As some of you have already noted, this week is the beginning of National Poetry Month. If you have some favorite sites, lessons or poems you would like to share, post them at this link. Here are a few sites I use and have found helpful in teaching poetry. Poets.org has some suggestions for easy ways to include poetry along with other resources and poems to share. I also like that it includes a section on Alaska. This is another link to ideas for all grade levels from Scholastic.
10 comments:
I love Billy Collins so I thought I would share this poem which I have used as a writing starter..
The Revenant
~ by Billy Collins
I am the dog you put to sleep,
as you like to call the needle of oblivion,
come back to tell you this simple thing:
I never liked you--not one bit.
When I licked your face,
I thought of biting off your nose.
When I watched you toweling yourself dry,
I wanted to leap and unman you with a snap.
I resented the way you moved,
your lack of animal grace,
the way you would sit in a chair and eat,
a napkin on your lap, knife in your hand.
I would have run away,
but I was too weak, a trick you taught me
while I was learning to sit and heel,
and--greatest of insults--shake hands without a hand.
I admit the sight of the leash
would excite me
but only because it meant I was about
to smell things you had never touched.
You do not want to believe this,
but I have no reason to lie.
I hated the car, the rubber toys,
disliked your friends and, worse, your relatives.
The jingling of my tags drove me mad.
You always scratched me in the wrong place.
All I ever wanted from you
was food and fresh water in my metal bowls.
While you slept, I watched you breathe
as the moon rose in the sky.
It took all my strength
not to raise my head and howl.
Now I am free of the collar,
the yellow raincoat, monogrammed sweater,
the absurdity of your lawn,
and that is all you need to know about this place
except what you already supposed
and are glad it did not happen sooner--
that everyone here can read and write,
the dogs in poetry, the cats and the others in prose.
This has inspired me to write a quick reflection about one of my pets- Gunde, the cat.
I am the tomcat you thought loved you
You bought me crummy stuffed mice
You petted and pampered me as I grew
Your kids tormented me day and night
They dressed me and played "sail kitty"
While I was not allowed to growl or bite
You fed me only stale dry Little Friskies
Depriving me of salmon I knew you ate
I was quick to pick up bits and pieces
That had the grace to leap form your plate
Hitting the floor for not more than a instant
Without dignity I gobbled it down in a flash
Now you miss me as I knew you would
While I am here in heaven having a bash
We cats eat salmon upon the tables so tall
While human nibble what scraps may fall
http://www.pitara.com/talespin/poems.asp
http://www.gigglepoetry.com/
-The Invitation by Oriah Mountain Dreamer
It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain!I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it, or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithlessand therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see beauty even when it’s not pretty, every day,and if you can source your own life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes!”
It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up, after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments. It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain!I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it, or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithlessand therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see beauty even when it’s not pretty, every day,and if you can source your own life from its presenceI want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes!”
It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up, after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
Of course Lance beat me to my favorite "learning how to" write poetry: http://www.gigglepoetry.com/
I guess it is written on that "step-by-step" method that makes it so easy to use with students.
I also like to use edhelper.com; they have a great poetry unit that includes a wide variety of poems.
Name Poetry (Grades 2-3)
Have You Seen (Grades 2-3)
Introduction to Couplets (Grades 2-3)
Poetry Backwards (Grades 2-3)
Apology Poetry (Grades 2-4)
Acrostic Poetry (Grades 3-4)
Couplets (Grades 4-5)
Quatrain (Grades 4-5)
Picture Poetry (Grades 5-6)
Cinquain (Grades 5-6)
Haiku (Grades 5-6)
Senryu (Grades 5-6)
Limericks (Grades 5-6)
Write a Clerihew (Grades 5-6)
Diamante (Grades 6-7)
African Praise Poetry (Grades 4-8)
Writing List Poetry (Grades 4-8)
Free Verse (Grades 6-8)
Poetry - Rhyme, Rhythm, and More (Grades 6-8)
We Got Rhythm! (Grades 7-8)
English Sonnet (Grades 7-8)
Life Poetry (Grades 7-8)
Each choice introduces the type of poetry and tells a little bit about what the characteristics are. It then gives an example or two. You then have a series of questions with lines that lead you through the process of writing the poem one or two points at a time. When you are done, you have a completed poem.
This has been a lifesaver with my HS girls who are looking for something different to do on their third or fourth poem. I pint out three or four, pull a small group together and teach a mini lesson to just a few students. If I have someone in the class that has already had that lesson and did a good job, I put her in charge of the group as the “class expert”.
I love Robert Frost and am sharing one of my favorites..
The Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Poetry.com is a good website for high school students. The reference section is great.
I have just started introducing the concept of poem. It is hard for me to wrap my mind around teaching how to write poems in Kindergarten because I concurrently teaching them how to write complete and correct sentences. It is weird to say "oh by the way most poetry does not follow all the rules we have been practicing." I am kind of scared to really dive into poetry writing. Does anyone have any thoughts on that?
On the flip side I try to read a ton of poetry. I was digging through the poetry section in our school library and found Lucky Hares and Itchy Bears by Susan Ewing. We recently studied mammals and focused on some Alaska mammals, and the kids really liked the poems about Alaska animals.
We also have been reading some Shel Silverstein. I like to read his poems all year, because at the beginning of the year the kids really do not get many of his jokes. Then as the year progresses it is so much fun see them start to get the humor. Then there are those kids who don't get it, but still laugh. And you can totally tell! Kindergarten cracks me up.
I was also thinking about something someone said early on in this blog about writing a sentence or part of a story and then folding the paper down and passing around to see what happens. Has anyone ever tried that with poetry?
My Pop is a poet. This one is probably my favorite. He woke up in the middle of the night and wrote it as it came to him within about 30 minutes time. He has never changed anything about it. He has written hundreds of poems and published many of them. He often says he used to want to be a famous poet until he realized most of the famous poets are dead.
From a Butterfly
---by Frank E Ockert
As I sat beside a stream one day
It happened that there came my way
A butterfly, and lit upon my hand.
I asked just how he came to be
A Golden Monarch and then he
Gave me these words, in thought, you understand.
When I was just a little worm
All I could do was crawl and squirm
And eat my fill of leaves and buds and such;
My world was very small but good,
For all I sought was ample food.
And other things just didn’t matter much.
Time passed along, as time will do,
For even worms, as well as you,
Until I longed for that one day to come
When I could spin myself a nest
And settle down and take my rest
And end my days in a little shrouded home.
For this, I thought, was death for me
And, certain that’s how it should be,
I was content to accept it as my fate.
But one day, much to my surprise,
There opened up before my eyes
An unknown world for which I couldn’t wait.
For me with wings of golden hue
There’s so much more I now can do
And so much more I now can understand;
The death I thought would be the end
Allowed me to begin again
In this new world, this blessed Promised Land.
I thanked the butterfly that he
Had shared this wonderous thought with me;
There was within his words a promise given:
That just a poor worm such as I
Will learn, as did the butterfly,
That death is nothing but a door to Heaven.
A book of poetry that has come to mind throughout my life is James Kavanaugh's "There Are Men Too Gentle to Live Among Wolves." It's a favorite.
His Dedication:
To
"A cat named Ralph who makes me laugh
and feel loved
And a tired old man who makes me cry
and feel helpless
But especially those
Who can hear the honking of geese
above the sound of traffic
Who can hear the weeping of boys
above the sound of mortars
Who refuse to take life as it is-
because it wasn't always."
James Kavanaugh
Preface from
Too Gentle to Live Among Wolves
"I will probably be a searcher until I die and hopefully death itself will only be another adventure. To live any other way seems impossible. If anything has changed over the years, and it has, I only feel more confident now about what I wrote then. I am far more aware of the power that guides each of us along the way, and provides us with the insights and people we need for our journey. There are, indeed, men and women too gentle to live among wolves and only when joined with them will life offer the searcher, step by step, all that is good and beautiful. Life becomes not a confused struggle or pointless pain, but an evolving mosaic masterpiece of the person we were destined to become."
THE POEM:
There are Men Too Gentle to Live Among Wolves
"There are men too gentle to live among wolves
Who prey upon them with IBM eyes
And sell their hearts and guts for martinis at noon.
There are men to gentle for a savage world
Who dream instead of snow and children and Halloween
And wonder if the leaves will change their color soon.
There are men to gentle to live among wolves
Who anoint them for burial with greedy claws
And murder them for a merchant's profit and gain.
There are men to gentle for a corporate world
Who dream instead of Easter eggs and fragrant grass
And pause to hear the distant whistle of a train.
There are men to gentle too live amount wolves
Who devour them with appetite and search
For other men to prey upon and such their childhood dry.
There are men to gentle for an accountant's world
Who dream instead of Easter eggs and fragrant grass
And search for beauty in the mystery of the sky.There are men too gentle to live among wolves
There are men to gentle too live among wolves
Who toss them like a lost and wounded dove
Such gentle men are lonely in a merchant's world
Unless they have a gentle one to love."
I agree that "The greater the sensibility, the greater the suffering...." the more intelligent and enlightened one is the more one suffers at the hands of other men in the physical world. Da Vinci is used as an example. There is more responsibility with more knowledge.
Jan- Thanks for the poetry information. I went on edhelper.com for the first time. What a great resource. Thanks! dc
EJ- Do you write much poetry? Your father’s poem was wonderful. Thanks for sharing it. dc
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