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Contents
Posts
Walt Whitman’s Woods and his Poem "Miracles"
Thursday, October 29th, 2009
We took a walk today in Walt Whitman’s woods in West Hills, on Long Island, east of New York City. I highly recommend taking an autumnal hike or stroll if you can. Then you may feel the truth in Whitman’s line, "As to me I know of nothing else but miracles". There’s much beauty out there. Here are some photos I took in Walt’s woods, followed by his poem "Miracles", and then recordings of two people reading the poem.
Miracles
by Walt WhitmanWhy, who makes much of a miracle?
As to me I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with any one I love, or sleep in the bed at night with any one I love,
Or sit at table at dinner with the rest,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so quiet and bright,
Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring;
These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place.To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same,
Every foot of the interior swarms with the same.
To me the sea is a continual miracle,
The fishes that swim-the rocks-the motion of the waves-the ships with men in them,
What stranger miracles are there?*****
Robert Frost’s Proverb: “Good fences make good neighbors.”
Friday, September 18th, 2009The proverb “Good fences make good neighbors” has been around for a couple of centuries in different forms. One place it can be found is in Poor Richard’s Almanack by Benjamin Franklin. His version is: “Love your neighbor; yet don’t pull down your hedge.”
It’s interesting that the specific wording of the proverb, “Good fences make good neighbors” is fairly modern. It comes from Robert Frost’s poem Mending Wall from 1914. The poem centers around this concept and questions whether it’s true or not. Here’s the poem…
Mending Wall
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it
And spills the upper boulders in the sun,
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
‘Stay where you are until our backs are turned!’
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of outdoor game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, “Good fences make good neighbors”.
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
“Why do they make good neighbors? Isn’t it
Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I’d ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offense.
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That wants it down.” I could say “Elves” to him,
But it’s not elves exactly, and I’d rather
He said it for himself. I see him there,
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father’s saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, “Good fences make good neighbors.”Listen to an MP3 of Mending Wall as read by Alan Davis-Drake for LibriVox
Listen to a different MP3 of Mending Wall as read by Teresa Montgomery for Librivox
The narrator of the poem is annoyed by his neighbor’s insistence that there has to be a fence between them. If only his neighbor would get beyond his father’s beliefs – originating in an old proverb – and reconsider his thinking.
What’s ironic is that Frost coined the new wording of a proverb: “Good fences make good neighbors”, while questioning the very wisdom behind it!
Jane Taylor’s Poem about a Pussy-cat is about How Kids Should Treat Pets
Monday, August 24th, 2009
The poem below by Jane Taylor (1783-1824) is about a child telling how gently she will handle her little pussy-cat. The 1st two verses can be found in many collections of nursery rhymes. If you read the whole poem, you can see how it could be a good one to read to children with pets… talking about how to treat them nicely.
Little Pussy
By Jane TaylorI love little Pussy,
Her coat is so warm;
And if I don’t hurt her
She’ll do me no harm.So I’ll not pull her tail,
Nor drive her away,
But Pussy and I
Very gently will play.She shall sit by my side,
And I’ll give her some food;
And she’ll love me because
I am gentle and good.I’ll pat little Pussy,
And then she will purr,
And thus show her thanks
For my kindness to her.I’ll not pinch her ears,
Nor tread on her paw,
Lest I should provoke her
To use her sharp claw.I never will vex her,
Nor make her displeased,
For Puss doesn’t like
To be worried or teased.
Poem – The Bee by Emily Dickinson
Friday, August 7th, 2009The Bee His labor is a chant,
His idleness a tune;
Oh, for the bee’s experience
Of clovers and of noon!Emily Dickinson – Poems XV
“My Shadow” a Poem by Robert Louis Stevenson with MP3
Friday, May 29th, 2009“My Shadow” is a wonderful poem by Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-94). It’s a great piece to share with your kids, grandkids or students! You can listen to it recited, by clicking the link below…
My Shadow
I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,
And what can be the use of him is more than I can see.
He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head;
And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow-
Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow;
For he sometimes shoots up taller like an india-rubber ball,
And he sometimes gets so little that there’s none of him at all.He hasn’t got a notion of how children ought to play,
And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way.
He stays so close beside me, he’s a coward, you can see;
I’d think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me!One morning, very early, before the sun was up,
I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup;
But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head,
Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.Enjoy!
Mama Lisa
Singing – A Poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
Saturday, May 9th, 2009SINGING
OF speckled eggs the birdie sings
And nests among the trees;
The sailor sings of ropes and things
In ships upon the seas.The children sing in far Japan,
The children sing in Spain;
The organ with the organ man
Is singing in the rain.
Early Spring a Poem by Fay Inchfawn with an MP3 Recording
Friday, April 3rd, 2009Here’s a lovely poem called Early Spring by Fay Inchfawn. Inchfawn’s real name was Elizabeth Rebecca Ward (1880 – 1978). She was born in England.
Early Spring
Quick through the gates of Fairyland
The South Wind forced his way.
‘Twas his to make the Earth forget
Her grief of yesterday.
“‘Tis mine,” cried he, “to bring her joy!”
And on his lightsome feet
In haste he slung the snowdrop bells,
Pushed past the Fairy sentinels,
And out with laughter sweet.Clear flames of Crocus glimmered on
The shining way he went.
He whispered to the trees strange tales
Of wondrous sweet intent,
When, suddenly, his witching voice
With timbre rich and rare,
Rang through the woodlands till it cleft
Earth’s silent solitudes, and left
A Dream of Roses there!You can read a whole book of Elizabeth Ward’s poetry called The Verse-Book Of A Homely Woman online at Project Gutenberg.
Qingming Poem by Du Mu with an MP3 Recording
Friday, April 3rd, 2009Yesterday, I posted the poem Qingming by the poet Du Mu (803 – 852) that mentions the Qingming Festival (also called Ching Ming). I asked my friend Ray Lee about it. He grew up in Hong Kong and I wanted to hear his impression about the poem and also my translation of it (below). Here’s what Ray wrote:
This is indeed a very well known poem. We were taught this poem when we were in school. I don’t know if they still teach this in school. Even if they don’t, the school kids are bound to hear it from their parents or on TV or read about it somewhere.
The translation you have is pretty good. I am not sure about the second line though. I have always thought it said, “pedestrians on the road are like ghosts,” because of the rain.
Below you can find the Chinese text, the Pinyin and an English translation I had done of the poem Qingming plus an mp3 of Qingming being recited…
Ching Ming
It’s raining hard at the time of the Ching Ming Festival,
The mourner’s heart is overwhelmed on the road upland.
May I ask where there’s a tavern to drown my sorrows?
The shepherd boy points to Xinghua Village in the distance.清 明
清 明 时 节 雨 纷 纷，
路 上 行 人 欲 断 魂。
借 问 酒 家 何 处 有，
牧 童 遥 指 杏 花 村。
qīng míng shí jié yǔ fēn fēn
lù shàng xíng rén yù duàn hún
jiè wèn jiǔ jiā hé chù yǒu
mù tóng yáo zhǐ xìng huā cūnRay later wrote to me about the second line:
There is another translation on the Internet that is somewhere between my translation and yours. This one says something like travelers all look gloomy and miserable.
Thanks, Ray, for letting us know more about this poem!
The poem was read by Jia Zhou for Librevox.
If anyone would like to comment about the translation, please feel free to let us know what you think in the comments below or to email me at lisa@mamalisa.com .
Below you can read posts about the Chingming Festival…
-Mama Lisa
This Life’s an Enchanted Fairy Land…
Thursday, April 2nd, 2009I came across a wonderful verse today by Robert Burns (1759 – 1796). He wrote the song Auld Lang Syne. The verse is from Epistle To James Smith.
Original Text in Scots
"This life, sae far’s I understand,
is an enchanted fairy land,
where pleasure is the magic wand, that weilded right,
maks hours like minutes, hand in hand dance by fir’ light."Standard Modern English
This life, so far as I understand,
is an enchanted fairy land,
where pleasure is a magic wand, that wielded right,
makes hours like minutes, hand in hand dance by the firelight.
Qingming Festival in China, Hong Kong and Taiwan
Thursday, April 2nd, 2009The Qingming Festival is on April 4th this year in China, and on the 5th in Taiwan. In Taiwan it’s called Tomb Sweeping Day.
This day is a remembrance of ancestors – it’s similar to All Saints Day and The Day of the Dead. People clean the tombs of their ancestors and offer them food, drink, joss (paper gifts) and spirit money (not real currency). Some people carry willow branches to ward off the evil spirits that are thought to roam the earth on this day.
Qingming is also a celebration of the spring. People have picnics, play on swings and fly kites.
There is a well-known poem by the poet Du Mu (803 – 852) that mentions this day. Below you can find the Chinese text, the Pinyin and an English translation I tried my hand!
Ching Ming
It’s raining hard at the time of the Ching Ming Festival,
The mourner’s heart is overwhelmed on the road upland.
May I ask where there’s a tavern to drown my sorrows?
The shepherd boy points to Xinghua Village in the distance.清 明
清 明 时 节 雨 纷 纷，
路 上 行 人 欲 断 魂。
借 问 酒 家 何 处 有，
牧 童 遥 指 杏 花 村。
qīng míng shí jié yǔ fēn fēn
lù shàng xíng rén yù duàn hún
jiè wèn jiǔ jiā hé chù yǒu
mù tóng yáo zhǐ xìng huā cūnBelow you can read other posts about the Chingming Festival…
Feel free to share your holiday photos or traditions by commenting below or emailing me at lisa@mamalisa.com.
Mama Lisa
The poem was read by Jia Zhou for Librevox.
Walter de la Mare Poem “SOME ONE”
Thursday, March 5th, 2009Nancy wrote to me looking for: “the complete poem by Walter de la Mare which starts with: ‘Someone came a-knocking on my wee small door….’”
Here is Walter de la Mare’s poem called SOME ONE:
SOME ONE
Some one came knocking
At my wee, small door;
Some one came knocking,
I’m sure – sure – sure;
I listened, I opened,
I looked to left and right,
But naught there was a-stirring
In the still dark night;
Only the busy beetle
Tap-tapping in the wall,
Only from the forest
The screech-owl’s call,
Only the cricket whistling
While the dewdrops fall,
So I know not who came knocking,
At all, at all, at all.You can find this poem online in PEACOCK PIE A Book of Rhymes by Walter de la Mare.
Here’s another poem from the book you might like…
SILVER
Slowly, silently, now the moon
Walks the night in her silver shoon:
This way, and that, she peers and sees
Silver fruit upon silver trees;
One by one the casements catch
Her beams beneath the silvery thatch;
Couched in his kennel, like a log,
With paws of silver sleeps the dog
From their shadowy cote the white breasts peep
Of doves in a silver-feathered sleep;
A harvest mouse goes scampering by,
With silver claws and silver eye;
And moveless fish in the water gleam
By silver reeds in a silver stream.Hope you enjoy them!
Mama Lisa
A Poem or Lullaby called “The Child Lulls Himself to Sleep”
Thursday, June 12th, 2008Here’s a beautiful poem, which can also be sung as a lullaby, by Walter de la Mare (1873 – 1956)…
THE CHILD LULLS HIMSELF TO SLEEP
“Hide and seek,” says the Wind
In the shade of the woods;
“Hide and seek,” says the Moon
To the hazel buds;
“Hide and seek,” says the Cloud,
Star on to star;
“Hide and seek,” says the Wave
At the harbour bar;
“Hide and seek,” say I
To myself, and step
Out of the dream of Wake
Into the dream of Sleep!Walter de la Mare.
At the Zoo by A. A. Milne
Wednesday, June 4th, 2008Here’s a poem called At the Zoo by A. A. Milne, the author of Winnie the Pooh…
At the Zoo
There are lions and roaring tigers,
and enormous camels and things,
There are biffalo-buffalo-bisons,
and a great big bear with wings.
There’s a sort of a tiny potamus,
and a tiny nosserus too-
But I gave buns to the elephant
when I went down to the Zoo!
There are badgers and bidgers and bodgers,
and a Super-in-tendent’s House,
There are masses of goats, and a Polar,
and different kinds of mouse,
And I think there’s a sort of a something
which is called a wallaboo*-
But I gave buns to the elephant
when I went down to the Zoo!
If you try to talk to the bison,
he never quite understands;
You can’t shake hands with a mingo**-
he doesn’t like shaking hands.
And lions and roaring tigers
hate saying, “How do you do?”-
But I gave buns to the elephant
when I went down to the Zoo!
*Probably a wallaby – a type of small kangaroo.
**A mingo is a fish called a vermillion snapper (similar to a red snapper).
A Recording of Walt Whitman Reading His Poem “America”
Saturday, May 24th, 2008Walt Whitman (1819-1892) is one of America’s greatest poets.
Here’s a recording of him, from 1890. He’s reading from a poem called “America” which has been preserved on a wax cylinder from 1888.
The lines he’s reading can be a little hard to understand. Here’s what he’s saying:
“America
Centre of equal daughters, equal sons,
All, all alike endear’d, grown, ungrown, young or old,
Strong, ample, fair, enduring, capable, rich,
Perennial with the Earth, with Freedom, Law and Love…”I found this to have special meaning on Memorial Day weekend, when America honors her sons and daughters who have died fighting for Freedom.
Only One Mother – A Poem
Tuesday, May 6th, 2008I know lots of people are looking for poems for Mother’s Day, so I’ve been on a search to post as many as I can find. Here’s a sweet one by George Cooper (1838-1927) called Only One Mother. Some people use just the second verse…
Only One Mother
Hundreds of stars in the pretty sky,
Hundreds of shells on the shore together,
Hundreds of birds that go singing by,
Hundreds of lambs in the sunny weather.Hundreds of dewdrops to greet the dawn,
Hundreds of bees in the purple clover,
Hundreds of butterflies on the lawn,
But only one mother the wide world over.Here are some other posts about Mother’s Day, including other poems:
“My Mother” a Victorian Poem
Sunday, May 4th, 2008In many countries around the world, Mother’s Day is in May.
Below is a quaint poem I found called “My Mother”. It was written by Ann Taylor (1783 –1866). She’s the sister of Jane Taylor, the author of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star. Ann and Jane published books of rhymes and poems together.
The illustrations below were done by Walter Crane. Here’s what Crane wrote about it in 1910:
“My Mother” is mid-Victorian-just after crinolines had gone out-but mothers are always in fashion, bless them…
Crinolines are so old-fashioned that many of us in the 21st century are no longer familiar with the word! Crinolines were hoop petticoats worn under skirts to give them a wide round shape. They were often made out of steel to support and widen the look of the skirt. Ladies, let’s all be glad we’re not too familiar with this word!
So here’s the poem with Cranes sweet illustrations…
My Mother
Who fed me from her gentle breast,
And hush’d me in her arms to rest,
And on my cheek sweet kisses prest?
My Mother.When sleep forsook my open eye,
Who was it sung sweet hushaby,
And rock’d me that I should not cry?
My Mother.Who sat and watched my infant head,
When sleeping in my cradle bed,
And tears of sweet affection shed?
My Mother.
When pain and sickness made me cry,
Who gazed upon my heavy eye,
And wept for fear that I should die?
My Mother.Who dress’d my doll in clothes so gay,
And taught me pretty how to play.
And minded all I had to say?
My Mother.
Who taught my infant lips to pray,
And love God’s holy book and day.
And walk in Wisdom’s pleasant way?
My Mother.And can I ever cease to be
Affectionate and kind to thee,
Who was so very kind to me?
My Mother
Ah, no! the thought I cannot bear;
And if God please my life to spare,
I hope I shall reward thy care,
My Mother.Who ran to help me when I fell,
And would some pretty story tell,
Or kiss the place to make it well?
My Mother.
When thou art feeble, old, and gray,
My healthy arm shall be thy stay,
And I will soothe thy pains away.
My Mother.
And when I see thee hang thy head,
‘Twill be my turn to watch thy bed.
And tears of sweet affection shed,
My Mother.
For God, who lives above the skies,
Would look with vengeance in His eyes,
If I should ever dare despise
My Mother.[Note from Mama Lisa: Taylor later softened the last verse, changing it to the following.]
For could our Father in the skies
Look down with pleased or loving eyes,
If ever I could dare despise
My Mother.PS
Here are some other posts about Mother’s Day, including other poems:
A Poem about Icicles
Wednesday, January 30th, 2008Here’s a beautiful poem that you can share with a child in your life. It’s about icicles hanging from trees in the cold winter night. It was written by Elinor Wylie (1885 – 1928).
Silver Filigree
The icicles wreathing
On trees in festoon
Swing, swayed to our breathing:
They’re made of the moon.She’s a pale, waxen taper;
And these seem to drip
Transparent as paper
From the flame of her tip.Molten, smoking a little,
Into crystal they pass;
Falling, freezing, to brittle
And delicate glass.Each a sharp-pointed flower,
Each a brief stalactite
Which hangs for an hour
In the blue cave of night.
A Poem – The Butterfly’s Ball and the Grasshopper’s Feast
Saturday, January 12th, 2008The Butterfly’s Ball and the Grasshopper’s Feast was first published in 1807. It was written by William Roscoe, a member of the British parliament who fought against the slave trade. Roscoe wrote the poem for his children. The Character “Robert” in the poem was one of his youngest sons and this poem was written in honor of his birthday. It was originally set to music.
Though the language of the poem is a little old-fashioned, I found it to be charming when viewed in combination with the illustrations.
Of course the world of the Butterfly’s Ball is filled with all sorts of creatures. Here’s a refresher of a couple you might not be familiar with… A gadfly is a type of fly that annoys animals by stinging them. An emmet is a social insect resembling an ant, but the males and the queen have wings. They live in colonies. A dormouse was an animal that lived in the Old World. It was between a squirrel and a mouse in character and form.
Viands are delicious dishes!
Enough with the introductions, here’s the poem…
THE
BUTTERFLY’S BALL.Come take up your Hats, and away let us haste
To the Butterfly’s Ball, and the Grasshopper’s Feast.
The Trumpeter, Gad-fly, has summon’d the Crew,
And the Revels are now only waiting for you.So said little Robert, and pacing along,
His merry Companions came forth in a Throng.
And on the smooth Grass, by the side of a Wood,
Beneath a broad Oak that for Ages had stood,Saw the Children of Earth, and the Tenants of Air,
For an Evening’s Amusement together repair.
And there came the Beetle, so blind and so black,
Who carried the Emmet, his Friend, on his Back.And there was the Gnat and the Dragon-fly too,
With all their Relations, Green, Orange, and Blue.
And there came the Moth, with his Plumage of Down,
And the Hornet in Jacket of Yellow and Brown;Who with him the Wasp, his Companion, did bring,
But they promis’d, that Evening, to lay by their Sting.
And the sly little Dormouse crept out of his Hole,
And brought to the Feast his blind Brother, the Mole.And the Snail, with his Horns peeping out of his Shell,
Came from a great Distance, the Length of an Ell.
A Mushroom their Table, and on it was laid
A Water-dock Leaf, which a Table-cloth made.The Viands were various, to each of their Taste,
And the Bee brought her Honey to crown the Repast.
Then close on his Haunches, so solemn and wise,
The Frog from a Corner, look’d up to the Skies.And the Squirrel well pleas’d such Diversions to see,
Mounted high over Head, and look’d down from a Tree.
Then out came the Spider, with Finger so fine,
To shew his Dexterity on the tight Line.From one Branch to another, his Cobwebs he slung,
Then quick as an Arrow he darted along,
But just in the Middle,-Oh! shocking to tell,
From his Rope, in an Instant, poor Harlequin fell.Yet he touch’d not the Ground, but with Talons outspread,
Hung suspended in Air, at the End of a Thread.
Then the Grasshopper came with a Jerk and a Spring,
Very long was his Leg, though but short was his Wing;He took but three Leaps, and was soon out of Sight,
Then chirp’d his own Praises the rest of the Night.
With Step so majestic the Snail did advance,
And promis’d the Gazers a Minuet to dance.But they all laugh’d so loud that he pull’d in his Head,
And went in his own little Chamber to Bed.
Then, as Evening gave Way to the Shadows of Night,
Their Watchman, the Glow-worm, came out with a Light.Then Home let us hasten, while yet we can see,
For no Watchman is waiting for you and for me,
So said little Robert, and pacing along,
His merry Companions returned in a Throng.END OF THE BUTTERFLY’S BALL.
Mrs. Mouse Trots – A Poem that French Students Start Learning in Kindergarten
Thursday, November 29th, 2007The other day I wrote about how French students learn poetry by heart. Monique, who was a first grade teacher in France for many years wrote:
French students start learning poetry by heart in first grade – which is 6 years old and often earlier! Dame souris trotte (Mrs. Mouse Trots) is often taught in kindergarten. Some teachers teach it as early as 4-5 year old preschool (but they usually take out the 2nd verse).
Below is Dame souris trotte by Paul Verlaine. My English translation follows the French version.
Dame souris trotte
Dame souris trotte
Noire dans le gris du soir ,
Dame souris trotte ,
Grise dans le noir .On sonne la cloche :
Dormez les bons prisonniers ,
On sonne la cloche ,
Faut que vous dormiez .Un nuage passe ,
Il fait noir comme en un four ,
Un nuage passe ,
Tiens le petit jour !Dame souris trotte ,
Rose dans les rayons bleus ,
Dame souris trotte ,
Debout paresseux !Mrs. Mouse Trots
Mrs. Mouse trots
Black in the gray dusk,
Mrs. Mouse trots
Gray in the darkness.The bell sounds…
The good prisoners sleep.
The bell sounds…
You should sleep.A cloud passes,
The sky’s opaque,
A cloud passes,
Look daybreak!Mrs. Mouse trots,
Pink in blue sunbeams,
Mrs. Mouse trots,
Get up, you lazy!Monique said that many of the poems at a site called Poemes are used by French teachers. She had her students memorize poem #44 called Pomme et poire at that site.
-Mama Lisa
Many thanks to Monique Palomares, of Mama Lisa’s World en français, for sharing more about the teaching of poetry in French grade school with us.
Teaching an Appreciation of Poetry to Kids
Monday, November 26th, 2007It’s interesting that in France they have children learn poetry as part of their schooling. Children have to memorize poems. Though difficult, memorization can help develop a special appreciation for poems. This is something that most of my generation in America didn’t really get as part of their general education. I often hear about people in the past from my parents’ generation having had to memorize material like the poetry of Eugene Fields. I think that’s partly why some people from that generation have such fond memories of his poetry.
I’ve noticed my daughter’s teacher is using poetry to teach reading in her first grade class. They read a poem or two a week and copy it into a notebook. I think it’s wonderful that her class is starting grade school with an appreciation for poetry.
One of the poets my daughter’s teacher likes is Douglas Florian. He’s very down-to-earth. Here’s one of his poems from his book called Handsprings:
What I Love About Spring
Trees are growing
Streams are flowing
Cool Spring showers
Blooming flowers
Caterpillars creep
Peepers peep
Playing sports
Wearing shorts
April Fools’
Swimming pools
Going places
Relay races
Days are longer
Sun is stronger
Every morning songbirds sing-
I love nearly everything!
Copyright (c) 2006 by Douglas Florian
I like the earthiness of this poem and I think young kids can relate to that aspect of it too. It’s a nice thing if you can help a child develop an appreciation for poetry. Finding poets and poetry that they can relate to is a step in the right direction.
-Mama Lisa
UPDATE: My original presentation of the lyrics of this poem contained misprints. Douglas Florian was kind enough to correct me.
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