new posts in all blogs
Viewing: Blog Posts Tagged with: seasonal poetry, Most Recent at Top [Help]
Results 1 - 22 of 22
How to use this Page
You are viewing the most recent posts tagged with the words: seasonal poetry in the JacketFlap blog reader. What is a tag? Think of a tag as a keyword or category label. Tags can both help you find posts on JacketFlap.com as well as provide an easy way for you to "remember" and classify posts for later recall. Try adding a tag yourself by clicking "Add a tag" below a post's header. Scroll down through the list of Recent Posts in the left column and click on a post title that sounds interesting. You can view all posts from a specific blog by clicking the Blog name in the right column, or you can click a 'More Posts from this Blog' link in any individual post.
<!--[if gte mso 9]>
Normal 0 false false false false EN-US X-NONE X-NONE <![endif]-->
It’s “yellow time.” October has arrived! Soon the leaves around here will turn golden and red and orange…and swirl down from trees in an autumn breeze. How I love this time of year. Today, I have two poems about autumn leaves…and reviews of three picture books on the same subject.***************
Here is an autumn leaves poem that I wrote many years ago:
AUTUMN CELEBRATION
In October, colored leaves
Fall from oak and maple trees—
Bright confetti shaken down
From their boughs. All over town
Trees are celebrating fall,
Decorating every wall,
Sidewalk, yard, and flowerbed
With pumpkin-orange, gold, and red.
We stand out in the falling leaves
And catch confetti on our sleeves,
In our hands and in our hair.
We party till the trees are bare.
AUTUMN LEAVES
By Eve Merriam
Down
down
down
Red
yellow
brown
Autumn leaves tumble down,
Autumn leaves crumble down,
Autumn leaves bumble down,
Flaking and shaking,
Tumbledown leaves.
Click here to read the rest of the poem. YELLOW TIME
Written & illustrated by Lauren Stringer
Beach Lane Books, 2016
I have been an admirer of Lauren Stringer’s picture book art for years. I love how she captured the essence of a snowy day and evening in Cynthia Rylant’s SNOW (Harcourt, 2008) and the warmth and coziness of time spent indoors on a cold winter day and night in her book WINTER IS THE WARMEST SEASON (Harcourt, 2006).
In her newest book, YELLOW TIME, Stringer gives readers a colorful glimpse of “falling leaves” time of year. Stringer said that she first experienced “yellow time” when she moved from New York City to Minneapolis. She said the view of ash trees through her window “was suddenly transformed by a huge gust of wind into a rain of leaves that covered everything and turned the world yellow.” Stringer beautifully captures that experience through a childhood perspective. Many of the book’s illustrations are saturated with yellow. She uses soft, curving shapes to depict tree tops, boughs and tree trunks bending in the wind, the movements of children delighting in the fluttering and swirling and whooshing of leaves borne through the air on an autumn wind. Stringer’s text is spare. She uses her art to illuminate what “yellow time” is all about. It is a true celebration of that wondrous time of year that passes all too quickly. Her book is a “symphony of yellow.”
FLETCHER AND THE FALLING LEAVES
Written by Julia Rawlinson
Illustrated by Tiphanie Beeke
Greenwillow, 2006
It’s autumn. Fletcher, a young fox, notices that the world around him is changing. Every morning things seem “just a little bit different.”
The rich green of the forest was turning to a dusty gold, and the soft, swishing
sound of summer was fading to a crinkly whisper.
Fletcher becomes worried when his favorite tree begins to look dry and brown. He thinks the tree is sick and expresses concern to his mother. His mother explains that it’s
“only autumn” and not to worry. Fletcher runs outside, pats his tree, and tells it that it will feel better soon.
Of course, the leaves on the tree continue to turn brown and fall from the branches. Fletcher catches a falling leaf and reattaches it to his tree--but the wind shakes the leaf loose again.
The next day, a strong wind blows through the forest, and the tree’s leaves are set flying. Fletcher’s upset when he sees a squirrel taking leaves for its nest and a porcupine using the fallen leaves to keep itself warm. Try as he might, Fletcher cannot save his tree from the inevitable. Finally, he clutches the last leaf as it flutters from the tree and takes it home--where he tucks it into a little bed of its own.
The following morning, Fletcher is awed by the sight of his tree, which is now hung with thousands of icicles shimmering in the early morning light. He wonders, though, if the tree is okay and asks:
“But are you all right?” Fletcher is relieved when a breeze shivers the branches and the tree makes
“a sound like laughter…” The little fox then hugs his tree and returns to his den for a
“nice, warm breakfast.”
Fletcher and the Falling Leaveshas a longer, more lyrical text than
Oliver Finds His Way.
Beeke’s soft-edged pastel illustrations capture the tone and setting of this comforting story and deftly convey the change of seasons as autumn turns to winter.
THE LITTLE YELLOW LEAF
Written & illustrated by Carin Berger
Greenwillow, 2008
Carin Berger, who did the “bold” and brilliant collage illustrations for Jack
Prelutsky’s
Behold the Bold Umbrellaphant, hits a high note again with her art in
The Little Yellow Leaf. Her illustrations in this book are inventive and striking. Berger even used composition and graph paper as the backdrop for some of her pictures. Her spare illustrations with changing perspectives and her lovely lyrical text partner well in this tale about finding strength in friendship.
The main character of this little allegory is a “Little Yellow Leaf.” It’s autumn. The
LYL clings to a branch of
“a great oak tree.” “I’m not ready yet, thought the Little Yellow Leaf as a riot of fiery leaves chased and swirled round the tree.” No, the leaf
isn’t ready to leave its home in the tree--even as the afternoon sun beckons--even…
as apples grew musky,
pumpkins heavy,
and flocks of geese
took wing.Even when
LYL sees that the other leaves have
“gathered into heaps, crackly dry, where children played,” it
isn’t willing to join them. And it still it
isn’t ready to leave its home when a harvest moon blooms in an
“amber” sky.
LYL holds fast to its branch through a long, cold night when snow falls. It holds fast as days pass. It looks and looks at the tree--but sees only the
“shimmer of snow.” LYL is all alone. At least that’s what it thinks…until one day it spies a
“scarlet flash” high up in the tree. It has a comrade! Both had been hesitant to cast off for the unknown. The Little Yellow Leaf and the Scarlet Leaf take courage in each other…set themselves free and soar.
Into the waiting wind they danced…
off and away and away and away.
Together.***************
I often find it difficult to capture an image/idea that I have in my mind in words. Autumn is the time of year when I hear the honking of geese that are heading south for winter. I have tried over the years to write a poem about migrating geese—but I have never been really satisfied with the results. Here are two versions of a “wild geese” poem that I wrote. The first was written several years ago; the second was written earlier this year.
One Poem Two Ways
WILD GEESE #1
So long…farewell. We’re on our way.
We must depart. We can’t delay
Our journey to a warmer clime.
Mother Nature warned: “It’s time!”
We’re heading south before the snow…
And winter winds begin to blow.
We leave you with our parting call—
Honk! Honk! Honk!
That’s the sound of fall.
WILD GEESE #2
So long…farewell. We’re on our way.
We must depart. We can’t delay
Our journey to a warmer clime.
Mother Nature warned, “It’s time!”
Days grow shorter. Trees grow bare.
Pumpkins fatten. Frost nips the air.
We know the signs. It’s time to go
Before the sky fills up with snow.
But we’ll return again next year
When we can sense that spring is near.
We leave you with our parting call—
Honk! Honk! Honk! That’s the sound of fall.
***************
Here is one of my favorite fall poems:
Something Told the Wild Geese
by Rachel Field, 1894-1942
Something told the wild geese
It was time to go,
Though the fields lay golden
Something whispered, "snow."
Leaves were green and stirring,
Berries, luster-glossed,
But beneath warm feathers
Something cautioned, "frost."
Click here to read the rest of the poem.
***************
Cari Best wrote a touching picture book about a wounded goose that landed in her backyard. It is based on her own experience. A photograph of the one-footed goose is included on the title page. The book was beautifully illustrated by the late Holly Meade.
From the title page:
“Goose’s story is true. She came on a Sunday. We could only guess about how she’d hurt her foot…Whatever it was, the goose with one foot became our spring and then our summer that year. Who would have thought she’d become our inspiration for all times, too.”
Booklist gave Goose’s Story a starred review. Here is an excerpt from that review:
“Best's simple prose is rhythmic and beautiful, more poetic than much of the so-called free verse in many children's books; and Meade's clear, cut-paper collages show the drama through the child's eyes--the clamor of the flock against the New England landscape through the seasons; the honking and jumping for the sky; and one goose left behind, wild and beautiful, hurt, and strong.”
Unfortunately, the book is now out of print—but you may be able to find it in your public or school library…or a used copy from an online bookseller
***************
A Family Movie about Migrating Geese
My five-year-old granddaughter Julia likes Fly Away Home, a 1996 movie starring Jeff Daniels and Anna Paquin. Julia and I have watched the movie together a few times.
NOTE: (Fly Away Home won the 1997 Broadcast Film Critics Association Critics Choice Award as the Best Family Film, the 1997 Christopher Award (for family films), 1997 Young Artist Award in the category of Best Family Feature – Drama, and the 1997 Genesis Award for Feature Films.)
Fly Away Home movie trailer:
Mary Chapin Carpenter—10,000 Miles
Mary Oliver reading her poem Wild Geese
***************
Well, the hot days of summer...and endless hours of freedom are coming to a close for school-aged children. On the first day of school each year, I presented my students with little booklets of end-of-summer and back-to-school poems. For this Poetry Friday, I am posting some of the poems that I included in those booklets
Here is the first stanza of Eve Merriam’s poem Leavetaking:
Vacation is over;
It's time to depart.
I must leave behind
(Although it breaks my heart)
Click here to read the rest of the poem.
Now
by Prince Redcloud
Close the barbecue.
Close the sun.
Close the home-run games we won.
Close the picnic.
Close the pool.
Close the summer.
Open school.
Here is the last stanza of Judith Viorst’s poem Summer’s End:
And all the shiny afternoons
So full of birds and big balloons
And ice cream melting in the sun are done.
I do not want them done.
Click here to read the rest of the poem.
Here is the first stanza of Bobbi Katz’s poem September Is:
September is
when yellow pencils
in brand new eraser hats
bravely wait on perfect points–
ready to march across miles of lines
in empty notebooks–
Click here to read the rest of the poem.
From Aileen Fisher’s poem The First Day of School:
I wonder if my drawing,
will be as good as theirs.
I wonder if they'll like me,
or just be full of stares.
Click here to read the rest of the poem.
**********
My granddaughter Julia is really enjoying her summer this year. She is learning how to swim...and loves jumping into the pool!
**********
<!--[if gte mso 9]>
Normal 0 false false false EN-US X-NONE X-NONE MicrosoftInternetExplorer4 <![endif]-->
This week has been free of nanny granny duties for me as my “grandgirls” are up in Maine with my daughter and son-in-law. I thought I’d post a couple of summer poems written by Lilian Moore—one of my favorite children’s poets—for them.
IF YOU CATCH A FIREFLY
If you catch a firefly
and keep it in a jar
You may find that
you have lost
A tiny star.
Click here to read the rest of the poem
MINE
I made a sand castle.
In rolled the sea.
"All sand castles
belong to me—
to me,"
said the sea.
Click here to read the rest of the poem.
I miss Julia and Allison SO much. I can't wait to see them tomorrow. Fortunately, my daughter has been sending pictures of the girls to me and "Papa."
We have had a lovely summer up here in my neck of the woods...until now. A humid heat wave has recently hit us...and I hate that type of weather!
Today, I'm posting a poem that speaks to the joys and pleasantness of the hottest season of the year.
<!--[if gte mso 9]>
Normal 0 false false false EN-US X-NONE X-NONE MicrosoftInternetExplorer4 <![endif]-->
IN SUMMER TIME
By Paul Laurence Dunbar (1872-1906)
NOTE: The following poem is in the public domain.
<!--[if gte mso 9]>
Normal 0 false false false EN-US X-NONE X-NONE MicrosoftInternetExplorer4 <![endif]-->
When summer time has come, and all
The world is in the magic thrall
Of perfumed airs that lull each sense
To fits of drowsy indolence;
When skies are deepest blue above,
And flow’rs aflush,—then most I love
To start, while early dews are damp,
And wend my way in woodland tramp
Where forests rustle, tree on tree,
And sing their silent songs to me;
Where pathways meet and pathways part,—
To walk with Nature heart by heart,
Till wearied out at last I lie
Where some sweet stream steals singing by
A mossy bank; where violets vie
In color with the summer sky,—
Or take my rod and line and hook,
And wander to some darkling brook,
Where all day long the willows dream,
And idly droop to kiss the stream,
And there to loll from morn till night—
Unheeding nibble, run, or bite—
Just for the joy of being there
And drinking in the summer air,
The summer sounds, and summer sights,
That set a restless mind to rights
When grief and pain and raging doubt
Of men and creeds have worn it out;
The birds’ song and the water’s drone,
The humming bee’s low monotone,
The murmur of the passing breeze,
And all the sounds akin to these,
That make a man in summer time
Feel only fit for rest and rhyme.
Joy springs all radiant in my breast;
Though pauper poor, than king more blest,
The tide beats in my soul so strong
That happiness breaks forth in song,
And rings aloud the welkin blue
With all the songs I ever knew.
O time of rapture! time of song!
How swiftly glide thy days along
Adown the current of the years,
Above the rocks of grief and tears!
‘Tis wealth enough of joy for me
In summer time to simply be.
***************
<!--[if gte mso 9]> Normal 0 false false false EN-US X-NONE X-NONE MicrosoftInternetExplorer4 <![endif]-->
About Paul Laurence Dunbar
(From the Academy of American Poets)
Born on June 27, 1872, Paul Laurence Dunbar was one of the first African-American poets to gain national recognition. His parents Joshua and Matilda Murphy Dunbar were freed slaves from Kentucky. His parents separated shortly after his birth, but Dunbar would draw on their stories of plantation life throughout his writing career. By the age of fourteen, Dunbar had poems published in the Dayton Herald. While in high school he edited the Dayton Tattler, a short-lived black newspaper published by classmate Orville Wright.
Click here to read more about Paul Laurence Dunbar.***************
We have had some spectacular November weather up here in Massachusetts. Temperatures have reached into the seventies this week! That certainly isn't typical for this time of year. So happy that I have been able to take my granddaughters outside to enjoy the warm days and autumn foliage that still clings to some of the trees.
So often the poetry we hear/read about November focuses on Thanksgiving/giving thanks. I thought I'd post some November poems that include other aspects/thoughts about the month.
Here is a poem titled NOVEMBER RAIN by Maud E. Uschold. (NOTE: This poem is in the public domain.)
<!--[if gte mso 9]>
Normal 0 false false false EN-US X-NONE X-NONE MicrosoftInternetExplorer4 <![endif]-->
NOVEMBER RAIN
This autumn rainfall
Is no shower
That freshens grass
And brings the flower.
This rain is long
And cold and gray,
Yet sleeping roots
Are feed this way.
Trees and bushes,
Nearly bare
Of leaves, now chains
Of raindrops wear
Along each twig.
Some clear beads fall.
A tree could never
Hold them all.
**********
Here is an excerpt from a children's poem written by Dixie Willson about autumn and the month of November:
THE MIST AN ALL
I like the fall,
The mist and all.
I like the night owl's
Lonely call—
And wailing sound
Of wind around.
I like the gray
November day,
And bare, dead boughs
That coldly sway
Against my pane.
Click here to read the rest of the poem.
**********
Here is the first stanza of a poem about November written by Clyde Watson:November comes
And November goes,
With the last red berries
And the first white snows.
Click here to read the rest of the poem.
**********
Here is a cinquain written by Adelaide Crapsey, the woman who invented the poetic form:
NOVEMBER NIGHT
Listen. . .
With faint dry sound,
Like steps of passing ghosts,
The leaves, frost-crisp'd, break from the trees
And fall.
You can read about Crapsey here.
**********
Here is an excerpt from Rita Dove's poem NOVEMBER FOR BEGINNERS:
Snow would be the easy
way out—that softening
sky like a sigh of relief
at finally being allowed
to yield. No dice.
We stack twigs for burning
in glistening patches
but the rain won’t give.
Click here to read the rest of Dove's poem.
**********
And here is an excerpt from Helen Hunt Jackson's poem NOVEMBER:
This is the treacherous month when autumn days
With summer’s voice come bearing summer’s gifts.
Beguiled, the pale down-trodden aster lifts
Her head and blooms again. The soft, warm haze
Makes moist once more the sere and dusty ways,
And, creeping through where dead leaves lie in drifts,
The violet returns...
Click here to read the rest of the poem.
**********
Here are the first two stanzas of Lucy Maud Montgomery's poem NOVEMBER EVENING:
<!--[if gte mso 9]> Normal 0 false false false EN-US X-NONE X-NONE MicrosoftInternetExplorer4 <![endif]--> Come, for the dusk is our own; let us fare forth together,
With a quiet delight in our hearts for the ripe, still, autumn weather,
Through the rustling valley and wood and over the crisping meadow,
Under a high-sprung sky, winnowed of mist and shadow.
Sharp is the frosty air, and through the far hill-gaps showing
Lucent sunset lakes of crocus and green are glowing;
Tis the hour to walk at will in a wayward, unfettered roaming,
Caring for naught save the charm, elusive and swift, of the gloaming.
**********
NOTE: I have had trouble formatting the poems in my post this morning. I'll try to fix if I can when I have some free time. Friday is always a really busy day for me.
I’ve been away from blogging at Wild Rose Reader for far too long. There have been many changes that took place in my life during the past few years. My attention has been diverted elsewhere. I haven’t even been writing much poetry. I’ve got to get my creative juices flowing once again.
For the first day of National Poetry Month, I thought I’d post the poem SKY from an unpublished poetry collection I wrote a few years ago titled Spring into Words: A Season in Acrostics.
Suddenly Earth’s blue dome springs to life, catches careening
Kites, fills with the face of a smiling sun, the music of
Young songbirds and geese honking homeward.
One of the things I remember most about the autumns of my childhood is the scent of burning leaves. I miss that today. The following poem is based on my memory of a time I spent with two of my cousins at my grandparents’ house. We raked up a pile of autumn leaves and sat on wooden crates watching—and smelling—the leaves burn at dusk on a cool October day.
AUTUMN FIRE
By Elaine Magliaro Two tall maple trees grow
in front of my grandparents’ house. In late October they shed their golden crowns. When the fallen leaves curl up like little brown bear cubs, we rake them into a pile at the side of the street. As dusk arrives Dzidzi sets our harvest afire with a single match. We sit on wooden crates at the sidewalk’s edge, watch the brittle leaves blossom into golden flames, smell autumn’s pungent breath. From the pyre summer rises, a small gray ghost, and drifts away into the darkening sky.
BOOK WINNERS
The three winners of
Janet Wong’s book
Declaration of Interdependence: Poems for an Election year are
Gretchen,
Bridget Wilson, and
vezenimost. Congratulations to all of you!
Note to the winners: Please email me your names and addresses and I will send the books off to you.
I wrote the first draft of the following animal mask poem last month. I kept fiddling with it over the weeks. I felt it needed a couple more lines—but hit a wall. Then, when I was in bed the other night, two lines just popped into my head.
Here is my most recent draft of that poem--which is told in the voice of migrating geese:
THE SOUND OF FALL
By Elaine Magliaro
So long…farewell. We’re on our way.
We must depart. We can’t delay
Our journey to a warmer clime.
Mother Nature warned: “It’s time!”
We’re heading south before the snow…
And winter winds begin to blow.
We leave you with our parting call—
Honk! Honk! Honk!
THAT’S the sound of fall.
********************
P.S. Check out Laura’s terrific collection of poems about books and reading, BookSpeak! It would be an excellent book to share with elementary students.
I love autumn in New England! September and October are my favorite months. Here are a number of the poems that I’ve written about fall. I’ve posted some of them previously at
Wild Rose Reader or
Blue Rose Girls.
**********
One thing I miss most about autumn is the smell of burning leaves. When I was a kid, we used to rake leaves into a pile and burn them on the side of the street/road. The following poem, Autumn Fires, tells about a childhood memory of mine. I was raking leaves with two of my first cousins at the home of my maternal grandparents. My dzidzi (grandfather) set the leaves on fire and we cousins sat on wooden crates watching as the leaves burned and the smoke rose into the air.
AUTUMN FIRETwo tall maple trees growin front of my grandparents’ house.In late Octoberthey shed their golden crowns.When the fallen leavescurl up like little brown bear cubs,we rake them into a pileat the side of the street.As dusk arrivesDzidzi sets our harvest afirewith a single match.We sit on wooden cratesat the sidewalk’s edge,watch the brittle leavesblossom into golden flames,smell autumn’s pungent breath.From the pyre summer rises,a small gray ghost,and drifts awayinto the darkening sky.AUTUMN CELEBRATIONIn October, colored leavesFall from oak and maple trees…Bright confetti shaken downFrom their boughs. All over town
Trees are celebrating fall,Decorating every wall,Sidewalk, yard, and flowerbedWith pumpkin-orange, gold, and red.
We stand out in the falling leavesAnd catch confetti on our sl
The following three poetry collections take us through the year month by month:
A Child’s Calendar
Written by John Updike
Illustrated by Trina Schart Hyman
Holiday House, 1999
The first edition of
A Child’s Calendar—illustrated by Nancy Ekholm Burkert—was published in 1965. This newer edition—illustrated by Hyman—received a Caldecott Honor Award. I’d say deservedly so. Hyman’s evocative paintings portray events, activities, and scenes that are representative of each month. Children are shown making valentines in February….flying kites in March…enjoying a family picnic in July…trick-or-treating and jumping in piles of leaves in October. Hyman’s illustrations extend Updike’s text. They take readers through the year hand-in-hand with his poems.
November
The twelve poems, written in stanzas of rhyming quatrains, are crisp, concise, and filled with imagery, personification, and figurative language:
In January, the sun is “a spark/Hung thin between/The dark and dark.In March, “Shy budlets peep/From twigs on trees…In April, “The sky’s a herd/Of prancing sheep…”In June, “The live-long light/is like a dream,/And freckles come/Like flies to cream” In September, "The breezes taste of apple peel."In October, “Frost bites the lawn./The stars are slits/In a black cat’s eyes/Before she spits.”In November, “The stripped and shapely/Maple grieves/The loss of her/Departed leaves.”December
Updike made small changes to some of the poe
Sometimes, I like to write different types of poems on the same subject. Today, my subject is crocuses. I posted three of these poems previously at Wild Rose Reader--the acrostic, haiku, and tanka. I just wrote rough drafts of the cinquain and mask poems this morning.
Acrostic
Coming up, I’m coming up,
Reaching through the softening soil, poking my petals
Out of the earth,
Collecting sunlight in my purple cup.
Up, I’m coming up.
Spring is on the way!
Haiku
Look! A starting line
of crocuses ready
to sprint into spring
Tanka (3/5/3/5/5)
Crocuses
pierce the softening
soil, push up
purple periscopes,
search for spring’s warm face.
Cinquain (Rough Draft)
Crocus
Can’t wait for spring,
Pokes its purple head out
Of the ground. Showers in sunshine
All day.
Crocus Mask Poem (Rough Draft)
I poked my head up.
What I found:
A snow quilt
Covering the ground.
Still,
I think I’ll stick around.
********************
I write a lot of poetry. I've completed several poetry collections. Yet, I rarely submit my manuscripts to publishers. Why is that? I'm one of those writers who thinks she's never finished with a poem...who thinks she can always make a poem better. It's a good thing I don't have to support myself with my writing. Then again, maybe I'd send out more of my work if I needed money!
What I like about having a blog is being able to post rough drafts of poems...or poems that haven't been polished yet.
Here are two end-of-winter poems I began work on this week. The first one was inspired by a grimy patch of snow in my front yard.
In Our Yard
Winter left behind…
one patch of snow,
littered with leaves
and crusted with grime.
It’s only time
before it melts into the past.
It will not last.
Spring arrived here yesterday
and frightened old Jack Frost away.
Untitled
Winter’s fading fast.
Winter’s tuckered out.
It packed its bags. It’s leaving town.
It heard Spring’s boist’rous shout:
“Make way for me, old man…
And take your ice and snow.
Now it’s my turn to rule the land…
And time for you to go.”
**********
At
Blue Rose Girls, I have an original list poem titled
Things to Do If You Are the Ocean.
At
Political Verses, you'll find
Scott and Dot--a feminist nursery rhyme written by
J.Patrick Lewis.
Sun sears a winter sky
sets it afire
flares in the west
before it settles down
for the night
bent low
with snow
bushes bow to winter
I'm living in a world of white. We've had a lot of snow here recently. I took these pictures during our snow/rain/sleet storm on Tuesday and this morning.
I was inspired to write a poem about the snow/a snowstorm on Wednesday. Then I remembered the beginning of a snowstorm poem that I had written decades ago. I composed a new poem in my head using what I could recall of the old poem while I was taking a shower that morning. Later, I looked through my folders and found Lion in Winter, the poem that I had written so many years ago. In that poem, I compared a winter storm to the king of beasts. Here it is:
Lion in Winter
The winter storm will
rage and roar,
scratch its cold claws on the door,
race around on frosty feet,
snap at autos in the street,
shake its snowy mane and growl--
A silver lion on the prowl
that bites your face with bitter chill
and preys upon the land until
the last of autumn's blazing gold
is quelled beneath its icy hold.
And here is the poem that I wrote on Wednesday morning:
This Winter Storm (I)
This winter storm will rage a roar,
Scratch its cold claws on our door,
Race around on frosty feet,
Howl at autos in the street,
Prowl around outside all day.
I’ll have to stay inside and play.
But I won’t have to go to school.
This winter storm is REALLY cool!
Question: Which version of my snow poem do you like better?
***************
11 Comments on A Snowstorm Poem Three Ways, last added: 1/23/2011
I thought I’d attempt a two-word acrostic for my unpublished poetry collection
Spring into Words: A Season in Acrostics. The two-word acrostic,
Apple Tree, is also a mask poem.
I chose to post
Apple Tree today for my mother. Last year, we had to have the apple tree in her backyard cut down. That made her sad because my father and her father father had planted the tree there many years ago.
A cloud of
Pink blossoms rests in my branches.
Petals, like flakes of fallen snow,
Litter the
Earth below me. My new leaves flaunt their green.
Thousands of honeybees come to visit, flit
Round me, sip my nectar, powder their legs with my pollen.
Every year it’s the same when spring arrives in the orchard.
Every year I burst into bloom and buzz with life.Note: I’d like to thank all of you who left kind words for my mother and me at my
Poetry Friday posting on May 7th. This past week has been a bit easier than the previous week. My mom had a good Mother’s Day—with lots of visitors. She’s going through a period of adjustment now—as is our family. Fortunately, I’m not far from the facility where my mother is now living so I can visit with her often.
********************
Jama has the
Poetry Friday Roundup at
Alphabet Soup.
My contribution for the 21st day of National Poetry Month is Showers, a poem from my unpublished collection Spring into Words: A Season in Acrostics.
Softly, raindrops come to call. Can you
Hear them gently tap-tapping
On the
Windowpane, on the roof with an
Even, steady beat…
Repeating the song that April loves to
Sing?
We've had quite a lot of snow so far this year up in my neck of the woods. I'm in winter mode. Here are some of my original poems about the season. Many have been posted at
Wild Rose Reader before.
Haiku
After the blizzard
snowmen are sprouting up
like winter wildflowers
Sleet tap-dances
on my roof, clicks its icy heels
on my windowpane
Snowflakes fluttering
from a wintry sky…a flock
of white butterflies
With his frosty feet
little mouse prints a message
in the snow: Hello!
After the blizzard
snowmen are sprouting up like
winter wildflowers
Like stars shaken from
The sky, snowflakes whirling down
In white galaxies
A snowman shadow
paints himself in blue upon
a cold white canvas
Two QuatrainsSnow dropped by…
and here am I
catching flakes
of falling sky!While I slumbered
Through the night
Winter turned
My whole world white.More Winter Poems
Winter Ballet
It’s white snow,
Bright snow,
Soft-as-feathers light snow…
Tiny ballerinas there
Pirouetting through the air
With their shiny crystal shoes
In their winter dance debuts.Pond in WinterThe meadow pond lies silent, still…
Sealed in tight by winter’s chill.
A downy quilt of fallen snow
Hides a cold, dark world below.
I wonder all the winter through:
“What do fish and turtles do?”Winter White(Inspired by Joyce
This month has been the dampest, rainiest June that I can recall. I don’t think we’ve had more than five full days of sunshine so far—and today is the 29th! I usually appreciate a day of gentle rain in the midst of steamy, humid, blazing summer heat—but the weather here is getting on my nerves. It’s been one day of gray after another.
Today, I decided to post an old summer rain poem—one that I had written more than twenty years ago for a collection of seasonal poetry that I never published called Tasting the Sun.
Summer Rain Poem
by Elaine Magliaro
I like a quiet summer day
when clouds above are oyster gray
and rain falls softer than a sigh.
I stand out in the melting sky
cool water washing over me.
I’m a pearl all shimmery,
rough shell unhinged and opened wide
letting all the sea inside.
I’m hoping we’ll have some fair weather for the Fourth of July weekend!
Check out Tricia’s Poetry Stretch this week at The Miss Rumphius Effect: Monday Poetry Stretch - Acrostics.
I’m certainly hoping that April showers will bring May flowers. We’ve had so much rain here lately I’m keeping my fingers crossed it's nature's way of telling me that I’ll be seeing a bounty of blossoms blooming around here next month.
But…what would spring be without rain showers? I loved to stomp in puddles when I was little. Here are two of my original spring puddle poems for you today—as well as a list of links to some of my previous posts about poetry for spring.
PUDDLE MUDDLE
I’m in the middle of a puddle…
in the middle…
in a muddle.
The puddle’s much too deep.
It spilled
into my boots.
Now they’re filled
with muddy water
to the brim.
I hope my feet
know how to swim!
GOING UP!
I’m stomping in a puddle,
Making drops of water fly.
I’m
Splashing them
Splashing them
Splashing them SO high.
I’m sending the raindrops
Back into the sky!
More Spring Poetry
Autumn is my favorite season. I love it here in New England when the heat and humidity subside and cool, crisp days arrive. Soon the streets will be lined with broadleaf trees wearing crowns of red, orange, and gold. Everyplace I go will seem like another world.
POETRY COLLECTIONS
AUTUMNBLINGS
Written & illustrated by Douglas Florian
Greenwillow, 2003
Autumnblings is the third in Douglas Florian’s series of seasonal poetry collections. The twenty-nine poems in this book touch on a variety of autumnal topics: apple picking, Indian summer, pumpkins, falling leaves, the first frost, the migration of geese, and Thanksgiving. Readers will find a plethora of short, light-hearted poems that speak about animals and the changes in nature that take place during this season.
As in
Winter Eyes, Summersaults,
Handsprings and Florian’s collections of animal poems, including
Insectlopedia,
Beast Feast,
Mammalabilia, and
In the Swim, there’s also plenty of clever wordplay in
Autumnblings to delight old and young readers alike. The book contains poems with the following titles:
HI-BEAR-NATION,
AWE-TUMN, and
SYMMETREE (
Autumn is the only season/The leaves all leave./Call it tree-son.) In his poem
BRRRRRRR!, Florian writes about Octobrrrrr’s cold, Novembrrrrr’s chill, and Decembrrrrr’s freeze. In
TREE-TICE, Florian speaks of the number of leaves falling from trees--one leaf…then two…then three…and son on. It’s, according to the author,
A tree-tice on/Arithmetics.
Autumnblings includes a few shape poems and several list poems with the following titles:
What I Love about Autumn,
What I Hate about Autumn,
The Wind,
Birds of Autumn,
The Owls,
The Colors of Autumn,
What to Do with Autumn Leaves,
Thanksgiving, and
Autumnescent.
The collection concludes with
NAUGHTUM, a poem that relates how
The tress are bare./The birds have flown…./The leaves fall down/And then get burned,/As autumn slowly gets winturned.Florian’s illustrations done in watercolor and colored pencils add just the right touch of color and humor to this collection that is a “must have” for elementary classroom library collections.
AUTUMN: AN ALPHABET ACROSTIC
Written by Steven Schnur
Illustrated by Leslie Evans
Clarion, 1997
Like Douglas Florian, author Steven Schnur has also written a series of seasonal poetry books. Schnur’s books, though, contain only acrostic poems. In Autumn: An Alphabet Acrostic, he writes about acorns, corn, frost, leaves, pumpkins, ripe apples, and Thanksgiving guests--as well as topics associated with winter or no particular season: snow, icicles, the universe, the sound of a passing train, an owl out hunting, a mouse and a horse. While not all poems are lyrical in nature, it is the pairing of Schnur’s acrostic poems with Leslie Evans’s bold illustrations executed in hand-colored linoleum cut blocks that combine to make this book an attractive picture/poetry package.
Here’s one poem from the collection:
From the window the
Rows of
Orange pumpkins
Seem clothed in
Thin white shawls.
Classroom Connection: Teachers and students could compile a list of “autumn” topics to write acrostic poems about, which they could illustrate.
Here is my review of a poetry book that was previously posted at Blue Rose Girls:
A CHILL IN THE AIR:
NATURE POEMS FOR FALL AND WINTER
Written by John Frank
Illustrated by Mike Reed
Published by Simon & Schuster (2003)
In A CHILL IN THE AIR, Frank’s poetry and Reed’s art work together beautifully to transport us, in words and pictures, from the bright colors and berry picking of early fall into the ice-blue cold of winter. Some of Reed’s uncluttered illustrations, rendered in acrylic paints, of freezing rain, icicles, a fox huddled at the mouth of a cave as snow swirls outside almost give me goose bumps. The text for the book, set in Highlander and Gill Sans, is large and bold and placed on each page so that the poems are easy to read.
Frank’s poems are straightforward—and most of them rhyme. His poetry doesn’t contain much imagery or figurative language. Frank does make use of personification in a few poems. Here’s an example:
THIEF
The winter wind’s a clever thief:
He’ll join with you in play,
Then slip his hand inside your coat
And steal the warmth away.
And here is a shape poem from the book entitled Icicles:
Crystal
pendants
slowly
grow
from
tiny
drops
of
melted
snow.
A CHILL IN THE AIR is definitely a book of seasonal poetry I would want to have on hand in my elementary classroom to share with children during the autumn and winter seasons.
PICTURE BOOK IN VERSE
DAPPLED APPLES
Written by Jan Carr
Illustrated by Dorothy Donohue
Holiday House, 2001
Dappled Apples is a prefect book to read aloud to children in preschool and kindergarten in the fall. The brief, rhyming text has a bouncy rhythm and some good use of vocabulary. Here are some examples of how Carr selected her words well and got creative with her rhyming lines about autumn leaves, apples, pumpkins, and kids dressed up for Halloween:
Flutter, flitter
Gold as glitter
Rake a heap up
Run and leap up
Saggy branches
Avalanches!
Stack a mile up
Pumpkin pileup
Evil fairy
Yikes! She’s scary!
Pup parading?
Masquerading!
There’s also some good use of alliteration. Note it in the following lines--as well as in some of the lines printed above:
Tiptoe, teeter
Tug a tall one
As snitches snatch
Patched-up pirate
Fall’ll fool you
Donohue’s colorful cut-paper collages are a perfect complement to Carr’s energetic text. Dappled Apples is a lively celebration of fall.
********************
At Blue Rose Girls, I have a poem by Bruce Weigl entitled Home.
Laura has the Poetry Friday Roundup at Author Amok.
I love the scent of burning leaves. Such a lovely poem!
I feel like I am there on the crate. I love the imagery here.
This comment has been removed by the author.
So many lines to linger over and love in your poem, Elaine. we are examine poems about falling sixth grade class, may I share yours with my kids?
Tara,
I'd love for you to share this poem--or any of my poems--with your students.