Winter 08 Poetry Posts

Hiding

A caterpillar hides his true self and thrilling beauty in a
hiding place. As he hides in a shell, he decides to stop
hiding and bursts out. His true self is a thrilling butterfly.

The seed hides her sweet scent and beauty in a hiding
place. She hides in the ground, coming out little by little
and then she comes out as a sweet smelling pink rose.

Hannah Yi, age 10
Lane County, Oregon

Partner Poem

Out of Hiding

Someone said my name in the garden,

while I grew smaller
in the spreading shadow of the peonies,

grew larger by my absence to another,
grew older among the ants, ancient

under the opening heads of the flowers,
new to myself, and stranger.

When I heard my name again, it sounded far,
like the name of the child next door,
or a favorite cousin visiting for the summer,

while the quiet seemed my true name,
a near and inaudible singing
born of hidden ground.

Quiet to quiet, I called back.
And the birds declared my whereabouts all morning.
Li-Young Lee
Chicago

Ask the Poems

1. Poem, where do you take place?
2. What do you invite me to wonder about?
3. How do you use size and color?
4. Why were you hiding?
5. When no one knows where you are, can you be anything you want?

Fall 07 Poetry Posts

Ode to My Feet

Ode to my feet, my roots to
the ground. My propellers whizzing
me through icy cold pools.
My motors running me down
the street. You may be smelly,
but thank you feet.

--Carly Ferguson, age 10


PARTNER POEM
from Ode to My Socks

Maru Mori brought me
a pair
of socks
knitted with her own
shepherd's hands,
two socks soft
as rabbits.
I slipped
my feet into them
as if
into
jewel cases
woven
with threads of
dusk
and sheep's wool.

Audacious socks,
my feet became
two woolen
fish,
two long sharks
of lapis blue
shot
with a golden thread,
two mammoth blackbirds,
two cannons,
thus honored
were
my
feet
by
these
celestial
socks.

--Pablo Neruda

ASK the POEMS
1. Poem, what makes you an ode?
2. What kinds of comparisons do you make?
3. Are you a serious poem? How do you show me that?
4. How do your hands connect you to the world around you?
5. What is the next step you will take?

Spring 07 Poetry Posts

Running Away

When my friend Hannah and I were four we decided to run away.

In her sister’s red wagon we put a dress, four dollars that we took from a bowl in the kitchen, an old pie tin full of mud that we stuck daisies in, an old tablecloth and a yoyo.

Hannah lived really close to Prince Pucklers so we could run away there.

We put on our shoes and started walking, stopping a couple of times to put things back in the wagon as they fell out.

When we got to Prince Pucklers, we bought ice cream from a surprised employee.

On the way back to my friend’s house we pretended to camp on the grass next to the sidewalk.

Running away was immensely fun and since we were only four we thought we actually ran away even though it was only for a half an hour.

--Madeleine Peara, 5th Grade, Lane County, Oregon

A Clearing

What lies at the end of enticing
country driveways, curving
off among trees? Often only
a car graveyard, a house-trailer,
a trashy bungalow. But this one,
for once, brings you
through the shade of its green tunnel
to a paradise of cedars,
of lawns mown but not too closely,
of iris, moss, fern, rivers of stone rounded
by sea or stream,
of a wooden unassertive large-windowed house.
The big trees enclose
an expanse of sky, trees and sky
together protect the clearing.
One is sheltered here
from the assaultive world
as if escaped from it, and yet
once arrived, is given (oneself
and others being a part of that world)
a generous welcome.
It's a paradise
as a paradigm for how
to live on earth,
how to be private and open
quiet and richly eloquent.
Everything man-made here
was truly made by the hands
of those who live here, of those
who live with what they have made.
It took time, and is growing still
because it's alive.
It is a paradise, and paradise
is a kind of poem; it has
a poem's characteristics:
inspiration; starting with the given;
unexpected harmonies; revelations.
It's rare among
the worlds one finds
at the end of enticing driveways.

--Denise Levertov

Questions to ask the poems:
1. What are other paradises?
2. When you come home after your journey, is home where you left it?
3. Do places change you, or do you change places?
4. What is the taste on your tongue?
5. How long can you stop before you start again?

Fall 05 Poetry Posts, poet Cecelia Hagon chose

At Home in the Woods by Lane County elementary student, Kory Lander

I remember running
with my dad in the woods.
In the forest I can breathe out--
Here, come join us,
out where you can breathe.
Come run with us,
breathe out.
Breathe in the woods
where troubles don’t exist.

To go with it, Cecelia chose this:

When All Thoughts by Japanese poet Ryokan (1758-1831)

When all thoughts
Are exhausted
I slip into the woods
And gather
A pile of shepherd's purse.

Like the little stream
Making its way
Through the mossy crevices
I, too, quietly
Turn clear and transparent.

Five questions to ask both poems:

1. What is it about the woods that bring you such feelings of peace and joy?
2. If you found an animal in the woods, what animal would it be? Why?
3. What are some kinds of times that you wish you could go to the woods?
4. Do you carry the feeling of peace home with you after being in the woods?
5. Can you find peaceful feelings by thinking about the woods and picturing
them, even when you can't go there? What helps you do this?


WINTER 05 Poetry Post

If I Could Live in the Sea by Zeb Rear, age 10, Lane County, Oregon,

The rocks under my feet are spiky,
covered with barnacles.
I am in the apartments of the sea,
The deep sea
The blue sea
The wild sea full of wonder.
This is where I truly belong.
And, oh, the waves,
The magical waves.
The wonderful waves
The crashing, smashing, clashing waves.
And the smell, oh the smell,
The smell of salt
The smell of fresh
Oh, what a wonderful life it would be
If only, if only, I could live in the sea.


The companion poem I chose is an old favorite of mine, and one that I find
children are mesmerized by (who wouldn't be?) Cecelia Hagon, poet and YWA after school writing mentor

Sea Fever by John Masefield (1878-1967)
I must go down to the seas again,
to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship
and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song
and the white sail's shaking,
And a gray mist on the sea's face,
and a gray dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again,
for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call
that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day
with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume,
and the seagulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again,
to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way,
where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn
from a laughing fellow-rover,
And a quiet sleep and a sweet dream
when the long trip's over.

Questions to ask the poems:

1. What is it about the sea that makes you feel so free?
2. Do you echo the rhythm of the waves in your language to help you feel
like you're in the sea?
3. If the sea weren't blue, what color would it be?
4. Do you think fish ever wish they could live on land?
5. What do you dream about when you sleep in the sea?

SPRING 06 POETRY POSTS

May You Smile by Molly Prenevost, 5th Grade, Lane County, Oregon

May you do the Hokey-Pokey
May you dance the Funky Chicken
May you sing Old MacDonald
May you laugh until you cry
May you eat California oranges
May you wear different socks
May you talk to the squirrels in the trees
May you stand on top of a car
May you lie on the roof of your house
May you smile a cheesy smile.


Looking Around, Believing by Gary Soto

How strange that we can begin at any time.
With two feet we get down the street.
With a hand we undo the rose.
With an eye we lift up the peach tree
And hold it up to the wind – white blossoms
At our feet. Like today. I started
In the yard with my daughter,
With my wife poking at potted geranium,
And now I am walking down the street,
Amazed that the sun is only so high,
Just over the roof, and a child
Is singing through a rolled newspaper
And a terrier is leaping like a flea
And at the bakery I pass, a palm
Like a suctioning starfish is pressed
To the window. We’re keeping busy –
This way, that way, we’re making shadows
Where sunlight was, making words
Where there was only noise in the trees.


Questions for these poems:
Why do you both use repetition?
What other ways, besides poetry, can a person discover happiness?
What is it about little things that makes them seem so important to happiness?
Do you think there is an age-level that you are addressing, or could it be any age?
If paying attention is a kind of hope, what is it you are hoping for?

Fall 06 Poetry Posts


The Big Hemlock by Natalie Mosman, Age 7

The big hemlock.
For so many years it stands.
It can see the squirrels.
The lively sound.
A storm hits.
The tree stands tall.
Not a bit afraid.
The coldness of the water.
The mad swirling ferocious wind
howling and bending the humongous tree.
But it is fearless,
not daring to give up hope.
Suddenly the lightning lights up the trees.
The hemlock is not a bit afraid.
The lightning hits a tree and a forest fire begins.
The hemlock feels the flames on its branches
But the rain quickly puts it out.
The storm stops.
A beautiful night drapes over the world.
The fearless hemlock goes to sleep.

Life Doesn't Frighten Me by Maya Angelou

Shadows on the wall
Noises down the hall
Life doesn't frighten me at all
Bad dogs barking loud
Big ghosts in a cloud
Life doesn't frighten me at all.
Mean old Mother Goose
Lions on the loose
They don't frighten me at all
Dragons breathing flame
On my counterpane
That doesn't frighten me at all.
I go boo
Make them shoo
I make fun
Way they run
I won't cry
So they fly
I just smile
They go wild
Life doesn't frighten me at all.
Tough guys in a fight
All alone at night
Life doesn't frighten me at all.
Panthers in a park
Strangers in the dark
No, they don't frighten me at all.
Don't show me frogs and snakes
And listen for my scream,
If I'm afraid at all
It's only in my dreams.
I've got a magic charm
That I keep up my sleeve,
I can walk the ocean floor
And never have to breath.
Life doesn't frighten me at all
Not at all
Not at all.
Life doesn't frighten me at all.

The Little Turtle by Vachel Lindsay

There was a little turtle.
He lived in a box.
He swam in a puddle.
He climbed on the rocks.
He snapped at a mosquito.
He snapped at a flea.
He snapped at a minnow.
And he snapped at me.
He caught the mosquito.
He caught the flea.
He caught the minnow.
But he didn't catch me.

Questions to ask the poems The Big Hemlock, Life Doesn't Frighten Me, and The Little Turtle
1.) Poem, why are you telling me this?
2.) If you are not afraid, what do you feel?
3.) Poem, what are some things you are not telling me about fear?
4.) Why do you use repeating words and lines?
5.) What time do you remind me of from my life, when there was trouble, but everything came out okay?

Winter 06 Poetry Posts

Life by Ian Hopper, 5th Grade, Lane County, Oregon

Coffee grains hot and cold

like the blue glass as shiny
as a paper clip

smooth as a red silk scarf

as soft as fluffy cat fur

as steam comes from the
candle wax

and like the agate as
hard as a thunder egg

just sitting there like
the keyboard


Some Things, Say the Wise Ones by Mary Oliver

Some things, say the wise ones who know everything,
are not living. I say
you live your life your way and leave me alone.

I have talked with the faint clouds in the sky when they
are afraid of being left behind; I have said, Hurry, hurry!
and they have said: Thank you, we are hurrying.

About cows, and starfish, and roses, there is no
argument. They die, after all.

But water is a question, so many living things in it,
but what is it, itself, living or not? Oh, gleaming

generosity, how can they write you out?

As I think this I am sitting on the sand beside
the harbor. I am holding in my hand
small pieces of granite, pyrite, schist.
Each one, just now, so thoroughly asleep.

Questions to ask the poems:
1. Poems, when do you sleep?
2. When you bump into each other, do your parts get mixed up?
3. Do poems need maps?
4. Are there other images you want to embrace?
5. What kind of birthdays do you celebrate?

This Poetry Post was produced through a partnership between the Young Writers Association and the Lane Education Service District.