I could just repost my entries from last year--It's heavenly; it's an honor; I feel like dancing. I'm almost done an 18 session poetry unit with Rose's first through third grade class. I'm in awe of their ability to learn, take direction, and take risks.

I'm also trying not to stomp on their emotional hyperbole. They do feel strongly. They do want to save the world. I'm trying to convince them that the detail about holding their specific grandmother's hand after she had eight stiches in her head is more effective than writing about a generic homeless child out in the rain.

They write things like:

Hunger is a fire in mouth. It licks my lips and cackles.

Sea Shell

Sea shell, sea shell
curly and striped
gliding down the water
like smooth jazz.
Slipping sliding as
fish go by.
Plip! pop! Somebody
picks you up and
puts you to their
ear.
Out comes the sound
of trumpets and
violins too.
tiptoe tiptoe back to
the shore. Splish! Splash!
back in the water making a pearl.

Today they were telling me how to add concrete detail, use line breaks, and make the meaning match the sound.

I was telling them that I loved seeing the world from a slug's perspective, turning into a cup of cocoa, and that they had set up a great pattern--keep going.