Second Grade
Poetry Collection
This set of poems belongs to
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Who Has Seen The Wind?
BY CHRISTINA ROSSETTI
Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you:
But when the leaves hang trembling,
The wind is passing through.
Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I:
But when the trees bow down their heads,
The wind is passing by.
Mountain Wind
BY BARBARA KUNZ LOOTS
Wind rushes down the timber chutes,
between the mountain’s knees—
a hiss of distant breathing,
a shouting in the trees.
a recklessness of branches,
a wilderness a-sway
when suddenly
a silence
takes your breath away
1
The Puffin
BY DOUGLAS FLORIAN
A puffin loves stuffin’
Its bill full of fishes
It fills it with seven
Or eight if it wishes.
It always finds dishes
Of fishes delicious.
A puffin loves stuffin’
Its bill full of fishes.
The Hedgehog
BY J. J. BELL
The Hedgehog sleeps beneath the hedge—
As you may sometimes see—
And I prefer it sleeping there
To sleeping here with me!
2
The Reason I Like Chocolate
BY NIKKI GIOVANNI
The reason I like chocolate
is I can lick my fingers
and nobody tells me I’m not polite
I especially like scary movies
‘cause I can snuggle with Mommy
or my big sister and they don’t laugh
I like to cry sometimes ‘cause
everybody says “what’s the matter
don’t cry”
and I like books
for all those reasons
but mostly ‘cause they just make me
happy
and I really like
to be happy
3
A Frog in a Well Explains the World
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.
The Folk Who Live in Backward Town
BY MARY ANN HOBERMAN
The folk who live in Backward Town
Are inside out and upside down.
They wear their hats inside their heads
And go to sleep beneath their beds.
They only eat the apple peeling
And take their walks across the ceiling.
4
Eating While Reading
BY GARY SOTO
What is better
Than this book
And the churn of candy
In your mouth,
Or the balloon of bubble gum,
Or the crack of sunflower seeds,
Or the swig of soda,
Or the twist of beef jerky,
Or the slow slither
Of snow cone syrup
Running down your arms?
What is better than this sweet dance
On the tongue,
And this book
That pulls you in?
It yells, “Over here!”
And you hurry along with a red, sticky face.
5
The Whales off Wales
BY X.J. KENNEDY
With walloping tales, the whales off Wales
Whack waves to wicked whitecaps.
And while they snore on their watery floor
They wear wet woolen nightcaps.
The whales! the whales! the whales off Wales,
They're always spouting fountains.
And as they glide through the tilting tide,
They move like melting mountains.
Pet Snake
BY REBECCA KAI DOTLICH
No trace of fuzz.
No bit of fur.
No growling bark,
or gentle purr.
No cozy cuddle.
No sloppy kiss.
All he really does
is hisssssssssssss. 6
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
BY ROBERT FROST
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.
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Praying Mantis
BY MARY ANN HOBERMAN
That praying mantis over there
is really not engaged in prayer.
That praying mantis that you see
Is really preying (with an e).
It preys upon the garter snake.
It preys upon the bumblebee.
It preys upon the cabbage worm,
The wasp, the fly, the moth, the flea.
(And sometimes, if its need is great,
It even preys upon its mate.)
With prey and preying both so endless,
It tends to end up rather friendless
And seldom is commended much
Except by gardeners and such.
The Butterfly
BY JOHN FULLER
A
book of summer is the butterfly.
The print is small and hard to read,
The pages ruffle in the wind,
And when you close them up they die.
8
Long Trip
BY LANGSTON HUGHES
The sea is a wilderness of waves,
A desert of water.
We dip and dive,
Rise and roll,
Hide and are hidden
On the sea.
Day, night,
Night, day,
The sea is a desert of waves,
A wilderness of water.
The Caterpillar
BY DOUGLAS FLORIAN
The Caterpillar is not a cat.
It's very small
And short and fat.
And with those beady little eyes
Will never win a beauty prize.
The caterpillar’s brain is small –
It only knows to eat and crawl.
But for this creepy bug don't cry,
It soon will be a butterfly.
9
Aunt Sue’s Stories
BY LANGSTON HUGHES
Aunt Sue has a head full of stories. Aunt Sue has a whole heart full of stories. Summer nights on the front porch Aunt Sue cuddles a brown-­‐faced child to her bosom And tells him stories. Black slaves Working in the hot sun, And black slaves Walking in the dewy night, And black slaves Singing sorrow songs on the banks of a mighty river Mingle themselves softly In the flow of old Aunt Sue’s voice, Mingle themselves softly In the dark shadows that cross and recross Aunt Sue’s stories. And the dark-­‐faced child, listening, Knows that Aunt Sue’s stories are real stories. He knows that Aunt Sue never got her stories Out of any book at all, But that they came Right out of her own life. The dark-­‐faced child is quiet Of a summer night Listening to Aunt Sue’s stories. 10
Things
BY ELOISE GREENFIELD
Went to the corner
Walked in the store
Bought me some candy
Ain’t got it no more
Ain’t got it no more
Went to the beach
Played on the shore
Built me a sandhouse
Ain’t got it no more
Ain’t got it no more
Went to the kitchen
Lay down on the floor
Made me a poem
Still got it
Still got it
Friend
BY LANGSTON HUGHES
I loved my friend.
He went away from me.
There's nothing more to say.
The poem ends,
Soft as it began-I loved my friend. 11
How to Tell the Top of a Hill
BY JOHN CIARDI
The top of a hill
Is not until
The bottom is below.
And you have to stop
When you reach the top
For there's no more UP to go.
To make it plain
Let me explain:
The one most reason why
You have to stop
When you reach the top – is:
The next step up is sky.
12
Afternoon on a Hill BY EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY
I will be the gladdest thing
Under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers
And not pick one.
I will look at cliffs and clouds
With quiet eyes,
Watch the wind bow down the grass,
And the grass rise.
And when lights begin to show
Up from the town, I will mark which must be mine,
And
then start down!
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