Their anger stood on my toe,
Their mind stood by,
They never let up,
But I stood my ground.

- by Sergey S., age 15

Farming is my life
Shovel in my hands
Rain and pain mixed
I wish I could go home

- by Julia Salyuk, age 15

all day working
tired of dehydration
bottle of water in the sun
blisters from the sledge hammer
starts to rain.

- by Vladimir Kolombet, age 17

Abundance of water
Known as the greenest state
Here is where I live

- by Yana Yukhimchuk, age 17

City lights brightly aglow
breathing in the heavy aroma of coffee
this is my home

- by Taya Khrupina, age 17

fresh green trees
rainy days
no winter

- by Vlad Kolombet, age 17

For today
I have to build a railroad
piece by piece
and hours of work
still so many left

- by Gennadiy Stepanenko, age 19




[Editor's note: The above poem comes from a high school Language Arts "Oregon History Through Literature" unit. After learning about the experience of Japanese immigrants and Japanese Americans in Oregon, starting in the late 1800s and spanning all the way through World War II, youth wrote poetry, taking on a fictional identity and describing life through the lens of a Japanese American person in Oregon.]

Zinza's Story

When I look at myself in the mirror
I see how my life story effects it.
I see the tears, the pain, the love.
The love I miss is the love of my life.
The love I am scared to lose.
I lost my family, I found love.
But he went to war to make this over.
I want peace, not blood.
I look at this heart he gave me
So that I never leave anyone.
I am waiting for him to get back.
And we will have our wedding.
We will move to a peaceful place
Where there is no war.
Only me and my love.
I lost my parents because of war.
But I will not lose my love.
I wait and read my book; it's drama.
So not true, but I believe that miracles happen.
I am Indian, so it's hard for me to see blood.
I am Zinza who is waiting for my love.
I miss my love.
I wait for him forever.
He is my love.
He and I will live in peace some day.
Sometime me and my love.

- by Lili Garkavets, age 15

[Editor's note: After reading poetry, fiction and non-fiction representing various groups who lived in or came to Oregon in the 1700s and 1800s, youth were asked to write a poem from the perspective of someone new or established in the region during that time. This is one of the poems.]

When you write my story

When you write my story
tell them about the leadership I had
about my land and how beautiful it was
about the people in my tribe
about the struggles in my life
about the peace and love I had for my people
tell them that my life wasn't easy
they should know that the land that we had was a blessing
tell them about the good things
when you write my story, don't forget to write it well

- by Victoria Kharitonenko, age 17

[Editor's note: After reading poetry, fiction and non-fiction representing various groups who lived in or came to Oregon in the 1700s and 1800s, youth were asked to write a poem from the perspective of someone new or established in the region during that time. This is one of the poems.]

Away from family

I'm from the place that has been through so much
I'm from a poor family
That fell apart
Parents work too hard
To keep their children alive
I walk on cracked roads
Hear soft whispers
Loud noises
As I slowly turn around
I still see the slow motion
People run from place to place
Mothers trying to save their kids
When father is working hard and
Getting just a tiny piece of bread
I walked a way
Heart is filled with tears
They brake out on my face
Slowly slide down
I've seen so much
I'm full for a lifetime
I'm from a world in which you won't survive.

- by Taya Kedrich, age 15

Fighting over Land

-by Aleksandr Bakhmatov, age 15

Shovel in the enriched dark soil.
Courage of the explorer.
Intense heat on the human inhabitants of the world.

white clouds
swim fast
the blue sky
somewhere in the south

- by Artem Stepanenko, age 16

the Japanese American internment experience through poetry

as seen through the eyes of Slavic youth today

I

My life went through the ground,
And got raised up to the skies,
But I found a way out
In the middle of it all.

- by Sergei, K, age 15

II

All cold
in a barn
with family
Lost everything
Empty inside

- by Lily K., age 15

III

different from everyone
away from home
like animals in a barn
hot summers, cold winters
like one big family

- by Lili G., age 16

IV

Empty rooms
Strangers carry out my treasures
Trapped inside these hollow walls
I sit in boredom

- by Liliya K., age 15

V

Cracked roads
soft whispers
tears on my cheeks

- by Taya K., age 16

VI

Thorns stretch out on wires
Hollow buildings await history
Law breaks our memories
and leaves us all in mystery

- by Victoriya T., age 16

VII

No hitting around,
No sores from the punch,
My life lost everything,
And gained the knowledge of how to
start from scratch
From nothing again, I started it then

- by Alex B., age 15

[Editor's note: This work comes from a high school Language Arts "Oregon History Through Literature" unit. After learning about the experience of Japanese immigrants and Japanese Americans in Oregon, starting in the late 1800s and spanning all the way through World War II, youth wrote poetry about the internment experience]

The Enemy

[Editor's note: After reading poetry, fiction and non-fiction representing various groups who lived in or came to Oregon in the 1700s and 1800s, youth were asked to write a poem from the perspective of someone new or established in the region during that time. This is one of the poems.]

Weeds of anger fill my soul
My cheeks fill up with fire
Crackling dirt as I walk down the road
A sign of enemies coming

They shoot their arrows into the air
From the bow that breaks in sorrow
The childish cry of victory
The smell of blazing fire

I turn to glance, my tribe has won
The cry of babies, the shouting of mothers
Chaos erupts like a flaming volcano
In the soul we all are winners

- by Liliya Kharitonenko, age 15

Swings after the war

by Fred Vasilchuk, age 14

Swings after the war
Nine years it lasted
With a clear sky after the rain and smoke
Silence after the noise


[photo credit: Wyrdcrow]

Cherry and her family

- by Sergey Salyuk, age 15

My name is Cherry.

I want to have a beautiful house and a lot of bread and cooked meat,
a nice garden, planted with vegetables and fruits.

I have a nice husband and a little dark child and a very poor house.

I have a fear of war and not enough food and my child having diseases.

I fish with my husband with nets to have something to eat at home.
It's hard to fish and pull the net out of the water with a lot of fish.

My name is Cherry and I love my husband.


[Editor's note: After reading poetry, fiction and non-fiction representing various groups who lived in or came to Oregon in the 1700s and 1800s, youth were asked to write a poem from the perspective of someone new or established in the region during that time. This is one of the poems.]

I had a family

- by Sveta T., age 16

I had a family before
I had people I loved
I still smell the baked, brown, glazed chicken made by mother.
And I still remember the day I was taken away forever.
They rushed into my home,
grabbed me and never let go,
the last words heard from mother and father:
stay strong and never give up.
Tears roll down my cheeks now,
wanting to stay with mother and father in our home
and wanting some of that yummy, mouth-watering chicken.
Here the days seem like years
and the chores aren't the chores that I used to do at home.
And now I miss them even more
and wonder do they miss me and want me home?


[Editor's note: This poem describes the experience of forceful removal of Native American children from their families to attend government-sponsored boarding schools. The poem is the result of an English class project examining local history through literature. After reading poetry, fiction and non-fiction representing various groups who lived in or came to Oregon in the 1700s and 1800s, youth were asked to write a poem from the perspective of someone new or established in the region during that time.]

just a girl

- by Natasha Dumitrash, age 17

like a flower
I grow
and the flower blooms
remember me as a smart one
when they ask about my beauty
answer them with guarantee
never have doubts about me
I was gentle like a white rose
loving like a romance between two
I never questioned others
lived my life with no regrets
I'm strong like a leaf in the tree
holding on through all four seasons




[Editor's note: This poem is the result of an English class project examining local history through literature. After reading poetry, fiction and non-fiction representing various groups who lived in or came to Oregon in the 1700s and 1800s, youth were asked to write a poem from the perspective of someone new or established in the region during that time.]

My name is J Shaun

- by Andrey German, age 15

My name is J Shaun
I grew up in Oregon
where the forest was green and the flowers were colorful
where people were nice until white people came along.
They took three sons from me
I taught them well
I thought all of them would come back
but only one of them showed up.
Now the forest is brown with very few trees left.
I called them the white monsters riding weird creatures.



[Editor's note: After reading poetry, fiction and non-fiction representing various groups who lived in or came to Oregon in the 1700s and 1800s, youth in a high school English class were asked to write a poem from the perspective of someone new or established in the region during that time.]

I am a warrior and I am afraid

- by Iosif Dumitrash, age 16

I am a warrior and I am afraid.
I am in a war,
holding a gun and running scared,
killing more than I thought I would be.
I am not afraid to die.
I am afraid for my family and how they will survive.
I am hungry,
feeling my stomach sucking in to my body.
I am thirsty and would even drink the blood of a rabbit.
I am going hunting for snakes and rabbits,
eating bugs when I can't hunt,
waiting for the war to be over so I can go home.



[Editor's note: This poem is the result of an English class project examining local history through literature. After reading poetry, fiction and non-fiction representing various groups who lived in or came to Oregon in the 1700s and 1800s, youth were asked to write a poem from the perspective of someone new or established in the region during that time.]