Peter Piper Picked a Peck of Pickled Poems

"Seal" by William Jay Smith See how he divesFrom the rocks with a zoom!See how he dartsThrough his watery roomPast crabs and eelsAnd green seaweed,Past fluffs of sandyMinnow feed!See how he swimsWith a swerve and a twist,A flip of the flipper,A flick of the wrist!Quicksilver-quick,Softer than spray,Down he plungesAnd sweeps away;Before you can think,Before you can utterWords like "Dill pickle"Or "Apple butter,"Back up he swimsPast

"My Father Gave Me Seeds" by John Foster My father gave me seeds.I gave the seeds to the earth.The earth gave me flowers.I gave the flowers to the bees.The bees gave me honey.I gave the honey to a merchant.The merchant gave me cloth.I gave the cloth to a tailor.The tailor gave me a cloak.I gave the cloak to a farmer.The farmer gave me seeds.I gave the seeds to my father.My father gave thanks for the seeds. "I Sit Beside the Fire and Think" by J. R. R. Tolkien I sit beside the fire and think of all that I have seen,of meadow-flowers and butterflies in summers that have been;Of yellow leaves and gossamer in autumns that there were,with morning mist and silver sun and wind upon my hair.I sit beside the fire and think of how the world will bewhen winter comes without a spring that I shall ever see. "Hurt No Living Thing" by Christina Rossetti Hurt no living thing:Ladybird, nor butterfly,Nor moth with dusty wing,Nor cricket chirping cheerily,Nor grasshopper so light of leap,Nor dancing gnat, nor beetle fat,Nor harmless worms that creep. Hi, I’m Grace, and this is the Peter Piper Picked a Peck of Pickled Poems Podcast. It’s a poetry podcast by a kid, for kids. Are you ready for

"Hurricane" by Dionne BrandShut the windowsBolt the doorsBig rain comingClimbing up the mountain Neighbors whisperDark clouds gatherBig rain comingClimbing up the mountain Gather in the clotheslinesPull down the blindsBig wind risingComing up the mountain Branches fallingRaindrops flyingTreetops swayingPeople runningBig wind blowingHurricane! on the mountain Hi, I’m Grace, and this is the Peter Piper Picked a Peck of Pickled Poems Podcast. It’s a poetry podcast by a kid, for kids. Are you

"From a Dakota Wheat-Field" by Hamlin Garland Like liquid gold the wheat-field lies,A marvel of yellow and green,That ripples and runs, that floats and flies,With the subtle shadows, the change, the sheenThat plays in the golden hair of a girl.A cloud flies there—A ripple of amber—a flareOf light follows after. A swirlIn the hollows like the twinkling feetOf a fairy waltzer; the colors runTo the westward sun,Through the deeps of the

"Every Time I Climb a Tree" by David McCord Every time I climb a treeEvery time I climb a treeEvery time I climb a treeI scrape a legOr skin a kneeAnd every time I climb a treeI find some antsOr dodge a beeAnd get the antsAll over me. And every time I climb a treeWhere have you been?They say to meBut don’t they know that I am freeEvery time I climb a tree? "Dew on a Spider's Web" by Dorothy Snow Dew on a spiders web is a wonderful sight,Early morning finds what has been created at night,Lovely designs spun so nice,Without a pattern of device,Looking at a mat of lace,Shows how long it takes to place. Hi, I’m Grace, and this is the Peter Piper Picked a Peck of Pickled Poems Podcast. It’s a poetry podcast by a kid, for kids. Are you ready for

"The Lake Isle of Innisfree" by William Butler Yeats I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,And live alone in the bee-loud glade. And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;There

"A Quiet Life" by Baron Wormser What a person desires in lifeis a properly boiled egg.This isn’t as easy as it seems.There must be gas and a stove,the gas requires pipelines, mastodon drills,banks that dispense the lozenge of capital.There must be a pot, the product of minesand furnaces and factories,of dim early mornings and night-owl shifts,of women in kerchiefs and men withsweat-soaked hair.Then water, the stuff of clouds and

"Charge of the Light Brigade" by Alfred, Lord Tennyson IHalf a league, half a league,Half a league onward,All in the valley of Death   Rode the six hundred.“Forward, the Light Brigade!Charge for the guns!” he said.Into the valley of Death   Rode the six hundred. II“Forward, the Light Brigade!”Was there a man dismayed?Not though the soldier knew   Someone had blundered.   Theirs not to

"Halfway Down" by A. A. Milne Halfway down the stairsIs a stairWhere I sit.There isn't anyOther stairQuite likeIt.I'm not at the bottom,I'm not at the top;So this is the stairWhereI alwaysStop.Halfway up the stairsIsn't upAnd isn't down.It isn't in the nursery,It isn't in the town.And all sorts of funny thoughtsRun round my head.It isn't reallyAnywhere!It's somewhere elseInstead! Hi, I’m

"Sea Fever" by John Masefield I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking. I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tideIs a wild call and a clear call that may

"Ozymandias" by Percy Bysshe Shelley I met a traveller from an antique land,Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stoneStand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sandHalf sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,Tell that its sculptor well those passions readWhich yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;And on the pedestal,

"The Swing" by Robert Louis Stevenson How do you like to go up in a swing, Up in the air so blue? Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing Ever a child can do! Up in the air and over the wall, Till I can see so wide, River and trees and cattle and all Over the countryside—Till I look down on the garden green, Down on the roof so brown—Up in the air I go flying again,

"The Rainbow" by Christina Georgina Rossetti Boats sail on the rivers, And ships sail on the seas;But clouds that sail across the sky Are prettier far than these. There are bridges on the rivers, As pretty as you please;But the bow that bridges heaven, And overtops the trees,And builds a road from earth to sky, Is prettier far than these. Hi,

"A Tragic Story" by William Makepeace Thackeray There lived a sage in days of yore,And he a handsome pigtail wore;But wondered much and sorrowed more,Because it hung behind him. He mused upon this curious case,And swore he'd change the pigtail's place,And have it hanging at his face,Not dangling there behind him. Says he, "The mystery I've

"I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud" by William Wordsworth I wandered lonely as a cloudThat 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 shineAnd twinkle on the milky way,They stretched in never-ending lineAlong the margin of a bay:Ten thousand

"Blow, Bugle, Blow" by Alfred, Lord Tennyson  The splendour falls on castle wallsAnd snowy summits old in story:The long light shakes across the lakes,And the wild cataract leaps in glory.Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. O hark, O hear! how thin and clear,And thinner, clearer, farther going!O sweet and far from cliff and scarThe horns of Elfland faintly blowing!Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying:Blow, bugle; answer,