Poetry Friday

My new favorite poem is from Ellen Hopkins, written for Banned Book Week.

Manifesto by Ellen Hopkins


You say you’re afraid for children,

innocents ripe for corruption

by perversion or sorcery on the page.

But sticks and stones do break

bones, and ignorance is no armor.

You do not speak for me,

and will not deny my kids magic

in favor of miracles.

Read the rest here.

Poetry Friday

My students handed in their multi-genre poetry anthologies this week and I am enjoying reading them.  One of the requirements was to include at least three “choice” pieces- poems, songs, quotes, short excerpts from memoirs and stories, etc.  One of my students included the following poem and it really tugged at my heartstrings.

POEM OF A NEGLECTED DOG

I wish someone would tell me
What it is I have done wrong,
And why I must be chained outside
And left alone so long.

They seemed so glad to have me
When I came here as a pup,
There were so many things we’d do
While I was growing up.

The master said he’d train me
As a companion and a friend,
The mistress said she’d never fear
To be alone again.

The children said they’d feed me
And brush me everyday,
They’d play with me and walk me
If I would only stay.

But now the master hasn’t time
The mistress says I shed,
She won’t allow me in the house
Not even to be fed.

The children never walk me
They always say, “not now!”,
I do wish I could please them
Can someone tell me how?

All I had, you see, was love
I wish someone would explain
Just why the said they wanted mine
And then left it on a chain……

Author Unknown

Poetry Friday

Popping in quickly to share one of my all-time favorite poems (introduced to me by a fellow blogger last year!).  We just began our poetry unit in school and it’s been a huge success.  I’ll blog more about that later!

Each year I begin by giving each of my students a packet of poems.  They are all by “cool” poets, I tell them- Walter Dean Myers, Valerie Worth, Eloise Greenfield, Jack Prelutsky, and many more.  My favorite is the last poem in the packet, by Kate DiCamillo.

 

Snow, Aldo

By Kate DiCamillo

Once, I was in New York,
in Central Park, and I saw
an old man in a black overcoat walking
a black dog. This was springtime
and the trees were still
bare and the sky was
gray and low and it began, suddenly,
to snow:
big fat flakes
that twirled and landed on the
black of the man’s overcoat and
the black dog’s fur. The dog
lifted his face and stared
up at the sky. The man looked
up, too. “Snow, Aldo,” he said to the dog,
“snow.” And he laughed.
The dog looked
at him and wagged his tail.

If I was in charge of making
snow globes, this is what I would put inside:
the old man in the black overcoat,
the black dog,
two friends with their faces turned up to the sky
as if they were receiving a blessing,
as if they were being blessed together
by something
as simple as snow
in March.

Poetry Friday

This week I altered a lesson from Comprehension Connections: Bridges to Strategic Reading by Tanny McGregor to practice with our schema. The lesson involved listening to a song, reading the lyrics, and jotting our text-to-text, text-to-self, and text-to-world connections on a graphic organizer. I had never heard the song before but I loved it and wanted to share a bit.

Rachel Delevoryas

(Randy Stonehill, from Wonderama [Stonehillian/Word, 1992])

Rachel Delevoryas

With her thick eye glasses and her plain Jane face

Sat beside me in my fifth grade class

Looking so terribly out of place

Rachel played the violin

And classical music was out of style

She couldn’t control all her wild brown hair

Her nervous laughter and her awkward smile and

CHORUS • It was clear that she’d never be one of us

With her dowdy clothes

And her violin

And a name like Rachel Delevoryas

 

Read the rest here.

Poetry Friday

It was supposed to snow today.  Instead, we got rain, slush, and sleet.

 

I would have preferred the snow!

 

While looking for a poem for Poetry Friday, I fell in love with this short but sweet ditty.

 

Winter Twilight  
by Anne Porter
On a clear winter's evening
The crescent moon 

And the round squirrels' nest
In the bare oak 

Are equal planets.

Poetry Friday

For this week’s Poetry Friday I decided to do a meme I have seen floating around the internet.  I love music and poetry, and this seemed to combine the two in a fun way.

 

“Be Pete Wentz” Meme
Put your player on shuffle.
The first lines of the first twenty songs that come up are your “poem/song”
The 21st line is the title.

 

I don’t get many things right the first time


You say you’ve turned it off,
I’ll take you just the way you are.
I dont know why I act the way I do,
I’m dreaming of a white Christmas.

Baby look at me,
Walking along beneath the lights of that miracle mile.
I set out on a narrow way many years ago,
I said I wanna touch the earth.

I see your face in my mind as I drive away,
Tired of my beeper, tired of my phone.
Katie you’re a brave girl, and I know its only just started.
Pray God you can cope.

Today was the worst day, I went through hell,
the holidays are here again, the world is white with snow.
It’s astounding, time is fleeting
By the look in your eyes I can tell you’re gonna cry.

Oh, why you look so sad?
This boy here wants to move too fast,
Another summer day
There’s a blue rockin’ chair, sittin’ in the sand.

Poetry Friday

I hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving.  I am still recovering from a wonderful meal with family and plenty of shopping today.  A quick poem for Poetry Friday is definitely in order, especially one for the season.

 

The Harvest Moon  
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
It is the Harvest Moon!  On gilded vanes
  And roofs of villages, on woodland crests
  And their aerial neighborhoods of nests
  Deserted, on the curtained window-panes
Of rooms where children sleep, on country lanes
  And harvest-fields, its mystic splendor rests!
  Gone are the birds that were our summer guests,
  With the last sheaves return the laboring wains!
All things are symbols: the external shows
  Of Nature have their image in the mind,
  As flowers and fruits and falling of the leaves;
The song-birds leave us at the summer's close,
  Only the empty nests are left behind,
  And pipings of the quail among the sheaves.
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