Monday, August 23, 2010

Monday Poetry Stretch - The Big Yellow Bus is Back

This morning as I headed out for the first day of the fall semester, the big yellow monsters were out making trial runs. While you may still be enjoying the last few days of August, summer is officially over for me. Some of you reading this may even be back at school as well. 

Let's write about school or going back to school. Leave me a note about your poem and I'll post the results here later this week.


  1. Shoes

    Left flip-flop cracked,
    with tar on the back.
    Right flip-flop sandy,
    smeared with cotton candy.

    Left school shoe shines,
    ready to stand in line.
    Right school shoe grins,
    set to walk in.

    --Kate Coombs, 2010, all rights reserved

  2. Ready

    I'm ready to be a grade older.
    I'm ready to ride the bus.
    I'm ready to meet my teacher.
    (I hope she's ready for us.)
    I'm ready to use these pencils.
    I'm ready to make new friends.
    I'm a little bit sad
    but I'm ready.
    Summer always ends.

    © Amy LV


    A B C
    Hey look at me,

    Sneakers all tied,
    Smile’s this wide.

    How can that be?
    Will anyone see?

    That I’m just some fool
    Who thinks school is real cool!

    Carol Weis © 2010

  4. As I start a new school year, I look forward to meeting a vast variety of students. Even possibly like the one described below.


    My teacher at school doesn’t like me.
    She hasn’t a reason I’m sure.
    My personality is delightful.
    My manner is simply demure.

    In the class I do everything perfect.
    In math I am really a star.
    When it comes to language and writing,
    I’m better than the others by far.

    But my teacher at school doesn't like me,
    And for what reason I haven't a clue.
    You should see how I truly help her.
    You should see all that I do.

    If she struggles when she is teaching,
    She knows that I’ll kindly step in.
    And of course I’m there to remind her,
    If she ever does it again.

    I’m also helpful at recess.
    I tell her what others do wrong—
    If they are breaking the rules, or fighting,
    Or simply not getting along.

    But my teacher at school doesn’t like me,
    And she hasn’t a reason I’m sure.
    Since I’m not the one with a problem,
    It’s obvious that it must be her.

    Judy Beck - all rights reserved