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Try Memorizing these:
What’s the Word?
A NOUN is the name
Of a person, place, or thing.
A VERB is an action word,
Like run, or jump, or sing.
A PRONOUN can take the place
Of any kind of noun.
An ADVERB modifies a verb,
Ask When, or, Where, or How.
An ADJECTIVE will tell you
How many, How much, What kind
A PREPOSITION shows you
Direction, place, or time.
CONJUNCTIONS are joiners,
They’re little words that bind.
So What’s the Word? I ask you.
And owl asks you too.
The part of speech a word becomes
Is often up to you.
It’s all in how you use it,
Ask questions and you’ll see
How very many parts of speech
That any word can be.
Today I Wrote This Poem by Kenn Nizbitt
Today I wrote this poem,
but I wonder if it's good.
It doesn't have the things
my teacher says a poem should.
It doesn't share the feelings I have deep inside of me.
It hasn't any metaphors
and not one simile.
It's missing any narrative.
Alliteration too.
It isn't an acrostic,
Diamante, or haiku.
There's nothing that's personified.
It doesn't have a plot.
I'm pretty sure that rhyming
is the only thing it's got.
It sure was fun to write it,
and I think it's long enough.
It's just too bad it's missing
all that great poetic stuff.
I put it on my teacher's desk
and, wow, she made a fuss.
she handed back my poem
with an A++++++
One Misty Moisty Morning
One misty, moisty morning,
When cloudy was the weather,
I chanced to meet an old man
Clothed all in leather:
He began to compliment,
And I began to grin-----
“How do you do?” and
“How do you do?”
And “how do you do?”
again!
.
Try reading:
Giant Children by Brod Bagert pictures by Tedd Arnold
Try Writing:
Robert Frost Poems
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
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.
Reading Rainbow Video #1779.1 Snowy Day: Stories and Poems (Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost is read)
The Road Not Taken
The Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I marked the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Gathering Leaves
Gathering Leaves
Spades take up leaves
No better than spoons,
And bags full of leaves
Are light as balloons.
I make a great noise
Of rustling all day
Like rabbit and deer
Running away.
But the mountains I raise
Elude my embrace,
Flowing over my arms
And into my face.
I may load and unload
Again and again
Till I fill the whole shed,
And what have I then?
Next to nothing for weight,
And since they grew duller
From contact with earth,
Next to nothing for color.
Next to nothing for use.
But a crop is a crop,
And who's to say where
The harvest shall stop?
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