The very young utter dharma by accident, pointing us to the special in the ordinary—a box of cookies, the palm of the hand, footprints going here and there. All we need to frame this profusion into poetry is ears. 

—Patrick McMahon

Your hand is a pocket

for my kisses

—David Richter, Age 5

Footprints

Which way are you going?

Footprints footprints

Outside the window

Little dancing footprints

My heart is doing treesongs

—Caitlin O’Donnell, Age 3

The Big Box of Cookies

There are pink ones,

black ones,

skin colored ones

and lemon flavored ones

and they are all delicious

—Robert Steel, Age 5

Did you know that things that don’t exist like us cry?

Trees and bushes cry.

Even rose bushes with thorns cry.

Everything in the world cries.

—Elias Alexander, Age 3

Why do I teach poetry? I don’t know. Most of the time I don’t. I don’t want to deal with thirty kids who are noisy and rude and won’t be quiet. I don’t want to deal with my own stage fright. I don’t want to be the center of attention as a teacher. So why do I do it? That’s almost like asking why I practice Zen. I’m stumped.

The simplest answer is that I like to write, I like words on the page, dancing beneath my fingers. I want to pass on an appreciation for writing, for playing with words. I have full confidence in every single child that I work with. I know that they have feelings and ideas, and I know that they can express them through poetry. I want them to know it’s easy.

I come into the classroom not necessarily to teach, but to open. I remember a fifth grade class in which we wrote about a relative. One boy wrote about his grandmother who had died, and when he read his poem he started crying. The class was silent, but there was respect in that room—for the poem, for the student, for tears. Maybe all I want to pass on, whether in terms of poetry or dharma, is that it’s possible to open to ourselves and to each other.

I selected the following poems for Inquiring Mind’s readers because I personally liked them. I like the earthquakes and waterfalls, and the flowers bringing back memories. I like the man in the library wishing for a break from work. I like the bitter yearning of the woman with an umbrella. I like the appearance and disappearance of the cat. I like the thought of there being something wild in my own Amazon heat. I have felt all these things in my life, and love that kids are able to tap into all of it and express it so well.

—Judyth Gong

Judyth Gong is a California Poet in the Schools and practices Zen with the Ring of Bone Zendo.

The Flower Shop

In the flower shop

all of the flowers

look dull

except one special flower

like the one in my grandmother’s

front yard the day she passed

away . . .

—Khalilah Rasheed, 5th Grade

The Amazon

it is midday

very

very

hot

the river is green

everything

is green

everything is fresh

but in the depth of the Amazon

it is very very

WILD

—Arzhang Zereshki, 5th Grade

The Cat

the cat with the green eyes spit

spit spat spit the cat

it stared at me and then

yooowww

OW that hurt

I remember the tail disappearing

like a plane in the sky

but I still had that scratch

I remember…

—Adeline Duffy, 6th Grade

How Does Love End

does love end like a volcano

or a balloon popping?

does it end like a 9.9 earthquake

or a tidal wave crashing

against the rock on the shore?

does it end like a one million yard high

waterfall crashing on your head?

well maybe you will find out one day

when you get a divorce from your wife

—Ross Brayton-Cussen, 4th Grade

Woman With An Umbrella

a woman watching

the unreachable blue sky

while the air

blows her image

where it belongs

the delicate green yellow grass

reaches up and calls

her name

the sweet smell of the flowers

haunts her

the bitter wind blows

her shawl frantically,

and the grass brings her memories

from her childhood

—John Bergantinos, 6th Grade

The Man in the Library

a man sits in the library

books scattered in front of him

words and letters whizz through his mind

the ink bottle and brush wait silently

to be used

he seems to be thinking

of riding his horse in a big open field

as he stares out the window

—Apollo Papafrangor, 5th Grade

Poetry, like passion, like insight, cannot be taught, yet it must be learned. I motivate, enthuse, and co-participate in the creative process, providing students with openings from which to start. A strong group dynamic is at work here, simultaneous with the most private inner searching. I make a safe place for them to share, and I assume the high worth of their creation. They do the rest. Sometimes the results give us goosebumps and a tingling up the spine.

In the following poems, I instructed the students to build on a favorite line or phrase—say, “nothing much”—to hook the reader in the first line, to avoid repetition of the seminal phrase, and to end on the strongest line, with an image to stick in the reader’s mind after the poem is gone. But I remind my students, in poetry, breaking the rules is one of the rules.

—Will Staple

Will Staple is a California poet in the schools and practices Zen with the Ring of Bone Zendo.

Nothing Much

Nothing much just . . .

A burst of light on the horizon

A flash of blue light over in dusty sky

A lone stone being stroked by whipping waves

A triumphant blow of a golden horn

A speck of sand named “Harry” on the glittering banks

A sweet taste of peppermint tea

A whiff of old picture books

A muddy puddle knee high

A screech of chalk on a chalk board

An old homework assignment crumpled

A marshmallow squishing under feet

An old painting hanging crookedly

Nothing much at all

—Alison Harris, 7th Grade

I Have the Right

I have the right to let my hair down

and run in the fields.

I have the right to slide down a waterfall

screaming “Hallelujah!”

I have the right to take off my shoes

and dump them in a pond.

I have the right to write anything.

I have the right to take off the grape skins

before I eat them.

I have the right to move to Spain

and not speak to anyone for five days.

I have the right to dye my hair purple

and eat snails for dinner.

I have the right to pick the flowers in my garden

and make a wreath for my cat.

I have the right to be me.

—Ellie Guy, 7th Grade

Planet Bob

I don’t believe

I don’t believe anything

It’s all a scam

Everyone is lying

My life is just a big experiment

There are scientists on planet Bob

They took me from my birth

They gave me weird drugs

To make me think I’m on a planet called Earth

In a fake solar system

With fake people

With fake personalities

And I will be raised to be a perfect person

And will be released at a certain age

Back to planet Bob

—Jonah Mociun, 8th Grade

My Mask

My mask hides me from

the dark and lonely world outside

My mask makes a smile

when my grandma gives me a sloppy kiss

My mask helps me be good to other people

when I don’t like them

My mask helps me when I am scared

It helps me when I am embarrassed

My mask tells me to act like someone else

when I want to act like myself

My mask tells me I should go on the Big Dipper

when I want to go to the little rides

My mask hides me from girls and fights

My mask hides me from my mad mind

My mask hides me from crying

—Michael Kawa, 7th Grade

∞

From the Spring 1992 issue of Inquiring Mind (Vol. 8, No. 2)

Text © 1992–2021 by the individual authors