Line Breaks

Here’s what to do with “The Big Field” by Donald • Graves.Mr. Gammons mows the big field with his tractor,

then rakes and bundles hay for the barn. George and I grab our bats, gloves, and balls and race across the field like major leaguers in spring training. We hit long flies to each other all afternoon, never lose a ball in the stubble, and don’t stop until Mother calls us for supper.

Line Breaks• The Big Field• Mr. Gammons mows the big field• with his tractor,• then rakes and bundles• hay for the barn. • George and I• grab our bats,• gloves, and balls• and race across the filed• like major leaguers• in spring training.• We hit long flies• to each other• all afternoon,• never lose a ball• in the stubble,• and don’t stop• until Mother calls• us for supper.• - Donald Graves

Line Breaks – click for sample

That Reminds Me I was sitting by a stream When I saw a grasshopper hop from a rockAnd land on the other sideAnd it reminded me of how we used to jumpAcross the puddles in the drivewayAfter a summer rain-Except the grasshopper didn’t get all wet-And didn’t get the giggles.  I was sitting on the porchWhen I saw a squirrel in the weeping willow treeVaulting through the airTo anther limbAnd it reminded me of how we used to tie ourselvesInto the lows branches of that treeAnd runAnd swingUp off the groundWe were like flying squirrels I was lying on my back in the grassWhen I saw a maple leaf fall off a high branchAnd float in the windOut past the top of my headAnd it reminded me of the time our kite string brokeAnd the kite soared out over the top of the hillAnd we never saws it again I still think about that old kite And it reminds me of you• -Will Mowery•  •  

Walking With My Iguana.I’m walkingwith my iguana

I’m walkingwith my iguana

When the temperature risesto above eighty-five,my iguana is lookinglike he’s coming alive.

So we make it to the beach,my iguana and me,then he sits on my shoulderas we stroll by the sea. . .

and I’m walkingwith my iguana

Well if anyone sees uswe’re a big surprise,my iguana and meon our daily exercise,

till somebody phonesthe local policesays I’ve got an alligatortied to a leash.

when I’m walkingwith my iguana

I’m walkingwith my iguana

It’s the spines on his backthat make him look grim,but he just loves to be tickledunder his chin.

And I know that my iguanais ready for bedwhen he puts on his pyjamasand lays down his sleepy head.

And I’m walkingwith my iguana

still walkingwith my iguana

With my iguanawith my iguanaand my piranhaand my Chihuahuaand my chinchilla,with my gorilla,my caterpillar…and I’m walking…with my iguana…with my iguana…with my iguana…

• You can hear it at this website.• http://www.poetryarchive.org/poetryarchive/singlePoem.do?poemId=52

• Pencil Sharpener• By Zoe Ryder White• • I think there are a hundred bees• inside the pencil sharpener• and they buzz• and buzz• and buzz• until my point is sharp!• • Ceiling• By Zoe Ryder White• • The ceiling• is the sky• for the classroom

• Bear In There by Shel Silverstein• There's a Polar Bear

In our Frigidaire--He likes it 'cause it's cold in there.With his seat in the meatAnd his face in the fishAnd his big hairy pawsIn the buttery dish,He's nibbling the noodles,He's munching the rice,He's slurping the soda,He's licking the ice.And he lets out a roarIf you open the door.And it gives me a scareTo know he's in there--That Polary BearIn our Fridgitydaire.

The Tree On The Cornerby Lilian Moore I’ve seen

the tree on the corner in spring budand summer green.Yesterdayit was yellow gold.Then a coldwind began to blow. Now I know – you really do not seea tree until you seeits bones

• Umbrellas• by Maxine W. Kumin• It’s raining in the city.

I hope it rains for hours.All of the umbrellasOpen up like flowers.

• Come look out my window!Polka dots in linesWag their stems andTilt to read the signs.

• Plaid ones cross at cornersStriped ones wave about.It’s raining in the city;

• The flowers have come out

Crickets, Valerie WorthCrickets

TalkIn the tall

GrassAll

Late summerLong.When

SummerIs gone,The dryGrass

WhispersAlone.

Some lovely small poems by Valerie Worth:chairsChairs

SeemToSit

DownOn

Themselves, almost as ifThey were people,

Some fat, some thin;Settled comfortablyOn their own seats,

Some even stretch out their armsTo

Rest.

.sun

The sunIs a leaping fire

Too hotTo go near,

But it will stillLie down

In warm yellow squaresOn the floor

Like a flatQuilt, where

The cat can curlAnd purr.

The Poem that Got Away–By Felice HolmanThere I was and in it came

Through the fogbank of my brainFrom the fastness of my soulShining like a glowing coal –

The nearly perfect poem!

Oh, it may have needed justAn alteration here or there—

A little tuck, a little seamTo be exactly what I mean –

The really perfect poem

I’ll write it later on, I said,The idea’s clear and so’s my head.

This pen I have is nearly dry.What I’ll do now is finish this pie,

Then on to the perfect poem!

With pen in hand quite full of inkI try not to recall.

I’ve plenty of time in which to thinkBut the poem went down the kitchen sink

With the last of the perfect pie.

safety pinValerie Worth

Closed, it sleepsOn its side

Quietly,The silver

ImageOf some

Small fish;Opened, it snaps

Its tail outLike a thin

Shrimp,and looks

At the sharpPoint with a

Surprised eye

DANDELION - by Valerie WorthOut of

Green space,A sun:

Bright forA day, burning

Away toA husk, a

Cratered moon:Burst

In a weekTo dust:Seeding

The infinitieLawn withIts starry

Smithereens.

Spring SeedsBy: Douglas Florian

Spring Seeds

We tilled the earth,

Took out the weeds,

Then in the soil

Planted seeds:

Pumpkin,

Parsely,

Carrot,

Pea,

Spring succeeds ex-seed-ing-ly.

• Baseball Cards #1• BY JIM DANIELS• One

of the 10,342 baseball cards in my parents’ atticsneezes in the dampness, rememberssweaty hands.

• He calls to me across hundreds of miles:• Remember me, Jake Wood, 1964, 2nd base, Detroit Tigers,

Series 2, No. 272?• He wants to stretch his legs, climb out

from between Wilbur Wood and the 4th Series Checklistwants to outsail all the other cardsin a game of farthies, float downon Jose Tartabull in a game of tops.He wants to smell like fresh from the packwants to be perfumed againwith the pink smell of bubble gum.

October Saturday

All the leaves have turned to cornflakes.It looks as if some giant’s baby brotherhad tipped the boxand scattered them upon our lawn-millions and millions of cornflakes-crunching, crunching under our feet.When the wind blows,they rattle against each other,nervously chattering.

We rake them into piles-Dad and I.Piles and piles of cornflakes!A breakfast for a whole family of giants!We do not talk much as we rake-A word here-A word there.The leaves are never silent.

Inside the house my mother is packingShort sleeved shirts and faded bathing suits-Rubber clogs and flippers-In a box marked SUMMER.

We are rakingDad and I.

Bobbi Ka

Inside My Heart by Zoe Ryder WhiteInside my heart livesone birthday party

two jazz bandsthree wrestling puppies

four dancing birdsfive laughing babies

six blasting spaceshipsseven lucky fireflies and

a sky full of stars

• Falling Leaves• by Jack Prelutsky• Little leaves fall softly down

Red and yellow, orange and brownWhirling, twirling round and roundFalling softly to the ground

• Little leaves fall softly downTo make a carpet on the ground.Then, swish, the wind comes whistling byAnd sends them dancing to the sky.

When the Roses Revolted When the Roses RevoltedThe roses were fed up. They were sick sick sick of being symbols for love. One night they revolted, crept out of flower shops, jumped out of windows and touched the dirt! They spent that night drinking real night air, carousing with clover, boogying with bluebells, dancing with dandelions, and in this way they rediscovered their roots. ~ Ralph Fletcher

Fog by Carl Sandburg

The fog comeson little cat feet.

It sits looking

over harbor and cityon silent haunches and then moves on.

Some one by Walter De la Mare.

Some one came knockingAt my wee, small door;

Someone came knocking;I'm sure-sure-sure;I listened, I opened,

I looked to left and right,But nought there was a stirring

In the still dark night;Only the busy beetle

Tap-tapping in the wall,Only from the forest

The screech-owl's call,Only the cricket whistlingWhile the dewdrops fall,

So I know not who came knocking,At all, at all, at all.

DREAMS by Langston HughesHold fast to dreams

For if dreams dieLife is a broken-winged bird

That cannot fly.Hold fast to dreamsFor when dreams goLife is a barren fieldFrozen with snow.

The Tree On The Cornerby Lilian MooreI’ve seen the tree on the corner in spring budand summer green.Yesterdayit was yellow gold.Then a coldwind began to blow. Now I know – you really do not seea tree until you seeits bones.

PAPER CLIPSBy Rebecca Kai Dotlich

With tiny teethof tin

they takeone slender

breathbefore they make

a move,and then ---

a silver pinch!With jawsno bigger

than an inchthese dragon grips

are small and slight ---but

conquer pageswithonebite!

Foghornsby Langston HughesThe foghorns moaned

in the bay last night so sad so deepI thought I heard the city crying in its sleep

•

CityIn the morning the city

Spreads its wingsMaking a song

In stone that sings.In the evening the city

Goes to bedHanging lights About its head.

Langston Hughes

April Rain SongBY LANGSTON HUGHESLet the rain kiss you.Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops.Let the rain sing you a lullaby.

The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk.The rain makes running pools in the gutter.The rain plays a little sleep-song on our roof at night—

And I love the rain.

Who has seen the windWho has seen the wind?

Neither I nor you; But when the leaves hang trembling

The wind is passing through. Who has seen the wind?

Neither you nor I; But when the trees bow down their heads

The wind is passing by.

• My Baby Brother

My baby brother is so small, he hasn't even learned to crawl. He's only been around a week, and all he seems to do is bawl and wiggle, sleep . . . and leak.

Hold Fast to Dream by Langston Hughes

Hold fast to dreams,For if dreams dieLife is a broken-winged birdThat cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams,For when dreams goLife is a barren fieldFrozen with snow.

City Child by Lois Lenski

The sidewalk is my yard,The lampost is my tree.Up three long flights of stairs,My home is Flat 4C.

• THIS TOOTH\• by Lee Bennett Hopkins

I jiggled itjaggled itjerked it.

I pushedand pulledand poked it.

But--

As soon as I stoppedand left it alone,This tooth came outon its very own!

In AutumnFannie Montgomery

They're coming down in showers,The leaves all gold and red;

They're covering the little flowers,And tucking them in bed.

They've spread a fairy carpetAll up and down the street;

And when we skip along to school,They rustle 'neath our feet.

• Closing Day Thought

I wonder if our schoolbooksare lonely all the dayWhile through the long vacationin cupboards put away? I wonder if the blackboardseems rather out of placeWithout a single piece of chalkto mark upon its face? I wonder if the schoolroomis sometimes lonely, tooWhile standing bare and emptywithout a thing to do? But this we can assure them.When summer days all fleeWe'll join them in Septemberand keep them company.-Leland B. Jacobs

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy EveningBY ROBERT FROSTWhose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound’s the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.

• The Road Not Taken• Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel bothAnd be one traveler, long I stoodAnd looked down one as far as I couldTo where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,And having perhaps the better claimBecause it was grassy and wanted wear,Though as for that the passing thereHad worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally layIn leaves no step had trodden black.Oh, I marked the first for another day!Yet knowing how way leads on to wayI doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sighSomewhere ages and ages hence:Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,I took the one less traveled by,And that has made all the difference.

• Robert Frost