Children Books Poems | Examples
These Children Books poems are examples of Books poems about Children. These are the best examples of Books Children poems written by international poets.
I pray every morning I’ll be blessed
I’m not yet…but I’m trying….
to understand when we ban books in schools
before we ban guns
Why we’re more afraid of our children learning
Than we are of our children dying.
Read,
escape;
Then share it;
That adventure
will last for all time;
Before bed give daydreams,
feast on relics from the past;
Passed to the next generation
a gifted storyteller wields the
mystery and magic of evening tales.
Black ink, a river, flows across the page,
Carrying echoes of past lessons.
Children's faces, quiet focus,
Hold a slate, a canvas of shared knowing.
Open books, fallen blossoms,
A silent library of learning
waits to be discovered.
Light, a fleeting moth, dances,
Illuminating diagrams,
Revealing algorithms’ core.
Fragrance of old paper,
a forgotten language,
a shared memory.
Diligent hands, tracing words,
Seeking answers,
a testament to knowledge.
A collective breath, shared,
across generations.
The siblings were barefooted, so walking was painful.
Gretel was tiring of this adventure when she saw a light.
I hope it is a castle, she suggested. Hansel squeezed her hand.
Maybe it is a spaceship that will whisk us off to a bakery.
They laughed at their silliness.
At the edge of a clearing they saw a candy house.
It was gorgeously decorated with peppermint candies.
Must be a mirage, Hansel said. Gretel did not know what that meant.
They ran down the hill, their bare feet not as tender now.
Do you think we should taste it? Gretel asked.
No one had answered the door.
As they began to consume the house a voice said
“Come in Children!”
Please stay on track Dad, the young mother said.
She wanted him to stick with the story others had read.
As soon as she was out of sight her twins pleaded with him.
Tell us the story of how they bashed and hanged Uncle Jim.
I heard that! Their mother said, now leave your grandpa alone.
So he got real quiet, and told them not to share when they got home.
He told them the story of a rat snake who ate children, dogs and lamps.
They were so frightened, they could not sleep, glad he was their gramps!
Every year government allots humongous amount of money to schools for buying new books. Alas! bought, catalogued..library decorated with shiny books! End of the year, many of those books are not even touched! Keeps happening year after year! Are books being irrelevant in children's lives?!!!! What about tax-payers' money?
May we be blessed to acknowledge all the wonders in our life
that have, for us, thus far accrued…
and to begin each day with a word of thanks…
and thoughts of gratitude.
Today I’m thankful for children’s books
When we read them with our children
we discover all the magical things they can do….
like how, years later, when they run across that book
they will smile…and think of you
If one of my best poems got
turned into a picture book--
What one would you pick, and,
how do you think it'd look? :-)
Tolkien’s mother taught him languages; he could read by age four.
thought Alice in Wonderland was “disturbing” and disliked Treasure Island.
Invented Naffarin, his own language, and he adored studying Latin.
He and three friends formed T.C.B.S, a semi-secret society.
His wife Edith was three years older and engaged, he still pursued her.
She mailed the other guy his ring, and broke her proposal.
Tolkien wrote The Hobbit to amuse their four children.
His books were so financially successful, he wished he had retired sooner.
Mary Shelley was born to a woman’s rights advocate.
Her mother Mary Wollstonecraft died when Mary was two weeks old.
Her father raised her to be independent like her mother.
This was in the early 1800’s, so an odd practice at this time.
Mary fell in love with a married poet, Percy Bysshe Shelley.
His wife committed suicide when Mary got pregnant by him.
Mary Shelley edited and promoted her husband’s works.
Two of their three children died at young ages, and Percy drowned.
Mary wrote The Modern Prometheus in 1818.
One of the first recognized works of science fiction.
You might recognize it better by its other name.
Frankenstein
Which she penned when she was eighteen years old.
We are children born of a nation in the midst of great change. The pains of labor sweeps our country with pangs of fear and uncertainty of an unknown future we find ourselves faced with.
Do we go blindly into this new age? With all this information and data we have at our finger tips, we still step blindly into tomorrow. We fight to hold on to values of yesterday because to us, they are a known, therefore a comfort. Take the known path. Never get lost, never see new things. Blaze a trail, so much to see to learn. Tomorrow is a new trail to be blazed. Maybe, just maybe, all it requires is a simple leap of faith. Step blindly into the unknown, let your faith be your guide.
our new librarian has such a fantastical sense of books.
and a love for children, whimsy and imagination.
she put up the perfect sign,
which made me love her immediately.
high on a hilltop
stands the castle of the wind
in fuchsia rose mists
enchanted fortress
with a broad moat surrounding
child's fairy tale land
palace of bright stars
when the crescent moon's shining
all indigo night
castle of the clouds
in brass sunshine of morning
when dreams have come true
Before Matilda, before Harry Potter and Hermione Granger,
When I was a child, there was Pippi Longstocking, full of danger.
Nancy Drew and Trixie Belden were my mystery go-to books.
You could not rouse me from their adventures with grappling hooks.
I discovered Jo March in Little Women Christmas Day 1964.
Robin Hood and Little John I was soon also rooting for.
Atticus Finch in to Kill a Mockingbird was lovely to read.
I devoured books the way a horse eats with a bag feed.
Today children have so many heroes and super heroes.
But back in the day, we did not have nearly as many.
After I discovered science fiction and Guy Montag,
I guess I started opening my horizons; then I had plenty.
Children are riches
books are treasures
Read them to sleep
aboard starships of pleasure
Tuck them in tightly
'neath soft blankets of down
Peaceful dreams' smile
the jewel in their crown