Post-Career Old(er) Educator Finding His Way as a Full-Time (Publishable) Writer Recommends Good Poetry Collections for Young(er) Children in Celebration of National Poetry Month

books_reading_glass_hiresApril is National Poetry Month, and that makes the month an especially good time for you to saunter off toyour local library to grab a few of themany wonderful poetry collections that crowd the children’s book market these days and spend some time each day reading poems with the kids you know that speak to their interests, experiences, and imaginations. Make the reading an enjoyable experience, one so appealing that kids will be hooked on poetry for the rest of their lives!

Let that enjoyment begin early on by sharing poems that have something to say to young children as they navigate their preschool experiences and make their way through the primary elementary school grades. In the following collections, there are bound to be any number of poems that will delight young children and their adult allies. And with so many poems to choose from, bypass the ones that don’t excite, move on, and find ones that do!

In my future poetry alerts, I will be working my way up the age ladder, drawing your attention to collections that have the potential to make poetry meaningful throughout childhood and into adulthood. Along the way, I’ll describe some of the techniques we can draw on to make poetry come alive whenever we set out to share poetry in meaningful ways.

Does anyone out there love poetry as much as I do?

  1. Coombs, Kate. Water Sings Blue: Ocean Poems. Illustrated by Meilo So. Chronicle Books, 2012. In addition to identifying sea creatures large (“Oarfish,” “Gulper Eel”) and small (“Sea Urchin,” “Prayer of the Little Fish”), the poet invokes images that create an atmosphere of wonder (“Sand’s Story,” “What the Waves Say” “Tideline”) awe (“Coral,” “Tide Pool Shopping,” “Not Really Fish”), and gratitude (“Song of the Boat,” “Blue Whale,” “Ocean Reality”). Brilliant full-color watercolors complement mood, movement, and sentiment.
  2. Davies, Nicola. Outside Your Window: A First Book of Nature. Illustrated by Mark Hearld. Candlewick, 2012. Moving through a year of seasons, Davies and Hearld offer observations and information about the natural world as well as reflections, short narratives, and suggestions to help children enjoy nature’s constant changes. Hearld’s paper-cut collages, woodcuts, and other mixed-media techniques, complement the album of ideas, images, and moods created by Davies’s evocative poetry. Science meets poetry and poetry meets science through rich images and thoughtful poems. Each reading deepens the experience in word, picture, and heartfelt reflection.
  3. Hopkins, Lee Bennett, (Ed.). Cimb Into My Lap: First Poems to Read Together. Illustrated by Kathryn Brown. Simon & Schuster, 1998. The eight sections into which Hopkins has arranged a selection of more than fifty gentle poems are tuned to the young child’s curiosity and growing recognition of the folks and experiences that define his or her world. Thus, the poets fathom whimsy (“Worlds of Make-Believe’), relationships (“Some People”), self (“Me!” and “Little Hands and Fingers—Little Toes and Feet”), and the security of home and caring family (“Good Night”) —topics tenderly illuminated with Brown’s affectionate watercolors.

The poets range from classical (Eugene Field, Sir James M. Barrie, Christina Rossetti, Robert Louis Stevenson, Lewis Carroll) and modern (David McCord, Charlotte Zolotow, Nancy Willard, Karla Kuskin) to contemporary (Deborah Chandra, Rebecca Kai Dotlich, Mary Ann Hoberman), and all of their offerings are gifts to be read aloud. A worthy companion to Hopkins’s Side by Side: Poems to Read Together (Simon & Schuster, 1988).

  1. Lewis, J. Patrick (Ed.). National Geographic Book of Animal Poetry: 200 Poems with Photographs That Squeak, Soar, and Roar. National Geographic, 2012. The 200 mostly short poems cover a delightful range of classic and contemporary poets, including Robert Louis Stevenson (“The Cow”), Walter de la Maré (“A Warbler”), Lewis Carroll (“The Crocodile”), Benjamin Franklin (“Butterfly”), Maxine Kumin (“The Horses”), Jack Prelutsky (“The Walrus”), and J. Patrick Lewis (“How to Tell a Camel”). Impressive, as well, is the range in form and style, including limerick, haiku, shape poetry, free verse, and rhymed verse, with the poems thoughtfully categorized by the characteristics and traits of the animals represented such as “the big ones,” “the little ones,” “the winged ones,” “the water ones,” “the strange ones,” “the noisy ones,” and “the quiet ones.” Stunning, full-bleed photographs capture and the variety, beauty, and peculiarity of these fascinating creatures. A book to pore over…and over…and over again.
  2. Mannis, Celeste Davidson. One Leaf Rides the Wind: Counting in a Japanese Garden. Illustrated by Susan Kathleen Hurting. Puffin, 2005. A kimono-attired child guides readers through a traditional Japanese garden. Meditative haiku and lush jewel-toned pictures reveal the tranquility of the garden and the wonder of the eleven items the gracious child observes and explores.
  3. Mora, Pat. Confetti: Poems for Children. Illustrated by Enrique O. Sanchez. New York: Lee & Low, 1996. Free verse poems celebrate the rhythms and uniqueness of the Southwest and its culture as seen through the eyes of a Mexican-American girl. Many Spanish words are interwoven into the verses and translated in a glossary at the book’s end. Acrylic illustrations, rendered in hot colors reflecting the sun, their swirling, dreamlike patterns suggest the vastness of the land and the freedom of its inhabitants.
  4. Muth, Jon J. Hi, Koo! A Year of Seasons. Scholastic, 2014. In twenty-six haiku —each a variation from the traditional five-seven-five syllable form —the lovable panda Koo, at first alone and later joined by an alert boy and girl, romps through the seasons savoring each unique experience that nature offers him and his companions. The palette of the quiet watercolor-and-ink pictures changes to reflect the contrasting moods and textures that each season holds in store. In an author note, Muth encourages readers to follow “an alphabetical path through the book by following the capitalized words in each haiku.” Readers first met Koo in Muth’s Zen Ties (Scholastic, 2008).
  5. Prelutsky, Jack. Ive Lost My Hippopotamus. Illustrated by Jackie Urbanovic. New York: Greenwillow, 2012. What a romp! Offered here are more than 100 silly and downright hilarious poems mostly about animals, some real-with-a-twist (an elephant that’s artistically talented, an octopus that’s great at multitasking) and others strangely imagined (a wiguana, gludu, appleopard). The bottom line? Look closely, use your imagination, and you’ll find humor all around you. Haiku, rhymed verse, shape poems, and an occasional limerick add variety, and Ubanovic’s whimsical black-and-white line drawings serve up a steady beat of pun, slapstick, and farce. A call to action for read alouds, oral interpretation, and readers theater.
  6. Prelutsky, Jack (Ed.). The Random House Book of Poetry for Children. Illustrated by Arnold Lobel. Random House, 1983. There’s something of interest and delight for every child among five hundred poems that are divided into child-friendly subject areas such as living things, home, seasons, domestic and wild animals, and children themselves. There are classic poems by Emily Dickinson, Robert Frost, Lewis Carroll, and others, along with modern and contemporary verse by Shel Silverstein, David McCord, Mary Ann Hoberman, and Karla Kuskin, all told in a diversity of form, tone, and mood. Lobel’s upbeat drawings fill the entire volume with lively, quirky drama and an offbeat, somewhat radical attention to childhood imagination.
  7. Salas, Laura Purdie. Water Can Be . Illustrated by Violeta Dabija. Millbrook, 2014. With the aid of softly textured art work that feels like a meditation, the poet describes water’s many functions in rhyming pairs while also exploring water’s effects on the environment and, ultimately, on our lives. The poems are rendered in brief inventive, thought-provoking metaphors that encourage discussion and could lead to a guided writing activity. The author/illustrator pair have also collaborated on A Leaf Can be (Millbrook, 2012), which also offers fascinating observations of the natural world.
  8. Yolen, Jane, and Peters, Andrew Fusek (Eds.). Heres a Little Poem: A Very First Book of Poetry. Illustrated by Polly Dunbar. Cambridge, MA: Candlewick, 2007. EC~ An over-sized, spacious anthology of more than 60 small poems arranged into four categories that cover four significant features of the very young child’s world: “Me, Myself, and I,” “Who Lives In My House?,” “I Go Outside,” and “Time for Bed.” These are well crafted poems by some of the most outstanding children’s poets, including Nikki Grimes, Rebecca Kai Dotlich, Rosemary Wells, Jack Prelutsky, and Lillian Moore. While many of the children depicted in the mixed-media illustrations appear happy and contented as they dance, romp, gesture, and play together, others are seen in the throes of anger, jealousy, and tantrum. It’s all good, real, rhythmic, and entertaining poetry that’s bound to amuse babies, infants, toddlers, preschoolers, and the kindergarten set over and over and over again. Giving voice to the poems with kids this young can be a first step toward readers theater experiences. To continue the spell, try Yolen and Peters’s Switching on the Moon: A Very First Book of Bedtime Poems (Candlewick, 2010).

Post-Career Old(er) Guy Finding His Way as a Full-Time (Publishable) Writer                Reveals Why the Words “Retelling/Reteller” Applied to Reinventing a Folk- or Fairy Tale Fails at Acknowledging a Complex Process


“The Orphan: A Cinderella Story from Greece”

Browse your local library shelves where you find folk- and fairy tales and you’’ll soon discover that the majority of such stories are, according to book covers, “retold” by their authors. Now I don’t mean to sound like some fussy old nitpicker, but I’m here to tell you that to call me a “reteller” in my role as an oral storyteller and folklore author and to label what I labor to write a “retelling” surely misses the mark when it comes to describing the effort, awareness, and technique that I must draw on when the goal is to tell a story that entertains as much as it reveals human joys and sorrows, fears and courage, defeats and triumphs. This notion of “retelling” makes it seem that the folklore author or oral teller is taking the traditional tale or legend or verse and simply repeating most or all of it just as it was found. Not much work there. Maybe a little tidying up. Perhaps adding some drama to a conflict to make the story more appealing. What about letting those characters talk to one another when they meet up on that highway. And then there’s tightening the storyline with a little less description to move the tale along more quickly. Now, while any constructive alteration is bound to upgrade the tale or legend’s power, deep organic changes are what’s needed to build a good story. As it turns out, the act of breathing new life into these ancient narratives is not so much a matter of retelling them as it is of transforming them, or if a “re” must be in the equation, of “reinventing” whether as a writer or performer.

The process always starts with wandering around the tale. Spend a good amount of time getting to know the characters and you soon discover that however one-dimensional they seem given their folklore nature, they still trade in motivations, desires, challenges, and conflicts. Follow the events that carry these characters from here to there and beyond and you find that however quickly a tale moves along —by its folklore nature— free of the kind of details found in a novel or short story or, for that matter, a picture book, stuff does happen to keep the narrative moving and the characters suffering, learning, failing, surviving, and more often than not, living happily ever after. Linger awhile inside the tale and catch its rhythm, which sometimes suggests the cadence of an oral storyteller who fills the tale with traces of an earnest resonating voice. To bring that voice —the teller’s performance— to the page for the sake of keeping vibrant the tale’s long-standing oral heritage is one of the most pressing challenges for the folk- or fairy tale writer.

My coauthor Soula Mitakidou and I faced this challenge and my others when we wrote “The Orphan, A Cinderella Story from Greece,” which Schwartz & Wade Books/Random House published as a picture book with illustrations by Giselle Potter. The tale features a beloved daughter who becomes an orphan when her mother suddenly dies, for as people in Greece believe, “A child becomes an orphan when she loses her mother.” This quietly shrewd kid draws on her ingenuity and the gracious help of Mother Nature to free herself from a nasty stepmother and win back fortune’s blessings which sets her on a path to a happy future. In an early episode, the orphan becomes so upset over her predicament, she flees to her mother’s grave one moon-lit night to plead for release from the stepmother’s cruelty. In our very first reading of the tale, we translated into English the rhymed couplets the writer had used in the Greek version on which we roughly based our telling.

Our translation of the graveyard episode took this form:

In her despair one night, to her mother’s grave she fled

And in her darkest hour clawed the earth until her fingers bled.

“Oh mother dear, get up, get up and listen to my plea,

I have a stranger for a mother, I beg you, comfort me!

And strangers have I for sisters too whose harsh words burn my heart.

So, mother dear, take pity on me, a victim of cruel art”


At these cries the mother’s grave did tremble and quake

Startled, the girl stood breathless, and not a sound did make


“Go, my child, go to good, don’t cry and don’t complain!

Your sorrow weighs heavily on me; your pain is my pain.

Go, my child, go to good, keep your heart pure and kind

Soon your every wish will be yours to find.”

While we abandoned our early attempt to write the tale in rhymed couplets because we felt the repetitive musical cadence made our writing monotonous, we liked the dramatic tension and mystical aura the verse gave the graveyard episode and decided to work up a verse rendition of it, hoping the verse style would amp up the intensity of the orphan’s passionate encounter with her mother.

Many revisions later and with crucial guidance offered by Anne Schwartz, editor extraordinaire, the graveyard episode morphed into this interpretation that made it into the published picture book:

One night, the poor orphan fled to her mother’s grave. Throwing herself on the ground, she cried:

“Oh, Mother, dear Mother,

Listen to my plea!

A stranger tries to take your place,

But does not care for me.

Her daughters call me ‘sister’ now,

But are heartless as can be.

Oh, Mother, dear Mother,

I beg you, set me free!”


At once, the grave trembled, and the mother’s voice rose from the earth:


“Go, my child, go to good,

With all my blessings, go!

Your sorrow weighs upon my heart,

Your pain, it wounds me so.

Go, my child, go to good,

Don’t cry and don’t despair.

Go home, my soul, and wait to find

True fortune’s blessings there.”

And so, holding close her mother’s words, the orphan followed the moon’s path home.

If our revised episode demonstrates anything of value about the process of reimagining a tale, it concerns the risk that went into taking raw material that meandered across the page in erratic verse and breathing into it a sensible rhythm that attempted to capture something of the oral teller’s presence.

Even riskier was our characterization of the orphan. We decided to give her the option to step out of the traditional role in which she waits patiently to be rescued by a prince. Many of the Greek Cinderellas we met stayed in their place at home submissive to their destiny as women and unable to take the initiative to decide their fate. Unlike these characters, our orphan emerges as a self-determined young woman who takes it upon herself to go and find her rescuer.

We keep discovering that the joy of our work with the tales comes from taking each step along the way determined to allow the source tale to teach us how to reinvent it. That’s the joy alright, but it’s also the challenge we love to take up.

Today’s writing prompt: He hadn’t seen her since the day they left high school.

  Post-Career Old(er) Guy Finding His Way as a Full-Time (Publishable) Writer Describes the Process of Retelling Greek Folktales

dsafThere’s no way I would have come close to retelling or writing culturally authentic Greek folk- and fairy tales without the guidance of Soula Mitakidou, my Greek colleague, who led me through the inner sanctum of Greek culture. As we searched through hundreds of tales, looking for ones that attracted us and held promise for readers in the English-speaking world, we often sat at the same desk or computer in Thessaloniki, Greece, with Soula interpreting the tales we were translating into English, providing cultural contexts for them, showing how they expressed past and present cultural values and beliefs, and demonstrating how traditions still to this day serve as bonds uniting the Greek people.

You need a few examples of the cultural characteristics I took hold of once Soula and I were deep into the process of working through a batch of tales, don’t you? Take “Mirsina,” a tale in our anthology of twenty stories, Folktales from Greece: A Treasury of Delights (Linworth/Libraries Unlimited). “Mirsina” is a good example of a supernatural tale that is both universal in its themes and specific to its culture. In this story, the personification of the sun demonstrates a distinctive feature of Greek folktales, namely, the use of celestial elements to assist a character encountering life’s predicaments. What I learned from Soula is that the close relationship between mortals and celestial bodies in Greek tales can be explained by the fascinating folk belief that every individual is assigned a star that accompanied him or her throughout life. A person’s life begins and ends at this star, which means that every individual is guaranteed a preordained origin and a destination. You meet up with celestial characters that come to the aid of the young protagonist in our most recent picture book, The Orphan: A Cinderella Story from Greece (schwartz & wade/Random House).

Ah, here’s another distinct characteristic of Greek tales I learned along the way. It’s this: The harmonious blend of the ancient and the contemporary, the secular and the religious. For instance, the reference to the number forty in several stories in our anthology, namely, “Anthousa, Xanthousa, Chrisomalousa,” “The Crab,” and “Brother and Sister,” can be tied to the Biblical story of Noah or Christ’s test in the desert for forty days and nights. In contemporary Greece, it is customary for folks to fast for forty days before Christmas and Easter, and families take their newborns to church to be blessed forty days after they are born.

A similar element that is a remnant of ancient tradition is the reference to a loved one as “my soul,” which, in the anthology, appears in “The Axe and Yannis,” and “The Goat Girl.” This, I discovered, is a very common expression in everyday conversations in contemporary Greece and can be traced to the ancient story of Cupid and Psyche, the literary form of which first appeared in The Golden Ass by Lucius Apuleius in the second century, C. E. Today, Cupid, representing love, and Psyche, representing the soul —as they did in ancient times— still symbolize everlasting love —yes, indeed, as can be seen by the numerous images of the couple that appear, for instance, in Valentine’s Day paraphernalia.

Okay, so there you have a few cultural elements that keep the cultural integrity of Greek tales intact. And now you see that anytime you or I, the foreigner, come across tales you love in a culture not your own, then the telling/writing of these tales begins with the challenge of vigorously navigating your way into the beliefs, rituals, ceremonies, that is, the ancient and contemporary contexts, that make that culture tick.

What more is there to say about the process of translating raw folk narratives into acceptable stories that make sense? Stay tuned …

Today’s writing prompt: Weave a tale that begins, “Once upon a bygone time, there lived a king and his three sons, and all three wanted …”

Post-Career Old(er) Guy Finding His Way as a Full-Time (Publishable) Writer Explains How He Happened to Become a Folklore Author


As a writer, I’ve been working in folk- and fairy tale mode for quite a few years now. Tales from Greek traditions. How did I get there, and why am I staying there for the interim?

Well, as it happened I was working in a Greek university in the mid-1990s and that assignment led me into a Greek kindergarten in the university’s child development center. I was welcomed into that room by two talented teachers who granted me a carte blanche to carry on a research project among those perky kids, my intention being to explore their literacy development, which is to say, how they grow into using language to learn how to navigate their experiences and come to make sense of the world, themselves, and others, given the “proper” conditions, of course. Lo and behold, when it came to daily story time in that room, the foreign guy with very limited Greek language skill over there—namely, me— joined joyful teacher-led sessions that brought to life gorgeously-illustrated picture books and traditional songs and dances that got all of us singing and line-dancing around the room! Now during those story times —with my language skills improving— I would sometimes find myself following the tried-and-true plot of a dramatic Greek myth. I heard Zeus, Demester, Atlas, Helios, Athena, Artemis, Icarus, and I witnessed their exploits and shenanigans.

But then, at other story sessions, I’m being welcomed into a fascinating story world filled with distressed virgins, belching giants, rival stepmothers, charming princes, confused brothers, liberated sisters, wise and witty daughters, wretched goblins, mysterious talking spirits, celestial beings visiting earthlings, animated cauldrons, powerful witches, and ghastly ghosts, and, of course, the promise of living happily ever after or at least somewhat better. What are they reading? I ask. Our folk and fairy tales, I’m told.

Well, let me tell you something I know for sure. Survey children’s and teens’ lit in the U S of A and you’ll find all sorts of Greek myths in all sorts of formats, from picture books to heavy-duty collections, but look for Greek folk- and fairy tales and you’ll find a wasteland. And thus began the Greek folklore project with my Greek colleague, Professor Soula Mitakidou, our intention being pure and maybe not quite so simple, given the competitive nature of the publishing world: to bring Greek folk- and fairy tales to children and teens here at home (even though folk materials of any kind were never invented to kindle only the imagination of kids).

And so, off we gladly go into the public domain, searching through folklore archives, collections, internet sites, and the like for these deceptively simple, wise, often brutally violent tales, these magical, mysterious, spellbinding, supernatural, often bizarre and absurd stories filled to the brim with human struggle, survival, betrayal, trickery, hope, enduring love (as in the “happily ever after” brand) and, oh, of course, given the human need for comic relief, there is a huge offering of humorous tales showcasing foolish characters in zany predicaments.

We gather tales that particularly attract us and hold promise for young readers, as well. And then what happens? Stay tuned … the work begins.

Today’s writing prompt: Weave a brief story around this Swahili proverb: “Charity is a matter of the heart, not the pocket.”

Post-Career Old(er) Guy Finding His Way as a Full-Time (Publishable) Writer

To all old(er) seniors who have dreamt about becoming a writer, who find themselves saying about this or that recurring memory or current experience, “I really should write that down,” listen up!

I’m a retired professor gaining years like some folks seem to gain weight by merely eyeing a bowl of delectable steaming pasta, and one of the ways I’m staying alive is by writing and sometimes publishing stories for kids and ‘tweens’. If I can do it, you can too, but you’ve got to believe in yourself and conquer any of those internal voices that tell you, “You ain’t got no talent”.

Those other voices that would have you believe, “You’re either born with the writer’s special talents, or your not.” How do I know those voices demand attention? ‘Cause they haunt me—and as it turns out—many other writers I hear about, listen to, read about, meet. And what’s the remedy? Ah, simple: WRITE. Five, ten, fifteen minutes a day…twenty a week…thirty a month. Write about what? Name it. Your dog. Cat. First love of years ago. Your legacy. Your kids—both easy and difficult. Who cares if it ever is seen by anyone else, but wouldn’t it be grand if you eventually—inevitably—decided to become the vulnerable writer, going public…in a writer’s/reader’s group, in a blog (more about that later), with a friend.

Now, here’s what I’m finding: The more I write and look at each piece carefully and honestly, the more confident I am growing, and what my published stories tell me: I may be getting better. You write because you need to, have to, because you believe that the Word can help the writer in you see yourself and your life and others better, maybe even with more compassion. And if you pass the writing on to another, then you pass on the hope and means of having them see their lives better, with much more understanding. Know what I mean?

Today’s writing prompt: From one of your photo albums or a collection of photos, choose one that catches your eye. After you look at the photo for a few minutes, write for 5 to 10 minutes or more about the feelings and memories the photo brings up in you. Don’t censor. Just write.