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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
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