My Son's Favorite Poems
It’s been a while!
We’ve got a new addition here in our home, and my time has been spent joyfully preparing for him and tending to him since his birth. Our new baby boy joined us on the morning of 11/26.
While I’m on leave from teaching, I thought it might be fun to share a more personal post here: the poems that my four-year-old son loves most, and even requests as part of bedtime story reading. If you have little ones, you might enjoy sharing some or all of these with them, too.
The first poem I want to share here is my son’s all-time favorite—he has it memorized.
The Eagle
by Alfred, Lord Tennyson
He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.
This one is what my son is currently referring to as his “favorite story ever.” We have a beautiful illustrated version of it by Susan Jeffers which I recommend.
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
by Robert Frost
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,
And miles to go before I sleep.
This one is just plain silly, and we love it.
Daddy Fell Into the Pond
by Alfred Noyes
Everyone grumbled. The sky was grey.
We had nothing to do and nothing to say.
We were nearing the end of a dismal day,
And there seemed to be nothing beyond,
THEN
Daddy fell into the pond!
And everyone’s face grew
merry and bright,
And Timothy danced for sheer delight.
"Give me the camera, quick, oh quick!
He’s crawling out of the duckweed!"
Click!
Then the gardener suddenly
slapped his knee,
And doubled up, shaking silently,
And the ducks all quacked
as if they were daft,
And it sounded as if the old drake laughed.
Oh, there wasn’t a thing that didn’t respond
WHEN
Daddy fell into the pond!
Another silly one!
Opposites
by Richard Wilbur
What is the opposite of riot?
It's lots of people keeping quiet.
The opposite of doughnut? Wait
A minute while I meditate.
This isn't easy. Ah, I've found it!
A cookie with a hole around it.
What is the opposite of two?
A lonely me, a lonely you.
The opposite of a cloud could be
A white reflection in the sea,
Or a huge blueness in the air,
Caused by a cloud's not being there.
The opposite of opposite?
That's much too difficult. I quit.
I’m obsessed with this one, and it has rubbed off on my son. He didn’t love it at first, but once I told him what I liked about it, and explained some of the words he didn’t understand, he started to request it on his own. (And, fun fact: Willy Wonka (Gene Wilder) quotes it while he is showing the kids around the secret room in the factory with the everlasting gobstoppers!)
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 tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.
A childhood classic, this one!
Wynken, Blynken, & Nod
by Eugene Field
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night
Sailed off in a wooden shoe,—
Sailed on a river of crystal light
Into a sea of dew.
"Where are you going, and what do you wish?"
The old moon asked the three.
"We have come to fish for the herring-fish
That live in this beautiful sea;
Nets of silver and gold have we,"
Said Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.
The old moon laughed and sang a song,
As they rocked in the wooden shoe;
And the wind that sped them all night long
Ruffled the waves of dew;
The little stars were the herring-fish
That lived in the beautiful sea.
"Now cast your nets wherever you wish,—
Never afraid are we!"
So cried the stars to the fishermen three,
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.
All night long their nets they threw
To the stars in the twinkling foam,—
Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe,
Bringing the fishermen home:
'Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemed
As if it could not be;
And some folk thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed
Of sailing that beautiful sea;
But I shall name you the fishermen three:
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.
Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,
And Nod is a little head,
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
Is a wee one's trundle-bed;
So shut your eyes while Mother sings
Of wonderful sights that be,
And you shall see the beautiful things
As you rock in the misty sea
Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three:—
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.
This one took a few readings, but my son loves it now.
Silver
by Walter de la Mare
Slowly, silently, now the moon
Walks the night in her silver shoon;
This way, and that, she peers, and sees
Silver fruit upon silver trees;
One by one the casements catch
Her beams beneath the silvery thatch;
Couched in his kennel, like a log,
With paws of silver sleeps the dog;
From their shadowy cote the white breasts peep
Of doves in a silver-feathered sleep;
A harvest mouse goes scampering by,
With silver claws and a silver eye;
And moveless fish in the water gleam,
By silver reeds in a silver stream.
This one is playful and sweet. Maybe a little silly at first glance, but I don’t think of it that way after more readings.
The Sea
by James Reeves
The sea is a hungry dog,
Giant and grey.
He rolls on the beach all day.
With his clashing teeth and shaggy jaws
Hour upon hour he gnaws
The rumbling, tumbling stones,
And ‘Bones, bones, bones, bones! ‘
The giant sea-dog moans,
Licking his greasy paws.
And when the night wind roars And the moon rocks in the stormy cloud,
He bounds to his feet and snuffs and sniffs,
Shaking his wet sides over the cliffs,
And howls and hollos long and loud.
But on quiet days in May or June,
When even the grasses on the dune
Play no more their reedy tune,
With his head between his paws
He lies on the sandy shores,
So quiet, so quiet, he scarcely snores.
Awww, this one. I always laugh and sigh. So sweet.
Roger the Dog
by Ted Hughes
Asleep he wheezes at his ease.
He only wakes to scratch his fleas.
He hogs the fire, he bakes his head
As if it were a loaf of bread.
He's just a sack of snoring dog.
You can lug him like a log.
You can roll him with your foot,
He'll stay snoring where he's put.
I take him out for exercise,
He rolls in cowclap up to his eyes.
He will not race, he will not romp,
He saves his strength for gobble and chomp.
He'll work as hard as you could wish
Emptying his dinner dish.
Then flops flat, and digs down deep,
Like a miner, into sleep.