“Do young children write poetry at all in this age of electronics?” This was one of the questions asked on Hawaii Public Radio when I was interviewed for my 3rd children’s book on Wordsworth the mouse poet who is empowered by writing poetry.
I didn’t need to think. “Yes!” I said.
I wish the poet/ children I’m featuring this month were there.
Their poetry would have supported my answer quite eloquently and convincingly. Today, meet Tara. We have met only through Wordsworth and her poetry.
Tara is seven years old. Her mother wrote: Tara and I picked up Wordsworth again last night–and Tara was inspired to write some more poems that she wanted to share with you. She is seven now.
The wind and sky, the ground and earth
at a tornado’s birth.
With angels in puffy clouds
dancing on their tippy tippy toes,
with one little step
they will go.
Away and away they go.
A sea will crash on a silver beach
leaving the seashells behind.
The fish will splash and listen
to the breeze the ocean left behind.
The fish will follow the breeze.
And away and away they go.
One little seed
One little plant
One little flower
That will grow content.
The leaves will spread
and body grow.
That will go down its stem
and grow grow grow.
I wrote to Tara:
I read your poems aloud over and over and felt myself flying above the clouds.
The clouds are white today in California so it’s a perfect day for soaring and your
poems became my wings. I’m dancing, Tara, I’m flying.
When Tara was six years old, her mother sent me the following:
Your gifts to me and my family keep giving, and Wordsworth keeps inspiring! I wanted to share with you….
I don’t know how I had missed it, but I had….The other night, Tara and I opened Wordsworth for our nightly snuggle and there was your beautiful Haiku to Tara and Zoe. I was so touched by it, and I believe Tara was ever more inspired.
Tara wanted to share a few of the poems with you:
Flower on the sidewalk
you will grow
with grace and beauty
Leaf you can grow
as big as a tree
Flower you can grow
as fast as
a waiting poem
I wrote to Tara’s mother:
In Hawaii we say we get “chicken skin ” when we meet up with something that leave us speechless.
I got chicken skin, just sitting here reading Tara’s poems over and over. That last verse is simply beautiful…
“as fast as a waiting poem.”
Our planet got a bit stronger…
and Wordsworth is here, grinning away.