At the beginning of this month,
Lee Bennett Hopkins challenged us to write a ME poem–
a poem based on a moment in our childhoods that changed us in some way.
We've had poems that express our many faces...
wonder and fear, curiosity and contentment,
pride, disappointment, happiness....
Poems about finding our strength and poems about questioning who we are. Poems about people, places, and things we loved, and events that left a lifelong impression.
I'm grateful to have been trusted with all these precious memories and honored to be able to share them here today.
Many thanks to all those who participated, and especially to Lee, for inspiring us to remember and record these moments for posterity.
All poems are copyright 2015, and published with permission of the authors, who control all rights.
SUMMER LOVE
by Lana Wayne Koehler
It was aqua and not blue
But for all I knew it was the finest,
Most beautiful,
Two wheels in the world.
Daily I would streak through town
Boldly going up and down the streets until
The lights came on.
Silent happiness.
TUMBLING WITH DADDY
by B.J. Lee
Daddy taught me
tumbling
every Sunday morn.
Perfect handstands
straight and tall
Tiger bends—
watch out! Don’t fall!
Daddy taught me
tumbling—
every Sunday morn
When Daddy taught me
tumbling,
confidence
was born.
CALICO KITTEN
by Linda Kulp Trout
Walking home from school
I found a kitten,
almost hidden,
beneath a bramble bush.
Lying on the ground
bone thin and shivering—
her tail was quivering,
as I wrapped her in my jacket.
Afraid she might die
I carried her inside—
I was happy and surprised
when she licked
warm milk
from my fingertips!
Then she curled herself
into my lap,
and thanked me,
with a purr-fect
lullaby.
TOADY
by Michelle Kogan
Toady,
sure wish
I left you
where you
belong...
But you fit
perfectly
in my small,
cupped,
hand
you felt squishy,
and warm,
and wet,
all at
once
and your breath
poked
around
inside my
pocket
but,
my heart broke
when your
breath drifted
away...
Our
ceremony
in your
memory
helped,
but the
lump in my
throat
felt like
forever...
SISTERS
by Linda Mitchell
Down in the creek
no guppy was safe
from our plastic pails or,
fingers reading a braille
of moss, rocks and clay.
Side by side on our bellies
we were single-minded
about guppies
like never again, on
politics
religion
climate change
food allergens.
Those fish in pails
sloshed home in
bike baskets,
our sisterhood
peddled harder
uphill toward
home.
You proudly showing
mom our catch
her smile wan
at my promises to tend
this batch better so they
won’t die and stink
up our room
like the last.
ONE BRONX LIBRARY
by Michele Krueger
I used to sit
in one Bronx library,
on one small chair
I hardly even noticed
the other people there
I'd sit for hours dreaming,
where miracles happened
if only you dared or cared
to come and find them
I ran there
returning books,
to look for more
to take me to a world,
not the one I knew
it was long ago
but I still remember it
so sweetly
that one Bronx library,
that one small chair
with a happy child
reading there
RED KEDS AND FIREFLIES
by Ellen Leventhal
First one to see the streetlights come on!
Knock on wood,
Our luck will be good!
I bounce about in my new red Keds,
the ones that make me strong.
The sun fades to darkness.
And then we see.
Flittering, glittering,
Twirling and flipping.
“I caught some!” he says.
“I put them in a jar.”
A knot in my gut,
and a tear stained face.
But, still
I find the words.
Loud, strong, formidable.
“Let them go!”
And he does.
Up, up, up to the sky,
winking and blinking
and looping figure eights
all the way home.
“Goodbye fireflies,” I call.
Standing tall
in my new red Keds,
the ones that make me strong.
SUMMER TRADITION
by Kristi Dee Veitenheimer
Six flags-
summer.
Waiting-
snaking lines.
Log flume-
straddle the seat.
Squealing-
splashing every turn.
Uh Oh-
chains pulling up incline.
Grabbing-
frightened knowing what comes next.
Tensing-
anticipating the freefall.
Screaming-
losing my stomach racing downhill.
Soaking-
running, getting back in line one more time!
SPINNING
by Doraine Bennett
We lie in grass
thick as August
cradled between
our two homes--
one summer blue,
one gray with age--
and watch while clouds
hurl in circles
overhead,
slowly settling
into shapes
only we
can see.
IN GRANDPA'S BACKYARD
by Linda Baie
Splendid limbs of a backyard tree
gave leaf-green shade -
my summer A-C.
Hidden me became
a noticer-
and I wrote;
a reader-
and I traveled;
a climber-
and I took risks.
Blossoming tree,
blossoming me.
DEAR DOG
by Michelle Heidenrich Barnes
Was it the snow that set you on edge?
The swish of my pants?
The crunch underfoot?
The day I took the shortcut.
Or was it the race–your hunger, my fear?
The thrill of the chase?
The moment I slipped?
The day I took the shortcut.
Things might have been different.
We could have been friends
if you weren’t so mean
and I wasn’t so tasty.
The day I took the shortcut.
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| SCARED OF COWS by Kathryn Apel (click to enlarge) |
A PASSING REMARK
by Donna JT Smith
I was a child
of field and truck
with fingernails
a’la dirt and mud
the neighbors had
a girlie girl
with skin so soft
and hair a’curl
pale of face
with body narrow
a shape that barely
made a shadow
rosy cheeks and
toned farm arms
should not have been
cause for alarm
but our neighbor’s visitor
said to me
as I passed by
“Hello, chubby!”
from that time on
I realized
it mattered if
you weren’t pint-sized
and that is when
my fight began
with body image
and who I am.
JERSEY BEAR
by Jan Godown Annino
It padded on a sand road
that snaked
through summer pines,
a Jersey Barrens
bear,
fat and far ahead.
We bumped behind it in
Dad’s old blue Chevy with
one replaced door, pine green.
"It's big," I said.
Dad shushed me,
"It can hear."
He stopped the motor.
I hugged the back seat,
standing.
I wanted to sing
the bear went over the mountain,
I sang it in my head.
"Could it be a girl?" I whisper-asked.
Dad whisper-said,
"It's a big ol' sow, is
what I think. And
she may catch our sent.”
All windows were open!
I cupped his ear,
“Can you see cubs?”
I'll never know if she heard
the whisper behind my hand.
Maybe she just decided
to look behind, anyway.
She lifted her snout high
sniffing,
I fingered the Tootsie Roll,
pushed it deeper
in my pocket,
heart racing.
Could she smell
all the way into the Chevy,
into my pocket?
Fast,
a blur of brown fur
crashed away into the pines.
Dad started the car
rolling us to where she had been.
My nose hurt from
a smell
like the barn yard
at Cherryville Dairy.
"She stinks!" I said.
Dad laughed,
"You figure she takes bubble baths?"
"What was she doing here,
Daddy?”
"Oh, I suspect she just wanted
to see if there was any
candy in a little girl’s pocket
out this way."
I sunk back in the seat,
all giggles.
"Oh, Daddy!"
I stood up. I knew why she
was here. I sang the reason loud,
"…to see what she could see."
Then I warbled a line new to the song -
“and what she saw was me!”
THE AUTOMAT
by Diane Mayr
One day, Grandma took
me to Manhattan.
Just the two of us.
Lunch at Horn & Hardart.
Up and down the rows
of windows we'd go.
Macaroni and cheese
in small bowls oozing
cheesy goodness.
Sandwiches cut into two
triangles, their fillings
invitingly exposed.
A hundred slices of pie
on a hundred china plates
behind a hundred
sparkling glass portals.
Feed nickels into a slot
and any one of those
was mine for the taking.
It was enough to take
my breath away.
FEAR
by Janie Lazo
The round moon was shrouded in mist,
The crisp air charged with mystery.
Streamers- orange and black- cast a spell of enchantment.
Leaves crunched underfoot as they came-
A princess- a pirate - a witch- too many to count.
The night unfolded with ghoulish drinks and fearful fare,
spooky stories and daring games.
All night long we celebrated, but we knew - He was out there.
The magic of this night always brought him out of hiding.
We never knew what form this shape shifter would take- Grim Reaper- the Devil-
or something worse that not even the farthest corners of our minds could imagine.
He would come and fear would come with him.
I saw him before anyone else-a shadowy figure at the window.
He burst in and roared around the room dropping candy and treats in his wake.
I ran. I ran fast and never looked back.
From my hiding place I could hear their screams. I covered my ears.
He slipped back into the darkness and was gone.
Then, amid laughter, a frenzy of diving and grabbing and wrestling for candy that
was strewn across the floor.
I crept out of hiding but the candy was all gone.
And I knew that next year I would face my fear.
BABY BROTHER
by Madison Rayne, age 6
On graduation day a baby came and I was scared.
Would he replace me?
Would my mommy still love me?
Would he love me?
Would I ever have my very own birthday party again?
Will I be brave enough to hold him?
Will he cry?
Will he be mean to me?
Or would he be nice?
Would I love him?
But I was brave.
I held him and closed my eyes and something changed.
And I knew that it would turn out alright.
ME, AFTER THE FALL
by cbhanek
Me. Rolling ‘long the sidewalk, speeding fast of all.
Me. Knees all bruised and bloody.
Me. After the fall.
Mommy. “Oh, no! Why? How could you!”
Mommy. “Communion pictures will be spoiled!”
Me. Tears.
Mommy. Painting my knees in Mercurochrome.
Me. Dressed all in white: veil, gloves, dress, shoes, socks, and shawl.
Me. Nice. Smelling nosegay.
Mommy. Proud picture-taker. Click!
Me. Camera-ready. Flashing smiles.
Me. Semi-toothless. Not camera-shy.
Me. After the fall. Happy.
Me. Knowing Jesus loves me. Orange knees and all.
MRS. WHITE'S KINDERGARTEN CLASS
by Sarah Rudd Ragsdale
 |
| © Sarah Rudd Ragsdale |
as my fingers
smooshed and smeared
the strange wet paints
across a slippery white surface
a row of purple hyacinths
began to march across the bottom
of a deep blue sky
that held a yellowish sun
a smiling face with glasses
and very, very large ears
all the better to love me
THIRD GRADE BUG PROJECT
by Suzy Levinson
Tom and Jerry:
giant roaches
in a bucket
on my desk.
All my friends in
class are psyched but
Mrs. Smith says
they're grotesque.
Tom and Jerry:
giant roaches,
almost bigger
than my palm.
Time to feed them
fruit for breakfast—
Wait a minute...
WHERE'S TOM?
ME IN GRADE THREE
by Kathryn Apel
Me
in Grade Three –
marching with the
Grade Seven girls
as we form rows
from tallest
to shortest,
a wave of girls
in house colour
marching past
left, left, left-right-left,
tallest to shortest
and up near the front
is me –
in Grade Three.
…I write her name in my notebook.
by Matt Forrest Esenwine
I’m not sure why.
What is it about her eyes,
her lips,
that makes me think
she’s smiling at me
even when she’s turned away?
I write her name in my notebook.
I’m not sure why.
What is it about violets and – is that vanilla? –
that make a girl smell so nice?
I don’t even like vanilla, but still…
I write her name in my notebook.
I’m not sure why.
Why do I crane my neck to watch
as she walks away, yet hide
my face
when she sees me
watching?
What would she say,
what would she do,
if only she knew…
FORTRESS
by Buffy Silverman
Whenever Amy came to play,
we hid in my bedroom
and spent the afternoon in our forts.
My closet was the perfect stronghold--
safe behind a mirrored door
you pulled a long chain
and a solitary bulb shone,
casting a dim light
on saddle shoes and PF Flyers
and the cool wooden floor.
I imagined sharing the cramped closet--
one of us curled on the floor,
the other perched on a painted shelf,
inventing stories of shadowy foes,
conquering an invisible enemy,
together.
But Amy said we needed separate forts—
each of us in our own private sanctuary
equipped with stacks of books,
and Amy was the guest.
She rifled through my bookshelf,
grabbed my pillow
and retreated to my closet—
her fort.
I slipped into the narrow space
between bed and wall,
my cheek pressed against rough carpet,
enough room for me and a book,
and disappeared into stories
where Pippi rode the high seas
and Tommy and Annika were always welcome.
THEY HAVE TAUGHT ME
by Jessica Bigi
Some of the women in my life are strong,
aging so beautifully with their hair of silver,
my mind thirsts for their knowledge.
Vera's iron, heavy in her trembling hand
as it straightens each wrinkle in her slacks.
Learn to do this she says without words
for it keeps the blood young even at ninety.
She smiles a sweet grandmotherly smile.
Irene also, a young woman in her nineties
wearing a bright red kimono. Gracing these young eyes
like a lady painted on a canvas she will not grow old.
Hannah's many talks of the birds and flowers of her homestead.
She has written like a poem inside my heart.
And my dear friend Anna May whose strengths and
will for living life to the fullest taught me to never give up.
Most of all, I admire my mother as she
mows the green path of her barefooted youth!
From her I am learning the secrets
that my grandmother taught her–
their blood flows my veins.
I will admire these women always
for the life they have taught me to live.
MOM'S CANCER
by Jessica Bigi
When I was little Mom pushed me
 |
| © Jessica Bigi |
on a swing I flew so high
I pretended I was flying I know
her love was links of a chain
Keeping me from falling Little
by little those links were shortened
Till she set me free on my own
Through my life struggles she
couldn’t always Be there to help
me up As I watch her in her struggle
with cancer I struggle to understand
why my hugs my words my prayers
Don’t ease her pain In a puddle of
my family’s tears Is a reflection
that breaks Into a million ripples of
emotions Inside my heart Fly mom fly
free from cancer I’m learning to let go
As if I could knock out the Ocean by Ed DeCaria
I punched wave after wave —
Punched them! As if
I could knock out
the Ocean
with one
slow
wet
swing
Feeling inspired?
You have until Wednesday, September 30th,
to send your ME poem to TodaysLittleDitty (at) gmail (dot) com,
or use the contact form in the sidebar to the right.
Participants in this month's challenge will be automatically entered to
win an autographed copy of JUMPING OFF LIBRARY SHELVES: A BOOK OF POEMS selected by Lee Bennett Hopkins and illustrated by Jane Manning. (One
entry per participant, not per poem.)
Alternatively, you may enter the giveaway by commenting below. If you
contribute a ME poem and comment below you will earn two entries in
total. Comments must also be received by Wednesday, September 30th.
The winner will be determined by Random.org and announced next Friday, October 2nd, when we reveal our new Spotlight ON interview and ditty
challenge.
Best of luck!
Sylvia Vardell and Janet Wong are rounding up this week's poetry offerings at
Poetry for Children. Join them for a celebration of National Hispanic Heritage Month.
