There’s more to me than meets the eye, I’m beginning to understand; It’s what I think and how I feel That make me what I am.
Why do I do the things I do And say the things I say? What is important, and how do I tell I’m learning more each day!
I learn from friends and family, From church, from play, from school. I’ve also learned to take some time To sit and think things through.
The more I learn, the more I grow, And then the more I see Just how much more I want to know The me I’m learning to be!
I got this poem off of the internet (Miss Whitby’s class information) last year and it has quickly become one of my favorites! Truly, the best schooling a child can have is that of knowing oneself!!
Welcome Back! I got a brand new back pack, It’s filled with lots of stuff. Pencils crayons and markers too, I hope I have enough. I am sure my teacher will be nice, Maybe Jane is in my class, I see the flag and Mr. Smith, as I press against the glass. We are slowing, the door is near, off the bus to a brand new year!
I'm finally going to school this year, and now the big day's almost here. I'll learn to write and count and read-- Only two more days till school. I got new pants and shirts and socks, a brand-new red and blue lunch box; I'll paint and sing and dance and play-- Only one more day fill school. My hair is washed, my sneakers squeak, I'm so excited, I can hardly speak! New things to do, new friends to meet-- Hooray! It's the first day of school!
FROM the great trees the locusts cry In quavering ecstatic duo--a boy Shouts a wild call--a mourning dove In the blue distance sobs--the wind Wanders by, heavy with odors Of corn and wheat and melon vines; The trees tremble with delirious joy as the breeze Greets them, one by one--now the oak Now the great sycamore, now the elm.
And the locusts in brazen chorus, cry Like stricken things, and the ring-dove's note Sobs on in the dim distance.
The School Day Begins from Cozy Up To The Whiteboard by Douglas Evans
It's Monday morning at 7:01. You’re still half asleep; your homework’s half done. Your shower is cold; your oatmeal’s dry. Your mother forgets to kiss you good-bye. You’re walking to school; it’s thirty degrees. Your fingers won’t work; your toes and ears freeze. Your zipper is stuck; your left sneaker squeaks. Your backpack strap snaps; your soup thermos leaks. You slip on school steps; you trip in the hall. The toilet floods in the bathroom stall. The gym door is locked; library’s the same. The principal greets you by the wrong name. Your classroom is hot; the coat rack is packed. Your bean sprout is dead; your clay pot is cracked. Your pencils are dull; the sharpener jams. Your fingers get crunched when your desktop slams. Your math partner’s gone; your neighbor is rude. Your teacher’s again in a crabby mood. The morning bell rings; it is 8:01. Come cozy up to the whiteboard, Another school day’s begun.
August, with its clouds of scented blooms, August, with its great stacks of giant clouds, August, with corn plants standing like rows of soldiers, August, with watermelons, full and heavy, dozing in the sun, August.
August, remember swimming in the lake? August, remember baby Alice daintily eating berries from the vine? August, remember Richie playing with the goat? August, remember Donald practicing on his new saxophone? August.
August, and its lightening laced sky, August, and newlyweds Pat and Chet decorating their first home, August, and Billy the Brave, Billy the Fearless, on his two wheel bike, August, and shimmering memories hanging like drops of dew, August.
August, the bountiful, August the full, August, Mama hot, but smiling, over a platter of succulent roast chicken, August, Daddy mixing her a frosty mint julep, August, blessed harvest of memories, August.
Alison Miller First Day at School by Roger McGough A millionbillionwillion miles from home Waiting for the bell to go. (To go where?) Why are they all so big, other children? So noisy? So much at home they Must have been born in uniform Lived all their lives in playgrounds Spent the years inventing games That don't let me in. Games That are rough, that swallow you up.
And the railings. All around, the railings. Are they to keep out wolves and monsters? Things that carry off and eat children? Things you don't take sweets from? Perhaps they're to stop us getting out Running away from the lessins. Lessin. What does a lessin look like? Sounds small and slimy. They keep them in the glassrooms. Whole rooms made out of glass. Imagine.
I wish I could remember my name Mummy said it would come in useful. Like wellies. When there's puddles. Yellowwellies. I wish she was here. I think my name is sewn on somewhere Perhaps the teacher will read it for me. Tea-cher. The one who makes the tea.
Here we are together, Together, together, Here we are together, Back at school again There's ____ , and ____, ____, and ____, Here we are together, Back at school again.
Author Unknown.
This would be a great song to sing when you meet your students for the first time. This song allows you to introduce everyone and have the children do the same. It will help make everyone remember eachother's names!
"August rushes by like desert rainfall, A flood of frenzied upheaval, Expected, But still catching me unprepared. Like a matchflame Bursting on the scene, Heat and haze of crimson sunsets. Like a dream Of moon and dark barely recalled, A moment, Shadows caught in a blink. Like a quick kiss; One wishes for more But it suddenly turns to leave, Dragging summer away." - Elizabeth Maua Taylor
August is always when the "buzzers" come out. So, in honor of their lovely song, here is:
Cicadas by Christine Klocek-Lim
I have just today become at peace beneath the twilight sky. The moon hung like silence: as I dragged garbage down the hill and I thought it would rain. All day it should have rained in the grey cloud-light. I refused to leave the house while you mowed the lawn until I realized the week’s junk would have to go despite the weather. I went out and crouched in the driveway. I counted stones and locusts. I looked for leaves and the occasional squashed bug. I thought of you, how it’s been seventeen years since we slept on a narrow bed. When the cicadas hatched I spent hours avoiding the sidewalk,
but this year I examined their red eyes, their transparent wings etched with veins and purpose until they laid their eggs and died. Now the moon hangs like wisdom above our garbage at the curb. And I’ve counted all the leaves while you nap inside, unaware of the importance of bugs, how much depends on seventeen years of silence.
16 comments:
Jennifer Stevens
August Poem
Due: Oct. 19
The Me I’m Learning To Be
There’s more to me than meets the eye,
I’m beginning to understand;
It’s what I think and how I feel
That make me what I am.
Why do I do the things I do
And say the things I say?
What is important, and how do I tell
I’m learning more each day!
I learn from friends and family,
From church, from play, from school.
I’ve also learned to take some time
To sit and think things through.
The more I learn, the more I grow,
And then the more I see
Just how much more I want to know
The me I’m learning to be!
I got this poem off of the internet (Miss Whitby’s class information) last year and it has quickly become one of my favorites! Truly, the best schooling a child can have is that of knowing oneself!!
School:
Welcome Back!
I got a brand new back pack, It’s filled with lots of stuff.
Pencils crayons and markers too, I hope I have enough.
I am sure my teacher will be nice, Maybe Jane is in my class,
I see the flag and Mr. Smith, as I press against the glass.
We are slowing, the door is near, off the bus to a brand new year!
Back to School Fingerplay
Two little houses all closed up tight
(make fists)
Open up the window and let in the light
(open fist)
Ten little finger people tall and straight
(ten fingers)
Ready for school at half past eight
(walk with fingers)
http://www.dltk-kids.com/school/mschool_song.htm
Two More Days Till School
By Leslie Kimmelman
I'm finally going to school this year,
and now the big day's almost here.
I'll learn to write and count and read--
Only two more days till school.
I got new pants and shirts and socks,
a brand-new red and blue lunch box;
I'll paint and sing and dance and play--
Only one more day fill school.
My hair is washed, my sneakers squeak,
I'm so excited, I can hardly speak!
New things to do, new friends to meet--
Hooray! It's the first day of school!
In August
FROM the great trees the locusts cry
In quavering ecstatic duo--a boy
Shouts a wild call--a mourning dove
In the blue distance sobs--the wind
Wanders by, heavy with odors
Of corn and wheat and melon vines;
The trees tremble with delirious joy as the breeze
Greets them, one by one--now the oak
Now the great sycamore, now the elm.
And the locusts in brazen chorus, cry
Like stricken things, and the ring-dove's note
Sobs on in the dim distance.
Hamlin Garland
The School Day Begins
from Cozy Up To The Whiteboard
by Douglas Evans
It's Monday morning at 7:01.
You’re still half asleep; your homework’s half done.
Your shower is cold; your oatmeal’s dry.
Your mother forgets to kiss you good-bye.
You’re walking to school; it’s thirty degrees.
Your fingers won’t work; your toes and ears freeze.
Your zipper is stuck; your left sneaker squeaks.
Your backpack strap snaps; your soup thermos leaks.
You slip on school steps; you trip in the hall.
The toilet floods in the bathroom stall.
The gym door is locked; library’s the same.
The principal greets you by the wrong name.
Your classroom is hot; the coat rack is packed.
Your bean sprout is dead; your clay pot is cracked.
Your pencils are dull; the sharpener jams.
Your fingers get crunched when your desktop slams.
Your math partner’s gone; your neighbor is rude.
Your teacher’s again in a crabby mood.
The morning bell rings; it is 8:01.
Come cozy up to the whiteboard,
Another school day’s begun.
Falling Asleep in Class
by Kenn Nesbitt
I fell asleep in class today,
as I was awfully bored.
I laid my head upon my desk
and closed my eyes and snored.
I woke to find a piece of paper
sticking to my face.
I’d slobbered on my textbooks,
and my hair was a disgrace.
My clothes were badly rumpled,
and my eyes were glazed and red.
My binder left a three-ring
indentation in my head.
I slept through class, and probably
I would have slept some more,
except my students woke me
as they headed out the door.
Backpack
On my back a pack I carry
In it, all my treasures.
It's what I need
So I can be
One class higher!
Crayons, ruler, scissors too,
And yes a little Elmer's glue
Paper, pencils, in my bag…
Wonder what made mom so sad?
Trapper keeper, nice and neat
Will it really stay this clean?
On my back a pack I carry
In it, all my treasures!
Today I'll be
Just watch and see
One class higher!
By Shelley Plum
http://www.canteach.ca/elementary/songspoems5.html
Jacques
Jacque Schawe
Due October 12, 2008
August
August, with its clouds of scented blooms,
August, with its great stacks of giant clouds,
August, with corn plants standing like rows of soldiers,
August, with watermelons, full and heavy, dozing in the sun,
August.
August, remember swimming in the lake?
August, remember baby Alice daintily eating berries from the vine?
August, remember Richie playing with the goat?
August, remember Donald practicing on his new saxophone?
August.
August, and its lightening laced sky,
August, and newlyweds Pat and Chet decorating their first home,
August, and Billy the Brave, Billy the Fearless, on his two wheel bike,
August, and shimmering memories hanging like drops of dew,
August.
August, the bountiful, August the full,
August, Mama hot, but smiling, over a platter of succulent roast chicken,
August, Daddy mixing her a frosty mint julep,
August, blessed harvest of memories,
August.
Mary Naylor
Read more poems from Mary Naylor >>>
August Afternoon
By
Marion Edey
Where shall we go?
What shall we play?
What shall we do
On a hot summer day?
We’ll sit in a swing.
Go low. Go high.
And drink lemonade
Till the glass is dry.
One straw for you,
One straw for me,
In the cool green shade
Alison Miller
First Day at School
by Roger McGough
A millionbillionwillion miles from home
Waiting for the bell to go. (To go where?)
Why are they all so big, other children?
So noisy? So much at home they
Must have been born in uniform
Lived all their lives in playgrounds
Spent the years inventing games
That don't let me in. Games
That are rough, that swallow you up.
And the railings.
All around, the railings.
Are they to keep out wolves and monsters?
Things that carry off and eat children?
Things you don't take sweets from?
Perhaps they're to stop us getting out
Running away from the lessins. Lessin.
What does a lessin look like?
Sounds small and slimy.
They keep them in the glassrooms.
Whole rooms made out of glass. Imagine.
I wish I could remember my name
Mummy said it would come in useful.
Like wellies. When there's puddles.
Yellowwellies. I wish she was here.
I think my name is sewn on somewhere
Perhaps the teacher will read it for me.
Tea-cher. The one who makes the tea.
(to the tune of "Did you Ever See a Lassie")
Here we are together,
Together, together,
Here we are together,
Back at school again
There's ____ , and ____,
____, and ____,
Here we are together,
Back at school again.
Author Unknown.
This would be a great song to sing when you meet your students for the first time. This song allows you to introduce everyone and have the children do the same. It will help make everyone remember eachother's names!
"August rushes by like desert rainfall,
A flood of frenzied upheaval,
Expected,
But still catching me unprepared.
Like a matchflame
Bursting on the scene,
Heat and haze of crimson sunsets.
Like a dream
Of moon and dark barely recalled,
A moment,
Shadows caught in a blink.
Like a quick kiss;
One wishes for more
But it suddenly turns to leave,
Dragging summer away."
- Elizabeth Maua Taylor
If school were more like baseball
we'd only have to play.
We'd hang out in the sunshine
and run around all day.
We wouldn't have to study.
We'd practice and we'd train.
And, best of all, they'd cancel
whenever there was rain.
--Kenn Nesbitt
Daisies
by Evaleen Stein
At evening when I go to bed
I see the stars shine overhead;
They are the little daisies white
That dot the meadow of the Night.
And often while I'm dreaming so,
Across the sky the Moon will go;
It is a lady, sweet and fair,
Who comes to gather daisies there.
For, when at morning I arise,
There's not a star left in the skies;
She's picked them all and dropped them down
Into the meadows of the town.
http://www.apples4theteacher.com/holidays/summer/kids-poems-rhymes/daisies.html
August is always when the "buzzers" come out. So, in honor of their lovely song, here is:
Cicadas
by Christine Klocek-Lim
I have just today become
at peace beneath the twilight sky.
The moon hung like silence:
as I dragged garbage
down the hill and I thought
it would rain. All day it should
have rained in the grey cloud-light.
I refused to leave the house
while you mowed the lawn
until I realized
the week’s junk would
have to go despite the weather.
I went out and crouched
in the driveway. I counted
stones and locusts.
I looked for leaves
and the occasional
squashed bug.
I thought of you,
how it’s been seventeen years
since we slept on a narrow bed.
When the cicadas hatched
I spent hours avoiding
the sidewalk,
but this year I examined
their red eyes,
their transparent wings
etched with veins and purpose
until they laid their eggs
and died. Now the moon
hangs like wisdom
above our garbage at the curb.
And I’ve counted all the leaves
while you nap inside,
unaware of the importance
of bugs, how much depends
on seventeen years of silence.
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