Thursday, April 18, 2013

Poem in Your Pocket DayS

This is one of my favorite days of the year.  My students go through my huge folder of poems and I "give" them one for their pocket and a few to give to others.  Last year, I was able to give out lots of people but today's ELA got in the way (rhyming poem intended) and there were far fewer poems delivered.

I did go through the pile of poems with some second graders who fell in love with a "The Purple Cow" and a few third graders who fell in love with Karen Nesbitt's wit.  I did not get to share with all I intended; so, I have decided to make tomorrow Post ELA Poem in Your Pocket Day!

I am including in this 3 poem "gift set" the poem I wanted to give to my grad students but did not have time to copy because of, well you know, it was ELA day today :)
by: Gelett Burgess (1866-1951)

I NEVER saw a Purple Cow,
I never hope to see one;
But I can tell you, anyhow,
I'd rather see than be one

My Lunch
By Karen Nesbitt
A candy bar.
A piece of cake.
A lollipop.
A chocolate shake.

A jelly donut.
Chocolate chips.
Some gummy worms
and licorice whips.

A candy cane.
A lemon drop.
Some bubblegum
and soda pop.

Vanilla wafers.
Cherry punch.
My mom slept in
while I made lunch.
By Naomi Nye

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and
purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you every where
like a shadow or a friend.

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