Hummingbirds

A hummingbird sits

upon the feeder
taking a sugary sip.

Along comes another
hummer and now
the two of them take a dip.

The hummers start to flit away
the feeder starts to tip and sway.
'It is a windy day
for trying to feed hummers.

      My mother's favorite bird was a hummingbird.  She had figurines, candles, plates, tiles, even a stained glass window with hummingbirds.  I always feel a little closer to her when I see a hummingbird.  Today they have been darting around the feeder outside my window.  They sit on the feeder and watch me.  I can see the long thin beak open and close, as if the bird is talking to me.
      What is your favorite bird?  Can you write a poem about a bird?  Have fun.

Rainbows

There is something
magic about
rainbows.


I'm sure
a scientist
could provide
a formula
for wave lengths
of light
and an explanation
for bending rays
a prism
of color
and how rain
and sunshine
make the rainbow.

But for me
I'd rather
think
about the beauty
of the colrs
and the magic
a rainbow
makes
me feel.


     How does seeing a rainbow make you feel?  Can you write a poem about that?

Native Artist

NATIVE ARTIST IN ECUADOR

She paints nuts—

Brazilian, pecan, hazel, buckeye—

Hard-shelled beauties.

Her soft hands

Add warmth and sheen

To the dark shells

As she sands the surface,

Then brushes the colors

Of butterflies, lizards, toucans.

When, as her brush gets finer

She paints whole scenes--

Women in white blouses

With skirts the colors of her tropical flowers

Bright pink, orange and turquoise

More radiant than sun shining on waves.

The native men in her pictures

Wear wide round hats to protect their brown skin

From the sun. On their feet

A fine one-hair brush paints

Black stripes of huaraches, the soles

from used, old bus tires.

The people she paints carry

Guitars, drums and pipes

Fipple flutes—the siku, kena, and pinkillo.

She sells the nuts on the street.

Some tourists crack them

to eat the soft meat inside.

YES!

OK, we're trying this again.  The text reads:

I fly

on a zip line

through the trees.

YIPEEEE!

          This is a concrete poem in that the final letter is supposed to make a zip-line through the poem.  I recently read an article about one of Elizabeth Bishop's concrete poems and the author made the point that in the days before computers the poet had to position each letter on the typewriter platen.  I'm not so sure it would be harder because I often end up at odds with the computer program that wants to take out spaces, wrap, or put the lines hard left.  Hence, I drew what I wanted and then took a picture.  

          This poem is also an acrostic.  The last letter of each of the first three lines forms a word--the title of this poem.  For such a short little poem, I'm not sure if it isn't more trouble than it is worth, but I'll keep trying to get it right.  Have a great Sunday.

Rain Again!

It's raining outside my window.
I can hear its pitter pat.
It's raining out the window
as I sit here with the cat.

The rain is bouncing on the glass
making all a blur.
It's raining out the window
while the cat sleeps here and purrs.

It's raining out the window
and all is getting wet.
I stroke the cat and watch her
stretch, she's such a lovely pet.

Memory Poem

Knocking

Cycling in fifth grade

I pedaled a ride

with the girl scout troop.

The leader's

dimpled daughter,

with the platinum pageboy,

Loyal, bicycled first.

Packed in the middle

I was told

not to go ahead

of her complaining

I went too fast for

her aching knees.

The troop leader took

the rear

though there was nothing

to fear because she was

the only one

to go so slowly.

For two hours

I turned my wheels

to the sounds

of Loyal's silky, taunting,

"You can't' go ahead of me."

"You mustn't go in front."

"Do NOT go beyond me."

Her words a rasp--

the cheese grater

biting into my skin.

Finally,

I'd had enough

of NOTs and CAN'Ts,

wanting to feel

wind through my hair,

I made my dash--

pedaled for freedom

fast as I could

raced to my house,

hid in the closet.

Mother was shopping.

Loyal's mother chased.

She pumped so hard

her pedal pushers

showed the sweat.

Panting,

she knocked on my door.

My older sister answered

said I wasn't home.

Lately I've been working on some memory poems about things that happened when I was a kid.  Can you write a poem about something that happened to you today?  This morning there was a lizard running around in my bedroom.  I couldn't catch him. Every time I'd get close, he would scoot away.  I was trying to be careful because I didn't want him to drop his tail in fright.  I finally just opened the door to the outside and chased him to the doorway and he found his way out.  I'm thinking about that poem.  My friend Sally Buckner told me that Theodore Roethke had things he called thinkies the beginning thoughts for poems.  I think this event is a thinkie.  Have a good time writing. 

FEET

Mom has pretty feet with rosy painted toes.
Dad has hairy feet that curls as his hair grows.
Baby has feet with nails that Mommy has to clip.
I have two strong feet to run and jump and skip.

Cats have feet, we call them paws
and puppies have them too.
Fish have fins, they don't have feet.
Oh what is a fish to do?

Ducks and frogs have webbed feet,
for swimming these are best.
Birds have thin, long spindly feet
to fly twigs to their nest.

How do snakes and worms move
since they do not have feet?
My mom she likes them all
but hates our muddy feet.

     I wrote this poem about feet.  Can you write one about hands?  What can you hold in your hand?  How does a snake shake hands?  Have fun writing.

FIVE ELEPHANTS

The first elephant lived in Thailand,
The second elephant lived in the zoo.
The third elephant worked at the circus.
The fourth elephant gave rides in Peru.
The fifth little elephant, the smallest of all,
He kept practicing to stand on a ball.

      This is another of the THIS LITTLE PIGGY counting rhymes.  The fun thing in writing these is you are limited to only five things.  What would you have if you counted clouds, or lightning bolts?  Maybe you could count where rain drops or snow flakes fall.  Have fun writing.

Frog Nonsense

FROG NONSENSE

I saw a frog, he winked at me.

I wondered what he could see.

Was he tickled by a flea?

Maybe bit by a bumble bee?

Pecked by a bird in a tree?

No his feet are just smelly.

Now for something different.  I have a friend Carolyn Short who published a book of cat jokes.  I thought they were funny and before she sent them off to the publisher, she asked me to look at them and make suggestions.  I had so much fun that when I wrote a frog poem, I wanted to write jokes to go along with it.  Since jokes can't be copyrighted, I didn't think it worth trying to get the things published.  So these have sat in my drawer for a few years.  I think all kids like to try writing jokes, maybe you'd like to try your own hand at dog or fish jokes, maybe insect jokes.  (I personally would rather see your poems, but if you're having fun writing, that is the important thing.)  So here are all of my ridiculous frog jokes.  Once I got started I couldn't stop myself.

Frog Jokes

Q: What did the frog call his aunt?

A: Aunt Phoebe Ann (amphibian)

Q: What do bull frogs eat on a diet?

A: They eat LITE with fireflies.

Q: Why was the frog arrested?

A: He was a peeper.

Q: How do you catch a tree frog?

A: Stand on a branch and make a sound like a baby chick—peep, peep.

Q: Why did the frog get a construction job?

A: He liked to ribbet, ribbet. (rivet)

Q: Why did the frog take a glove to the ballgame?

A: He wanted to catch flies.

Q: What did the frog say to the rabbit?

A: Hoppy Easter.

Q: What is a frog’s favorite dessert?

A: Shoo Fly Pie.

Q: What is a frog’s favorite year?

A: Leap Year.

Q: Where does a beatnik frog live?

A: On his pad.

Q: What did the frog think of the pond?

A: It was toad-ally awesome.

Q: What did the boy yell when a frog stole his backpack?

A: Catch that croak.

Q: What did the frog say about his homework?

A: I’m swamped.

Q: What is green, has warts and weighs 300 lbs.?

A: A really fat frog.

Q: When do frogs have 12 legs?

A: When there are three of them.

Q: What frog was an Indian?

A: Chief Sitting Bullfrog.

Q: What frog is a famous cowboy?

A: Hop-along Cassidy.

Q: What frog is a famous gossip columnist?

A: Hedda Hopper.

Q: What did the tadpole say to the parrot?

A: Hi! I’m Polly too. (polliwog)

Q: What is the frog’s favorite song?

A: Fly Me To The Moon.

Q: What do frogs in Pamplona, Italy do each spring?

A: Watch the running of the Bull frogs.

Q: What does a frog like best about school?

A: Recess, he likes to glide on the slide.

Q: What does a frog do during recess?

A: Play hopscotch and leap frog.

Q: Where do you find a frog?

A: It depends on where you left it.

Q: Why did the frog try out for the baseball team?

A: He was good at catching flies.

Q: What do frogs say on January 1^st?

A: Hoppy New Year.

Q: What is a tree frog’s favorite game?

A: Peep-a-boo.

Q: What is a frog’s favorite card game?

A: Go Fish.

Q: What do you get when you cross a frog with an elephant?

A: Swimming trunks.

Q: Why did the frog eat fireflies?

A: He wanted a light snack.

Q: What noisy frog lives at the lighthouse?

A: A frog horn.

Q: In Venice, what do frogs use to move their gondolas?

A: tad-Poles.

Q: Why did the boy keep a frog in his pocket?

A: It made him feel hoppy.

Q: What do you call it when a boy has a frog in his throat?

A: Laryngitis.

Q: What did the frog family name their babies?

A: Polly Wog, and Tad Pole.

Have fun writing.

Five Cats

This cat went to the cat show.
This cat stayed in his crate.
This cat watched the gold fish.
This cat ate and ate.
This little cat, the smallest cat of all
mewed, and mewed, and mewed
at her empty plate. 



     If this poem sounds a lot like the children's nursery rhyme, it is because it is modeled after THIS LITTLE PIGGY, the toe-counting bedtime rhyme.  You can take any animal and write your own poem to fit the toes.

CLOUDS

face

fish

a plane

or a dish

constantly changing

all day clouds blowing me away

      The form of this poem is a fib. It is a six line poem with each syllable count adding with the lines before for a pattern of 1/1/2/3/5/8.  Are there clouds for you to watch today?  Can you write a poem about something your clouds inspire? 

RAIN

RAINING

Quiet rain falls in the forest,

pitter-patter,

splishy-splatter,

landing on trees.

The branches drink the cool water,

filling their roots

feeding trees with

waltzing water.

Silver rain rest on oak leaves,

dripping down pines,

prism droplets

of diamond dew.

CREEK WALK

CREEK WALK

Take a walk along the cool creek,

hear the water

race over rocks

rushing, burbling.

See boulders smoothed by the ages,

ripples in the

flowing water,

eroding stones.

Dead trees fallen spanning the creek

so we may walk

over water

across the banks.

This form poem is called a minute poem.  Do you see how it has 60 syllables?  There are 20 syllables in each stanza.  One line has 8 syllables, followed by three lines with 4 syllables.

Can you try writing your own minute poem? 

It's Raining!

Rain drops drum on the roof,

"Go to sleep," Dad says,

and I try .

Lightning cracks in a quicksilver flash

to light up the dark, cloudy sky.

Thunder roars, clashes,

crashes and makes a very loud boom.

Is it any wonder I'm here with my dog

under the sheets 

in my room?

  Lately, we've been having storms roll through in the late evening.  It floods the roads and comes with beautiful lightning and loud thunder.  Do you have summer storms?  Can you write your own poem about rain, or how about a list poem about all the things that go crash and boom?  Enjoy your writing.

My Pocket

When my boys were young, I used to enjoy emptying their pockets at the end of the day.  It was always interesting to see what they had collected and thought was important to them on their adventures during the day.

My Pocket

In my pocket

I have a rock

and a piece

of sidewalk chalk.

I have a nail,

and a Monopoly card

to get out of jail,

a foreign stamp

that came in the mail,

a piece of gum

that's very stale,

the rattle from

a dead snake's tail,

a piece of bone

from a whale.

I have a Lincoln Log,

a milk bottle pog,

a tag from the dog,

a metal cog

and, oh yes,

here is

my pet frog.

     Quick, check what you have in your pocket right now?  Can you write a poem about it?  

Midnight

Dark night

sleeping stars

the only sound

is passing cars.

The rocks are whispering

granite to shale.

They are telling

an eerie tale.

About ghosts and heroes

and bats in flight.

It certainly is

a scary night.

What was your night like last night?  Was it a good one?  Did you sleep well?  Did you have pleasant dreams?  Can you write a poem about your night?  Or how about a poem about your dream?  Have fun writing.

Hawaiian Legend for Sand

In Hawaii, native people took bodies to the top of the mountain and cremated them then pushed the flaming ash off into the ocean.  So the legend goes.

SAND

Remember in your coma

when you had strange dreams?

You went to unknown, unimagined places;

thought your body was carried

on the shoulders of warriors

to the top of Mt. Haena-

the highest spot in Kauai.

They built a pyre to burn your body,

then tossed the burning bones cliffward.

Caught in a flaming fireball,

an updraft sent your embers floating,

dancing over the ocean for so long,

so far, even the fishermen

out in their wooden boats

saw you sparkle like fireflies.

They called you Goddess as

you drifted down to the waves.

Love, I reached my hand out

to try to catch you

before your ember

turned to stone,

turned to sand.

Does this poem qualify for another story poem?  There is a stone in this one too, so I'm keeping with the rock theme.  What do you think?  Can you make up your own story poem to explain something?  Where did whipped cream first come from?  How were artichokes discovered?   Be as wild and fanciful as you like.  Use your imagination.  Where did dragons come from?  If you were a dragon what would you have to tell us?

Rough Poem

               SOFT/ROUGH

What if you got to the final rough and everything beyond it was sweet and gentle

like gray Persian kittens?

A sea otter pelt

Koala fur

My sister’s rabbit coat

A baby’s sweet bottom

Magnolia petals

Puppy ears

And tropical breezes

I have felt these soft things

They are not long lasting

Unlike the names you call me

Words, hard as diamonds

Cut through soft memories

And their rough pain

Seems to ring forever.

   

The Rock

So, since I'm on a roll with rocks--oh this is so bad....

THE ROCK

Sandstone, quartz, granite

A stone, is a stone, is a stone.

Formed from pressure

It rolls into the creek.

Rippling water burbles

Around it, wears it smooth.

Moss grows, we see only

The hard dark outside.

Tap it and hear music.

Trapped inside is sunshine.

     Can you find your own rock that speaks to you?  Can you write a poem about what the rock has to tell you?  Rock on!   

Fairy Tale Rocks

     This is another of the poems I'm currently working on.  But I've been struggling. I first wrote this poem in free verse, and the durn thing keeps turning toward rhymed verse.  What's a poet to do?  I'm listening to the rocks.
I think this is the third poem this week about rocks.  Maybe if I push it, there might be a collection here called POETRY ROCK!  (Sorry, I couldn't help myself keep from punning.)

Stone Woman/Rock House

Each day on her morning walks

the woman would pick up rocks.

Then she'd take them home,

and caress each precious stone.

At first, she'd place them

in bowls for friends to play

when the bowls began to fill

she moved to the window sill.

She'd place the stones

in groups of two or four

hoping they'd be comfortable

until she could bring even more.

She'd hold them and turn them,

she'd dust and water them.

She placed the rocks in neat little rows

or clustered like an English garden grows

trying to coax them into bloom.

She'd sing to the rocks,

she'd jabber and croon.

She cracked one open

and saw the moon,

and light like stars

sparkled inside.

Each little stone

was her special pride.

She worried the rocks

until the day

when one of the stones

finally said, “Stop.”

He was a sage of a rock,

who started this tale,

“Never has there been a man,

or animals, fish or bird

insect or reptile—no one never--

that hasn't been touched

by a rock.!”

So the woman stopped

what she had to do

and sat to listen to

all the rock had to tell.

He told stories from

the beginning of time

when rocks came together

to make the earth sublime.

Of fruit and flowers

and whiling away hours

from dinosaurs to Indians,

and trains crossing plains,

of farmers and wars

and hurricanes.

The woman grew old

listening to stones

and when she died

she wasn't alone.

The rocks all giggled

feeling her mirth

they rolled to cover

the woman in earth.

Haiku Rocks

simple, plain, round stone

ordinary on the outside

magic lives within

     I love geodes because they are a constant reminder to me that what is dull on the outside may turn out to be something very special and precious on the inside.  It reminds me not to judge people too quickly, or as the old saying goes, don't judge a book by its cover.  Have you ever had a book, a poem, a friend, a relative that changed as you got to know it?  Can you write a poem about your experience?  Have fun thinking about all the wonderful ways you can change too.

CLACKO THE WACKO BIRD

Clacko is a wacko bird

who sings through his beak

*clack*  *clack*  *clack*

He spreads his pink wings

over my desk chair

and I want my chair

*back*  *back*  *back*

He does make me laugh,

this incredible bird.

He gives me poems,

I give you my word.

.

SICK

Today I'm home

and stuck in bed.

I fell down

and bumped my head.

I passed out

and my nose, it bled.

"Stay in bed,"

is what the doctor said.

I feel tired

and my knees are weak.

All I want

is to get some sleep.

Tomorrow I'll be ready

to run and play.

But today I want

to stay in bed all day.

Rock Rabbit

This morning

on my morning walk,

I saw a rabbit.

He looked like a rock.

He stayed there shivering,

as if to say,

"Won't you please,

go away."

I took his picture

then walked on by.

He hopped away

this big eared guy.

Dancing Buffalo

WOW!  I'm sure having fun trying these poems with illustrations.  Let's see how just using a picture works.  

Have you seen

the tap dancing buffalo?

He's dressed in top hat

and tuxedo.

Doing dance steps

like buck-and-wing

in his tap shoes

that go zing!

    I've written poems about dancing with an ostrich and this buffalo.  What dancing animal would you like to write a poem about? 

Another Apology with picture

       If you can't read this poem, here it is and tomorrow I'll just try the picture.

Written Apology

To my teacher, Mrs. Cavitt,

I'm sorry, my homework,

I don't have it.

I really wanted to hand it in

but my dog ate it, once again.

Your student

Benjamin Babbit

Apology Poem #4

     OK, today I'm trying something new.  I'm trying to add pictures I've drawn to the poems.  I'm not so sure how well this works, but I thought it was worth a try.  Would you like to try making a picture to illustrate your poem today?  Go ahead, give it a try.  Stick figures are quite alright.  Just have fun.

Here is the poem:




Apology IV

To my teacher, Mr. Muldoon,

I'm sorry I was smoking

in the boys' bathroom.

Smoking really isn't so hot.

I'm sorry that I got caught.

Try it again, I will NOT.

Your student,

David Scott.

And I guess I should apologize to my friend David Scott for using his name.  He definitely is not a smoker. He's a highly respected research scientist.  (Sorry David, but I did have fun writing this one.)

Philip Hunkapillar

Here is another one of those character poems.

Philip Hunkapillar

loved his caterpillar.

He gave it kisses and little hugs.

then put it to bed with the rest of his bugs.

He'd hug each bug 

and hold it tight

then tuck up the covers

and wish it, "Good Night."

     I'm going to have to do some more work on this poem.  Somehow it seems like it needs to have the word snug in here some place.  Have you ever written a poem, just so you could use a special word?  This poem I actually wrote because I liked saying, "Hunkapillar."  It feels really good in my mouth.  Open your dictionary or any magazine to a random page, put your finger down and see what word is under your finger.  Can you write a poem using that word?  Let me know what you come up with.

HUG DAY

Today I feel so happy
I'll give a hug to you.
Then you can hug me back, my friend
and feel so happy too.

I'll hug my mom,
I'll hug my dad,
I'll hug my brother, too.

I want to hug
the whole wide world
that's just what I will do.

I hug the cat,
I hug my dog,
and he gives me
a sloppy kiss.

I'm hugging
everywhere I go
and no one
will I miss.

I like the feel of hugging
I hope that you do too.
And here is another hug
I'm sending just for you.

     Did you know that there is a National Hug Day?  I just discovered this.  It is on January 21.  Plus there is a hug your cat day and a hug your dog day.  What would be the strangest thing you could hug?  I'm sure porcupines are missing out on hugs, I wonder how mom porcupines show their love?  Anyway, here is the challenge for today:  Can you write your own poem about one specific hug?  Be sure to include how the hug makes you feel.  The world definitely needs more hugs.

SPOT, My Dog

My dog sleeps
on the smooth
tile floor

his body stretches
over four
squares in comfort

without thought
he lifts
his front paw

scratches
the spot behind
his flap ear

that pit
where the flea
resides.


     Can you write a poem about your pet?  Or watch your sibling carefully and write a poem about the movements.

A FAIRY TALE

ROBIN: A FAIRY TALE

The red-haired farm mistress

could have no children.

So she nurtured the soil and

the cows, and cats,

the horses, and hogs,

chickens, ducks, and goats.

She created an Eden to watch

each fruitful multiplication,

and wept her sorrow

under a dead wisteria tree

by the rusty stillwater pond.

From the marmalade cat's mouth

she rescued a wounded robin

to set broken leg and wing.

Five weeks she nursed the bird

with midnight feedings

of ground crickets and

barn spiders;

then set the fledgling free.

She discovered this an uncommon bird

who promised to grant

one wish in one week

for her kindness--

as all good fairy tales do.

But when she returned

in seven days

to whisper her wish

on his wings,

lo, there was no bird.

She wailed a cry of woe,

neglected her chores,

wintered her heart.

But still she strung strips

of orange and apple

on bright bits of yarn she tied

to the limbs of the withered wisteria tree,

hoping to hear

the bird's whispery song.

Come spring

when the tree

bloomed with scented blossoms

in pale profusion

the woman bloomed too.

She welcomed her red headed child--

Robin.

     Do you like to read fairy tales and folk lore?  Can you make up your own story?  Can you make up a story for how whipped cream was first invented, or what happened to the princess who liked too many bubbles in her bath?  Can you make the story into a poem?  

I Like My Sky Blue

I'm standing under

a sky so blue.

I'm standing here

thinking of you.

I'm listening to 

this sky that's blue

tell me stories

that may be true.

This sky has many

stories to tell,

and each of them ends

wishing us well.

So may your skies 

all be blue

and may the day

go well for you.

     What does the sky look like above you today?  If the sky were to tell you a story, what do you think it would say?  Does looking up into the vast sky make you feel very small?  If you were floating up in the sky, what would you see?  Hear?  Can you write a poem about the sky?