The Ann Arbor District Library carries several copies of a book called "This Is Just To Say: Poems Of Apology And Forgiveness."

The book's conceit is that a sixth-grade class reads the poetry of William Carlos Williams — specifically, his classic apology poem, "This Is Just to Say" — and then students write their own apology poems for broken windows and dodgeball beanings and other slights big and small.

It's a decent little book, apart from the disappointment of discovering what is not clear to many readers: that the poems are not written by actual sixth-graders, but spring from the mind of the author, Joyce Sidman.

As someone who has spent the last few years working with actual fifth- and sixth-grade poets through the Dzanc Writer in Residence Program, I find myself preferring the real thing.

Given the space and encouragement to explore their own experiences and imaginations with words, children write remarkable poems. The twenty-seven students I've been working with for the 2010-2011 school year — Mike Derhammer's class at Ann Arbor Open School — have just put the finishing touches on their forthcoming book of poems, "Why Is The Sky Purple?"

The class has a big reading scheduled for June 10 at Nicola's Books in Ann Arbor to celebrate their book release.

Like the fictional students in Sidman's book, the students of Mike Derhammer's class have written poems inspired by William Carlos Williams.

Here is an apology poem by Rebecca P., which (like much of the students' work this year) shows a greater range and depth of emotion than you might expect from a sixth-grade poem:

Apologize

I apologize for breaking a promise, you thought

I would keep it, but I didn’t. It went right through

your heart. I will never do it again. I apologize.


I apologize for saying something mean to

you, making you cry, you’re my brother. I’ll always

regret it, and someday we’ll laugh at it when

we’re older. I apologize.


I apologize for not taking care of you

the way I should’ve, you with the

sweetest face and brown sparkling eyes, I regret it, I would

do anything to restart. I apologize.


I apologize for making you feel like nothing,

to feel like you were invisible, you do everything

for me, you make the light shine through me,

I apologize.

I love that gorgeous image that Rebecca's poem ends on: "you make the light shine through me." What a wonderful and surprising way to capture the sensation of being loved, which makes the experience of the poet's remorse all the more vivid.

For something completely different, but equally breathtaking, here is a poem by Zane J., which adapts the stanza form of Williams's famous poem, "The Red Wheel Barrow":

For a second it's freaky

North Little Rock Skate Park

Top of the

Bowl


It’s made of

Concrete


Ten feet deep

At


Least, shouting it

Will


Echo, a giant

Bowl

Dad says “do

It”


Standing at the

Top


I feel so

Small


North Little Rock

So


Far away from

My


Home. I do

It


I drop in

My


Wheels aren’t touching

Anything


For a second

It’s


Freaky, I really

Don’t


Know what to

Think


Speeding way too

Fast


Again, I'm caught up especially in the ending of this poem, the way the poet leaves us hanging at the moment of maximum thrill and danger. It puts us right inside that youthful uncertainty of whether to feel excited or terrified.

Over the next couple of weeks leading up to the students' book release, I hope to share a few more poems here at AnnArbor.com, because they deserve to be read.

Meanwhile, I encourage you to mark your calendars for June 10, and come out and hear these poets share their own work at Nicola's.

Scott Beal is a stay-at-home dad who works at the Neutral Zone and volunteers for 826michigan.