Table of Contents 1. As Soon as Fred Gets Out of Bed by Jack Prelutsky 2. The Worm by Ralph Bergengren 3.

Swallows Nest by Frances Perretti 4. The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost 5. The Tyger by William Blake 6. The Gathering Place by Frances Perretti 7. Sick by Shel Silverstein 8. Friends by Abbie Farwell Brown 9. Pirate Story by Robert Louis Stevenson 10. Babylon by Robert Graves 11. I, Too, Sing America by Langston Hughes 12. Song of the Witches by William Shakespeare 13. Valentine by Donald Hall 14. Every Time I Climb a Tree by David McCord 15. House of Air by Philip Gross 16. The Creature in the Classroom by Jack Prelutsky 17. Anteater by Shel Silverstein 18. Bubble Gum by Nina Payne

Introductory Notes Poetry is a careful, inventive, or creative, consideration of words written in order to convey some idea as a literary composition. Usually, but not always, the words written are designed to evoke emotion. Poetry can manifest itself as a two-word phrase or a one thousandpage book. Good poetry makes you feel something. It will give you goose bumps, make you cry, chuckle, or put in high spirits. There is no formula. There is no prescribed guideline for the creation of poetry, only the inspiring models of existing poems. A good poem has to be appealing to the eye in that it draws the reader in through how it looks at first glance. After initial impressions then some sort of thread of a story has to begin to form with evocative language and description which actually makes you care. Something that can draw you in with its sense of emotion and intensity which is illustrated in the pace the poem takes. The rhythm shouldn't be used in a tacky rhyme sense, though sometimes this can be used to advantage, but to illustrate the drama, or lack there of, that is going on. For me a good poem makes everything else stop for one moment while you digest what you've just read. A bit like a story really. The beauty is in the language for me and the story that is told. Silly, entertaining poems are great things to include in the classroom. There is an abundance of this type of poetry available for teachers. I also wanted to include poetry that was not written specify for children, that I believe children would still enjoy. I read Robert Frosts The Road not Taken in the fifth grade and love it. It's so quietly beautiful! I love it because it does not make me focus on the words or the rhythm of the poem, I find myself just visualizing the scene and being drawn into the poem like I would a book. The poem is also relatable, everyone come to a point where the must make a choice, both physically and intangibly.

Poetry is like a swing in a playground, an object, available to the public everyone should be able to use it, not just those of a certain age. Poems, like children, are individuals, and will not be liked by every single person who happens to come across them.

As Soon as Fred Gets Out of Bed Jack Prelutsky Something BIG Has Been Here 1990 As soon as Fred gets out of bed, his underwear goes on his head. His mother laughs, "Don't put it there, a head's no place for underwear!" But near his ears, above his brains, is where Fred's underwear remains. At night when Fred goes back to bed, he deftly plucks it off his head. His mother switches off the light and softly croons, "Good night! Good night!" And then, for reasons no one knows, Fred's underwear goes on his toes. The Worm Ralph Bergengren The Random House Book of Poetry for Children 1983 When the earth is turned in spring The worms are fat as anything. And birds come flying all around To eat the worms right off the ground. They like the worms just as much as I Like bread and milk and apple pie. And once, when I was very young, I put a worm right on my tongue. I didn't like the taste a bit, And so I didn't swallow it. But oh, it makes my Mother squirm Because she thinks I ate that worm!

Swallows Nest By Frances Perretti 8 May 2013 What are you thinking old gray barn? You have seen so much more than I. Your weathered wood like wrinkles on a familiar face. Do you prefer to watch the sun rise over the mountain, or gaze upon the midnight moon illuminating the lake? Your lake. The one we call Wobance. The steam from the water slowly rolls off the shore to embrace you each morning. Do you call for this display of affection? Or does she simply know what a strong provider you can be. Do you know me old gray barn? Im sure you must. Watching me grow, watching all of us grow. Summer after summer. Swallows Nest is your name, and what a nest you have been. Feeding us the foundation of our own enhanced selves. Do you worry old gray barn? Your paint may be faded and fractured, But your company always brightens our days. In a place where we are free to let down our guard, you have become our guardian. A keeper of memories, the pages to our stories, a stage for self-discovery. Do you know we love you old gray barn? I hope you do. Of course you do.

The Road Not Taken Robert Frost Mountain Interval. 1920. TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

The Tyger By William Blake Songs of Experience 1794 Tyger Tyger, burning bright, In the forests of the night; What immortal hand or eye, Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies. Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand, dare seize the fire? And what shoulder, & what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? & what dread feet? What the hammer? what the chain, In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp, Dare its deadly terrors clasp! When the stars threw down their spears And water'd heaven with their tears: Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee? Tyger Tyger burning bright, In the forests of the night: What immortal hand or eye, Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

The Gathering Place- After Sebastian Matthews Buying Wine Frances Perretti 8 May 2013

When we were tweens, that achingly awkward age, no longer kids but not yet teens, we used to go Uptown. It was our refuge, our escape, our time devoid of adult supervision. In the heart of town, Uptown was all we needed, a cluster of parks and shops, and the best pizza we had ever eaten. Im not sure if it was the sauce or our independence that made it so satisfying. Often we ran, fast and furious like untamed island stallions, wild and free no rigid rules to restrain us as we frolicked and flew, despite the distaste of shop owners, for we did not care The only thing that scared us was the train. Crossing the tracks could be quite costly; we had all seen it before. One wrong step and you would be swept away. Dancing decadence thrusting you forward with no end in sight. We stayed away from the train; we played in the fields, boys and girls together, almost forgetting about the ever present threat of cooties. Once we watched Johnny chasing Holly around the big black rock in the center of the park, we had all been playing tag but it had become a ballet of two, whipping and whizzing in circles, wind blowing her bright blond hair back as Johnny pounded towards her, chasing the strands like the unattainable rays of the setting sun. But mostly, like today we sit on the rock, watching mothers pushing strollers as the train races by, our rock halfway between the infants and the stop light, where the eternal elderly man shoots us dirty looks across the park, gracefully leaning on his cane as he shakes his head and finger, murmuring one of these day, one of these days.

Sick Shel Silverstein Where the sidewalk ends 1974 I cannot go to school today, Said little Peggy Ann McKay. I have the measles and the mumps, A gash, a rash and purple bumps. My mouth is wet, my throat is dry, Im going blind in my right eye. My tonsils are as big as rocks, Ive counted sixteen chicken pox. And theres one morethats seventeen, And dont you think my face looks green? My leg is cut, my eyes are blue It might be instamatic flue. I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke, Im sure that my left leg is broken My hips hurt when I move my chin, My belly buttons caving in, My back is wrenched, my ankles sprained, My pendix pains each time it rains. My nose is cold, my toes are numb, I have a silver in my thumb. My neck is stiff, my voice is weak, I hardly whisper when I speak. My tongue is filling up my mouth, I think my hair is falling out. My elbows bent, my spine aint straight, My temperature is one-o-eight. My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear, There is a hole inside my ear. I have a hangnail, and my hart iswhat? Whats that? Whats that you say? You say today is Saturday? Gbye, Im going out to play!

Friends Abbie Farwell Brown A Pocketful of Posies 1901 How good to lie a little while And look up through the tree! The Sky is like a kind big smile Bent sweetly over me. The Sunshine flickers through the lace Of leaves above my head, And kisses me upon the face Like Mother, before bed. The Wind comes stealing o'er the grass To whisper pretty things; And though I cannot see him pass, I feel his careful wings. So many gentle Friends are near Whom one can scarcely see, A child should never feel a fear, Wherever he may be.

Pirate Story Robert Louis Stevenson A Child's Garden of Verses 1929 Three of us afloat in the meadow by the swing, Three of us aboard in the basket on the lea. Winds are in the air, they are blowing in the spring, And waves are on the meadow like the waves there are at sea. Where shall we adventure, to-day that were afloat, Wary of the weather and steering by a star? Shall it be to Africa, a-steering of the boat, To Providence, or Babylon, or off to Malabar? Hi! but heres a squadron a-rowing on the sea Cattle on the meadow a-charging with a roar! Quick, and well escape them, theyre as mad as they can be, The wicket is the harbour and the garden is the shore.

Babylon Robert Graves 1918 The child alone a poet is: Spring and Fairyland are his. Truth and Reason show but dim, And all's poetry with him. Rhyme and music flow in plenty For the lad of one-and-twenty, But Spring for him is no more now Than daisies to a munching cow; Just a cheery pleasant season, Daisy buds to live at ease on. He's forgotten how he smiled And shrieked at snowdrops when a child, Or wept one evening secretly For April's glorious misery. Wisdom made him old and wary Banishing the Lords of Faery. Wisdom made a breach and battered Babylon to bits: she scattered To the hedges and ditches All our nursery gnomes and witches. Lob and Puck, poor frantic elves, Drag their treasures from the shelves. Jack the Giant-killer's gone, Mother Goose and Oberon, Bluebeard and King Solomon. Robin, and Red Riding Hood Take together to the wood, And Sir Galahad lies hid In a cave with Captain Kidd. None of all the magic hosts, None remain but a few ghosts Of timorous heart, to linger on Weeping for lost Babylon

I, Too, Sing America Langston Hughes 1945 I, too, sing America. I am the darker brother. They send me to eat in the kitchen When company comes, But I laugh, And eat well, And grow strong. Tomorrow, I'll be at the table When company comes. Nobody'll dare Say to me, "Eat in the kitchen," Then. Besides, They'll see how beautiful I am And be ashamed I, too, am America.

Song of the Witches William Shakespeare Macbeth 1623 Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and caldron bubble. Fillet of a fenny snake, In the caldron boil and bake; Eye of newt and toe of frog, Wool of bat and tongue of dog, Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting, Lizard's leg and howlet's wing, For a charm of powerful trouble, Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and caldron bubble. Cool it with a baboon's blood, Then the charm is firm and good. Valentine Donald Hall Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle 1967 Chipmunks jump, and Greensnakes slither. Rather burst than Not be with her. Bluebirds fight, but Bears are stronger. We've got fifty Years or longer. Hoptoads hop, but Hogs are fatter. Nothing else but Us can matter.

Every Time I Climb a Tree David McCord Every Time I Climb a Tree 1999 Every time I climb a tree Every time I climb a tree Every time I climb a tree I scrape a leg Or skin a knee And every time I climb a tree I find some ants Or dodge a bee And get the ants All over me. And every time I climb a tree Where have you been? They say to me But don't they know that I am free Every time I climb a tree? I like it best To spot a nest That has an egg Or maybe three. And then I skin The other leg But every time I climb a tree I see a lot of things to see Swallows rooftops and TV And all the fields and farms there be Every time I climb a tree Though climbing may be good for ants It isn't awfully good for pants But still it's pretty good for me Every time I climb a tree

House of Air Philip Gross 1995 A letter was sent But no one was there No one home In the house of air No window no frame No number no door Between sixty eight and sixty four Just a pit prop joist Wedged there to shore Two end walls peeling Patchwork squares Paint patterns plaster Layers on layers Unpicked by rain And roots and years Like generation A stray cat stairs Zig zag to the sky Through invisible floors A fireplace smolders Green then flares Mauve buddleia The postman stares Number sixty six Strange it was there This time yesterday He could swear

The Creature in the Classroom Jack Prelutsky The Baby Uggs are Hatching 1989 It appeared inside our classroom at a quarter after ten, it gobbled up the blackboard, three erasers and a pen. It gobbled teachers apple and it bopped her with the core. How dare you! she responded. You must leave us...theres the door. The creature didnt listen but described an arabesque as it gobbled all her pencils, seven notebooks and her desk. Teacher stated very calmly, Sir! you simply cannot stay. Ill report you to the principal unless you go away! But the thing continued eating, it ate paper, swallowed ink. As it gobbled up our homework, I believe I saw it wink. Teacher finally lost her temper. OUT! she shouted at the creature. The creature hopped beside her and GLOPP...it gobbled teacher.

Anteater Shel Silverstein A Light in the Attic 1981 "A genuine anteater," The pet man told me dad. Turned out, it was an aunt eater, And now my uncle's mad!

Bubble Gum Nina Payne All Day Long 1973 I'm in trouble made a bubble peeled it off my nose. Felt a rock inside my sock got gum between my toes. Made another told my brother we could blow a pair. Give three cheers now our ears are sticking to our hair!

BIBLIOGRAPHY
Arbuthnot, May Hill, et al. The Arbuthnot Anthology of Childrens Literature. Dallas Texas: Scott Foresman and Company, 1976. This volume contains an excellent selection of poetry. Blishen, Edward, ed. Oxford Book of Poetry for Children. New York: Franklin Watts Inc. 1963. Serves as a transition from nursery rhymes to more serious verse. deRegniers, Beatrice Schenk, Eva Moore and Mary Michaels White, ed. Poems Children Will Sit Still For. New York: Citation Press, 1969. The title says it all! Cole, William, ed. The Birds and the Beasts Were There; Animal Poems. New York: The World Publishing Co. 1963. This is a collection of three hundred animal poems. Emrich, Duncan, ed. The Nonsense Book of Riddles, Rhymes, Tongue Twisters Puzzles and Jokes From American Folklore. New York: Four Winds Press, 1970. Actually everything in the title is contained in the text, this book is a lot of fun. Griggs, Tamar, ed. Theres a Sound in the Sea; A Childs-Eye View of the Whale. San Francisco: Scrimshaw Press, 1975. A text of childrens writing and art, it is a good lesson that their work could turn into something like this. Heuvel, Cor Van Den, ed. The Haiku Anthology: Haiku and Senryu in English. New York: Simon and Schuster Inc. 1986. This book collects nearly seven hundred haiku and senryu. Joseph, Stephen M., ed. The Me Nobody Knows: Childrens Voices From the Ghetto. New York: Avon Books, 1969. The feelings of city children are studied in this book. Koch, Kenneth. Rose Where Did You Get That Red?: Teaching Great Poetry to Children. New York: Random House, 1973. A great guide, this book becomes quickly worn. Koch, Kenneth and Kate Farrell, ed. Talking to the Sun: An Illustrated Anthology of Poems for Young People. New York: Henry Holt and Company, 1985.

The text joins the treasures of the Metropolitan Museum of Art with a unique selection of poetry. Larrick, Nancy, ed. Room For Me and a Mountain Lion: Poetry of Open Space. New York: M. Evans and Company, Inc. 1974. Topics in the text include the mountainside, woods, dunes, and open fields. Nash, Ogden, ed. The Moon Is Shining Bright As Day. New York: J. B. Lippincott Co. 1953. Truly good-humored verse. Read, Herbert, ed. This Way Delight: A Book of Poetry for the Young. New York: Pantheon Books Inc. 1956. The poetry tries to stay within the range of experiences of the young reader. Untermeyer, Louis, ed. Rainbow In The Sky. New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, Publishers, 1963.