Say This Isn't the End: A Poem for Sunday by Richard Blanco

From poet Richard Blanco: “I say this might be the end we’ve always needed to begin again. I say this may be the end to let us hope to heal, to evolve, reach the stars. Again I’ll say: heal, evolve, reach, and become the stars that became us—whether or not this is or is not our end.”

First stanza of SAY THIS ISN'T THE END:

... say we live on, say we’ll forget the masks
that kept us from dying from the invisible,
but say we won’t ever forget the invisible
masks we realized we had been wearing
most our lives, disguising ourselves from
each other. Say we won’t veil ourselves again,
that our souls will keep breathing timelessly,
that we won’t return to clocking our lives
with lists and appointments. Say we’ll keep
our days errant as sun showers, impulsive
as a star’s falling. Say this isn’t our end …

Click here to read the rest of the poem.

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Michelle Kogan has the Poetry Friday Roundup this week.

In Celebration of Karla Kuskin

 

KARLA KUSKIN

(July 17, 1932 – August 20, 2009)

I love the children's poetry of Karla Kuskin.

Most of it is exuberant and lively...

and perfect for sharing with young children.

Her works were seminal in my development as a children's poet.

Karla Kuskin's ANY ME I WANT TO BE 

is one of my favorite poetry books.

After reading it, I fell in love with mask poems. 

My elementary students loved the poetry in this book, too.

In the poems, Kuskin speaks in the voices of a tree, snow, 

night, a lion, a dragon, a snake, shoes, 

and even a strawberry:

I liked growing.

That was nice.

The leaves were soft.

The sun was hot.

I was warm and red and round.

Then someone dropped me in a pot.

Being a strawberry isn't all pleasing.

This morning they put me in ice cream.

I'm freezing.

From Scholastic:

WRITING POETRY WITH KARLA KUSKIN

From No Water River:

SPOTLIGHT ON NCTE POETS--

KARLA KUSKIN, WITH LEE BENNETT HOPKINS

From the Cooperative Children's Book Center:

AN INTERVIEW WITH KARLA KUSKIN

From Poetry for Children:

REMEMBERING KARLA KUSKIN

From Live Your Poem:

TREE POEMS BY KARLA KUSKIN

From Wild Rose Reader:

A POEM IN REMEMBRANCE of Karla Kuskin

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The Poetry Friday Roundup is at Bookseedstudio.

My Cat Rudy

Last Friday, I posted a poem that my older granddaughter wrote about three baby blue jays that had died on our property. Today, I'm posting a poem that she wrote while I was homeschooling her this spring and her second grade class was doing a unit on writing poetry. Today's poem is about the family cat Rudy who had to be put to sleep last year. He was the sweetest, friendliest, most loving cat. We all still miss him.

MY CAT RUDY

By JM

My cat Rudy 

Was sweet and lovey.

He rubbed against my legs

When I came home, 

Curled up on my lap and purred,

Snuggled with me in bed.

My cat Rudy

Was mischievous.

He sneaked out of the house

Running fast as a cheetah,

Hunted for mice, 

Scratched our couches.

My cat Rudy

Was my furry friend.

He died last year.

I miss him so much.

I took this picture of Rudy before he was put to sleep.

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The Poetry Friday Roundup is at Karen's Got a Blog.

A Poem for Three Baby Birds

I haven't contributed to Poetry Friday in months. I had had plans for National Poetry Month--but COVID-19 dashed them. When schools closed here in early March, I became my older granddaughter's second grade teacher. I have enjoyed working with her--especially helping her to learn about writing poetry. Teaching, however, has been time consuming. My husband and I have also been providing fulltime daycare for both of our granddaughters as our daughter and son-in-law are considered to be essential workers.

A few weeks ago, three baby blue jays fell out of a tree on our property. We noticed that there was a hole in the middle of the birds' nest. My granddaughters were distraught. My husband, daughter, and I did our best to keep the babies alive. We got information on what to do from our Animal Control Officer. Unfortunately, despite our best efforts, the baby blue jays died. My husband made a little bird cemetery for them. We gave the birds names and buried them. My older granddaughter wrote a poem for the birds.



A Poem for Three Baby Birds

By JM

One day I found you, little birdies,

on the ground beneath a tree.

You fell out of your nest.

Where were your mom and dad?

I took you into my barn.

My grandpa fed you!

You were so cute when you fell asleep.

You little birdies snuggled with each other.

The next morning it was time

to make you a nest in a pot.

My mom put you in the pot.

Then my grandpa

hung you back up in the tree

close to your nest.

Three days later my grandpa 

told us you had died.

We buried you in the ground.

We'll never hear you sing.

We hope you rest in peace, little birdies.

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Tricia has the Poetry Friday Roundup at The Miss Rumphius Effect.

Poetry Friday: Valentine for Ernest Mann

For Valentine's Day, I'm posting a favorite poem by one of my favorite poets.

VALENTINE FOR ERNEST MANN
by Naomi Shihab Nye

You can't order a poem like you order a taco.
Walk up to the counter, say, "I'll take two"
and expect it to be handed back to you
on a shiny plate.

Still, I love your spirit.
Anyone who says, "Here's my address,
write me a poem," deserves something in reply.
So I'll tell a secret instead:
poems hide. In the bottoms of our shoes,
they are sleeping. They are the shadows
drifting across our ceilings the moment
before we wake up. What we have to do
is live in the way that lets us find them.

Click here to read the rest of the poem.

Linda has the Poetry Friday Roundup at TeacherDance.

POT ROAST by Mark Strand

Winter is a time for hearty meals like thick soups and beef stew. This got me to thinking about one of my favorite poems: Pot Roast by Mark Strand. In his poem, a plate of pot roast brings back memories of the first time Strand tasted the meal...of his mother serving him a second helping. While everything around him seems bleak, the "power of food"...the "meat of memory" provides him with sustenance.

From POT ROAST

by Mark Strand

So I bend

to inhale
the steam that rises
from my plate, and I think
of the first time
I tasted a roast
like this.
It was years ago
in Seabright,
Nova Scotia;
my mother leaned
over my dish and filled it
and when I finished
filled it again.
I remember the gravy,
its odor of garlic and celery,
and sopping it up
with pieces of bread.

And now
I taste it again.
The meat of memory.
The meat of no change.
I raise my fork
and I eat. 

Click here to read the rest of the poem.

The Poetry Friday Roundup is at Reading to the Core this week.

Three Thanksgiving Poems



THE THANKSGIVINGS

Harriet Maxwell Converse (1836-1903)

Translated from a traditional Iroquois prayer

We who are here present thank the Great Spirit that we are here to praise Him.

We thank Him that He has created men and women, and ordered that these beings shall always be living to multiply the earth.

We thank Him for making the earth and giving these beings its products to live on.

We thank Him for the water that comes out of the earth and runs for our lands.

We thank Him for all the animals on the earth.

We thank Him for certain timbers that grow and have fluids coming from them for us all.

Click here to read the rest of the poem.

THANKSGIVING

Author Unknown

The year has turned its circle.

Seasons come and go.

The harvest is all gathered in

And chilly north winds blow.

Orchards have shared their treasures,

Fields, their yellow grain,

So open wide the doorway--

Thanksgiving comes again.

 

THANKSGIVING TIME

Author Unknown

When all the leaves are off the boughs,

And nuts and apples gathered in,

And cornstalks waiting for the cows,

And pumpkins safe in barn and bin,

Then Mother says, "My children dear,

The fields are brown and autumn flies;

Thanksgiving day is very near,

And we must make thanksgiving pies!"

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Rebecca has the Poetry Friday Roundup at Sloth Reads.

 

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HAPPY THANKSGIVING , EVERYONE!

PICK A PUMPKIN: A Halloween Read Aloud in Verse

Looking for an excellent Halloween book in verse to read aloud to young children? I've got a recommendation for you: PICK A PUMPKIN, which was written by Patricia Toht and illustrated by Jarvis. The book was published in July. I was eager to get a copy of  PICK A PUMPKIN to read to my granddaughters because we all loved Toht's PICK A PINE TREE, which was also illustrated by Jarvis.

 

In PICK A PUMPKIN, a family goes to a farm to select just the right pumpkin to carve for Halloween. While at the farm, they also

Stop for mugs

of spicy punch,

toffee apples,

sweet to crunch.

The family takes the pumpkin home, rubs it clean, and gathers the things they'll need for carving their jack-o-lantern. Then...they invite a "pumpkin carving crew" over to help.

 

The crew begins their work:

Now all together...

carve the eyes.

Giant circles of surprise.

Small slits sleeping

or one eye peeping.

Cross-eyes crazy.

Angry. Lazy.

Before the crew lights its "new creation," they decorate the house for Halloween with...

Cobwebs strung from post to post.

Rings of gauzy dancing ghosts.

Spiders. Tombstones.

Dangling bats.

Skeletons and witches' hats.

Next, the children don their costumes, take the jack-o-lantern outside, and an adult strikes a match so it will glow.

It's red-hot eyes

will gaze

and flicker.

Its fiery grin

will blaze and snicker.



 

It will also guard the house while the children are off trick-or-treating.

Jarvis's illustrations are a perfect match for Toht's rhythmic, rhyming text. The final double-page spread shows children trick-or-treating in a dark neighborhood that glows with lit jack-o-lanterns and streetlights. The book truly captures the "spooky" excitement children feel on Halloween.

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Karen Edmisten has the Poetry Friday Roundup at her blog.

 

AUTUMN CELEBRATION: An Original Poem



Early autumn is my favorite time of year. I enjoy the cooler days and colored foliage. I like the way my daughter decorates her house for Halloween. I love reading spooky Halloween books and poems to my granddaughters.

 

I wrote the following poem more than a decade ago:

AUTUMN CELEBRATION

In October, colored leaves

Fall from oak and maple tree--

Bright confetti shaken down

From their boughs. All over town

Trees are celebrating fall,

Decorating every wall,

Sidewalk, yard, and flowerbed

With pumpkin-orange, gold, and red.

We stand out in the falling leaves

And catch confetti on our sleeves,

In our hands and in our hair. 

We party till the trees are bare.

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Catherine has the Poetry Friday Roundup at Reading to the Core.

 

Remembering Lee Bennett Hopkins with Poetry

I have been thinking a lot lately about my dear friend Lee Bennett Hopkins who passed away earlier this month. I've also been thinking about all of Lee's poetry books that I have collected over the years. I have dozens and dozens of them! I used his books often when I was teaching elementary school. I treasure those books even more now that he is gone.

One of my favorite anthologies compiled by Lee came to mind a few days ago. It's titled ON THE FARM. It's a thin volume of sixteen poems that is beautifully illustrated by Laurel Molk. It was published by Little, Brown in 1991. The book contains poems by some of America's finest children's poets--including David McCord, Aileen Fisher, Lilian Moore, Myra Cohn Livingston, Valerie Worth--and Lee Bennett Hopkins.

 

Here's a sampling of the poems you'll find in this lovely anthology:

FOAL

by Mary Britton Miller

Come trotting up

Beside your mother,

Little skinny.

Lay your neck across

Her back, and whinny,

Little foal.

You think you're a horse

Because you can trot--

But you're not...

Click here to read the rest of the poem.

LAWNMOVER

By Valerie Worth

The lawnmower
Grinds its teeth
Over the grass,
Spitting out a thick
Green spray;

Its head is too full
Of iron and oil
To know
What it throws
Away...

Click here to read the rest of the poem.

PRAYER

By Myra Cohn Livingston

Thank you for the sun,
          the sky,
     for all the things that like to fly,
          the shining rain that turns grass green,
          the earth we know --
          the world unseen...

Click here to read the rest of the poem.

 

THE COW

By Robert Lewis Stevenson

The friendly cow all red and white, 
I love with all my heart: 
She gives me cream with all her might, 
To eat with apple-tart. 

She wanders lowing here and there, 
And yet she cannot stray, 
All in the pleasant open air, 
The pleasant light of day... 

Click here to read the rest of the poem.

FAMILIAR FRIENDS

By James S. Tippett

The horses, the pigs,

And the chickens,

The turkeys, the ducks

And the sheep!

I can see all my friends

From my window

As soon as I waken from sleep.

 

The cat on the fence

Is out walking.

The geese have gone down

For a swim.

The pony comes trotting

Right up to the gate;

He knows I have candy

For him...

Click here to read the rest of the poem. (NOTE: You will have to scroll down a page as the link takes you directly to a poem by Elizabeth Coatsworth.)

 

THE PICKETY FENCE

By David McCord

The pickety fence
The pickety fence
Give it a lick it's
The pickety fence
Give it a lick it's
A clickety fence
Give it a lick it's
A lickety fence...

Click here to read the rest of the poem.

Lee opened ON THE FARM with his own poem titled HELLO, FARM.

HELLO, FARM

By Lee Bennett Hopkins

Hello, ducks,

chickens,

cows.

Hello, hen house,

stable,

barn.

Hello, woodpiles,

silo,

swing.

Hello,

hello,

everything.

I used Lee's poem as a model for the following poem that I wrote in his memory.

HELLO, POETRY

By Elaine Magliaro

Hello, children,

library,

books.

Hello,

reading

in cozy nooks.

Hello, meter,

rhythm,

rhyme.

Hello,

poetry

all the time!

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Kathryn Apel has the Poetry Friday Roundup this week.