On this second to the last day of National Poetry Month my students and I are still writing poems. I woke this morning to a suggestion from Abigail at #writeout in the NWP Teachers Studio to go outside and find a poem.

So I pushed and shoved at my lesson plans for today to make room for getting out of the classroom to collect a poem. We grabbed our sketchbooks and pencils and headed out toward the pollinator garden which sits on the edge of the playground. My directions to my first graders were to collect 5 words or ideas (they could sketch if there was time) and that when we returned to the classroom, they would turn those words or ideas into a poem.

As they reminded me, we do this kind of thing pretty regularly–sometimes by taking photos, sometimes with sketchbooks. So, they knew what to do. There’s plenty for curious kids to pay attention to: the playground ball stuck in the tree, the plant growing in the middle of another plant, bees buzzing, rocks and wood chips and so much more.

And when we got back inside, the writing began. All this happened toward the end of the school day, so there was not much time left for the writing, but we did take the time to share a few of these poems in progress. Here’s a sampling.

M asked me if showering was a real word as he composed.

A rock

near a tree with rosemary around it

plain brown wood

wood chips surround it

far away a red ball

trapped in a

forest of flowers

with the sun

showering it.

J loved her last line too.

Berries sway

palm trees blow

the bees pollinate

the red flower

sways in the

clouds.

C was playing around with rhyme.

A plant inside a plant

how could that be?

A flower sunbathing on a leaf.

It looks like you humans

sunbathing.

A blue flower

that’s a good power.

A red ball in a tree

that’s new for me.

A red ball in a plant

that’s good for an ant.

And for V, just a bit of fantasy.

I walk down the blue staircase

and sit under an umbrella

and in the distance

I see a meadow

with flowers as bright as the sun.

I take a drink of my lemonade

and the glass shattered

to pieces.

And my own writing (done with the kids).

In a space made for play

boulders are tables

and the comfiest of chairs

purple flowers mumble

while bees buzz, sipping week nectar

abandoned sweatshirts slouch

against brightly colored walls

and high in a tree

a red ball watches and waits

to be freed