Hey, here's an idea. Take a bunch of eighth-graders desperately consumed with what's cool, what's not, what their friends think of what they wear, what they do and what they say -- and have them deliver their hopes, dreams, fears into words on a page called a poem.

Then have them read their poetry out loud. In front of one another.

What 13-, 14-, 15-year-old wouldn't love to stand up on stage, alone, and bare their soul to their peers? While we're at it, we'll invite their parents. The kids'll really love that.

Who, in their right mind, would call an eighth-grade Poetry Slam a good idea? Donna Dase-Tarpley, a teacher at Pittsburgh Sterrett middle school in Point Breeze, would.

Thank you, Ms. Dase-Tarpley, for the most beautiful and brave production I have ever seen in my whole life. And thank you to the poets of the Class of 2012. We are publishing work from five of you here (see below).

But all of you were, in a word, astonishing -- and you are the reason I keep faith with the Pittsburgh Public Schools. The reason I stand shoulder to shoulder, despite every challenge, with the promise of Excellence for All.

I was awed and inspired by the courage that it took just to stand up there on stage, some kids coming out of places I will likely never see and can't imagine, every kid coming out of someplace uniquely their own, waiting for a turn at the mike just to reach us, to make themselves known, to communicate exactly how it feels to live inside their skin, glimpse their struggles, share their hopes, see the world for a moment through their eyes.

It's good to be reminded what life feels like at that age. And how it might feel different at my house than it does at someone else's house across the street or across town.

Despite the differences, though, all these kids are immersed in the same hard struggle of finding out exactly who they are and what the world is about, and why the whole stinking universe is coldly indifferent sometimes, and why some people are, too, while other people, if we're lucky, shower us with crazy love. And sometimes people get sick. And sometimes people die. And for reasons we might never understand, people just sometimes go away. Life will lift you up and illuminate your soul, throw you down and break your heart, depending on the day, and there's no way around it. Not for any of us.

Poetry can carry all that. What a great thing to know. What a great gift to give to these kids, right now, on the brink of high school and so many critical choices. And to all of us parents, too -- to remind us why we need to keep listening, even when we don't understand. True at 14. True at 40, and beyond.

Thank you, Ms. Dase-Tarpley. You have done us all a great service by inviting our kids to let us in.

(Memo to the Pittsburgh Public Schools: Duplicate this.)

---

Judy Wertheimer is a writer living in Squirrel Hill (jb.wertheimer@ verizon.net).

---

My mind needs cleared of all these bad thoughts,

My soul is beginning to rot.

Everything good that ever happened to me is beginning to evaporate,

My life is so bad I just can't concentrate.

How could one person feel this way,

Like nothing could ever brighten up their day.

I got a face that barely smiles,

All it ever shows is frowns, frowns, frowns.

Why me, I begin to ask,

Why am I always so sad.

Why me, I always said,

Why am I angry and mad.

Why me, I begin to say,

Why does my soul feel this way.

Why me, I begin to sing,

Why does it seem like my freedom bells never ring.

Why me, I begin to scream,

Why do I cry so much I can make a stream.

This is too much to handle for 1 young lady,

All I want, all I want is for someone to save me

-- FASHAE JACKSON

---

He sits there in a daze

Stares out the window

He doesn't pay attention

He burps aloud and gets detention

Sits in the chair and falls asleep

The teacher calls on him

He guesses the answer

The teacher says, no

And the students laugh

He is the clown, but he is not funny

At the end of the day he earns an "E"

This is his life ... what will he be?

-- KHALID JOHNSON

---

Looking out my window thinking about when is it going to end,

Wondering who's going to die first, me or my friends.

I see hustlers on the block,

Posted on the wall selling rocks.

I look at the spray-painted walls,

Then I see the phrase, 'United We Stand, Divided We Fall.'

I hear people swearing on dead folks' names.

I wonder if the person was alive, would they think this is all a shame.

Will I be a hustler on the block, or make it past 18.

Will someday people swear on my name,

Will I make an effect on this 'hood, or will it just all stay the same

I have nothing else to say,

Except this harsh environment is where I live every single day.

-- JONATHAN BARLOW

---

Yes, I have dreams and they are BIG.
I've had them since I was a kid.

Dreams of making it in this world fill my head every day.
Do well in school is what they always say.

Dreams of making the ones I love most proud,
Imagine me giving a thank-you speech in front of a crowd.

Dreams of going to heaven where all is well,
The problem is this will not happen if I fail.

So, yes, I have dreams in my life,
But they are not yet real, like the cutting of a knife.

I know life isn't easy, I really do.
But who are you to tell me I can't make it, too.

I will follow my dreams and make it like you,
So dream big and your dreams will come true!

-- NARICA WILLIAMS

---

Nightmares are dreams,
Scary as it seems.

Nightmares of doom,
Times of gloom.

Wishing for love,
Paradise above.

Is it bad,
To be sad?

When we view life,
And see the strife?

Dreams of being a star,
If you fall it will be far.

Hard and Fast,
Pain that might last.

Dreams of writing,
I spend my life fighting.

I now know,
It might never be so.

I will try,
To get by.

Writing is my dream,
Crazy as it may seem.

-- MARIGNY NORMANN