I am teaching a poetry workshop at my elementary school. My plan is to introduce the kids to classic and other poems. We'll read a some that I will have printed for them and discuss them- what they like about them, different elements, etc. Just basic discussion about what a poem is.

I have found some poems to share. Mostly Mother Goose though because some of these kids don't read well and I need short poems.

I want to share the love of poetry, how much fun it can be.Do you have any poems you remember from childhood?

Thanks!

Spike Milligan has some great kid poems that might be what you're after.

The other one I thought of straight away that won't fit into the 'short' category but kids love it is Triantiwontigonogolope by CJ Denis .

Pooh poems are great for kids too..my daughter loved 'the more it snows' as a child as I would read and she would do the tiddly pom bit

The more it snows
(Tiddely pom)
The more it goes
(Tiddely pom)
The more it goes
(Tiddely pom)
On snowing.
And nobody know
(Tiddely pom)
How cold my toes
(Tiddely pom)
Are growing.

Thank you Copago and cee! These are better than my Mother Goose poems (they are fine but I wanted a bit more than those).

Glad to see some fun poems. Want my kids to see the fun of poetry! If anyone else has some to add, that's great too.

Edward Lear is quite nice because of the silly words. Try The Pobble Who Has No Toes

http://www.poetry-online.org/lear_the_pobble_who_has_no_toes.htm

When I was a little girl, my older sister would recite (over and over at my request) Eugene Field's "Little Boy Blue." I'm not sure how old I was but I loved this poem about little 'toy friends' who remained for years where Little Boy Blue placed them before he died during the night. It teaches a lesson on loyalty and friendship. My children and grandchildren also love this poem, though you might think it a little too sad. I would definitely count it as a classic!

You can't go far wrong with Alan Ahlberg('Each,Peach Pear Plum,' 'Please Mrs Butler'and many many others all much loved by Primary School children in England. They are great fun.

Ren, I remember you posting a poem some time ago about a boy that went to town when his mum told him not to .. or something like that. Do you remember which one I'm talking about?

Here are two I particularly liked as a child, and still love to recite to/with my own kids:

Timothy Dan, from Stirabout Lane ~ John D Sheridan

Timothy Dan
Is a very rich man
And he keeps all his wealth in his pocket:
Four buttons, a box,
The keys of two clocks,
And the chain of his grandmother Margaret's locket;
A big piece of string
(It's a most useful thing),
A watch without hands,
And three rubber bands,
Five glassy marbles,
Some tail-ends of chalk,
A squeaker that once
Made a golliwog talk,
A broken-down penknife
With only one blade,
And a little toy boat
That his grandfather made.

You'd never believe
(Hearing such a long list)
That there's room in each pocket
For one little fist;
You'd never believe
That the smallest of boys
Could carry so much
In his wee corduroys.

The Snare ~ James Stephens

I hear a sudden cry of pain!
There is a rabbit in a snare;
Now I hear the cry again,
But I cannot tell from where.

But I cannot tell from where
He is calling out for aid;
Crying on the frightened air,
Making everything afraid.

Making everything afraid,
Wrinkling up his little face,
As he cries again for aid;
And I cannot find the place!

And I cannot find the place
Where his paw is in the snare:
Little one! Oh, little one!
I am searching everywhere.

Yes it is. Wonderful!

That's the one, thanks QB and Ren.
Must try and commit it to memory

The Owl and the Pussycat - more Edward Lear

http://www.nonsenselit.org/Lear/ns/pussy.html

I am always happy that someone is teaching poetry to children. So many teachers shy away from it(that and drama).
It is so very important in the development of language. I had to learn so many poems and remember most of them (yes, that one included. It delights little boys called James when I say it!

Ren, Jane, Copago, Quiz-Beagle (love your name!), Santana, Cee71 and Martha - this is a great list! Thank you all for the poems! Wow, I should have known to come here sooner.

Oh- I am getting excited about this poetry workshop! I just realized what I really want to include in my lesson plans. The plan has been to give the students a folder that they will write their own poems. Now, I realize I want to have two sections in the folder, one section will be a collection of poems they chose from the poems we read together. The other section will be their own poems I say this because I have a collection of poems that my Children Literature's professor had us make. I'm going to share my folder with them and read my favorite poem from it.

I'll let the children chose a favorite poem from about 9-10 poems each session. Maybe fewer after the first session, we'll see what works.

Thanks again everyone! If anyone has more, they are welcome to share.
Joy
P.S. This is my favorite from my collection...
Morning Conversation

Twitter-twitter
Screech
Gulp
Chee-chee-chee
Aw Aw Aw
Brrrr Brrrr
Chaychit-chaychit
Weep Weep
C'maw C'maw
Churp Churp
Weeeeet!

Sometimes I wish I spoke Bird.

I love this one....

From a Railway Carriage by Robert Louis Stevenson....

Faster than fairies, faster than witches,
Bridges and houses, hedges and ditches;
And charging along like troops in a battle
All through the meadows the horses and cattle:
All of the sights of the hill and the plain
Fly as thick as driving rain;
And ever again, in the wink of an eye,
Painted stations whistle by.

Here is a child who clambers and scrambles,
All by himself and gathering brambles;
Here is a tramp who stands and gazes;
And here is the green for stringing the daisies!
Here is a cart runaway in the road
Lumping along with man and load;
And here is a mill, and there is a river:
Each a glimpse and gone forever!

The words sound like the movement of a train.

Oh, I should be asleep already. So much to do tomorrow! But as long as I'm up... ha

That poem is sweet, demurechicky.

Thanks.

I Love Hilaire Belloc and especially this Dear Little Tale!

MATILDA

Hilaire Belloc (1870-1953)

WHO TOLD LIES, AND WAS BURNED TO DEATH

MATILDA told such Dreadful Lies,
It made one Gasp and Stretch one's Eyes;
Her Aunt, who, from her Earliest Youth,
Had kept a Strict Regard for Truth,
Attempted to Believe Matilda:
The effort very nearly killed her,
And would have done so, had not She
Discovered this Infirmity.

For once, towards the Close of Day,
Matilda, growing tired of play,
And finding she was left alone,
Went tiptoe to the Telephone
And summoned the Immediate Aid
Of London's Noble Fire-Brigade.

Within an hour the Gallant Band
Were pouring in on every hand,
From Putney, Hackney Downs, and Bow.
With Courage high and Hearts a-glow,
They galloped, roaring through the Town,
'Matilda's House is Burning Down!'

Inspired by British Cheers and Loud
Proceeding from the Frenzied Crowd,
They ran their ladders through a score
Of windows on the Ball Room Floor;
And took Peculiar Pains to Souse
The Pictures up and down the House,
Until Matilda's Aunt succeededIn
In showing them they were not needed;
And even then she had to pay
To get the Men to go away!

It happened that a few Weeks later
Her Aunt was off to the Theatre
To see that Interesting Play
The Second Mrs. Tanqueray.
She had refused to take her Niece
To hear this Entertaining Piece:
A Deprivation Just and Wise
To Punish her for Telling Lies.

That Night a Fire did break out--
You should have heard Matilda Shout!
You should have heard her Scream and Bawl,
And throw the window up and call
To People passing in the Street--
(The rapidly increasing Heat
Encouraging her to obtain
Their confidence) -- but all in vain!

For every time she shouted 'Fire!'
They only answered 'Little Liar!'
And therefore when her Aunt returned,
Matilda, and the House, were Burned.



Isn't poetry Wonderful!

Another Hilaire Belloc which I've always loved

Jim

There was a Boy whose name was Jim;
His Friends were very good to him.
They gave him Tea, and Cakes, and Jam,
And slices of delicious Ham,
And Chocolate with pink inside
And little Tricycles to ride,
And read him Stories through and through,
And even took him to the Zoo--
But there it was the dreadful Fate
Befell him, which I now relate.

You know--or at least you ought to know,
For I have often told you so--
That Children never are allowed
To leave their Nurses in a Crowd;
Now this was Jim's especial Foible,
He ran away when he was able,
And on this inauspicious day
He slipped his hand and ran away!

He hadn't gone a yard when--Bang!
With open Jaws, a lion sprang,
And hungrily began to eat
The Boy: beginning at his feet.
Now, just imagine how it feels
When first your toes and then your heels,
And then by gradual degrees,
Your shins and ankles, calves and knees,
Are slowly eaten, bit by bit.
No wonder Jim detested it!
No wonder that he shouted "Hi!"

The Honest Keeper heard his cry,
Though very fat he almost ran
To help the little gentleman.
"Ponto!" he ordered as he came
(For Ponto was the Lion's name),
"Ponto!" he cried, with angry Frown,
"Let go, Sir! Down, Sir! Put it down!"
The Lion made a sudden stop,
He let the Dainty Morsel drop,
And slunk reluctant to his Cage,
Snarling with Disappointed Rage.
But when he bent him over Jim,
The Honest Keeper's Eyes were dim.
The Lion having reached his Head,
The Miserable Boy was dead!

When Nurse informed his Parents, they
Were more Concerned than I can say:--
His Mother, as She dried her eyes,
Said, "Well--it gives me no surprise,
He would not do as he was told!"
His Father, who was self-controlled,
Bade all the children round attend
To James's miserable end,
And always keep a-hold of Nurse
For fear of finding something worse.

-- Hilaire Belloc

I learned Jim at school and can still recite it to this day
We also did "Innocents" for Advent one year (I forgot who wrote it though) and one called "Autumn Bonfires" too, though again, I forgot who wrote it.
We did Skimbleshanks from TS Eliots Practical Cats and I can still recite chunks of that over 30 years later!
We were so lucky in our junior years to have a teacher who loved poetry and went out of his way to pass it on to us.
The only poem I can even remember reading in senior school was a Betjeman one called "Death in Leamington" but I don't think it would 'do' for small children, it's quite dark.

I agree about the Betjeman,
Rowena, but his poems are so wonderful, I really wish he had written some for children!
Later.... I googled out of curiosity and find he did write for children! There's a book called "Archie and the Strict Baptists". Does anyone know it?
MUCH later..
I found this.How wonderful
ARCHIBALD

The bear that sits above my bed
A doleful bear he is to see;
From out his drooping pear-shaped head
His woollen eyes look into me.
He has no mouth, but seems to say:
'They'll burn you on the Judgement Day.'

Those woollen eyes, the things they've seen
Those flannel ears, the things they've heard -
Among horse-chestnut fans of green,
The fluting of an April bird,
And quarrelling downstairs until
Doors slammed at Thirty One West Hill.

The dreaded evening keyhole scratch
Announcing some return below
The nursery landing's lifted latch,
The punishment to undergo
Still I could smooth those half-moon ears
And wet that forehead with my tears.

Whatever rush to catch a train,
Whatever joy there was to share
Of sounding sea-board, rainbowed rain,
Or seaweed-scented Cornish air,
Sharing the laughs, you still were there,
You ugly, unrepentant bear.

When nine, I hid you in a loft
And dared not let you share my bed;
More aged now he is to see,
His woollen eyes have thinner thread,
But still he seems to say to me,
In double-doom notes, like a knell:
'You're half a century nearer Hell.'

Self=pity shrouds me in a mist,
And drowns me in my self-esteem.
The freckled faces I have kissed
Float by me in a guilty dream.
The only constant, sitting there,
Patient and hairless, is a bear.

And if an analyst one day
Of school of Adler, Jung or Freud
Should take this aged bear away,
Then, oh my God, the dreadful void!
its draughty darkness could but be
Eternity, Eternity.


John Betjeman

Not for children really, but what a lot it says about Mr B's seemingly awful childhood if he had to hide his teddy in the loft. Sorry, I am so off topic!

What a sad poem, ren! Beautiful too, but very dark.

The dreaded evening keyhole scratch
Announcing some return below
The nursery landing's lifted latch,
The punishment to undergo

Can't you just picture the youngster dreading the arrival of the belt or whatever was used to dole out punishments?

When nine, I hid you in a loft
And dared not let you share my bed;


... gives me goosebumps to think about how the adult so well remembered the child's trauma at having to stow away his only comfort in a dusty, cobwebbed-filled loft ...

What a beautifully evocative piece of writing!

My own children, along with the many children I've taught over the years, always enjoyed these little gems by Shel Silverstein, as well as all those above!

Afraid of the Dark

I’m Reginald Clark, I’m afraid of the dark
So I always insist on the light on,
And my teddy to hug,
And my blanket to rub,
And my thumby to suck or to bite on.
And three bedtime stories,
Two trips to the toilet,
Two prayers, and five hugs from my mommy,
I’m Reginald Clark, I’m afraid from the dark
So please do not close this book on me.


And -

Skinny

Skinny McGuinn
was so terribly thin
that while taking his bath
Sunday night,
out popped the plug
and sloosh-swoosh
and glug-glug
it washed Skinny
right down the drain
out of sight.
And where is our dear Skinny bathing tonight?
In some underground pool down below?
Or up there so high in the tub in the sky
Where all of the clean people go.

And also

What a Day

What a day,
Oh what a day.
My baby brother ran away,
And now my tuba will not play.
I’m eight years old
And turning grey,
Oh what a day,
Oh what a day.

Afraid of the Dark is hilarious!

Tonight was the night of my poetry workshop. I was ready with the poetry books, poems to read and plans for writing poems. I even memorized the poem, Last Night I Dreamed of Chickens *See below...

But it was a slooooow night for the whole Open School House. I think there were only five kids and they were all in the computer lab. I finally told my poem to two little girls and told them two of my stories.

Other than that, I chatted with my co-workers. It was a relaxing two hours, which is a nice way to end the day. But still! I would have liked to have given my workshop. We do this every Tuesday, so I will eventually give this workshop!

Thank you everyone who contributed poems and support.

*Last Night I Dreamed of Chickens
by Jack Prelutsky

Last night I dreamed of chickens,
there were chickens everywhere,
they were standing on my stomach,
they were nesting in my hair,
they were pecking at my pillow,
they were hopping on my head,
they were ruffling up their feathers
as they raced about my bed.

They were on the chairs and tables,
they were on the chandeliers,
they were roosting in the corners,
they were clucking in my ears,
there were chickens, chickens, chickens
for as far as I could see...
when I woke today, I noticed
there were eggs on top of me.

What a shame there were so few participants for your workshop. However, as you say, you can always do it at another stage. Fingers crossed!

This thread has been lots of fun. Others have posted poems which I also studied in my childhood and had vaguely forgotten. The fond trip down memory lane has been great