Reflection Through Poetry
At this station students wrote about their experiences at the Gilbert Stuart Museum by writing poetry. During the day, the students visited five different stations: the Rhode Island slave experience, exploring identity, tours of the snuff and grist mills, the dangers of smokeless tobacco, and reflection through poetry. Students that worked with Mrs.Wilson, the language arts teacher, got to express their feelings about the day through poetry. Some poems were about the Gilbert Stuart portraits on the walls because their eyes followed you where ever you went in the room. Other poems were about the life as a slave in Rhode Island because the students had to go back and fourth collecting water, stacking wood, grinding corn by hand, and sewing. Life as a slave was the hardest station so many students wrote poems about this experience. The role play station helped students understand what it was like to be a slave in Rhode Island and the poetry station helped the students process the experience.
-Alyssa, Kylie, Crisanny, Chrismayri
At this station students wrote about their experiences at the Gilbert Stuart Museum by writing poetry. During the day, the students visited five different stations: the Rhode Island slave experience, exploring identity, tours of the snuff and grist mills, the dangers of smokeless tobacco, and reflection through poetry. Students that worked with Mrs.Wilson, the language arts teacher, got to express their feelings about the day through poetry. Some poems were about the Gilbert Stuart portraits on the walls because their eyes followed you where ever you went in the room. Other poems were about the life as a slave in Rhode Island because the students had to go back and fourth collecting water, stacking wood, grinding corn by hand, and sewing. Life as a slave was the hardest station so many students wrote poems about this experience. The role play station helped students understand what it was like to be a slave in Rhode Island and the poetry station helped the students process the experience.
-Alyssa, Kylie, Crisanny, Chrismayri
Soft Strokes of the Oiled Brush
Portraits dazzling through the bland room
Watching a person's every move
Colors splattered to a vivid creation
A painter’s art work in a ghostly formation
Slaves carrying buckets that weighed a ton
which wasn’t a lot of fun
Dropping the wooden buckets as they splash in the stream
And lifting them back up as a team
`
Painting the president's face on the dollar bill,
And growing up in a 1800’s snuff mill
The feeling of bitter water soaks my socks
As I step over the wet and slippery rocks
I listened and did what I was told,
Trying not to get in trouble and make them scold.
As I ended my day at this historic mill
It made me think differently about the one dollar bill.
~ Nicholas F.
This Old House
Sit in this old empty house
Listen to the water flow by
Smell the scent of wood
And feel the fresh air
Walk along the bank
See the squirrels run by
Let your mind drift atop the water
so clear
Feel the rumble of machines
as they turn
This old house beckons to you
Still unchanged it should be
Yet altered it has been
The voices of those long since past linger there
They sit along the bank
and watch the living pass by
Once in a blue moon they blow a wind
To the people they see
To say they are there
To ask for a minute of their time
To get a moment of peace
They long for the days they worked the mill
They are the ones that beckon your presence
By: Danielle H.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The sky was grey like a miserable day,
And fish were swimming through the bay.
The water wheel was turning around and around,
No one made a sound.
Commands were thrown at everyone,
The buckets we carried weighed a ton.
We were taught that snuff wasn’t good,
In the buildings made of deep, brown wood.
Treasured paintings filled the walls,
Above the narrow halls.
The floor was tilted in the house,
Keep the corn away from the mouse.
Words we couldn’t understand,
Were the opposite of grand.
An experience I won’t forget,
My shoes were all wet.
~Fran M.
I Don’t Speak Swedish!
I feel the water splash on my feet
Which was a feeling I didn’t find neat
Getting yelled at in a language I don’t understand
While grinding corn by hand
I look at where Gilbert was born
As the man shows us ground corn
I see the painting which is on the dollar bill
As we tour through the old snuff mill
I see the amazing artwork
Where nobody smiles, not even a smirk
I watch the water crash against the big wheel, splash!
And learn about how snuff make your lungs look like trash
I smell the fishy scent of the stream
As we lift the bucket out of the water as a team
She keeps on yelling and yelling in Swedish, What is she trying to say?
I don’t know how slaves could do this every day
I learned a lot when I visited the mill
I’ll never think the same when I look at the dollar bill
By Aidan Z.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The cold of the water
The smell of decaying wood
As we wait for more orders
We sweat until the sun is no more
You know we don't understand
Yet you make us work
As if we are no longer human
We are worthless aspects of this world
Traded for money, are we
We begin to see
No longer are we your servants
We are just like you
Religion is just a petty you say
Every set of eyes are on our heads
Dictating us
Watching us
Ordering us
We are not the problem
Nor are we the “slaves”
Neither of us are different
Instead, we are human
Transparent Windows
The wooden floor creaked as I walked across it unevenly
My nose got clogged from the odor of fish outside
The paintings stared at me, a straight face glare
“Clear view ahead!” the windows call out, “Clear view ahead!”
Sparks flying as high as the sky as the teapot is warming up
Sleep-overs come to mind when the small bed is pulled out
Rich room as George Washington is in view
Little boy is not tall enough to reach his bed
“Clear view ahead!” the windows call out, “Clear view ahead!”
“Screech!” is the sound as the bed is getting tightened
Secrets locked up as the blue chest has a key
Sounds of running water while trying to count the fish
Butterflies fly to my stomach as I creep down the narrow staircase
Small people wandering around the house, not having to duck their heads in the doorways
“Clear view ahead!” the windows call out, “Clear view ahead!”
“Clear view ahead!” the windows call out, “Clear view ahead!”
Creaking floors, holes in the beams, uneven floors, small doorways
Yet I feel as though the house could collapse at any second
~ Sophia T.
In This Old House
With slanted floors and open doors,
with cold water in ponds and shores,
with working hard
in an open yard,
with grinding corn,
and clothes that have been worn,
a crooked ceiling, a fireplace,
there are no paintings without a face.
In this house, there are many rooms,
and bushes where no flowers bloom.
Makes me wonder, how did they,
survive with all of this dismay?
With carrying buckets of water cold as ice,
and grinding corn as thin as a spice.
And as we leave, we hear in the distance,
the screams of the wind blowing against the trees.
~ Penelope T.
Slave
Ripped from their home
To work in a new place
A new world
No pay
No life
Just pain
Knowing nothing
Learning nothing
Trying to live
To see the light
Of a new day
Back and forth
Day and night
No rest
dying of thirst
We’re like objects
We get no respect
By Tori F.
The Life of a Slave
In a dark basement
Where mice and rats play all day
Grinding corn to dust
While they make desserts
I try to scare the rodents off
Yet to no avail
I try to do my best as a slave
I try my best to behave
Yet it never seems to be enough
Because all they do is huff
While they are eating desserts
I am washing shirts
If I mess up my work
They go berserk
By Sheldon S.
Dull Colors Everywhere
The dull colors filling the room made me feel sad as if I were being ripped apart from my family once again,
The smoke poisoned the air like the snuff in the slave owner’s noses.
The floor was tilted like the Leaning Tower of Pisa,
Everytime I speak, I get yelled at in a foreign language.
This strange world is making me confused and disoriented,
I am forced to do hard labor and call this unknown place “home.”
I have no friends and my family is nowhere to be seen,
I wonder why I am in this horrible place as I am sitting on a rope bed, waiting for my assignments in the fields.
Paintings of happy families are everywhere,
I wonder where my parents and many siblings are.
With barely any food, I spend my days working on the fields for a family who treats me poorly,
When I walk down the narrow staircase, I feel like I am being squished into the ship that brought me to this new world.
By Eve A.
Slave Life
I've seen the coast
I've seen the shore
I've seen slave auctions I don't wanna see no more
Get out of my face
Get off my case
I don't know this place
I don't wanna be wet
I don't wanna be cold
This is my life you can’t just take control
If you keep yelling at me I'm going to run
I would rather die than see your dirty deeds done
I don't want to look at the grey north eastern sky I want the African sun
~ Josh H.
Creaking Doors, Uneven floors
Red and White,
Gilbert’s house,
Old and musky,
There’s a mouse!
Ropes and pots,
Uneven floors,
Dirty mats and creaking doors.
Down the stairs, 1, 2, 3,
How many paintings do you see?
Round and round goes the wheel,
Makes me listen, makes me feel.
Shiver, shiver down my spine,
Powder grind, very fine.
Out the door, vine by vine,
Every tree and every pine.
Pails and buckets, water spills,
Wash your clothes and work the mills.
By: Jessica P.
The Window Sill And The Mill
I walked to the window sill,
I looked out at the mill.
Chirp, chirp, the birds sing their songs
Then looked in the corner where lies a blue chest.
Full of memories of when times were best.
With all the paintings on the wall looking down at me,
that were made to look as real as could be.
And the famous unfinished painting of Washington
hung over the bed,
Is now on the dollar bill that we use now and then.
The painting of the merchant's wife,
that did not come out as he thought it would
He got as mad as he could
But he never understood.
I walked to the window sill,
And looked out at the mill.
By: Hailey M.
Portraits dazzling through the bland room
Watching a person's every move
Colors splattered to a vivid creation
A painter’s art work in a ghostly formation
Slaves carrying buckets that weighed a ton
which wasn’t a lot of fun
Dropping the wooden buckets as they splash in the stream
And lifting them back up as a team
`
Painting the president's face on the dollar bill,
And growing up in a 1800’s snuff mill
The feeling of bitter water soaks my socks
As I step over the wet and slippery rocks
I listened and did what I was told,
Trying not to get in trouble and make them scold.
As I ended my day at this historic mill
It made me think differently about the one dollar bill.
~ Nicholas F.
This Old House
Sit in this old empty house
Listen to the water flow by
Smell the scent of wood
And feel the fresh air
Walk along the bank
See the squirrels run by
Let your mind drift atop the water
so clear
Feel the rumble of machines
as they turn
This old house beckons to you
Still unchanged it should be
Yet altered it has been
The voices of those long since past linger there
They sit along the bank
and watch the living pass by
Once in a blue moon they blow a wind
To the people they see
To say they are there
To ask for a minute of their time
To get a moment of peace
They long for the days they worked the mill
They are the ones that beckon your presence
By: Danielle H.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The sky was grey like a miserable day,
And fish were swimming through the bay.
The water wheel was turning around and around,
No one made a sound.
Commands were thrown at everyone,
The buckets we carried weighed a ton.
We were taught that snuff wasn’t good,
In the buildings made of deep, brown wood.
Treasured paintings filled the walls,
Above the narrow halls.
The floor was tilted in the house,
Keep the corn away from the mouse.
Words we couldn’t understand,
Were the opposite of grand.
An experience I won’t forget,
My shoes were all wet.
~Fran M.
I Don’t Speak Swedish!
I feel the water splash on my feet
Which was a feeling I didn’t find neat
Getting yelled at in a language I don’t understand
While grinding corn by hand
I look at where Gilbert was born
As the man shows us ground corn
I see the painting which is on the dollar bill
As we tour through the old snuff mill
I see the amazing artwork
Where nobody smiles, not even a smirk
I watch the water crash against the big wheel, splash!
And learn about how snuff make your lungs look like trash
I smell the fishy scent of the stream
As we lift the bucket out of the water as a team
She keeps on yelling and yelling in Swedish, What is she trying to say?
I don’t know how slaves could do this every day
I learned a lot when I visited the mill
I’ll never think the same when I look at the dollar bill
By Aidan Z.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The cold of the water
The smell of decaying wood
As we wait for more orders
We sweat until the sun is no more
You know we don't understand
Yet you make us work
As if we are no longer human
We are worthless aspects of this world
Traded for money, are we
We begin to see
No longer are we your servants
We are just like you
Religion is just a petty you say
Every set of eyes are on our heads
Dictating us
Watching us
Ordering us
We are not the problem
Nor are we the “slaves”
Neither of us are different
Instead, we are human
- Anthony M.
Transparent Windows
The wooden floor creaked as I walked across it unevenly
My nose got clogged from the odor of fish outside
The paintings stared at me, a straight face glare
“Clear view ahead!” the windows call out, “Clear view ahead!”
Sparks flying as high as the sky as the teapot is warming up
Sleep-overs come to mind when the small bed is pulled out
Rich room as George Washington is in view
Little boy is not tall enough to reach his bed
“Clear view ahead!” the windows call out, “Clear view ahead!”
“Screech!” is the sound as the bed is getting tightened
Secrets locked up as the blue chest has a key
Sounds of running water while trying to count the fish
Butterflies fly to my stomach as I creep down the narrow staircase
Small people wandering around the house, not having to duck their heads in the doorways
“Clear view ahead!” the windows call out, “Clear view ahead!”
“Clear view ahead!” the windows call out, “Clear view ahead!”
Creaking floors, holes in the beams, uneven floors, small doorways
Yet I feel as though the house could collapse at any second
~ Sophia T.
In This Old House
With slanted floors and open doors,
with cold water in ponds and shores,
with working hard
in an open yard,
with grinding corn,
and clothes that have been worn,
a crooked ceiling, a fireplace,
there are no paintings without a face.
In this house, there are many rooms,
and bushes where no flowers bloom.
Makes me wonder, how did they,
survive with all of this dismay?
With carrying buckets of water cold as ice,
and grinding corn as thin as a spice.
And as we leave, we hear in the distance,
the screams of the wind blowing against the trees.
~ Penelope T.
Slave
Ripped from their home
To work in a new place
A new world
No pay
No life
Just pain
Knowing nothing
Learning nothing
Trying to live
To see the light
Of a new day
Back and forth
Day and night
No rest
dying of thirst
We’re like objects
We get no respect
By Tori F.
The Life of a Slave
In a dark basement
Where mice and rats play all day
Grinding corn to dust
While they make desserts
I try to scare the rodents off
Yet to no avail
I try to do my best as a slave
I try my best to behave
Yet it never seems to be enough
Because all they do is huff
While they are eating desserts
I am washing shirts
If I mess up my work
They go berserk
By Sheldon S.
Dull Colors Everywhere
The dull colors filling the room made me feel sad as if I were being ripped apart from my family once again,
The smoke poisoned the air like the snuff in the slave owner’s noses.
The floor was tilted like the Leaning Tower of Pisa,
Everytime I speak, I get yelled at in a foreign language.
This strange world is making me confused and disoriented,
I am forced to do hard labor and call this unknown place “home.”
I have no friends and my family is nowhere to be seen,
I wonder why I am in this horrible place as I am sitting on a rope bed, waiting for my assignments in the fields.
Paintings of happy families are everywhere,
I wonder where my parents and many siblings are.
With barely any food, I spend my days working on the fields for a family who treats me poorly,
When I walk down the narrow staircase, I feel like I am being squished into the ship that brought me to this new world.
By Eve A.
Slave Life
I've seen the coast
I've seen the shore
I've seen slave auctions I don't wanna see no more
Get out of my face
Get off my case
I don't know this place
I don't wanna be wet
I don't wanna be cold
This is my life you can’t just take control
If you keep yelling at me I'm going to run
I would rather die than see your dirty deeds done
I don't want to look at the grey north eastern sky I want the African sun
~ Josh H.
Creaking Doors, Uneven floors
Red and White,
Gilbert’s house,
Old and musky,
There’s a mouse!
Ropes and pots,
Uneven floors,
Dirty mats and creaking doors.
Down the stairs, 1, 2, 3,
How many paintings do you see?
Round and round goes the wheel,
Makes me listen, makes me feel.
Shiver, shiver down my spine,
Powder grind, very fine.
Out the door, vine by vine,
Every tree and every pine.
Pails and buckets, water spills,
Wash your clothes and work the mills.
By: Jessica P.
The Window Sill And The Mill
I walked to the window sill,
I looked out at the mill.
Chirp, chirp, the birds sing their songs
Then looked in the corner where lies a blue chest.
Full of memories of when times were best.
With all the paintings on the wall looking down at me,
that were made to look as real as could be.
And the famous unfinished painting of Washington
hung over the bed,
Is now on the dollar bill that we use now and then.
The painting of the merchant's wife,
that did not come out as he thought it would
He got as mad as he could
But he never understood.
I walked to the window sill,
And looked out at the mill.
By: Hailey M.
This exceptional field trip was made possible by generous funding from
Target Field Trip Grants and Rhode Island Council for the Humanities.
Target Field Trip Grants and Rhode Island Council for the Humanities.