tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-210576192024-03-19T01:50:20.434-07:00poetry bitsPositively Poetry 2011Westwood Public Library Children's Departmenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409991868627612716noreply@blogger.comBlogger84125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21057619.post-54393114310918488662012-02-11T11:22:00.001-08:002012-02-11T11:22:43.046-08:0030<p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-jWfAWO1g9Cs/TzbAAS14vKI/AAAAAAAABME/Zukv7ik1_og/s1600-h/clover%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="clover" border="0" alt="clover" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-IC2vQtW0Aos/TzbAAhSgWdI/AAAAAAAABMM/mbfAehL5nec/clover_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="244" height="192"></a></p> <p> The pedigree of honey</p> <p>Does not concern the bee;</p> <p>A clover, any time, to him</p> <p>Is aristocracy.</p> <p>--Emily Dickinson</p> <p>Published in Poems for Youth, 1918</p> Westwood Public Library Children's Departmenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409991868627612716noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21057619.post-647320930617033512012-02-06T08:07:00.001-08:002012-02-06T08:07:07.179-08:00The Horse<p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-UsqwxDzTssA/Ty_6qaNvjrI/AAAAAAAABJs/JBEQROdTOR0/s1600-h/foals%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="foals" border="0" alt="foals" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/--rs24cDgNd8/Ty_6qiuDcsI/AAAAAAAABJ0/e3w9cBo7jtU/foals_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="244" /></a></p> <p>As I pranced around the darkened meadow,</p> <p>The one I had once called home.</p> <p>I felt a black wave of sadness,</p> <p>As my foals had left me to roam.</p> <p>So many dreams that had not come true,</p> <p>I felt them in that wave.</p> <p>But the lovely meadow was no more,</p> <p>For the men sent it to its grave.</p> <p>It used to be so bright, so happy,</p> <p>With not a drop of sadness.</p> <p>The flowers numbered more than many,</p> <p>The grass was sweet and lasting.</p> <p>But now the men had found it.</p> <p>They dug out all the vivid flowers,</p> <p>They pulled the earth up by its roots.</p> <p>The sweet grass was made all sour.</p> <p>I dance through it once again,</p> <p>The last time I would be here.</p> <p>Then I shall leave for the sky,</p> <p>My foals await me there.</p> <p>~Helen, Grade 6, Thurston Middle School</p> Westwood Public Library Children's Departmenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409991868627612716noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21057619.post-40922016790165134682011-09-21T08:45:00.001-07:002011-09-21T08:45:39.946-07:00The Octopus<p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-V5Gt8oVaG1g/TnoGm23wwiI/AAAAAAAABDc/QAO_hra0WIk/s1600-h/octopus%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="octopus" border="0" alt="octopus" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-XVvMiNyCT_4/TnoGo50Q13I/AAAAAAAABDg/sU3WH6LsMvA/octopus_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="244" height="184" /></a></p> <p>Tell me, O Octopus, I beg,</p> <p>Is those things arms, or is they legs?</p> <p>I marvel at thee, Octopus;</p> <p>If I were thou, I’d call me Us.</p> <p>-Ogden Nash</p> <p>Published in A Family of Poems, My Favorite Poetry for Children, 2005</p> Westwood Public Library Children's Departmenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409991868627612716noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21057619.post-65744836459416910302011-08-10T09:53:00.001-07:002011-08-10T09:53:47.189-07:00Lemonade<p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-7JKKfa7i160/TkK3mX_4TVI/AAAAAAAABB0/jwEo--AYvX0/s1600-h/lemonade%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="lemonade" border="0" alt="lemonade" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-CTWwrqOK1-U/TkK3mtONQKI/AAAAAAAABB4/PMv8o4CFJsI/lemonade_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="181" height="143" /></a></p> <p>Selling by the curb</p> <p>Kids coming from all over</p> <p>Fifteen cents a cup</p> <p>--Rachel, Grade 6, Thurston Middle School</p> <p>Published in  The Westwood Public Library’s 2008 Poetry Anthology</p> Westwood Public Library Children's Departmenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409991868627612716noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21057619.post-72250707376303065642011-08-10T09:50:00.001-07:002011-08-10T09:50:26.288-07:00Just Magic<p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-pYJIdw4BhF4/TkK20BDKfKI/AAAAAAAABBs/ZNgvUnYONaU/s1600-h/moon%252520flowers%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="moon flowers" border="0" alt="moon flowers" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-v32gnL1b7fA/TkK20emNm0I/AAAAAAAABBw/wo7-hWuG--4/moon%252520flowers_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="244" height="184" /></a></p> <p>I can feel the gentle cool breeze, as it brushes on my cheek.</p> <p>It feels magical as the flowers silently stare at me.</p> <p>As the moon looks down,</p> <p>and the crickets sing,</p> <p>You have a feeling</p> <p>It is going to be a magical night.</p> <p>--Anusha, Grade 3, Sheehan School</p> <p>Published in The Westwood Public Library’s 2008 Poetry Anthology</p> Westwood Public Library Children's Departmenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409991868627612716noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21057619.post-70868191724336888382011-07-07T16:29:00.001-07:002011-07-07T16:34:30.618-07:00The Rider<p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-z_YvgliIPwc/ThZChNOekSI/AAAAAAAABBE/Os5bn3AMCuA/s1600-h/roller%252520skating%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="roller skating" style="border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: inline; border-left: 0px; border-bottom: 0px" height="97" alt="roller skating" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-tMDdDTHE8fg/ThZChcjrgCI/AAAAAAAABBI/GHmaOclHuzk/roller%252520skating_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="112" border="0"></a> </p> <p>A boy told me</p> <p>if he roller-skated fast enough</p> <p>his loneliness couldn’t catch up to him,</p> <p> </p> <p>the best reason I ever heard</p> <p>for trying to be a champion.</p> <p> </p> <p>What I wonder tonight</p> <p>pedaling hard down King William Street</p> <p>is if it translates to bicycles.</p> <p> </p> <p>A victory! To leave your loneliness</p> <p>panting behind you on some street corner</p> <p>while you float free into a cloud of sudden azaleas,</p> <p>pink petals that have never felt loneliness,</p> <p>no matter how slowly they fell.</p> <p>--Naomi Shihab Nye</p> <p>Published in A Family of Poems, My Favorite Poetry for Children, 2005 </p> Westwood Public Library Children's Departmenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409991868627612716noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21057619.post-29556097615941612692011-05-28T12:27:00.001-07:002011-05-28T12:27:28.012-07:00The Dream Keeper<p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-GMKWSiLjzL4/TeFMm4RpNaI/AAAAAAAAA_8/_e-HC7nRBI4/s1600-h/blue%252520cloth%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="blue cloth" border="0" alt="blue cloth" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-aG0r6Xneb_4/TeFMns4WzWI/AAAAAAAABAA/UdV2N9FZSAs/blue%252520cloth_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="184" height="244" /></a></p> <p>Bring me all of your dreams,</p> <p>You dreamers,</p> <p>Bring me all of your</p> <p>Heart melodies</p> <p>That I may wrap them</p> <p>In a blue cloud-cloth</p> <p>Away from the too-rough finger</p> <p>Of the world.</p> <p>--Langston Hughes</p> <p>Published in Poetry for Young People: Langston Hughes, 2006</p> Westwood Public Library Children's Departmenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409991868627612716noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21057619.post-12136393688132687252011-05-22T13:09:00.001-07:002011-05-22T13:09:49.874-07:00Vacation<p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_Wv_1p_W3PTM/TdltjAp7S0I/AAAAAAAAA_c/cO4S0M-t8_A/s1600-h/pools%5B2%5D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="pools" border="0" alt="pools" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_Wv_1p_W3PTM/TdltjbC0m7I/AAAAAAAAA_g/LZROuVN4AXw/pools_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="244" height="184" /></a></p> <p>Ahhh Florida <br />long plane rides <br />it was all <br />a <br />surprise <br />Hot Hot beaches <br />burnt toes too <br />two big pools <br />shark attack games in the pool <br />oh no <br />crazy <br />Jack <br />late nights <br />pillow fights <br />vacation <br />vacation <br />now comes to an end <br />WOW <br />vacation!</p> <p>~Hannah, Grade 4, Hanlon School</p> Westwood Public Library Children's Departmenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409991868627612716noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21057619.post-32749901683958930762011-05-22T13:03:00.001-07:002011-05-22T13:03:50.741-07:00The Stars<p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_Wv_1p_W3PTM/TdlsJG4mneI/AAAAAAAAA_U/NZeBSBAQssg/s1600-h/stars%5B2%5D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="stars" border="0" alt="stars" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_Wv_1p_W3PTM/TdlsJvOROiI/AAAAAAAAA_Y/gpVylFptuNE/stars_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="235" height="223" /></a></p> <p>See the brightness of the stars,</p> <p>glowing stars!</p> <p>They hover over earth,</p> <p>the earth’s an artifact of nature,</p> <p>just kick away the cars!</p> <p>How they glow, glow, glow,</p> <p>in the icy air at night,</p> <p>and the heavens seem to twinkle</p> <p>with a crystalline delight!</p> <p>Giving light, light, light,</p> <p>in the very darkest nights,</p> <p>even helps people in their very deepest frights. </p> <p>How they shine, shine, shine,</p> <p>keeping all the earth’s time, time, time,</p> <p>in a sort of runic rhyme</p> <p>all from the stars</p> <p>from the glowing, glowing, glowing of the stars!</p> <p>~Philip, Grade 4, Sheehan School</p> Westwood Public Library Children's Departmenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409991868627612716noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21057619.post-81192533896800855412011-05-22T13:00:00.001-07:002011-05-22T13:00:26.276-07:00Hail<p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_Wv_1p_W3PTM/TdlrWHgS6tI/AAAAAAAAA_M/NudaXiquvn8/s1600-h/hail%5B2%5D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="hail" border="0" alt="hail" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_Wv_1p_W3PTM/TdlrWUxr1TI/AAAAAAAAA_Q/y0D_xmPYZFw/hail_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="244" height="184" /></a></p> <blockquote> <p>Crash! </p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>     Crash!</p> </blockquote> <p>    The Hail Comes          D</p> <p>                                       O</p> <p>                                         W </p> <p>                                             N </p> <p>    It lands on my head</p> <p>                Then I fall DOWN !!! </p> <p>~Caitlin, Grade 4, Sheehan School</p> Westwood Public Library Children's Departmenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409991868627612716noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21057619.post-76895878931350630712011-05-22T12:56:00.001-07:002011-05-22T12:56:09.056-07:00RAIN<p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_Wv_1p_W3PTM/TdlqVwM4a8I/AAAAAAAAA_E/mvBTzIBi3lg/s1600-h/rain%5B2%5D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="rain" border="0" alt="rain" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_Wv_1p_W3PTM/TdlqWDa4QuI/AAAAAAAAA_I/7ggJYrqFEM4/rain_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="244" height="186" /></a></p> <p>Rain Rain </p> <p>Go away</p> <p>Come again another day</p> <p>The sky is grey so I can’t play.</p> <p>It makes me pout and scream and shout</p> <p>Rain Rain </p> <p>Go away</p> <p>Inside I can’t stay.</p> <p>Outside, I want to play.</p> <p>Please come again another day.</p> <p>~Ellen, Grade 4 Sheehan School</p> Westwood Public Library Children's Departmenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409991868627612716noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21057619.post-16382199189571114392011-05-22T12:51:00.001-07:002011-05-22T12:51:28.604-07:00Bouncing Bubble Gum<p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_Wv_1p_W3PTM/TdlpPrsjQ1I/AAAAAAAAA-8/wHZPwE-Sj4M/s1600-h/bubble%20gum%5B2%5D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="bubble gum" border="0" alt="bubble gum" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_Wv_1p_W3PTM/TdlpQIv0BKI/AAAAAAAAA_A/ha4yLdnH83o/bubble%20gum_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="229" height="229" /></a></p> <p>Boing boing </p> <p>Quick quick quick </p> <p>Ow ow no one can hear me </p> <p>I want to be a quiet piece of bubble gum</p> <p>~Delaney, Grade 4, Sheehan School</p> Westwood Public Library Children's Departmenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409991868627612716noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21057619.post-36202625224067063952011-05-22T12:28:00.001-07:002011-05-22T12:28:47.655-07:00Turtle,Turtle<p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_Wv_1p_W3PTM/Tdlj7o1GZRI/AAAAAAAAA-0/gVezA1jq6uM/s1600-h/turtle%5B2%5D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="turtle" border="0" alt="turtle" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_Wv_1p_W3PTM/Tdlj7-D3EgI/AAAAAAAAA-4/cEXim6hYAEs/turtle_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="244" height="172" /></a></p> <blockquote> <p>Turtle, Turtle</p> </blockquote> <p>Green and bright </p> <p>Your tiny shell will hold your fright</p> <blockquote> <p>Run, Run</p> </blockquote> <p>As fast as you can </p> <p>When you find your friend Dan</p> <blockquote> <p>Play, Play </p> </blockquote> <p>Your favorite game </p> <p>Then do the same</p> <p>~Meghan, Grade 4, Sheehan School </p> Westwood Public Library Children's Departmenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409991868627612716noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21057619.post-75352791206349164312011-05-22T12:26:00.001-07:002011-05-22T12:26:05.504-07:00Airplane’s View<p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_Wv_1p_W3PTM/TdljS-JfCDI/AAAAAAAAA-s/VXpQ25kgLZE/s1600-h/airplane%5B2%5D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="airplane" border="0" alt="airplane" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_Wv_1p_W3PTM/TdljTNJN8QI/AAAAAAAAA-w/4b9uWGTsG_c/airplane_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="244" height="200" /></a></p> <p>When you’re in an airplane </p> <p>                    high </p> <p>               up</p> <p>          up</p> <p>     are</p> <p>you</p> <p>houses are boxes and </p> <p>     cars are</p> <p>dots</p> <p>humans are almost impossible </p> <p>to see</p> <p>buildings are toys</p> <p>backyards look </p> <p>inches long </p> <p> </p> <p>only with</p> <p>an airplane’s</p> <p>view. </p> <p>~Peter, Grade 4, Sheehan School</p> Westwood Public Library Children's Departmenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409991868627612716noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21057619.post-55739430979854958992011-05-22T12:17:00.001-07:002011-05-22T12:17:25.510-07:00Pelican<p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_Wv_1p_W3PTM/TdlhQ9zb9TI/AAAAAAAAA-k/_uLreasD5MQ/s1600-h/pelicans%5B2%5D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="pelicans" border="0" alt="pelicans" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_Wv_1p_W3PTM/TdlhRUOG5JI/AAAAAAAAA-o/naIVXnmWHAU/pelicans_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="244" height="193" /></a></p> <p>Gliding across the ocean,</p> <p>Five pelicans flap their wings, </p> <p>Wing tip to wing tip. </p> <p> </p> <p>Suddenly they head out to sea, </p> <p>They dive into the water, </p> <p>Scooping up fish in their pouched bills.</p> <p>~Eamon, Grade 4, Sheehan School </p> Westwood Public Library Children's Departmenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409991868627612716noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21057619.post-52109809335196204932011-05-22T12:12:00.001-07:002011-05-22T12:12:30.784-07:00Little Brothers<p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_Wv_1p_W3PTM/TdlgHIktPqI/AAAAAAAAA-c/rPplfS4ujhg/s1600-h/little%20brother%5B3%5D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="little brother" border="0" alt="little brother" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_Wv_1p_W3PTM/TdlgHi7wXEI/AAAAAAAAA-g/lG3E7Tr14Jk/little%20brother_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="134" height="139" /></a></p> <p>Little brothers are a pain,</p> <p>I feel like sending him to Spain.</p> <p>He’s a hopping jelly bean,</p> <p>You know he is very mean.</p> <p>That is little brothers,</p> <p>I love them the way they are.</p> <p>~Sabrina, Grade 4, Sheehan School</p> Westwood Public Library Children's Departmenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409991868627612716noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21057619.post-30516502548783437712011-05-09T08:29:00.001-07:002011-05-22T12:18:07.522-07:00Ode to Horses<p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_Wv_1p_W3PTM/TcgIXZWP_XI/AAAAAAAAA-E/qqogCjYOJ_s/s1600-h/horses%5B2%5D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="horses" border="0" alt="horses" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_Wv_1p_W3PTM/TcgIXkiWQ9I/AAAAAAAAA-I/logwayxMuWQ/horses_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="244" height="175" /></a></p> <p>Running as fast as the wind,</p> <p>Manes whipping,</p> <p>Back and forth.</p> <p>Sleek,</p> <p>Beautiful colors,</p> <p>Shining in the sun,</p> <p>Chestnut,</p> <p>Chocolate and,</p> <p>Golden brown.</p> <p>Their massive muscles,</p> <p>Always moving.</p> <p>Racing across racetracks,</p> <p>Riders on their backs,</p> <p>Grasping the reins, </p> <p>In fear of falling,</p> <p>Down,</p> <p>     Down,</p> <blockquote> <p>Down,</p> </blockquote> <p>To the ground.</p> <p>Waiting patiently for a burst of speed,</p> <p>And then they’re off!!</p> <p>Almost flying,</p> <p>Across the air,</p> <p>As they run forever,</p> <p>Constantly in motion. </p> <p>~Nataniah, Grade 5, Downey School </p> Westwood Public Library Children's Departmenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409991868627612716noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21057619.post-7421306625418436172011-05-08T13:48:00.001-07:002011-05-08T13:48:20.639-07:00September<p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_Wv_1p_W3PTM/TccBk-B2tQI/AAAAAAAAA98/XCObachJjw0/s1600-h/fields%5B2%5D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="fields" border="0" alt="fields" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_Wv_1p_W3PTM/TccBlK0KejI/AAAAAAAAA-A/BltE-KccCdA/fields_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="244" height="183" /></a></p> <p>it rained in my sleep</p> <p>and in the morning the fields were wet</p> <p> </p> <p>I dreamed of artillery</p> <p>of the thunder of horses</p> <p> </p> <p>in the morning the fields were strewn</p> <p>with twigs and leaves</p> <p> </p> <p>as if after a battle</p> <p>or a sudden journey</p> <p> </p> <p>I went to sleep in summer</p> <p>I dreamed of rain</p> <p> </p> <p>in the morning the fields were wet</p> <p>and it was autumn</p> <p> </p> <p>--Linda Pastan</p> <p>Published in <em>The Invisible Ladder</em>, 1996</p> Westwood Public Library Children's Departmenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409991868627612716noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21057619.post-73664105653295162772011-05-01T12:28:00.001-07:002011-05-01T12:28:20.229-07:00Poem<p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_Wv_1p_W3PTM/Tb20Uul7uZI/AAAAAAAAA9s/7nAQ8ps3tfE/s1600-h/cat%5B2%5D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="cat" border="0" alt="cat" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_Wv_1p_W3PTM/Tb20U7zVxoI/AAAAAAAAA9w/Dr73ruUG_Lk/cat_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="244" height="165" /></a></p> <p>As the cat</p> <p>climbed over</p> <p>the top of</p> <p> </p> <p>the jamcloset</p> <p>first the right</p> <p>forefoot</p> <p> </p> <p>carefully</p> <p>then the hind</p> <p>stepped down</p> <p> </p> <p>into the pit of</p> <p>the empty</p> <p>flowerpot</p> <p>--William Carlos Williams</p> <p>Published in <em>One Hundred Years of Poetry for Children</em>, 1999</p> Westwood Public Library Children's Departmenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409991868627612716noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21057619.post-25171338102732346522011-04-23T08:54:00.001-07:002011-04-23T08:54:14.119-07:00The Reason I Like Chocolate<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_Wv_1p_W3PTM/TbL2JOnR62I/AAAAAAAAA8w/6rUOHbOOBpo/s1600-h/ice%20cream%5B2%5D.jpg"><img title="ice cream" style="border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: inline; border-left: 0px; border-bottom: 0px" height="84" alt="ice cream" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_Wv_1p_W3PTM/TbL2JZPlcPI/AAAAAAAAA80/cp-LWH0KSNU/ice%20cream_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="124" border="0"></a> <p>The reason I like chocolate</p> <p>is I can lick my fingers</p> <p>and nobody tells me I’m not polite</p> <p> </p> <p>I especially like scary movies</p> <p>‘cause I can snuggle with Mommy</p> <p>or my big sister and they don’t laugh</p> <p> </p> <p>I like to cry sometimes ‘cause</p> <p>everybody says “what’s the matter</p> <p>don’t cry”</p> <p> </p> <p>and I like books</p> <p>for all those reasons</p> <p>but mostly ‘cause they just make me</p> <p>happy</p> <p> </p> <p>and I really like</p> <p>to be happy</p> <p> </p> <p>--Nikki Giovanni</p> <p>Published in <em>A Family of Poems: My Favorite Poetry for Children</em>, 2005</p> Westwood Public Library Children's Departmenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409991868627612716noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21057619.post-78351593225872825532011-04-02T12:02:00.001-07:002011-04-02T12:02:09.644-07:00Pablo Neruda: Poet of the People by Monica Brown, Illustrated by Julie Paschkis<p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_Wv_1p_W3PTM/TZdyr9HjjbI/AAAAAAAAA8I/u3xZtPdVQDU/s1600-h/pablo%5B2%5D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; float: right; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="pablo" border="0" alt="pablo" align="right" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_Wv_1p_W3PTM/TZdysUlAhgI/AAAAAAAAA8M/otBXdAJiHhU/pablo_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="132" height="169" /></a>Take a look at this new book about the great Chilean poet Pablo Neruda</p> <p>“Once there was a little boy named Neftalí who loved wild things wildly and quiet things quietly. From the moment he could talk, he surrounded himself with words. Neftalí discovered the magic between the pages of books. When he was sixteen, he began publishing his poems as Pablo Neruda. Pablo wrote poems about the things he loved—things made by his friends in the café, things found at the marketplace, and things he saw in nature. He wrote about the people of Chile and their stories of struggle. Because above all things and above all words, Pablo Neruda loved people.” –from the book flap</p> <p>Also check out: <em>The Dreamer</em> by Pam Nunez Ryan, Illustrated by Peter Sis</p> Westwood Public Library Children's Departmenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409991868627612716noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21057619.post-74870642138707078952011-04-02T11:54:00.001-07:002011-04-02T11:54:11.450-07:00Buffalo Dusk<p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_Wv_1p_W3PTM/TZdwzwbtzrI/AAAAAAAAA8A/HmHzzAq7n5g/s1600-h/bison%5B2%5D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="bison" border="0" alt="bison" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_Wv_1p_W3PTM/TZdw0g1chiI/AAAAAAAAA8E/IIGzj3rdpaU/bison_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="164" height="184" /></a></p> <p>The buffaloes are gone.</p> <p>And those who saw the buffaloes are gone.</p> <p>Those who saw the buffaloes by thousands and how they</p> <blockquote> <p>pawed the prairie sod into dust with their hoofs, their</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>great heads down pawing on in a great pageant of dusk,</p> </blockquote> <p>Those who saw the buffaloes are gone.</p> <p>And the buffaloes are gone.</p> <p>--Carl Sandburg</p> <p>Published in A Family of Poems: My Favorite Poetry for Children, 2005</p> Westwood Public Library Children's Departmenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409991868627612716noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21057619.post-30148668851007814812011-03-24T17:01:00.001-07:002011-03-24T17:01:36.672-07:00Smell My Fingers<p>--for Jessica</p> <p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_Wv_1p_W3PTM/TYvbXtG9IpI/AAAAAAAAA74/CVtxx5HO1bA/s1600-h/hand%5B2%5D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="hand" border="0" alt="hand" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_Wv_1p_W3PTM/TYvbX6aC1_I/AAAAAAAAA78/P1V-myhgz-c/hand_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="244" height="174" /></a></p> <p>Smell my fingers my daughter</p> <p>says and thrusts them</p> <p>at my nose.  I back dive off</p> <p>my chair as if the air were</p> <p>poisoned.  Where have they been</p> <p>those sweaty things with six</p> <p>years of sticky places</p> <p>scenting their past?  She laughs</p> <p>and chases me around the room</p> <p>with germicidal weapons,</p> <p>insists on my surrender.</p> <p>Caught, I find a pine cone</p> <p>in her fist. She tells me </p> <p>it is spring and that means perfume.</p> <p>--David B. Axelrod</p> <p>published in Strings: A Gathering of Family Poems, 1984</p> Westwood Public Library Children's Departmenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409991868627612716noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21057619.post-22465256995488972472010-06-02T14:46:00.001-07:002010-06-02T14:46:40.728-07:00Poetry Reading/Book Release Celebration June 7<p>Wow, it’s been another great year! Once again, we received almost 200 poems. The poets will be presented with their anthologies on June 7 at 7 pm, and, hopefully, most of them will read their poems! It's sure to be an inspiring evening, so don't miss it!</p> Westwood Public Library Children's Departmenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409991868627612716noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21057619.post-41656793641375600112010-05-05T13:47:00.000-07:002010-05-05T13:50:52.887-07:00Watermelon by Amelia McQuade<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbVLz2wsKCo9kA4rF0JNXIuo9orlfV3PIZKNN_vqh0Xr3uFzCsvpWbcYuc559OV7ZdsqCgs-8mjO1fqmkfrPNJDjfUl9r4gqz-X3ViEWuhr0jvzeJtADgxzbio2h1jMSI6q2y7GQ/s1600/watermelon.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 126px; height: 121px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbVLz2wsKCo9kA4rF0JNXIuo9orlfV3PIZKNN_vqh0Xr3uFzCsvpWbcYuc559OV7ZdsqCgs-8mjO1fqmkfrPNJDjfUl9r4gqz-X3ViEWuhr0jvzeJtADgxzbio2h1jMSI6q2y7GQ/s200/watermelon.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467891255501114386" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />As I indulge to<br />take my first bite<br />My teeth break through<br />leaving joy left to face<br />It drips<br />And slips<br />and makes a mess<br />But NOTHING will stop me<br />The juice glides<br />down my throat with delight<br />As I notice if oozing down my cheek<br />As it's calling my name<br />to take another bite<br />The smell stuffs my nose<br />with the summer scent of watermelon<br />Oh how I wish it was summer<br />to eat my favorite fruit: WATERMELON<br /><br />Amelia McQuade, Grade 6Westwood Public Library Children's Departmenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409991868627612716noreply@blogger.com