Poetry Page

Poetry is a mysterious genre of writing where word choice and sentence fluency deliver the idea in a very creative way.  You will notice that the organization of poems may follow specific pattern, or it may be free flowing as if there is no reason for the organization.  However, well written poems always have a purpose and the form is deliberate.  When reading poetry, you should always try to figure out what the poet is trying to say, and try to find the hidden message.  Here are some examples:

Where Go the Boats? By: Robert Louis Stevenson Dark brown is the river, Golden is the sand.  It flows along for ever, With trees on either hand. Green leaves a-floating,  Castles of the foam, Boats of mine a-boating-- Where will all come home?  On goes the river  And out past the mill,  Away down the valley,  Away down the hill.  Away down the river, A hundred miles or more,  Other little children  Shall bring my boats ashore.
What is Pink? By: Christina Rossetti What is pink? A rose is pink By the fountain’s brink. What is red? A poppy’s red In its barley bed. What is blue? The sky is blue Where the clouds float thro’. What is white? A swan is white Sailing in the light. What is yellow? Pears are yellow, Rich and ripe and mellow. What is green? The grass is green, With small flowers between. What is violet? Clouds are violet In the summer twilight. What is orange? Why, an orange, Just an orange!

The Cow By: Robert Louis Stevenson The friendly cow all red and white I love with all my heart: She gives me cream with all her might, To eat with apple-tart. She wanders lowing here and there, And yet she cannot stray, All in the pleasant open air, The pleasant light of day; And blown by all the winds that pass And wet with all the showers, She walks among the meadow grass And eats the meadow flowers.

Bed in Summer

By: Robert Louis Stevenson

In winter I get up at night
And dress by yellow candle-light.
In summer, quite the other way,
I have to go to bed by day.

I have to go to bed and see
The birds still hopping on the tree,
Or hear the grown-up people’s feet
Still going past me in the street.

And does it not seem hard to you,
When all the sky is clear and blue,
And I should like so much to play,
To have to go to bed by day?