Once, rushing
out of my apartment, some lines occurred to me and I jotted them down. I
thought of it as a children’s poem, I titled it 'The City is so Big'. It took me about thirty seconds to
write it.
http://books.google.com/books?id=ZfENAAAAQAAJ&pg=PA26&lpg=PA26
It has been
published many times in readers, at the Middle School level. I have since
written other poems for children, but not a whole book. On one level, the
vocabulary and concepts are fairly easy, yet I also find writing for children
difficult in a way I can’t quite explain. It is kind of like fishing: it
involves luck.
There are poems
written at children (too many) and poems written for children. I think
Donald Hall said
somewhere that in the best work written for children, the writer is down on his
knees on the carpet, goofing around with the kids, a kid himself.
If you read the
biographies of the classic children’s authors, it seems many were solitary, did
not have children, and did not particularly like children, but were themselves
rather childlike. It is said that Edward Lear was teething a second time at age
forty.
Recently I have
seen poems that are almost like another genre; they straddle the border between
children’s poetry and adult poetry.
Perhaps this is a new development in the history of writing for
children—or are they just poems that could be enjoyed by anyone at any age?
What Bee Did
Julie Larios
Bee not only buzzed.
When swatted at, Bee deviled,
Bee smirched. And when fuddled,
like many of us, Bee labored, Bee reaved.
He behaved as well as any Bee can have.
Bee never lied. Bee never lated.
And despite the fact Bee took, Bee also stowed.
In love, Bee sieged. Bee seeched.
Bee moaned, Bee sighed himself,
Bee gat with his Beloved.
And because Bee tokened summer
(the one season we all, like Bee, must lieve)
Bee also dazzled.
You
can hear this:
http://www.cortlandreview.com/issue/31/larios.html
- 1
H
Natasha
Sajé
O
how we hanky panky harum
scarum
in our happy home, dancing hootchy
kootchy.
Sure, it makes for hugger mugger
but
we give a hoot for happenstance.
adorned
by hammer and sickle; in the closets, hand-
me-downs.
If Hammurabi and his Queen come
by,
we won't be hoity-toity, we'll
offer
haggis or humble pie. Our bed
floats
on hocus-pocus (our corpore
wholly
habeas) and the kitchen hums
a hymn,
Hail to Higgledy-Piggledly.
If
the world can't call our hurly burly hunky
dory,
let it hara-kiri if it dares.
This
is my last post as guest blogger.
I have enjoyed it. I’ll leave you with a praise poem written for
children. It is published as a beautiful
children’s book, illustrated by Randy Cecil. You’ll want to get it.
It feels like a lucky poem to me.
I imagine that once the poet had the conceit and the pattern, the poem
wrote itself.
And
Here’s to You
David
Elliot
Here's
to the birds, the feather people. Birds.
Here's
to the whoo ones, the cock-a-doodle-doo ones,
their-breasts-as-red-as-fire
ones,
the
sitting-on-the-wire ones. Oh, I love the birds.
Here's
to the fish, the bubble people. Fish.
Here's
to the spiny ones,
the
river and the briny ones,
the
toothy and the eely ones,
all
squishy-squishy-feely ones.
Oh,
I love the fish.
Here's
to the bears, the hungry people. Bears.
Here's
to the black ones,
the
humps-on-their-back ones.
Here's
to the white ones,
the
swimming-through-the-night ones.
Oh,
I love the bears.
Here's
to the bugs, the leggy people. Bugs.
Here's
to the stingy ones,
the
weird and the wingy ones.
Here's
to the funny ones,
the
buzzing, making honey ones.
Oh,
I love the bugs.
Here's
to the cats, the purring people. Cats.
Here's
to the creeping ones,
the
get-you-when-you're-sleeping ones,
all
country, wild and city ones,
the
kitty-kitty-kitty ones.
Oh,
I love the cats.
Here's
to the dogs, the dreaming people. Dogs.
Here's
to the howling ones,
the
running, yipping, yowling ones,
all
go-and-fetch-a-stick ones,
the
lick, lick, lick, lick, lick ones.
Oh,
I love the dogs.
Here's
to the cows, the giving people. Cows.
Here's
to the wooly ones,
the
bonny and the bully ones.
Here's
to the silky ones
and
butter cream and milky ones.
Oh,
I love the cows.
Here's
to the frogs, the singing people. Frogs.
Here's
to the bass ones,
the
big-nothing-but-face ones.
Here's
to little peeping ones
and
lily pad and leaping ones.
Oh,
I love the frogs.
Here's
to the people, the people people. People.
Here's
to the merry ones,
the
bald and the hairy ones.
Here's
to the Mom-and-Dad ones
and
polka-dot and plaid ones.
Oh,
I love the people.
And
here's to you, the you person. You.
Here's
to the sweet you,
the
messy and the neat you,
the
funny-way-you-eat you,
the
head-to-your-feet you,
the
bones-and-the-meat you,
the
total and complete you.
Oh,
how I love you, the you person,
you
person you.
Yes,
you. I love you.
