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Asha Christensen at TEDxKids@SMU 2012
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- Опубліковано 27 бер 2013
- Asha's name means hope and she is full of it. Her first TED experience was from the center front row of the first ever TEDxKids @SMU when she was nine. She heckled Rives and made a friend -- he was the first spoken word poet she'd ever met. When her school announced a slam poetry competition, she was inspired. She watched a bunch of TED talks and wrote a poem about writers block. After winning the McKinney ISD District wide competition, she was too young for the prize, a slot on a team headed to Brave New Voices: a national youth poetry competition, but she is tickled to be able to perform at TEDxKids this year. Her hobbies beyond poetry are piano, cello, composing music, sketching, and bugging her sister Priya. Asha is currently 7th grader at Imagine International Academy of North Texas.
About TEDx:
In the spirit of ideas worth spreading, TEDx is a program of local, self-organized events that bring people together to share a TED-like experience. At a TEDx event, TEDTalks video and live speakers combine to spark deep discussion and connection in a small group. These local, self-organized events are branded TEDx, where x = independently organized TED event. The TED Conference provides general guidance for the TEDx program, but individual TEDx events are self-organized.* (*Subject to certain rules and regulations)
This girl remids me of Hermione Granger in Harry Potter
Yeah u r right
Yessss
The voice...the voice..and the hair ofc..
I was litterally just watching harry potter
Mee two🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺I I
Her Expression and the pronunciation brings a smile of encouragement in everyone's interest in language
Is this a poem
L+ ratio yb better
That is how I speak in my mind
so good so confident child in speaking and pronouncing a big hand👏👏👏👏👏 got this girl
holy shit she reminds me of Grace VanderWaal!
Pia Rebel same...and hermione i d k whyyy
Pia R. OMG I THOUGHT IT WAS ONLY ME
Oh my gosh i just realised :O
Isabella Diaries my fav from her is “I don’t know my name
@@bruh9289 Ooo frm agt right??
I listen to this again and again
Her accent is just like british people ! She is confident and smart.
I'm going to recite this poem tomorrow in my school. And let's see what will be the expressions of my teachers .whether they Will select me or not !! I am fully excited.
Hey, how'd it go...
@@rufaromatanhire4411You got ghosted 💀
My teacher brought me here..
Oof
I have online class
same
liang xu same dSad face
Lmfao same
damn I need that confidence
Dang bruh my teacher literally put a link in here for us to watch so please don't say this lol
I rewatching this for the 1000 time
a year ago,When I saw this for the first time,.......I became a great fan of Asha Christensen 😲😲😲😇😇
Very nice poem. I like it very much. It was really helpful for me. I'm gonna recite this very same poem on a competition which is next month at my school... 😃😃😃
Wonderful work! Can totally relate with the writer's block. Yeah, you have to continue writing even when it seems like rubbish and that will ultimately spark new ideas and the editing is what will make it great :) Alternatively, give yourself a break by actually taking a break and then getting back to your work to come at it again with fresh eyes. :)
Can you please give the lyrics of this poem
beautiful read the poem
will anyone please tell the details of it
Good
thank u very much
Amazing Asha
Hi
love it Asha.....good job😇
Blank pages can be frustrating at times.But remember that spark can come out of the blue!
INCREDIBLE!ASHA
Well said
Awesome 👍
Hello Asha I like your poem recitation
It's amazing
Fantastic Asha I love you and the expression you have.
this amazing
Wow! amazing
Nice speach asha😍😍
From where I can get the lyrics of this poem??? And also the name of the poem
It's called "writers block"
If u need it here it is =)
I pick up the pencil,
but I ask myself, "Why?"
I have no story to tell,
no pain, no reason to write.
Staring at the blank page,
a thought (snaps her fingers)
wanders before me.
I see a spark.
Reaching out to grab it, my hands
stretched out as far as I can, and -
- nothing!
It's all lost: all thought, all purpose.
So I stare at the paper again -
for hours it seems!
As I look up at the clock shining 1 p.m.,
I was ready to take a break.
Standing up, fist clenched,
shoulders broadened -
until I had realized I'd started at 12:59.
And that hunched me back over
while releasing a sigh.
So I continue to stare,
waiting for that booklet
of notebook paper to work its magic,
to stare back at me, and blink.
That is what fules me
a sense of accomplishment
that I couldn't receive from the clock.
As the time slips away,
I realize I'm not alone,
lost and abandoned in this blank page.
So when you find yourself,
and you're reaching for that sparkle,
ready to grab it, but pull
when you have emotion
[that] builds up inside,
but [you] can't seem to find
the words to release
and to release you,
I am trapped, my feet glued to the floor,
a cluttered closet
of insignificant thoughts,
searching for the one to set me free,
to fill up the emptiness
of that blank page.
But this time, this time,
when I look back at that page,
I see words.
So when you battle
with that first blank page,
those words you can't seem to find,
just pick up that pencil,
as I did mine.
@@milkii384 thankyou🐼
@@farhanabbas758 no problemm =) happy to help :))
this was what my teacher said to watch lol
I like that girl she was amazing
A good poem
Who wrote this poem? What's the name of this poem
Its called writer's block and it's by Asha Christensen.
Amazing girl🤩
Owesome😊😊
very good !
Where is Asha now?
Is anyone know the name of this poem ?
Her confidence❤😊
Which poem is this
"Writers block" by Asha Christensen
If anyone needs this (this is the full poem)
I pick up the pencil,
but I ask myself, "Why?"
I have no story to tell,
no pain, no reason to write.
Staring at the blank page,
a thought (snaps her fingers)
wanders before me.
I see a spark.
Reaching out to grab it, my hands
stretched out as far as I can, and -
- nothing!
It's all lost: all thought, all purpose.
So I stare at the paper again -
for hours it seems!
As I look up at the clock shining 1 p.m.,
I was ready to take a break.
Standing up, fist clenched,
shoulders broadened -
until I had realized I'd started at 12:59.
And that hunched me back over
while releasing a sigh.
So I continue to stare,
waiting for that booklet
of notebook paper to work its magic,
to stare back at me, and blink.
That is what fules me
a sense of accomplishment
that I couldn't receive from the clock.
As the time slips away,
I realize I'm not alone,
lost and abandoned in this blank page.
So when you find yourself,
and you're reaching for that sparkle,
ready to grab it, but pull
when you have emotion
[that] builds up inside,
but [you] can't seem to find
the words to release
and to release you,
I am trapped, my feet glued to the floor,
a cluttered closet
of insignificant thoughts,
searching for the one to set me free,
to fill up the emptiness
of that blank page.
But this time, this time,
when I look back at that page,
I see words.
So when you battle
with that first blank page,
those words you can't seem to find,
just pick up that pencil,
as I did mine.
Isabella Diaries just don’t we doin school
@@zacmtb534 ??
Isabella Diaries jusss dont
@@zacmtb534 i was just helping if anyone needed it :D
Thank you very much
So good
wow just wow
Nice confidence
Whats the name of this poem?
kid how are you so confident
Fantastick
Guys i literally just searched it . the poem is called the writers block
She's sooo flipping pretty she looks like my cousin lol.Wow that poem is just amazing for a how ever old she is but for a kid wow
oh apparently asha was 9 when she performed this. She's currently 13 or 12
Wow
Umar Mirza mee too I though she was 15.
Very good
Hats off
So nice😄😄😄
What is the name of the poem and the poet?
Writers block by Asha Christensen =) I'd u need it, here
I pick up the pencil,
but I ask myself, "Why?"
I have no story to tell,
no pain, no reason to write.
Staring at the blank page,
a thought (snaps her fingers)
wanders before me.
I see a spark.
Reaching out to grab it, my hands
stretched out as far as I can, and -
- nothing!
It's all lost: all thought, all purpose.
So I stare at the paper again -
for hours it seems!
As I look up at the clock shining 1 p.m.,
I was ready to take a break.
Standing up, fist clenched,
shoulders broadened -
until I had realized I'd started at 12:59.
And that hunched me back over
while releasing a sigh.
So I continue to stare,
waiting for that booklet
of notebook paper to work its magic,
to stare back at me, and blink.
That is what fules me
a sense of accomplishment
that I couldn't receive from the clock.
As the time slips away,
I realize I'm not alone,
lost and abandoned in this blank page.
So when you find yourself,
and you're reaching for that sparkle,
ready to grab it, but pull
when you have emotion
[that] builds up inside,
but [you] can't seem to find
the words to release
and to release you,
I am trapped, my feet glued to the floor,
a cluttered closet
of insignificant thoughts,
searching for the one to set me free,
to fill up the emptiness
of that blank page.
But this time, this time,
when I look back at that page,
I see words.
So when you battle
with that first blank page,
those words you can't seem to find,
just pick up that pencil,
as I did mine.
Superb.. well done. Go ahead.. stay blessed
She’s smart
what is the meaning of the video?
help me.
my reci is there...and I'm super nervous abt that...pls guys...pray 4 me..wish m
e well
What is the name of storyy.....😶
What's her poem name?
Thank u
very nice
It is great
Omg that's the piece I'm memorizing for the declamation on March 20,2017
Which poem is it
Please tell me the name of poem and the poet
@@aviibtsfangirll8107 Writers block by (the girl over here (asha something I forgot xD) by the way if u need it here
I pick up the pencil,
but I ask myself, "Why?"
I have no story to tell,
no pain, no reason to write.
Staring at the blank page,
a thought (snaps her fingers)
wanders before me.
I see a spark.
Reaching out to grab it, my hands
stretched out as far as I can, and -
- nothing!
It's all lost: all thought, all purpose.
So I stare at the paper again -
for hours it seems!
As I look up at the clock shining 1 p.m.,
I was ready to take a break.
Standing up, fist clenched,
shoulders broadened -
until I had realized I'd started at 12:59.
And that hunched me back over
while releasing a sigh.
So I continue to stare,
waiting for that booklet
of notebook paper to work its magic,
to stare back at me, and blink.
That is what fules me
a sense of accomplishment
that I couldn't receive from the clock.
As the time slips away,
I realize I'm not alone,
lost and abandoned in this blank page.
So when you find yourself,
and you're reaching for that sparkle,
ready to grab it, but pull
when you have emotion
[that] builds up inside,
but [you] can't seem to find
the words to release
and to release you,
I am trapped, my feet glued to the floor,
a cluttered closet
of insignificant thoughts,
searching for the one to set me free,
to fill up the emptiness
of that blank page.
But this time, this time,
when I look back at that page,
I see words.
So when you battle
with that first blank page,
those words you can't seem to find,
just pick up that pencil,
as I did mine.
Wondrous talk
Great
What is the name of the poem ??
It's called writers block =)
I pick up the pencil,
but I ask myself, "Why?"
I have no story to tell,
no pain, no reason to write.
Staring at the blank page,
a thought (snaps her fingers)
wanders before me.
I see a spark.
Reaching out to grab it, my hands
stretched out as far as I can, and -
- nothing!
It's all lost: all thought, all purpose.
So I stare at the paper again -
for hours it seems!
As I look up at the clock shining 1 p.m.,
I was ready to take a break.
Standing up, fist clenched,
shoulders broadened -
until I had realized I'd started at 12:59.
And that hunched me back over
while releasing a sigh.
So I continue to stare,
waiting for that booklet
of notebook paper to work its magic,
to stare back at me, and blink.
That is what fules me
a sense of accomplishment
that I couldn't receive from the clock.
As the time slips away,
I realize I'm not alone,
lost and abandoned in this blank page.
So when you find yourself,
and you're reaching for that sparkle,
ready to grab it, but pull
when you have emotion
[that] builds up inside,
but [you] can't seem to find
the words to release
and to release you,
I am trapped, my feet glued to the floor,
a cluttered closet
of insignificant thoughts,
searching for the one to set me free,
to fill up the emptiness
of that blank page.
But this time, this time,
when I look back at that page,
I see words.
So when you battle
with that first blank page,
those words you can't seem to find,
just pick up that pencil,
as I did mine.
That’s nice 👌
Can I get its lyrics?
Sure here =)
I pick up the pencil,
but I ask myself, "Why?"
I have no story to tell,
no pain, no reason to write.
Staring at the blank page,
a thought (snaps her fingers)
wanders before me.
I see a spark.
Reaching out to grab it, my hands
stretched out as far as I can, and -
- nothing!
It's all lost: all thought, all purpose.
So I stare at the paper again -
for hours it seems!
As I look up at the clock shining 1 p.m.,
I was ready to take a break.
Standing up, fist clenched,
shoulders broadened -
until I had realized I'd started at 12:59.
And that hunched me back over
while releasing a sigh.
So I continue to stare,
waiting for that booklet
of notebook paper to work its magic,
to stare back at me, and blink.
That is what fules me
a sense of accomplishment
that I couldn't receive from the clock.
As the time slips away,
I realize I'm not alone,
lost and abandoned in this blank page.
So when you find yourself,
and you're reaching for that sparkle,
ready to grab it, but pull
when you have emotion
[that] builds up inside,
but [you] can't seem to find
the words to release
and to release you,
I am trapped, my feet glued to the floor,
a cluttered closet
of insignificant thoughts,
searching for the one to set me free,
to fill up the emptiness
of that blank page.
But this time, this time,
when I look back at that page,
I see words.
So when you battle
with that first blank page,
those words you can't seem to find,
just pick up that pencil,
as I did mine.
is this enacting a poem or reciting a poem??
Has she written the poem?
Yepp she's the poet =)
Wow what a confident
who wrote the poem?
It's really so amusing may God bless you
Asha is a word from Bangla language. I wonder who kept this name
sir I write poems too and am in search of platform if u could help
diksha nahata me too
Name of poem?
asha it was realyy amazinggg...... cn u hlp me guys???????? may i knw who is the poet n what is the name of this poem???????
Writers block by Asha Christensen =)
I pick up the pencil,
but I ask myself, "Why?"
I have no story to tell,
no pain, no reason to write.
Staring at the blank page,
a thought (snaps her fingers)
wanders before me.
I see a spark.
Reaching out to grab it, my hands
stretched out as far as I can, and -
- nothing!
It's all lost: all thought, all purpose.
So I stare at the paper again -
for hours it seems!
As I look up at the clock shining 1 p.m.,
I was ready to take a break.
Standing up, fist clenched,
shoulders broadened -
until I had realized I'd started at 12:59.
And that hunched me back over
while releasing a sigh.
So I continue to stare,
waiting for that booklet
of notebook paper to work its magic,
to stare back at me, and blink.
That is what fules me
a sense of accomplishment
that I couldn't receive from the clock.
As the time slips away,
I realize I'm not alone,
lost and abandoned in this blank page.
So when you find yourself,
and you're reaching for that sparkle,
ready to grab it, but pull
when you have emotion
[that] builds up inside,
but [you] can't seem to find
the words to release
and to release you,
I am trapped, my feet glued to the floor,
a cluttered closet
of insignificant thoughts,
searching for the one to set me free,
to fill up the emptiness
of that blank page.
But this time, this time,
when I look back at that page,
I see words.
So when you battle
with that first blank page,
those words you can't seem to find,
just pick up that pencil,
as I did mine.
@@milkii384 thanks a lot.
Nice job
What is this poem called I want to perform it I am a big fan of asha
It's called writers block by Asha Christensen =)
I pick up the pencil,
but I ask myself, "Why?"
I have no story to tell,
no pain, no reason to write.
Staring at the blank page,
a thought (snaps her fingers)
wanders before me.
I see a spark.
Reaching out to grab it, my hands
stretched out as far as I can, and -
- nothing!
It's all lost: all thought, all purpose.
So I stare at the paper again -
for hours it seems!
As I look up at the clock shining 1 p.m.,
I was ready to take a break.
Standing up, fist clenched,
shoulders broadened -
until I had realized I'd started at 12:59.
And that hunched me back over
while releasing a sigh.
So I continue to stare,
waiting for that booklet
of notebook paper to work its magic,
to stare back at me, and blink.
That is what fules me
a sense of accomplishment
that I couldn't receive from the clock.
As the time slips away,
I realize I'm not alone,
lost and abandoned in this blank page.
So when you find yourself,
and you're reaching for that sparkle,
ready to grab it, but pull
when you have emotion
[that] builds up inside,
but [you] can't seem to find
the words to release
and to release you,
I am trapped, my feet glued to the floor,
a cluttered closet
of insignificant thoughts,
searching for the one to set me free,
to fill up the emptiness
of that blank page.
But this time, this time,
when I look back at that page,
I see words.
So when you battle
with that first blank page,
those words you can't seem to find,
just pick up that pencil,
as I did mine.
Positive thoughts 🥰🥹😍
what is the name of the poem
Kashfia latafat pick up the pencil
Writers block
It's called writers block by Asha Christensen
I pick up the pencil,
but I ask myself, "Why?"
I have no story to tell,
no pain, no reason to write.
Staring at the blank page,
a thought (snaps her fingers)
wanders before me.
I see a spark.
Reaching out to grab it, my hands
stretched out as far as I can, and -
- nothing!
It's all lost: all thought, all purpose.
So I stare at the paper again -
for hours it seems!
As I look up at the clock shining 1 p.m.,
I was ready to take a break.
Standing up, fist clenched,
shoulders broadened -
until I had realized I'd started at 12:59.
And that hunched me back over
while releasing a sigh.
So I continue to stare,
waiting for that booklet
of notebook paper to work its magic,
to stare back at me, and blink.
That is what fules me
a sense of accomplishment
that I couldn't receive from the clock.
As the time slips away,
I realize I'm not alone,
lost and abandoned in this blank page.
So when you find yourself,
and you're reaching for that sparkle,
ready to grab it, but pull
when you have emotion
[that] builds up inside,
but [you] can't seem to find
the words to release
and to release you,
I am trapped, my feet glued to the floor,
a cluttered closet
of insignificant thoughts,
searching for the one to set me free,
to fill up the emptiness
of that blank page.
But this time, this time,
when I look back at that page,
I see words.
So when you battle
with that first blank page,
those words you can't seem to find,
just pick up that pencil,
as I did mine.
My teacher bought me here....
me too
Nice one
Can enybody write this in lyric or where can I find the lyric of this poem
I pick up the pencil,
but I ask myself, "Why?"
I have no story to tell,
no pain, no reason to write.
Staring at the blank page,
a thought (snaps her fingers)
wanders before me.
I see a spark.
Reaching out to grab it, my hands
stretched out as far as I can, and -
- nothing!
It's all lost: all thought, all purpose.
So I stare at the paper again -
for hours it seems!
As I look up at the clock shining 1 p.m.,
I was ready to take a break.
Standing up, fist clenched,
shoulders broadened -
until I had realized I'd started at 12:59.
And that hunched me back over
while releasing a sigh.
So I continue to stare,
waiting for that booklet
of notebook paper to work its magic,
to stare back at me, and blink.
That is what fuels me:
a sense of accomplishment
that I couldn't receive from the clock.
As the time slips away,
I realize I'm not alone,
lost and abandoned in this blank page.
So when you find yourself,
and you're reaching for that sparkle,
ready to grab it, but pull back;
when you have emotion
[that] builds up inside,
but [you] can't seem to find
the words to release it,
and to release you,
I am trapped, my feet glued to the floor,
a cluttered closet
of insignificant thoughts,
searching for the one to set me free,
to fill up the emptiness
of that blank page.
But this time, this time,
when I look back at that page,
I see words.
So when you battle
with that first blank page,
those words you can't seem to find,
just pick up that pencil,
as I did mine.
@@footballcutz6839 really help, thanks.
I pick up the pencil,
but I ask myself, "Why?"
I have no story to tell,
no pain, no reason to write.
Staring at the blank page,
a thought (snaps her fingers)
wanders before me.
I see a spark.
Reaching out to grab it, my hands
stretched out as far as I can, and -
- nothing!
It's all lost: all thought, all purpose.
So I stare at the paper again -
for hours it seems!
As I look up at the clock shining 1 p.m.,
I was ready to take a break.
Standing up, fist clenched,
shoulders broadened -
until I had realized I'd started at 12:59.
And that hunched me back over
while releasing a sigh.
So I continue to stare,
waiting for that booklet
of notebook paper to work its magic,
to stare back at me, and blink.
That is what fules me
a sense of accomplishment
that I couldn't receive from the clock.
As the time slips away,
I realize I'm not alone,
lost and abandoned in this blank page.
So when you find yourself,
and you're reaching for that sparkle,
ready to grab it, but pull
when you have emotion
[that] builds up inside,
but [you] can't seem to find
the words to release
and to release you,
I am trapped, my feet glued to the floor,
a cluttered closet
of insignificant thoughts,
searching for the one to set me free,
to fill up the emptiness
of that blank page.
But this time, this time,
when I look back at that page,
I see words.
So when you battle
with that first blank page,
those words you can't seem to find,
just pick up that pencil,
as I did mine.
what is the name of this poem?
Writers block =)
I pick up the pencil,
but I ask myself, "Why?"
I have no story to tell,
no pain, no reason to write.
Staring at the blank page,
a thought (snaps her fingers)
wanders before me.
I see a spark.
Reaching out to grab it, my hands
stretched out as far as I can, and -
- nothing!
It's all lost: all thought, all purpose.
So I stare at the paper again -
for hours it seems!
As I look up at the clock shining 1 p.m.,
I was ready to take a break.
Standing up, fist clenched,
shoulders broadened -
until I had realized I'd started at 12:59.
And that hunched me back over
while releasing a sigh.
So I continue to stare,
waiting for that booklet
of notebook paper to work its magic,
to stare back at me, and blink.
That is what fules me
a sense of accomplishment
that I couldn't receive from the clock.
As the time slips away,
I realize I'm not alone,
lost and abandoned in this blank page.
So when you find yourself,
and you're reaching for that sparkle,
ready to grab it, but pull
when you have emotion
[that] builds up inside,
but [you] can't seem to find
the words to release
and to release you,
I am trapped, my feet glued to the floor,
a cluttered closet
of insignificant thoughts,
searching for the one to set me free,
to fill up the emptiness
of that blank page.
But this time, this time,
when I look back at that page,
I see words.
So when you battle
with that first blank page,
those words you can't seem to find,
just pick up that pencil,
as I did mine.
Who is the poet
Her hair bow slayed it 😂isn’t
Can anyone plz tell me the full name of the poet and the name of this poem?? 😍
Plz
So u need it for a competition
Good or great cause I recited this poem last yr and won the first prize.
Okay , poet or poetess is she Asha Christensen herself. And the name is a writer's block.
Am I allowed to use this poem for competition at school please I really enjoyed it tremendously.
She is asha christensen and
How old is she?
Starts at 00:30
That's amazing
wow she's amazing!
Hah
Her English skills is fluence! But is this a poetry competition?
No just a public platform to show up ur skills
bhola sharma Oh, that’s nice! Thanks for replying ☺️☺️
Does anyone know the name of the poet and poem.
Hiii its called Writers block by Asha Christensen =) and if u need this, here
I pick up the pencil,
but I ask myself, "Why?"
I have no story to tell,
no pain, no reason to write.
Staring at the blank page,
a thought (snaps her fingers)
wanders before me.
I see a spark.
Reaching out to grab it, my hands
stretched out as far as I can, and -
- nothing!
It's all lost: all thought, all purpose.
So I stare at the paper again -
for hours it seems!
As I look up at the clock shining 1 p.m.,
I was ready to take a break.
Standing up, fist clenched,
shoulders broadened -
until I had realized I'd started at 12:59.
And that hunched me back over
while releasing a sigh.
So I continue to stare,
waiting for that booklet
of notebook paper to work its magic,
to stare back at me, and blink.
That is what fules me
a sense of accomplishment
that I couldn't receive from the clock.
As the time slips away,
I realize I'm not alone,
lost and abandoned in this blank page.
So when you find yourself,
and you're reaching for that sparkle,
ready to grab it, but pull
when you have emotion
[that] builds up inside,
but [you] can't seem to find
the words to release
and to release you,
I am trapped, my feet glued to the floor,
a cluttered closet
of insignificant thoughts,
searching for the one to set me free,
to fill up the emptiness
of that blank page.
But this time, this time,
when I look back at that page,
I see words.
So when you battle
with that first blank page,
those words you can't seem to find,
just pick up that pencil,
as I did mine.
Lovely performance with beautiful words
VERY COOL
good poem
perfect...
Felicidades as encontrado un comentario en español