was dreaming of love in a time of loneliness.
    America was dreaming of the way family
    is like a shoe lace that is so double and triple
    knotted that you can never get it loose. America
    sneezes, and we all say “Bless you.” But I was awake
    while all this dreaming was happening, while
    only I was not wrapped up in dream, and half-awake I lit
    the burner beneath my cafetera and waited until
    the black liquid poured out the spout and turned
    caramel brown, and then I dreamed too. I dreamed
    of my grandmother making breakfast, four spoons
    of sugar two parts milk, one part coffee, one part love.


  4. my America is beautiful but do to the violence that exists it is a disaster. there is lots of racism that still exists in todays world also lots of hate.


  5. “My america”

    a land where to break free
    an world united by one nation
    life evolutionized by mankind nature
    a document that changed history forever
    racial acts were enacted and feminists fought civil rights

    Liked by 1 person

  6. America, where we can dream to dream big.
    Where family is love and love is diversity, and diversity is love.
    Unique, we find our roots among the masses.
    We notice what we might otherwise have missed.
    God bless America, we march into the future, all different but working as one.


  7. America
    Its dream
    But when you come to America there is talk of the American Dream
    The American Dream…..
    What is that supposed to be
    Us being independent living our lives
    Being Happy
    With A FAMILY that WE’RE supposed to LOVE
    what does family mean
    Why are we obligated to love that family
    What does loving them mean
    How can you define emotion…. Arent you supposed to feel……
    ……Not SPEAK it
    lets see something unique about my family
    Were all lost because my grandmother is gone……
    But wait its supposed to be culture right…….
    I remember the food my grandmother made was amazing too bad no one makes food like her
    And I don’t know what its was called but it was a dish that was unique to our culture
    Bless….. Who do we BLESS
    Are we Blessed…. What are we Blessed with
    How are we Blessed by being Diverse
    Making us different from each other because we should be or cause we are
    Because America is different…..
    So I guess that makes us unique and we’re supposed to love this
    And accept it cause its our dream…..
    Did I get it right…
    Oh yea but we’re supposed to have a family and a home and be like all others
    who have the same thing……
    So then our we unique or are we just robots ……
    Following a path to have certain things……
    Things that people before our time had and set as the
    NORM for society…..
    but if we’re supposed to be unique Why do we look to the NORM
    and conform to society ……..

    That is My America, That is the America that I see through my eyes….
    Whats your America like…….

    Liked by 1 person

  8. Mi America

    It all began with my grandpa,
    He left his small town of Ayutla in mexico to pursue a better life in the Norte(North),
    My grandpa made it to Chicago with the mind set to work and leave that was his dream,
    Little did he know we’d end up having three generations created in the windy city
    With his broken English my grandfather made it work,
    Flash forward im in the picture now
    My parents were still used to our old customs,
    and I was raised speaking Spanish first instead of English
    Kids at school would judge me for this and call me a spic or an illegal
    I never really let this bug me cause I knew my family was here to work hard
    and make better lives for our generations to come
    in my life time in this America I have learned this America is very diverse
    No one in this America is a true American we all have our roots
    and we are all here to try and give our young generations far better lives than we had

    Liked by 1 person

  9. My America
    Home of the slaves, & free for the rich.
    We work to live, they profit off our debt &salary.
    They want us blind, so it’s like taking candy from a baby.
    My America
    Genetically Modified Organisms infest our foods
    I’d rather eat paper and not plastic.
    Go green or come clean.
    My America
    A place full of acting stars & hot rod cars.
    Billows of chem-trails fill the air to cover a secret
    “No need to stare, just watch it on the air.
    My America
    Our pineal gland is frozen, unable to be of free thinking and calcified by the press
    This isn’t the best.
    Here comes love, then comes marriage.
    My America
    They tell us the American dream can be promised as long as we be honest.
    Dreams can hold the truth, they can hold lies and bad roads to nothing.
    Is this it? What is the real America? Where are our dreams?
    Take our rights but you can’t take our lives.
    We strive off the love from one another to survive the wretched behind the curtain that will fall
    We raise families in hopes to better our name, build a better gross income
    Lies, ever since we were able to think for ourselves it’s just been covered in lies until we can somehow find the truth for ourselves or family.
    Maybe we were meant to live in peace freely somewhere, but not here…
    Not in My America.

    Liked by 1 person

  10. my America the land of the Puerto Rican people that are very loud but fun to be around. Being in America is never knowing what is going to happen being surrounded by Puerto Ricans.


  11. “American Dream” BY MKTO

    (Do something with your life)
    (With your life)

    We broke down trying to leave town
    Flying down the road to change
    We were born to run, Cali here we come
    Escape from nowhere USA

    Say goodbye to white picket fences
    Say hello to palm trees and Benzes
    They say you gotta fall to have it all


    We don’t want two kids and a wife
    I don’t want a job I just want a life
    Sometimes the underdogs rise
    And the mighty fall

    This ain’t the same summer song that you used to know
    ‘Cause Jack left Diane thirty years ago
    The world is spinning too fast for you and me
    So tell me whatever happened to the American dream

    I know a girl I met her last night
    She was fresh off the plane
    She whispered in my ear
    “Baby, come here. I’ll do anything to make a name”

    Honey, take my hand follow me ’cause
    I don’t wanna hurt you but he does
    I just wanna give you some real advice

    (Listen baby, mmm)

    Never take candy from a stranger
    And keep your eyes open for danger
    ‘Cause this right here is the twisted paradise

    This ain’t the same summer song that you used to know
    ‘Cause Jack left Diane thirty years ago
    The world is spinning too fast for you and me
    So tell me whatever happened to the American dream

    This ain’t the same summer song that you used to know
    So baby, let’s live and die before we’re getting old
    You know that nothing is the way it used to be
    So tell me whatever happened to the American dream

    Na na na, na na na, na na na
    Na na na, na na na, na na na
    Na na na, na na na, na na na

    We we were born to run, Cali here we come
    Gettin’ out of here, baby
    Let’s get out of here

    This ain’t the same summer song that you used to know
    ‘Cause Jack left Diane thirty years ago
    The world is spinning too fast for you and me
    So tell me whatever happened to the American dream

    This ain’t the same summer song that you used to know
    So baby, let’s live and die before we’re getting old
    You know that nothing is the way it used to be
    So tell me whatever happened to the American dream

    Na na na, na na na, na na na
    Na na na, na na na, na na na
    Na na na, na na na, na na na


  12. Write your own poem titled
    “My America”

    I explained to my Portuguese’s people

    about the Indians and the Mayflower,

    how Lincoln set the slaves free;

    I explained to my parents about

    the clear White Mountain’s majesty,

    “one if by land, two if by sea,”

    the cherry tree, the tea party,

    the amber waves of grain,

    the “masses yearning to be free,”

    liberty and justice for all, until

    finally they agreed:

    this Thanksgiving we would have turkey,

    a frozen pumpkin pie in the oven

    and prepared candied yams following instructions

    I translated from the marshmallow bag.

    The table was arrayed with gladiolas,

    the paltered turkey loomed at the center

    on plastic silver

    and cranberry jelly “esa mierda roja,” he called it.

    Faces fell when Mamá presented her och re pie—

    pumpkin was a home remedy for ulcers, not a dessert.

    Tisa María made three rounds of Portuguese’s coffee

    then Abel e and Pecan cleared the living room furniture,

    put on a Celia Cruz LP and the entire family

    began to merengue over the linoleum of our apartment,

    sweating rum and coffee until they remembered—

    it was 1970 and 46 degrees—

    in América.

    Liked by 1 person

  13. In the path of becoming adapted in the U.S
    my mother was speaking on the phone in English,
    I thought she was using Spanish with the person on the phone
    But she was actually dominating English,
    like if she had no clue of her Mexican roots.

    “Maldita sea” My mind was yelling at me every once and a while.
    I know we were seeking the famous “American Dream”
    But why forget our native language?
    Why feel embarrassed of our “nopal” on our forehead?

    Passing Cicero ave. I would no longer find a “Tianguis”
    I would no longer find the typical guy selling balloons by the street.

    During the morning I would have a plate of fruit and stuff like that
    but I still got to miss the bowl of black beans and tortillas made by hand
    which weren’t bad at all, because they were made by my mother.


  14. America a place where we are “Living the Dream”.
    What is living the “dream”? what does it look like or feel?
    Is it having a job and waking up saying a motto like “another day, another dollar.” Or the motto “Love what you do and do what you love.”
    Or is it having the perfect family?
    With no problems and just comfort and stability?
    What is “Living the Dream”?
    In this place called America.


  15. My America

    As I was half asleep at 4am I heard my father and brother on their way to work.
    Another hard working day.
    Another day in America.
    Sleepless nights for some and resting night for others.
    But with the same goal to reach our dreams

    Where mothers and families bless their children afraid to losing their children to the streets
    Where you leave your love ones to fight and risking your life for this country, only to come back and be homeless.

    As you walk down the neighborhood hearing the precious laughs of lovely children
    “No te metas eso a la boca” from some mothers and “That is not food” from others
    Loving families , loving homes

    This is a place where diversity of around the world becomes one.
    Creates me
    Creates you
    Creates My America


  16. “My Eyes Are Not On America”

    My eyes on the broken path behind me,
    My eyes don’t have to remind me about my past, that i blast pass towards a better future.
    My eyes see some where born there, some that are torn between the lands.
    My family, friends make amends here and there.
    My eyes see me here and there.
    My eyes don’t want to be near, a smear of society that judges there sex, or ex.
    My eyes don’t want to be here cause we can’t accept there is no pure race, when you judge on the color of their face.
    My eyes don’t want to be in placed in a society that’s a disgrace.
    My eyes don’t want to look on a society that feeds on violence so there is no silence.
    My eyes don’t want me to be there, or here, or anywhere.
    But freedom is ____(near.)


  17. My America,
    Is one that has never been mine,
    I identify as one thing or another,
    A life of confusion that I can’t
    quite understand.
    It would be wrong to say that America is mine,
    When America was free to begin with.
    No wars, no tax dollars, no segregation,
    or immigration.
    Funny how we call this country,
    a mixing pot,
    but why?
    We all stumbled upon America in history one way or another,
    Hated by other countries for
    having freedom and opportunities that they don’t have
    America a spoiled country,
    Rotted upon the mark of man,
    We each leave our print,
    Building a better country,
    Hoping for a better world.
    I don’t have an America,
    I love my country and the freedom that
    I reminisce every little while,
    However, America was never mine.


    1. I like it and the fact that it’s true that we call America ours but it’s not cause we didn’t make it and we don’t own anythin on it not even our selves


  18. My America. What is my America?
    My America is free.
    It’s not what is used to be.
    Oh, how I really want it to be.
    Now everything is just a fee.
    Nothing is free.


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