Poetry Presentation

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Poetry Presentation

• As we read these poems together look for examples
  of figurative language!

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Boa Constrictor

•  Boa Constrictor  Oh, I'm being eatenBy a boa
  constrictor,A boa constrictor,A boa
  constrictor,I'm being eaten by a boa
  constrictor,And I don't like it--one bit.Well,
  what do you know?It's nibblin' my toe.Oh,
  gee,It's up to my knee.Oh my,It's up to my
  thigh.Oh, fiddle,It's up to my middle.Oh,
  heck,It's up to my neck.Oh, dread,It's
  upmmmmmmmmmmffffffffff . . . Shel Silverstein

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Rain

• Rain  I opened my eyesAnd looked up at the
  rain,And it dripped in my headAnd flowed into
  my brain,And all that I hear as I lie in my
  bedIs the slishity-slosh of the rain in my
  head.I step very softly,I walk very slow,I
  can't do a handstand--I might overflow,So
  pardon the wild crazy thing I just said--I'm
  just not the same since there's rain in my head.
  Shel Silverstein

4
Weird Bird

• Weird-Bird  Birds are flyin' south for
  winter.Here's the Weird-Bird headin'
  north,Wings a-flappin', beak a-chatterin',Cold
  head bobbin' back 'n' forth.He says, "It's not
  that I like iceOr freezin' winds and snowy
  ground.It's just sometimes it's kind of niceTo
  be the only bird in town." Shel Silverstein

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Sick

• Sick by Shel Silverstein "I cannot go to school
  today," Said little Peggy Ann McKay. "I have
  the measles and the mumps, A gash, a rash and
  purple bumps. My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
  I'm going blind in my right eye. My tonsils are
  as big as rocks, I've counted sixteen chicken
  pox And there's one more--that's seventeen, And
  don't you think my face looks green? My leg is
  cut--my eyes are blue-- It might be instamatic
  flu. I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke, I'm
  sure that my left leg is broke-- My hip hurts
  when I move my chin, My belly button's caving
  in, My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
  My 'pendix pains each time it rains. My nose is
  cold, my toes are numb. I have a sliver in my
  thumb. My neck is stiff, my voice is weak, I
  hardly whisper when I speak. My tongue is
  filling up my mouth, I think my hair is falling
  out. My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
  My temperature is one-o-eight. My brain is
  shrunk, I cannot hear, There is a hole inside my
  ear. I have a hangnail, and my heart is--what?
  What's that? What's that you say? You say today
  is. . .Saturday? G'bye, I'm going out to play!"

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We Real Cool

• We real cool. We Left school. We Lurk late.
  We Strike straight. We Sing sin. We Thin gin.
  We Jazz June. We Die soon.
• -Gwendolyn Brooks

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Dreams

• Dreams by Langston Hughes Hold fast to dreams
  For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird
  That cannot fly. Hold fast to dreams For when
  dreams go Life is a barren field Frozen with
  snow.

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Fame is a Fickle Food

• Fame is a fickle food
• Upon a shifting plate
• Whose table once a
• Guest but not
• The second time is set.
• Whose crumbs the crows inspect
• And with ironic caw
• Flap past it to the Farmer's Corn 
• Men eat of it and die.
• -Emily Dickinson

9
The Daffodils

• The Daffodils by William Wordsworth I wandered
  lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales
  and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A
  host, of golden daffodils Beside the lake,
  beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the
  breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And
  twinkle on the Milky Way, They stretched in
  never-ending line Along the margin of a bay
  Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their
  heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them
  danced, but they Out-did the sparkling waves in
  glee A Poet could not but be gay, In such a
  jocund company I gazed--and gazed--but little
  thought What wealth the show to me had brought
  For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or
  in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye
  Which is the bliss of solitude And then my
  heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the
  daffodils.

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Robert Frost

• 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.