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									            Our ABC Poets
by Sydney, Rileigh, Allie, Morgan, Emma, Alli, Louis,
            Jacob, Kyle, and Mrs. Mills
Arnold Adoff
      Exercises: To Be Done Each Day.

      1.    30 jumping jacks.
      2.    10 windmills.
      3.    5 leg crossovers: each leg.
      4.    25 leg switches: mountain
            climbing.
      5.    10 hamstring pulls.
      6.    Trunk rotations.
      7.    8 push-ups.
      8.    30 sit-ups.
      9.    Hurdle-stretches.
      10.   20 toe-risers.
      11.   Arm circles.
      12.   Neck rotations.
John Ciardi
      •  Born on June 24,1916
      •  His father died three
        years after he was
        born
      • Got a B.A. Degree in
        1938
      • He wanted to be a
        poet and a translator
      Poetry By John Ciardi

• Poetry is where every line comes to
  rest against a white space.
Emily Dickinson
        • Born in Amherst,
          Mass., Dec. 10, 1830
        • She lived in Old
          Connecticut Village
          with her family,
          Amherst, Mass.
        • Emily wrote a lot of
          love poems
        • Then she died,
          Amherst, Mass., May
          15, 1866
    I’m Nobody! Who Are You? By
           Emily Dickinson
•   I’m nobody! Who are you?
•   Are you nobody, too?
•   Then there’s a pair of us- don’t tell!
•   They’d banish us, you know.

•   How dreary to be somebody!
•   How public, like a frog
•   To tell your name the livelong day
•   To an admiring bog!
Barbara Esbensen
        • University of Wisconsin
        • lives in Edina, Minnesota
        • Family- was the
          youngest of six children
        • Born- April 28, 1925
        • Job- teacher
  Frog by Barbara Ebensen
• Touch it with your pencil
• Splat!
• The word lands wet and squat upon the
  page
• FROG
• Feed it something light with wings.
• Here’s one!
• Tongue flicks bright wings caught!
• Small poem gone
Aileen Fisher
       •   Born- September 9th, 1906
       •   She went back to Chicago to
           find a job as an assistant
           replacement for women
           journalist.
       •   Aileen wrote about nature.
       •   Ideas for poems lie all around
           us…. In the city as well as in
           the country, poems are waiting
           to be discovered. Who
           knows…. Perhaps you are
           living a poem right now which
           some day you will put down on
           paper.
       •                   -Aileen Fisher
Douglas Florian
        • He is a poet and a
          painter.
        • He got the Lee
          Bannet Hopkins
          Award.
        • He purposely uses
          incorrect grammar.
        • He has illustrated
          over 30 kids books.
   Daddy Longlegs by Douglas
            Florian

• O Daddy, Daddy O How’d You get
  those legs to grow from spiderobic
  exercise did you drink milk or chew on
  cheese and by the way where are
  you’re knees O Daddy, Daddy O how’d
  you get those legs to grow
Robert Frost
      • Born- March 26,
        1874
      • Raised-San
        Francisco
      • Mom- teacher
      • Dad- journalist
      • Lived to be- 89
      • Died- January 29,
        1963
The Pasture by Robert Frost

I’m going to clean the pasture spring,
I’ll only stop to rake the leaves away,
(And wait to watch the water clear, I may)
I sha’n’t be gone long.-You come too.
I’m going out to fetch the little calf,
That’s standing by the mother,
It’s so young it totters when she licks it with her tongue.
I sha’n’t be gone long.
Yolande Cornelia Giovanni Jr.
               • Born- June 7, 1943
                 in Knoxville
                     Tennessee
               • What she wrote
                 about- Themes of
                 childhood, family,
                 love relationships.
               • Where from-
                 Tennessee
Knoxville, Tennessee by Yolande
     Cornelia Giovanni Jr.
I always like summer best you can eat fresh
  corn from daddy’s garden and okra and
  greens and cabbage and lots of barbecue
  and buttermilk and homemade ice cream at
  the church picnic
And listen to gospel music outside at the
  church homecoming and go to the
  mountains with your grandmother and go
  barefooted and to be warm all the time not
  only when you go to bed and sleep
Langston Hughes
        Born-February 1, 1902
        Died-May 22, 1967
        Where-Missouri
        Writes about- love,
          hate, and despair
        Cycle by
       Langston              City by Langston
        Hughes                    Hughes
                             In the morning the city
So many little flowers,      spreads its wings making a
  Drop there tiny heads,     song in stone that sings
  But new ones come to       In the evening the city goes
  bloom , In there place     to bed hanging lights above
  instead. I miss the        its head.
  little flowers that have
  now gone away but
  newly building blossoms
  are equally the same.
   Seven Times One By Jean
           Ingelow
There’s no dew left on the daisies and
 clovers, there’s no dew left in heaven,
 I’ve said my “seven times” over and
 over, seven times one are seven.
Paul B. Janeczko
        • He did NOT like
          school.
        • He always wrote
          about baseball,
          what he did when
          he was a kid.
        • He NEVER shared
          information about
          himself.
The Infield by Paul B. Janeczko
Like the barnyard with the infielders
  scratching in the dust with their toes
  walking heads down but a watchful
  eye on the umpire ready to squawk
  and the chatter batter batter batter
  hummmm baby no batter batter
  batter always the chatter
Karla Kuskin
      Born- July 17th 1932
      Lived- New York
      She is still alive at 76

      Writes about-
       outside nature and
       seasons
     Space by Karla Kuskin
I’m up here you’re down there and
  nothing in space between us but a
  mile of air where I sail a mile of air
  clouds pass
Where you run green grass Where I
  float birds sing One thin thing there
  is that holds us close together kite
  string.
Myra Livingston
        • Born- August 17, 1926
        • Age- 82 years old
        • Has more than thirty
          books published.
        • 3 children
        • Died in- 1996
  Halloween by Myra Livingston
  Green cat eyes in midnight gloom
Fly with the witch on her ragged broom
Over dark hills where bonfires loom
There, where haunted spirits groan
Crouched in the rubble of rag and bone
Old Halloween unearths gray stone
Counting the souls of the restless dead,
Nodding her wizened shrouded head.
Then with her bony fingers spread
She bids them dance to a frenzied tune.
David McCord
    • Born November 15, 1897
      Near New York’s Greenwich
      Village
    • As an adult he lived in Long
      Inland in Princeton, New
      Jersey, and in Oregon.
    • David writes mostly for
      children, and adults.
    • He died April 13, 1997.
            The Shell
I took away the ocean once,
Spiraled in a shell,
And happily for months to months
I heard it very well.

How is it then that I should hear
What months and months before
Had blown upon me sad and clear,
Down by the grainy shore?
Eve Merriam
  • Born in Germantown in a
    suburb of Philadelphia,
    Pennsylvania on July 19, 1916
  • Lives at Greenwich villages
    West side on one of
    Manhattan’s busiest streets
  • She mostly writes about her
    old memories.
                Ten Rosy Roses
Ten rosy rose standing in a line, Jan picks one and now there are nine.
Nine rosy roses near the garden gate, Nina picks one and now there
   are eight.
Eight rosy roses, along comes Kevin, he picks one and now there are
   seven.
Seven rosy roses by the wall of bricks, Pam picks one and now there
   are six.
Six rosy roses beyond the honey hive, Helen picks one and now there
   are five.
Five rosy roses at the schoolhouse door, Kim picks one and now there
   are four.
Four rosy roses near the maple tree, Amos picks one and now there are
   three.
Three rosy roses beneath a sky of blue, Rachel picks one and now
   there are two.
Two rosy roses standing in the sun, the twins take a turn and now
   there are none. Mrs. Jones, September 6.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
            • Named after St.
              Vincent hospital
              because her brother
              got hurt
            • Moved to New York
            • Born in Rockland
              ,Maine on Feb. 22,1892
            • Died on Oct. 19, 1950
 The Buck In the Snow by Edna
      St. Vincent Millay
White sky, over the hemlocks bowed with snow,
Saw you not at the begging of evening the antlered buck and his
   doe
Standing in the apple orchard? I saw them suddenly go,
Tails up, with long leaps lovely and slow,
Over the stone-wall into the wood of hemlocks bowed with
   snow.
Now lies he here, his wild blood scalding the snow.
How strange a thing is death, bringing to his knees, bringing to
   his antlers
The buck in the snow.
How strange a thing-a mile away by now, it may be,
Under the hemlocks that as the moment pass
Shift their loads a little, letting fall a feather of snow-
Life, looking out attentive from the eyes of the doe.
Ogden Nash
     Born- August 19, 1902
     Died- May 19, 1971
     Age- 69 years old when
       he died.
     Most popular poet of his
       time.
     He started his career in
       1925.
     The Guppy              The Parent
•   Whales have calves,    • Children aren’t
•   Cats have kittens,       happy with nothing
•   Bears have cubs,         to ignore,
•   Bats have bittens;     • And that’s what
                             parents were
•   Swans have cygnets,      created for.
•   Seals have puppies,
•   But, guppies just
    have little guppies.
                           • By Ogden Nash
    Lisa’s Fingerprints by Mary
               O’Neill
Some say I have my mother’s nose,
My father’s eyes, my uncle’s toes,
And so I think it is just fine
My finger prints are only mine.
Not my father or my mother
Or my sister or my brother
Those now , before, or after me
Will lack this nonconformity.
No set of prints whose every line
Matches yours, or mine.
Is this distinction true within
The world of wing, paw, hoof, and fin?
Edgar Allen Poe
        • Mom died in 1811
        • Born Boston,
          Massachusetts 1809
        • Died in Baltimore
          Maryland 1849
        • Married his cousin
          Virginia Clemm in 1836
        • Orphan before he was
          three (when he was 2)
        • Father deserted the
          family
                       The Bells
Hear the sledges with the bells
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation
From the bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells-
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
Jack Prelutsky
      Born- September 8, 1940
      Raised- New York City
      Now lives in- Albuquerque,
        New Mexico
      Age- sixty-eight years old
      Education- New York City
        public schools, he studied
        voice in high school,
        Hunter College
   The New Kid on the Block
There’s a new kid on the          That new kid likes to fight,
   block,                         and picks on all the guys,
and boy, that kid is tough,       that new kid scares me some,
that new kid punches hard,        (that new kid’s twice my size),
that new kid plays real rough,
                                  that new kid stomped my toes,
that new kid’s big and strong,
   with muscles everywhere,       that new kid swiped my ball,
that new kid tweaked my arm,      that new kid’s really bad,
   that new kid pulled my hair.   I don’t care for her at all.




                                  By Jack Prelutsky
               Quatrain
Tyger Tyger, burning    Since we don’t have
  bright,               a Q poet we do
In the forests of the   have a form of
  night;
                        poetry that starts
What immortal hand or
  eye,                  with Q
Could frame thy fear    Quatrain-
  symmetry?
James Whitcomb Riley
          Born-October 7, 1849
          Died-July 22, 1916
          Where-Greenfield, IN
          Writes about- nature,
            home, country
 Little Orphant Annie by James
         Whitcomb Riley
Little Orphant Annie’s come to our house to stay, to wash the cups and saucers up and brush crumbs away,
     An shoo the chickens off the porch, an dust the harth and sweep, An make the fire, and bake the
     bread, and earn her board and keep, An all us other children, when the supper things is done, we set
     around the fire an has the mostest fun a-listnin to which tale that Annie tells about, and the goblins
     at get you, if you don’t watch out!
Wuzst they wuz a little boy who wouldn’t say his prayers, an when he weht to bed at night away upstairs,
     his mama heard him holler his daddy heard him bawl, but when they turned the covers down, he wasn’t
     there at all, they seeked him in the rafter-room, cubby-hole and press, they seeked him in the
     chimney-flue and everywheres I guess, but all they ever found was his pants and round-a-bout,an the
     goblins will get you if you don’t watch out
An one time a little girl who always laugh and grin, and made fun of everyone and all their blood and kin, an
     wasen’t when there was company an old folks was there she moked um and shocked um and said she
     didn’t care an just as she kicked her heels and turned to run and hide the wus two big black things
     astanden by her side an they snatched her through the ceiling for she knew what she’s about Er the
     goblins will get you if you don’t watch out!
An little Orphant Annie say, when the blaze is blue, an the lampwick stutters, an the wind goes woo-oo, an
     you hear the crickets quit, an the moon is gray,an the lighning-bugs in dew is all squenched away, you
     better mind your parents an your teachers fond an dear, an churish them that loves you and dry the
     orphant’s tear, an help the poor and needy ones at clusters all about or the goblins will get you if yo
     don’t watch out!
Carl Sandburg
       • Walt Whitman
         inspired him
       • Died on July 23,
         1967
       • Born in Galesburg
         January 6, 1878
Milk-White Moon, Put The Cows
  To Sleep by Carl Sandburg
Milk-white moon, put the cows to sleep.
Since five o’ clock in the morning,
Since they stood up out of the grass,
Where they slept on their knees and hocks,
They have eaten grass and given their milk
And eaten grass again and given their milk,
And kept their heads and teeth at the earth’s face.
Now they are looking at you, milk-white moon.
Carelessly as they look at the level landscapes,
Carelessly as they look at a pail of new white milk,
They are looking at you, wandering not at all, at all,
If the moon is the skim face top at a pail of milk,
Wondering not at all, carelessly looking,
Put the cows to sleep, milk-white moon,
Put the cows to sleep.
Shel Silverstein
        • Born- September
          25,1930, in Chicago
        • How he started- His
          friend brought him to
          a publisher. Then he
          noticed he liked to
          write poems.
        • What he writes about-
          mostly comedy.
        • Where from-Chicago
      Musical Career by Shel
           Silverstein
She wanted to play the piano,
But her hands couldn’t reach the keys.
When her hands could finally reach the keys,
  Her feet couldn’t reach the floor.
When her hands could finally reach the keys,
  And her feet could reach the floor ,
She didn’t want to play that ol’ piano any
  more.
Robert Louis Stevenson
           • He was born Nov.
             13, 1850
           • He began writing
             when 3
           • Most of childhood
             was ill
           • Mid 1870’s to
             1880’s writes many
             poems
Rain by Robert Louis Stevenson

The rain is raining all around,
It falls on field and tree,
It rains on the umbrellas here,
And on the ships at sea.
Sara Teasdale
       Born- August 8th 1884
       Died- January 29th 1933

       Writes mostly about-
        great symplicity,
        clarity, recurring
        scene of loss
       February Twilight
I stood beside a hill smooth laid new
  snow a single star looked out from
  the cold evening glow.
There was no other creature that saw
  what I could see I stood and
  watched the evening star as long as it
  watched me.
                              by Sara Teasdale
John Updike
      • John Updike was
        born on March 18,
        1932 in Shillington,
        Pennsylvania.
      Jam by John Updike
Jam spreads
on bread
and buns.
Jam runs
and slides and slips
and stains your lips.
Judith Viorst
       • Born- February, 2
         1931,in Newark, New
         Jersey
       • Where from- New
         Jersey
       • What she writes
         about- what she thinks
         her children will like
   Thank-You Note by Judith
            Viorst
I wanted small pierced earrings [gold].
You gave me slippers [gray].
My mother said that she would scold
Unless I wrote to say
How much I liked them.

Not much.
Walter Whitman
       • Born-at West Hills,
         Long Island, in New
         York on May 31, 1819
       • Started Publishing
         Books-Mid 1800’s
       • Died-March 26,1892
       • Lived to be-73 years
         old
   Sky and Cosmos by Walter
           Whitman
After the dazzle day is gone,
Only the dark, dark night shows to my eyes
  the stars,
After the clangor of organ majestic, or
  chorus, or perfect band,
Silent, athwart my soul, moves the symphony
  true
X.J. Kennedy
      • He was born on Aug.
        21, 1929 in Dover, New
        Jersey.
      • He put the X in his
        name to stand him out
        from other Kennedy’s.
      • He spent four years in
        the navy.
      • He was known as a
        poet in 1975.
      Brats By X.J. Kennedy

John while swimming in the ocean
  rubbed sharks back with sun tan
  lotion
and now those sharks with skin of
  bronze in their bellies lie poor old
  John
Jane Yolen
     • Born-New York City on
       February 11, 1939
     • She writes about all
       different things
     • Yolen lived with her
       grandparent during
       World War II while
       her dad worked in
       England for the
       government
     • Still living
     Vulture by Jane Yolen
High above, black angel wings
Make halos in the sky.
But on the ground, a graveyard beak
A hunger in the eye.
           The Panther
The panther is like a leopard,
Except it hasn’t been peppered.
Should you behold a panther crouch,
Prepare to say Ouch.
Better yet, if called by a panther,
Don’t anther.
                Ogden Nash
Even though Wade Zahareds didn’t write
  poems, he put together a poem book.

								
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