* A poem about a difficult or sensitive subject in children’s lives
Intro: Talk to children about your experience with braces, or someone you know who had them. Ask what they've heard about braces. (Pick up radio, getting locked when kissing, etc.)
Tusk, Tusk
by Shel Silverstein
The Walrus got braces,
And that's why his face is
A tangle of wires and steel.
He'll sit and he'll wait
Till his tusks are both straight -
And then think how happy he'll feel!
(But meanwhile, they're ruining his meal.)
Extension: Draw pictures of animals with different human accoutrements (canes, glasses, etc.) Have groups of children make up a poem about an animal using one of these items.
* A free verse or unrhymed poem
Intro: If possible, get a little dry ice and put some in water in a pot or a bucket before reading this poem.
Fog
By Carl Sandburg
The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
Ext: Have the children sit in a circle and say one thing each about fog, what it looks like, how it acts, when it comes, where they see it.
* A poem written and published by a child
Intro: Ask if the children like vegetables, talk about the different kinds of vegetables.
Broccoli
Broccoli is
green and
cheesy.
It makes
some people
queasy.
I like
broccoli
a lot.
Lots of
people do
not!
- Katy Lawrence, age 9, 1996
Published on KidzPage! Homegrown Verse page one.
Ext: Bring a vegetable tray for a snack.
* Two poems: A classic poem (such as "The Raven") and a contemporary poem that are similar in some way (include both poems)
Intro: You may have heard this first poem around halloween, but the second one is more recent and you may not have heard it before.
The Raven
by Edgar Allan Poe
First Published in 1845
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
" 'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door;
Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow, sorrow for the lost Lenore,.
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore,
Nameless here forevermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me---filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
" 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door,
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door.
This it is, and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you." Here I opened wide the door;---
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word,
Lenore?, This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word,
"Lenore!" Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before,
"Surely," said I, "surely, that is something at my window lattice.
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore.
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore.
" 'Tis the wind, and nothing more."
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven, of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door.
Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door,
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandering from the nightly shore.
Tell me what the lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore."
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning, little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door,
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."
But the raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered;
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown before;
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster, till his songs one burden bore,---
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never---nevermore."
But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore --
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
Thus I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee -- by these angels he hath
Sent thee respite---respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, O quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore!"
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil!
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted--
On this home by horror haunted--tell me truly, I implore:
Is there--is there balm in Gilead?--tell me--tell me I implore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil--prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that heaven that bends above us--by that God we both adore--
Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels name Lenore---
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name Lenore?
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."
"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting--
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! -- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."
And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming.
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted---nevermore!
On Saturday, November Third
by Douglas Florian
On Saturday, November third,
Outside my window perched a bird.
He sat there frozen for a week.
He did not move, nor did he speak.
I stared at him. He stared right back -
With wide hypnotic eyes pitch-black.
I yelled at him to fly, to flee.
But he just smiled and winked at me.
He failed to even shake a feather
Through all varieties of weather.
And then at last he flew away -
I never will forget that day.
It was a Thursday, the eighth of May.
I screamed out loud, "Hoorah, hooray!"
He came back Friday, August third.
It's sad how much I hate that bird.
Ext: have the children compare the similarities and differences of the poems, ask them which they liked better, why?
* An original poem you have written yourself
Intro: Families are all different, this is a little about what my family is like.
My Family
When we all get together in my family,
for weddings, holidays, summer vacations,
time moves slow and sweet
as six-month old honey.
Kids remove themselves from adult gazes
to reacquaint with their cousins and friends.
They play fort, or wild horses, or tea party
as the mood strikes them.
Women talk in the kitchen,
peeling potatoes and apples and carrots,
slicing cheese and meat and celery,
laughing and nibbling on a little of everything.
Stirring smells so thick and delicious
into the rest of the house
that you wish you had a knife
to cut a hearty chunk of air
to savor as leftovers
at 2 a.m. when the food is cold
and you wake up hungry
thinking of that full fridge.
Men walk to barns, pastures, cornfields
to discuss and mull and poke each other
in the ribs with slow deep chuckles.
Sometimes they fish and drowse
drenched in sun, silent
except for the regular
click-click-clicking of the rod
as they cast and slowly
reel the bait back
hoping to tempt a granddaddy
of a bass into taking a chance
on a strange and shiny thing
that twirls and dances
through green filtered lake water.
Evenings, we come together again,
all with loosened waistbands and cool drinks,
grinning over the very small boy
trying to take his great-great-grandpa's cane away
as they sit and look at each other
with the same eyes
smiling at their tug-of-war.
Chatting over children and plans,
things gone wrong and things gone right
since last we all came together
for a funeral, new baby or just because
we all got tired
of having to worry
about who we belonged with
or if the food was going to be good.
Ext: Have the children talk about their families, have them pick a special occasion or gathering and talk about what they do.
My Community
Author
