Blackout

Poetry

Poetry so exciting it has to be redacted...

If you remember...
● Blackout Poetry is a form of “found
poetry”
● Select words that catch your interest from
a newspaper, book, or other printed text –
along with a few additional words to make
it flow.
● Then you “redact” all the words you
don’t want. This is often (but not always)
done with a black marker, hence the name
“blackout poetry”.
● Your chosen words will form a new
message, giving the text a whole new
meaning.
● Words can be interpreted differently by
different people
● It’s up to the POET to give the words a
new meaning
More Examples
 This week you will be
creating a black out poem
that includes text and images.
Color is optional.
Now that you remember what
Blackout POetry is...

● Here is how we will go about

creating our blackout poems

You may create your blackout poem

in:
● google slides
● on paper you have at home
○ from an old book
○ from a newspaper or magazine
○ from song lyrics
● Using one of the pieces of texts
I have in this slideshow.
 Blackout Poems on Paper
This video shows how to create a blackout
poem by creating the image first

● Demonstration of Black out poems with

images being created

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zf6k8aW
2Toc

This video shows how to create a blackout

poems by finding your words first
● Demonstrating how to create blackout
poetry from finding words first
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vOPfyE0
Ei8U

De
 REMEMBER:
If you are going to create your image on a
piece of paper you have at home:

● Make sure it is an old book you have

permission to blackout
● An old magazine you have permission to
blackout
● An old newspaper you have permission to
blackout
● A piece of paper you have printed from
the internet with lyrics or other words
○ Make sure you don't print the ads or
headers on an article.
○ It is best to copy and paste the text
into a new doc and print from there!

De
 Blackout Poems in Google Slides
Most of you are very tech
savvy and may want to
complete this in google slides!
● Setp by step instructions for creating
blackout poems in google slides
https://buildingbooklove.com/how-to-create
-blackout-poem-using/

● Tips and keyboard tricks/shortcuts for

creating in google slides
https://www.helloteacherlady.com/blog/digi
tal-blackout-poetry-google-slides

De
 On the next 11 slides..
You may still have noooooo clue
which text you would like to
use or where to find one…

Never Fear!

On the next 11 slides, I have

provided you with excerpts
from popular texts that you can
feel free to use to work on
your blackout poetry!

De
If you are going to use one
of the following excerpts
● Choose which excerpt you want
● Copy and Paste the slide into a
new google slides presentation
○ You can create this right in
this assignment or through you
drive and attach it here
○ Or you can print the excerpt
and complete it on paper
○ You can change the text colors
and background colors if you
wish (especially if you are
going to print!)

De
● Scan the pages from books and
highlight words that stand out to you
using the highlight tool or a
highlighter.
● Read over your words and add or
eliminate words to create phrases for
your new poem
● If you get stuck, take a breather and
see if anything jumps off the page at
you
● When you have created your poem,
change the text color on the words
you’re eliminating to black using
this tool
● Poems don’t have to rhyme
 THE HUNGER GAMES
“Mm, still warm, ” I say. He must have been at the bakery at the
crack of dawn to trade for it. “What did it cost you?”
“Just a squirrel. Think the old man was feeling sentimental this
morning, ” says Gale. “Even wished me luck.”
“Well, we all feel a little closer today, don’t we?” I say, not even
bothering to roll my eyes. “Prim left us a cheese.” I pull it out.
His expression brightens at the treat. “Thank you, Prim. We’ll have
a real feast.” Suddenly he falls into a Capitol accent as he mimics Effie
Trinket, the maniacally upbeat woman who arrives once a year to read
out the names at the reaping. “I almost forgot! Happy Hunger Games!”
He plucks a few blackberries from the bushes around us. “And may the
odds —” He tosses a berry in a high arc toward me.
I catch it in my mouth and break the delicate skin with my teeth.
The sweet tartness explodes across my tongue. “— be ever in your
favor!” I finish with equal verve. We have to joke about it because the
alternative is to be scared out of your wits. Besides, the Capitol
accent is so affected, almost anything sounds funny in it.
I watch as Gale pulls out his knife and slices the bread. He could
be my brother. Straight black hair, olive skin, we even have the same
gray eyes. But we’re not related, at least not closely. Most of the
families who work the mines resemble one another this way.
That’s why my mother and Prim, with their light hair and blue eyes,
always look out of place. They are. My mother’s parents were part of
the small merchant class that caters to officials, Peacekeepers, and
the occasional Seam customer. They ran an apothecary shop in the
nicer part of District 12. Since almost no one can afford doctors,
apothecaries are our healers.

SUZANNE COLLINS
 THIRTEEN REASONS WHY
You were confused, but eventually you remembered lying to my
mom and, like a good boy, you apologized.
While Tony doesn’t classify as a close friend, we have worked on a
couple of assignments together so I know where he lives. And most
important of all, he owns an old Walkman that plays tapes. A yellow one
with a skinny plastic headset that I’m sure he’ll let me borrow. I’ll take
a few tapes with me and listen to them as I walk through Hannah’s old
neighborhood, which is only a block or so from Tony’s.
“So, Justin, what’s the math problem?” I asked. You weren’t
getting off that easy.
Or maybe I’ll take the tapes somewhere else. Somewhere private.
Because I can’t listen here. Not that Mom or Dad will recognize the
voice in the speakers, but I need room. Room to breathe.
And you didn’t miss a beat. You told me Train A was leaving your
house at 3:45 PM. Train B was leaving my house ten minutes later.
You couldn’t see this, Justin, but I actually raised my hand like I
was in school rather than sitting on the edge of my bed. “Pick me, Mr.
Foley. Pick me,” I said. “I know the answer.”
When you called my name, “Yes, Miss Baker?” I threw Mom’s
hard-to-get rule right out the window. I told you the two trains met at
Eisenhower Park at the bottom of the rocket slide.
What did Hannah see in him? I never got that. Even she admits she
was unable to put her finger on it. But for an average-looking guy, so
many girls are into Justin.
Sure, he is kind of tall. And maybe they find him intriguing. He’s
always looking out windows, contemplating something.
A long pause at your end of the line, Justin. And I mean a
looooooong pause. “So, when do the trains meet?” you asked.
“Fifteen minutes,” I said.

JAY ASHER
HARRY POTTER AND THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS
Mrs. Weasley’s yells, a hundred times louder than usual, made the
plates and spoons rattle on the table, and echoed deafeningly off the
stone walls. People throughout the hall were swiveling around to see
who had received the Howler, and Ron sank so low in his chair that only
his crimson forehead could be seen.
"- LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR
FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN'T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE
LIKE THIS, YOU AND HARRY COULD BOTH HAVE DIED -"
Harry had been wondering when his name was going to crop up.
He tried very hard to look as though he couldn't hear the voice that
was making his eardrums throb.
"-ABSOLUTELYDISGUSTED - YOUR FATHER'S FACING AN INQUIRY AT
WORK, IT'S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT
OF LINE WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME."
A ringing silence fell. The red envelope, which had dropped from
Ron's hand, burst into flames and curled into ashes. Harry and Ron sat
76 stunned, as though a tidal wave had just passed over them. A few
people laughed and, gradually, a babble of talk broke out again.
Hermione closed Voyages with Vampires and looked down at the
top of Ron's head.
"Well, I don't know what you expected, Ron, but you -"
"Don't tell me I deserved it," snapped Ron.
Harry pushed his porridge away. His insides were burning with
guilt. Mr. Weasley was facing an inquiry at work. After all Mr. and Mrs.
Weasley had done for him over the summer…
But he had no time to dwell on this; Professor McGonagall was
moving along the Gryffindor table, handing out course schedules. Harry
took his and saw that they had double Herbology with the Hufflepuffs
first. Harry, Ron, and Hermione

J.K. RAWLING
 WONDER
In homeroom we all talked about what we were going to be for
Halloween. Charlotte was going as Hermione from Harry Potter. Jack
was going as a wolfman. I heard that Julian was going as Jango Fett,
which was a weird coincidence. I don't think he liked hearing that I
was going as Boba Fett.
On the morning of Halloween, Via had this big crying meltdown
about something. Via's always been so calm and cool, but this year
she's had a couple of these kinds of fits. Dad was late for work and was
like, "Via, let's go! Let's go!" Usually Dad is super patient about things,
but not when it comes to his being late for work, and his yelling just
stressed out Via even more, and she started crying louder, so Mom told
Dad to take me to school and that she'd deal with Via. Then Mom kissed
me goodbye quickly, before I even put on my costume, and
disappeared into Via's room.
"Auggie, let's go now!" said Dad. "I have a meeting I can't be late
for!"
"I haven't put my costume on yet!"
"So put it on, already. Five minutes. I'll meet you outside."
I rushed to my room and started to put on the Boba Fett costume,
but all of a sudden I didn't feel like wearing it. I'm not sure
why—maybe because it had all these belts that needed to be
tightened and I needed someone's help to put it on. Or maybe it was
because it still smelled a little like paint. All I knew was that it was a
lot of work to put the costume on, and Dad was waiting and would get
super impatient if I made him late. So, at the last minute, I threw on
the Bleeding Scream costume from last year. It was such an easy
costume: just a long black robe and a big white mask. I yelled goodbye
from the door on my way out, but Mom didn't even hear me.
"I thought you were going as Jango Fett," said Dad when I got
outside.

R.J. PALACIO
 THE BOOK THIEF
What did he do?
What did he say?
Did he bend down and embrace his foster daughter, as he wanted
to? Did he tell her that he was sorry for what was happening to her, to
her mother, for what had happened to her brother?
Not exactly.
He clenched his eyes. Then opened them. He slapped Liesel
Meminger squarely in the face.
“Don’t ever say that!” His voice was quiet, but sharp.
As the girl shook and sagged on the steps, he sat next to her and
held his face in his hands. It would be easy to say that he was just a
tall man sitting poor-postured and shattered on some church steps, but
he wasn’t. At the time, Liesel had no idea that her foster father, Hans
Hubermann, was contemplating one of the most dangerous dilemmas a
German citizen could face. Not only that, he’d been facing it for close
to a year.
“Papa?”
The surprise in her voice rushed her, but it also rendered her
useless. She wanted to run, but she couldn’t. She could take a
Watschen from nuns and Rosas, but it hurt so much more from Papa.
The hands were gone from Papa’s face now and he found the resolve to
speak again.
“You can say that in our house,” he said, looking gravely at Liesel’s
cheek. “But you never say it on the street, at school, at the BDM,
never!” He stood in front of her and lifted her by the triceps. He shook
her. “Do you hear me?”
With her eyes trapped wide open, Liesel nodded her compliance.
It was, in fact, a rehearsal for a future lecture, when all of Hans
Hubermann’s worst fears arrived on Himmel Street later that year, in
the early hours of a November morning.

MARKUS ZUSAK
 THE OUTSIDERS
Still, lots of times I wondered what other girls were like. The girls
who were bright-eyed and had their dresses a decent length and
acted as if they'd like to spit on us if given a chance. Some were afraid
of us, and remembering Dallas Winston, I didn't blame them. But most
looked at us like we were dirt--- gave us the same kind of look that the
Socs did when they came by in their Mustangs and Corvairs and yelled
"Grease!" at us. I wondered about them. The girls, I mean... Did they
cry when their boys were arrested, like Evie did when Steve got hauled
in, or did they run out on them the way Sylvia did Dallas? But maybe
their boys didn't get arrested or beaten up or busted up in rodeos.
I was still thinking about it while I was doing my homework that
night. I had to read Great Expectations for English, and that kid Pip, he
reminded me of us--- the way he felt marked lousy because he wasn't a
gentleman or anything, and the way that girl kept looking down on him.
That happened to me once. One time in biology I had to dissect a
worm, and the razor wouldn't cut, so I used my switchblade. The minute
I flicked it out--- I forgot what I was doing or I would never have done
it--- this girl right beside me kind of gasped, and said, "They are right.
You are a hood." That didn't make me feel so hot. These were a lot of
Socs in that class--- I get put into A classes because I'm supposed to
be smart--- and most of them thought it was pretty funny. I didn't,
though. She was a cute girl. She looked real good in yellow.
We deserve a lot of our trouble, I thought. Dallas deserves
everything he gets, and should get worse, if you want the truth. And
Two-Bit--- he doesn't really want or need half the things he swipes
from stores. He just thinks it's fun to swipe everything that isn't nailed
down. I can understand why Sodapop and Steve get into drag races
and fights so much, though--- both of them have too much energy, too
much feeling, with no way to blow it off.

S.E. HINTON
 UGLIES
The churning water really was white. It crashed over rocks and
through narrow channels, catapulted up into moonlit sprays, split
apart, rejoined, and dropped down into boiling cauldrons at the
bottom of steep falls.
Shay was skimming just above the torrent, so low that she lifted a
wake every time she banked.
Tally followed at what she guessed was a safe distance, hoping her
tricked-up board was still reluctant to crash into the darkness-cloaked
rocks and tree branches. The forest to either side was a black void full
of wild and ancient trees, nothing like the generic carbon dioxide
suckers that decorated the city. The moonlit clouds above glowed
through their branches like a ceiling of pearl.
Every time Shay screamed, Tally knew she was about to follow her
friend through a wall of spray leaping up from the maelstrom. Some
shone like white lace curtains in the moonlight, but others struck
unexpectedly from the darkness. Tally also found herself crashing
through the arcs of cold water rising from Shay’s board when it dipped
or banked, but at least she knew when a turn was coming.
The first few minutes were sheer terror, her teeth clenched so
hard that her jaw ached, her toes curled up inside her special new
grippy shoes, her arms and even fingers spread wide for balance. But
gradually Tally grew accustomed to the darkness, the roar of water
below, the unexpected slap of cold spray against her face. It was
wilder, and faster, and farther than she’d ever flown before. The river
wound into the dark forest, cutting its serpentine route into the
unknown.
Finally, Shay waved her hands and pulled up, the back of her board
dipping low into the water. Tally climbed to avoid the wake, spinning
her board in a tight circle to bring it to a smooth halt.
“Are we there?”

SCOTT WESTERFELD
 TWILIGHT
Edward in the sunlight was shocking. I couldn’t get used to it,
though I’d been staring at him all afternoon. His skin, white despite
the faint flush from yesterday’s hunting trip, literally sparkled, like
thousands of tiny diamonds were embedded in the surface. He lay
perfectly still in the grass, his shirt open over his sculpted,
incandescent chest, his scintillating arms bare. His glistening, pale
lavender lids were shut, though of course he didn’t sleep. A perfect
statue, carved in some unknown stone, smooth like marble, glittering
like crystal.
Now and then, his lips would move, so fast it looked like they were
trembling. But, when I asked, he told me he was singing to himself, it
was too low for me to hear.
I enjoyed the sun, too, though the air wasn’t quite dry enough for
my taste. I would have liked to lie back, as he did, and let the sun
warm my face. But I stayed curled up, my chin resting on my knees,
unwilling to take my eyes off him. The wind was gently; it tangled my
hair and ruffled the grass that swayed around his motionless form.
The meadow, so spectacular to me at first, paled next to his
magnificence.
Hesitantly, always afraid, even now, that he would disappear like a
mirage, too beautiful to be real...hesitantly, I reached out one finger
and stroked the back of his shimmering hand, where it lay within my
reach. I marveled again at the perfect texture, satin smooth, cool as
stone. When I looked up again, his eyes are open, watching me.
Butterscotch today, lighter, warmer after hunting. His quick smile
turned up the corners of his flawless lips.
“I don’t scare you?” he asked playfully, but I could hear the real
curiosity in hs soft voice.
“No more than usual.”
He smiled wider, his teeth flashed in the sun.

STEPHANIE MEYER
 THE BIG FIELD
Tell him.
“Nah,” Hutch said.
“’Night then,” his dad said.
“’Night.”
Hutch went to his bedroom, closed the door, reached under his
bed and found the brochure for The Hun School of Princeton, up in New
Jersey, the brochure he’d sent away for without telling anybody, not
even his mom. The Hun School of Princeton: With white buildings that
looked like they belonged in the nicest parts of Palm Beach, and
happy-looking students, and streams, and trees, like something out of
another world.
The famous boarding school that was supposed to have one of the
best baseball programs in the whole country, as good as anything in
Florida or California, even though it was in the Northeast.
Hutch heard people talk all the time about how cold it could get up
north in the winter, even watched the Weather Channel sometimes so
he could see the pictures when one of those big storms they called
Nor’easters hit.
Maybe so.
Hutch didn’t care.
It couldn’t be colder than what he’d felt tonight at practice, what
he was still feeling now, even on a hot Florida night. Hutch hadn’t said
this to Cody. He’d thought about saying it to his dad just now in the
living room, before he lost his nerve.
But how could anything be colder than what Darryl Williams had
done tonight?
Holding that ball on purpose.
Hutch knew he couldn’t prove it.
He just knew.
Darryl had wanted him to get run over.

MIKE LUPICA
MISS PEREGRINE’S HOME FOR PECULIAR CHILDREN
I uncovered my head and slowly looked behind me. The wind-bent
boughs of trees were frozen in place. The sky was a photograph of
arrested flames licking a cloud bank. Drops of rain hung suspended
before my eyes. And in the middle of the circle of children, like the
object of some arcane ritual, there hovered a bomb, its downward
facing tip seemingly balanced on Adam’s outstretched finger.
Then, like a movie that burns in the projector while you’re
watching it, a bloom of hot and perfect whiteness spread out before
me and swallowed everything.
The first thing I heard when I could hear again was laughter. Then
the white faded away and I saw that we were all arranged around
Adam just as we had been before, but now the bomb was gone and the
night was quiet and the only light in the cloudless sky was a full moon.
Miss Peregrine appeared above me and held out her hand. I took it,
stumbling to my feet in a daze.
“Please accept my apologies,” she said. “I should have better
prepared you.” She couldn’t hide her smile, though, and neither could
the other kids as they stripped oʃ their masks. I was pretty sure I’d
just been hazed.
I felt lightheaded and out-of-sorts. “I should probably head home
for the night,” I said to Miss Peregrine. “My dad’ll worry.” Then I added
quickly, “I can go home, right?”
“Of course you can,” she replied, and in a loud voice asked for a
volunteer to escort me back to the cairn. To my surprise, Emma
stepped forward. Miss Peregrine seemed pleased.
“Are you sure about her?” I whispered to the headmistress. “A
few hours ago she was ready to slit my throat.”
“Miss Bloom may be hot-tempered, but she is one of my most
trusted wards,” she replied. “And I think you and she may have a few
things to discuss away from curious ears.”

RANSOM RIGGS
 Finally...
Submit your work by attaching
it to this assignment in google
classroom!

Here is your rubric

De
 Finally...
Submit your work by attaching
it to this assignment in google
classroom!

Here is your rubric

De
 Self Assessment
You’ve worked through this process. How did you do?

Comments…
Question

What
would
you like
me to
notice
most
about
your
work?