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    • Hanukkah
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​     Poetry​

Poetry lifts the veil from the hidden beauty of the world,
and makes familiar objects be as if they were not familiar.

Percy Bysshe Shelley


"You will never be alone with a poem in your pocket," John Adams told his son John Quincy, as the young man set off  to Russia in 1781.  "Johnny" was just fourteen-years-old, but fluent in French, proficient in Greek and Latin, and precocious enough to be commissioned official secretary to the American minister to Russia on that trip.  If pedagogical practice of the period was any measure, young John Quincy Adams probably had a lot more poems in his head than in his pocket.  Poetry memorization was an important part of any young child's education.

On the Core Virtues site, we're featuring classic poems that sing to the heart and celebrate the virtues. If your students learn them by heart, they will be part of a long and fruitful pedagogical tradition. Literary  critic Brad Leithauser notes “memorized poems are a sort of larder, laid up against the hungers of an extended period of solitude.”  Poems committed to memory can inspire (even save us) in moments of darkness or isolation (just ask Nelson Mandela or Joseph Brodsky, a dissident in the Gulag).  The treasures of memorized verse are not limited to political exiles, though.  Poetry memorization allows students to internalize the quality language, cadence, rhyme, and rhythm that "lifts the veil from the hidden beauty of the world."  They are a source of wonder.

March
Picture
​If I can stop one heart from breaking
​
​
If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.

Emily Dickinson
Mercy

The quality of mercy is not strained;
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest;
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:
'T is mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown:
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above this sceptred sway;
It is enthronèd in the hearts of kings,
It is an attribute to God himself;
And earthly power doth then show likest God's
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,
Though justice be thy plea, consider this,
That, in the course of justice, none of us
Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy;
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much
To mitigate the justice of thy plea;
Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice
Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there.

William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice

February
Picture
I Hear America Singing

I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,
Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong,
The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck,
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands,
The wood-cutter’s song, the ploughboy’s on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown,
The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing,
Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,
The day what belongs to the day—at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,
Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.


January
Picture
Courage

Courage isn't a brilliant dash,

A daring deed in a moment's flash;
It isn't an instantaneous thing
Born of despair with a sudden spring
It isn't a creature of flickered hope
Or the final tug at a slipping rope;
But it's something deep in the soul of man
That is working always to serve some plan.

Courage isn't the last resort
In the work of life or the game of sport;
It isn't a thing that a man can call
At some future time when he's apt to fall;
If he hasn't it now, he will have it not
When the strain is great and the pace is hot.
For who would strive for a distant goal
Must always have courage within his soul.

Courage isn't a dazzling light
That flashes and passes away from sight;
It's a slow, unwavering, ingrained trait
With the patience to work and the strength to wait.
It's part of a man when his skies are blue,
It's part of him when he has work to do.
The brave man never is freed of it.
He has it when there is no need of it.

Courage was never designed for show;
It isn't a thing that can come and go;
It's written in victory and defeat
And every trial a man may meet.
It's part of his hours, his days and his years,
Back of his smiles and behind his tears.
Courage is more than a daring deed:
It's the breath of life and a strong man's creed.

Edgar Guest

December
Picture
Winter Time

Late lies the wintry sun a-bed,
A frosty, fiery sleepy-head;
Blinks but an hour or two; and then,
A blood-red orange, sets again.


Before the stars have left the skies,
At 
morning in the dark I rise;
And shivering in my nakedness,
By the cold candle, bathe and dress.


Close by the jolly fire I sit
To warm my frozen bones a bit;
Or with a reindeer-sled, explore
The colder countries round the door.


When to go out, my nurse doth wrap
Me in my comforter and cap;
The cold wind burns my face, and blows
Its frosty pepper up my nose.


Black are my steps on silver sod;
Thick blows my frosty breath abroad;
And tree and house, and hill and lake,
Are frosted like a wedding cake.

Robert Louis Stevenson


November
The Mist and 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.
I like the rain.

I like to sit
And laugh at it --
And tend
My cozy fire a bit.
I like the fall --
The mist and all.

​Dixie Willson
Picture
November Morning

A tingling, misty marvel 
  Blew hither in the night, 
And now the little peach-trees 
  Are clasped in frozen light.
Upon the apple-branches 
  An icy film is caught, 
With trailing threads of gossamer 
  In pearly patterns wrought.
The autumn sun, in wonder, 
  Is gayly peering through 
This silver-tissued network 
  Across the frosty blue.
The weather-vane is fire-tipped, 
  The honeysuckle shows 
A dazzling icy splendor, 
  And crystal is the rose.
Around the eaves are fringes 
  Of icicles that seem 
To mock the summer rainbows 
  With many-colored gleam.
Along the walk, the pebbles 
  Are each a precious stone; 
The grass is tasseled hoarfrost, 
  The clover jewel-sown.
Such sparkle, sparkle, sparkle 
  Fills all the frosty air, 
Oh, can it be that darkness 
  Is ever anywhere!

​Evaleen Stein
​
Picture
​October
​
O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
​Release one leaf at break of day;
​At noon release another leaf;



One from our trees, one far away.
​Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes’ sake, if they were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost--
For the grapes’ sake along the wall.

Robert Frost
Picture
June
 
The sun is rich
And gladly pays
In golden hours,
Silver days,
 
And long green weeks
That never end.
School’s out. The time
Is ours to spend.



​There’s Little League,

Hopscotch, the creek,
And, after supper, 
Hide-and-seek.
 
The live-long light
Is like a dream,
And freckles come
Like flies to cream.

John Updike

May                                              To Imagination

Reason, indeed, may oft complain
For Nature’s sad reality,
And tell the suffering heart how vain
Its cherished dreams must always be;
And Truth may rudely trample down
The flowers of Fancy, newly-blown:When weary with the long day’s care,
And earthly change from pain to pain,
And lost, and ready to despair,
Thy kind voice calls me back again:
Oh, my true friend! I am not lone,
While then canst speak with such a tone!

So hopeless is the world without;
The world within I doubly prize;
Thy world, where guile, and hate, and doubt,
And cold suspicion never rise;
Where thou, and I, and Liberty,
Have undisputed sovereignty.

What matters it, that all around
Danger, and guilt, and darkness lie,
If but within our bosom’s bound
We hold a bright, untroubled sky,
Warm with ten thousand mingled rays
Of suns that know no winter days?

Picture

​But thou art ever there, to bring

The hovering vision back, and breathe
New glories o’er the blighted spring,
And call a lovelier Life from Death.
And whisper, with a voice divine,
Of real worlds, as bright as thine.

I trust not to thy phantom bliss,
Yet, still, in evening’s quiet hour,
With never-failing thankfulness,
I welcome thee, Benignant Power;
Sure solacer of human cares,
And sweeter hope, when hope despairs!
Brontë, E. (1846). To Imagination. Poems of Emily Brontë (Lit2Go Edition). Retrieved April 20, 2022, from https://etc.usf.edu/lit2go/75/poems-of-emily-bronte/5645/to-imagination/

Picture
April
​
​
Rain has such fun in April, it patters through the trees
Talking to all the leaf buds and robins that it sees
It splashes through the puddles and skips along the walks
Goes coasting down the grass blades and dandelion stalks
It dips in all the flowers and when the clouds blow by
It paints with flower colors a rainbow in the sky.

Author unknown


March
Picture
March Weather
Wind in pines
wind on water
wind in rushes
wind on feather
Sun in leaves
sun on loch
sun in reeds
sun on duck
Rain in trees
rain on river
rain in moss
rain on eider
All one morning
all together
in an hour
​March weather.

Tessa Ransford

Published in Sing a Song of Seasons, Fiona Waters, ed


February

"Cold" from Snow in the Garden by Shirley Hughes

Picture

January
Picture
Winter-time
​
Late lies the wintry sun a-bed,
A frosty, fiery sleepy-head;
Blinks but an hour or two; and then,
A blood-red orange, sets again.


Before the stars have left the skies,
At morning in the dark I rise;
And shivering in my nakedness,
By the cold candle, bathe and dress.

Close by the jolly fire I sit
To warm my frozen bones a bit;
Or with a reindeer-sled, explore
The colder countries round the door.

When to go out, my nurse doth wrap
Me in my comforter and cap;
The cold wind burns my face, and blows
Its frosty pepper up my nose.

Black are my steps on silver sod;
Thick blows my frosty breath abroad;
And tree and house, and hill and lake,
Are frosted like a wedding-cake.

​Robert Louis Stevenson

December
Picture
The Snow
​

It sifts from leaden sieves,
It powders all the wood,
It fills with alabaster wool
The wrinkles of the road.

It makes an even face
Of mountain and of plain, --
Unbroken forehead from the east
Unto the east again.

It reaches to the fence,
It wraps it, rail by rail,
Till it is lost in fleeces;
It flings a crystal veil

On stump and stack and stem, --
The summer's empty room,
Acres of seams where harvests were,
Recordless, but for them.

​It ruffles wrists of posts,
As ankles of a queen, --
Then stills its artisans like ghosts,
Denying they have been.

by Emily Dickinson

November
Picture
November

November comes and
November goes,
With the last red berries
And the first white snows.

With night coming early
and dawn coming late,
And ice in the bucket
and frost by the gate.

The fires burn
and the kettle sings,
And earth sinks to rest
Until next spring.

By Elizabeth Coatsworth

October
Picture
O Autumn, Autumn!

O Autumn, Autumn! O pensive light
     and wistful sound!
Gold-haunted sky, green-haunted ground!
When, wan, the dead leaves flutter by
     Deserted realms of butterfly!
When robins band themselves together
     To seek the sound of sun-steeped weather;
And all of summer’s largesse goes
     For lands of olive and the rose!

Effie Lee Newsome. 1885-1978

September
The wonder of the monarch butterfly's fall migration inspires us this September.  As we celebrate the labors of hard-working humans (on Labor Day), let us not forget the "tiny tigers" who "work as one, flutter firmly toward the sun."  Half a million butterflies undertake the annual north to south migration, winging their way over three thousand miles to respite in southwestern Mexico.
Picture
Monarchs

Monarchs fly to Mexico.
Millions flee from winter snow.
Wings wink quickly to and fro
as monarchs feel which way to go.

They listen to a voice inside
find a wave of wind to ride
stay together
work as one
flutter firmly toward the sun.

Tiny tigers trim tall trees
quiver in a Spanish breeze.
Confetti creatures strong and bright
sleep a season
rise in flight.

They know what they were born to do.
I’d like to be a monarch too.

© Amy Ludwig VanDerwater
See more of Amy's delightful poetry here:
http://www.poemfarm.amylv.com/


July/August

Bed in Summer
Robert Louis Stevenson

In winter I get up at night  
And dress by yellow candle-light.  
In summer, quite the other way,  
I have to go to bed by day.  

I have to go to bed and see         
The birds still hopping on the tree,  
Or hear the grown-up people’s feet  
Still going past me in the street.  

And does it not seem hard to you,  
When all the sky is clear and blue,  
And I should like so much to play,  
To have to go to bed by day?

June
Picture
June
 
The sun is rich
And gladly pays
In golden hours,
Silver days,
 
And long green weeks
That never end.
School’s out. The time
Is ours to spend.
 
There’s Little League,
Hopscotch, the creek,
And, after supper, 
Hide-and-seek.
 
The live-long light
Is like a dream,
And freckles come
Like flies to cream.

John Updike

May
Picture
Wonder

Water the wonder
that lives in your brain.

Water the wonder 
with questions like rain.

The more that you ask
the more you will know.

And watering wonder
will help wonder grow.

Wallow in wonder
wherever you go.


by Amy Ludwig VanDerwater

April
IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT

Daffodils blare out the news.
Birds chatter, squirrels jabber,
all ecstatic--Spring is here!
Except for the apple tree,
who wakes late, stretches, shakes herself, 
makes one last drift of pale-pink snow
.

From Tap Dancing on the Roof. Sijo (poems) by Linda Sue Park
Picture
March
Picture
Song Of March

With winter's footprints in the past,
and snows begin to melt at last.

With longer days and shorter nights,
the wayward winds of March take flight.

Four winds she holds within her grip,
then hurls them from her fingertip.

Her woolly, fleecy clouds of white,
she sets in skies of blue delight.

Her wild bouts of gusty breezes
roar through valleys, hills, and trees.

That high pitch whistling song she sings
awakens earth and flowering things.

She tears a hole in heaven's sky
so sun can shine and rain can cry.

She gently calms as spring draws near,
as blooming daffodils appear.

She welcomes April showers in,
then gathers up her dwindling winds.
Now her long journey home begins,

knowing she'll be back this way,
upon a cold, late winter's day,

when nights grow short
and days grow long.

Listen for her whistling song!


© Patricia L. Cisco   Published: March 2018
Source: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/song-of-march

February
Picture
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose 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.

Robert Frost

January
Life is mostly froth and bubble, 
Two things stand like stone, 
Kindness in another's trouble, 
Courage in your own.


Adam Lindsay Gordon
December
With these poems, we celebrate "the reason for the season"!
Picture
The First Christmas
by Michael R. Burch

’Twas in a land so long ago . . .
the lambs lay blanketed in snow
and little children everywhere
sat and watched warm embers glow
and dreamed (of what, we do not know).

And THEN—a star appeared on high,
The brightest man had ever seen!
It made the children whisper low
in puzzled awe (what did it mean?).
It made the wooly lambkins cry.

For far away a new-born lay,
warm-blanketed in straw and hay,
a lowly manger for his crib.
The cattle mooed, distraught and low,
to see the child. They did not know
it now was Christmas day!
Chanukah Dreams
Judith Ish-Kishor 

Chanukah I think most dear
Of the feasts of all the year.
I could sit and watch all night
Every twinkling baby light.

Father lights the first one—green;
Hope it always seems to mean;
Hope and Strength to glow anew
In the heart of every Jew.

Jacob lights the blue for Truth.
Pink for Love is lit by Ruth.
Then the white one falls to me,
White that shines for Purity.

How the story of those days
Fills my wondering heart with praise!
And in every flame one sees
The heroic Maccabees.
Picture

November
Picture
November
by Margaret Morgan

Now it is November,
Trees are nearly bare;
Red and gold and brown leaves
Scatter everywhere.

Dark now are the mornings
Cold and frosty too;
Damp and misty evenings
Chill us through and through.

Busy are all creatures,
Winter food to hide;
Nests to make all cozy
Warm and safe inside.



Picture
"Poems come out of wonder, not out of knowing." Lucille Clifton.

This quote was the inspiration for Out of Wonder. Poems Celebrating Poets by Kwame Alexander. This month delight in the richness of these poems written by Alexander, Chris Colderley and Marjory Wentworth as they emulate the style of 20 of Kwame's favorite poets. Exuberantly illustrated by Ekua Holmes.

October
Self-Control
by Edgar Guest

When I have lost my temper
I have lost my reason too.
I’m never proud of anything
Which angrily I do.
When I have talked in anger,
And my cheeks are flaming red,
I have always uttered something
Which I wish I had not said.
In anger I have never
Done a kindly deed or wise,
But many things for which I felt
I should apologize.
In looking back across my life,
And all I’ve lost or made,
I can’t recall a single time
When fury ever paid.

May

Picture
"Hope" is the thing with feathers
by Emily Dickinson

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I’ve heard it in the chillest land
And on the strangest sea,
Yet never in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

For parents and teachers who are interested in learning more about the value of memorizing poetry please check out these articles: Memorize That Poem! by Molly Worthen and Why We Should Memorize by Brad Leithauser

Poetry Books

Lend a Hand: Poems About Giving. John Frank. Illustrated by London Ladd. Lee and Low Books, 2019. (3-5) Compassion, Generosity
In fourteen original poems children encounter other young people offering random acts of kindness.  These range from singing at a retirement home to picking up litter to training a service dog to sharing a sandwich with a hungry classmate, and more.  Gorgeous illustrations.    ​
Sing A Song of Seasons: A Nature Poem for Each Day of the Year.
Fiona Waters, editor, Illustrated by Frann Preston-Gannon.
​Nosy Crow, 2018, (K-6) Wonder

This gorgeous, hefty volume is a great way for teachers and parents to infuse poetry into everyday life. Fun and lively illustrations are the backdrop for relatively short, seasonally appropriate poems for every day of the year. (Great for memorizing.) Old favorites, new poems, serious and silly: each inspires wonder and delight at the beauty of nature.  A poetry anthology, rather than a Morning Gathering read-aloud, and a treasure for the classroom or for family to share.
The 20th Century Children’s Poetry Treasury. Edited by Jack Prelutsky.
Illustrated by Meilo So (K-6) 

Jack Prelutsky has collected rollicking, fun poems of contemporary poets  – not sugary sweet or moralistic poems of bygone days, but poems about the  feelings of real kids growing up today. Lovely and whimsical watercolors illustrate the 211 contemporary poems.

A Child's Book of Poems. Illustrated by Gyo Fujikawa. Sterling, 2007 (K-2)
Classic children's poems with delightful illustrations. It is unchanged from the original 1970's version you may remember from your childhood.

A Whiff of Pine, A Hint of Skunk. Deborah Ruddell. Illustrated by Joan Rankin. Margaret McElderry Books, 2009. (K-3) Poetry, Wonder
A delightful collection of poems about nature. Consider "Biography of a Beaver" -  Bucktooth Cleaver, Tree Retriever, Building Conceiver, True Believer, Waterproof Weaver, Overachiever, Roll-Up-Her-Sleever – Hooray for the Beaver!  Lighthearted illustrations of the woodland scenes along with the poems make you want to take a walk in the woods.

Read! Read! Read!  Amy Ludwig VanDerwater.  Illustrated by Ryan O’Rourke.
Wordsong, 2017 (K-4)

Twenty three poems about reading by contemporary poet VanDerwater.  Each one simply but eloquently reiterating how and why reading is so important in our lives.  A lovely collection that can be read again and again.

Poetry for Young People. Sterling Children’s Books (3-6)
A wonderful series of individual books on great poets of the English language:  Emily Dickinson, Robert Frost, Langston Hughes, William Shakespeare, Walt Whitman, and more. The volumes feature a picture of the poet, several pages of biography, reflections on what may have influenced their poetic style and content, and a selection of poems.  Each poem is fittingly illustrated and accompanied by definitions for words that may be unknown to children. The illustrators have been chosen to complement the style of the poetry. ​

Mirror Mirror. A Book of Reverso Poems. Marilyn Singer. Illustrated by Josee Masse.
Dutton Children’s Books, 2010 (1-4) 

Each poem in this unique collection can be read top to bottom or bottom to top. Charmingly illustrated, each page is split in half with each side matching the up or down poem. This new take on old fairy tales is fun and thoughtful.

The Harp and Laurel Wreath.  Poetry and Dictation for the Classical Curriculum. 
Laura M. Berquist. Ignatius Press, 1999.  Poetry (K-8)

If  you are looking for a marvelous collection of classics by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Emily Dickinson, Lewis Carroll, Steven Vincent Benet, Rudyard Kipling, Alfred Lord Tennyson, and many more, this is your (nearly five-hundred-page) volume!   Poetry selections divided into "The Early Years," "The Grammatical Stage," "The Dialectical Stage," and "The Rhetorical Stage."

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