Bat Patrol (Monday Poem)

 by Georgia Heard

 

 

Quickly and quietly,

the bat patrols the night,

sending an invisible song

echoing like ripples on a pond,

chasing moths around a streetlight.

Quickly and quietly,

the bat patrols the night.

 

 

from Forget-Me-Nots: Poems to Learn by Heart 

Selected by Mary Ann Hoberman

Little, Brown & Co, 2012 

 

A Frog in a Well Explains the World (Monday Poem)

by Alice Schertle

 

 

The world is round

    and deep

    and cool.

The bottom of the world's

    a pool

with just enough room

    for a frog alone.

The walls of the world

    are of stone on stone.

At the top of the world,

when I look up high,

    I can see a star

in a little round sky.

 

 

from Forget-Me-Nots: Poems to Learn by Heart 

Selected by Mary Ann Hoberman

Little, Brown & Co, 2012 

 

 

 

 

Strategy (Monday Poem)

 by Gary Soto

 

 

I went to class, sat in a chair

That wobbled and rocked. Got up

 

And changed seats.

I got up again, and again.

That's how I happened 

To sit next to you.

 

 

from Forget-Me-Nots: Poems to Learn by Heart 

Selected by Mary Ann Hoberman

Little, Brown & Co, 2012 

 

My Name (Monday Poem)

by Lee Bennett Hopkins

 

 

I wrote my name on the sidewalk

But the rain washed it away.

 

I wrote my name on my hand

But the soap washed it away.

 

I wrote my name on the birthday card

I gave to Mother today

 

And there it will stay

For mother never throws

 

ANYTHING

 

of mine away.

 

 

from Forget-Me-Nots: Poems to Learn by Heart 

Selected by Mary Ann Hoberman

Little, Brown & Co, 2012 

 

 

 

 

 

 

September, 1918 (Monday Poem)

By Amy Lowell

This afternoon was the colour of water falling through sunlight;
The trees glittered with the tumbling of leaves;
The sidewalks shone like alleys of dropped maple leaves,
And the houses ran along them laughing out of square, open windows.
Under a tree in the park,
Two little boys, lying flat on their faces,
Were carefully gathering red berries
To put in a pasteboard box.
Some day there will be no war,
Then I shall take out this afternoon
And turn it in my fingers,
And remark the sweet taste of it upon my palate,
And note the crisp variety of its flights of leaves.
To-day I can only gather it
And put it into my lunch-box,
For I have time for nothing
But the endeavour to balance myself
Upon a broken world.

from Selected Poems of Amy Lowell 

Houghton Mifflin Company, 2002