Classic children's books are such
For reasons very clear.
Their plots or pictures are unique
And beautifully cohere.
The Sendak stories, which, to some,
Are really quite bizarre,
Have always brought us pleasure,
E.g. "Where the Wild Things Are."
It's new to Henry yet it drew
Him deep inside the tale,
A feat that Maurice Sendak books
Do always, without fail.
So Max and all the Wild Things,
Which my grandson liked a lot,
Now will join his favorites in a place
Where supper's always hot.
Categories:
sendak, books, children,
Form: Rhyme
A book I often read my kids
Was Where the Wild Things Are.
The story’s strange and so is Max,
This classic’s costumed star.
His mother called him “Wild Thing”
And then he was sent to bed.
He missed his dinner but he found
Adventures there instead.
A forest grew inside his room;
An ocean, too, appeared.
He climbed aboard a boat and sailed;
This all seems rather weird.
He traveled to a far-off land
Where wild things gnashed their teeth.
They made him king and he was thrilled,
But lonely underneath.
Of course he left them all behind,
Returning to his room.
His supper sat there, nice and hot;
He’d eat it, we presume.
For at the end, we have no clue
About the time that passed;
Or if his mother changed her mind,
Her guilt on board at last.
What matters though, as Sendak knew,
Is Max was drawn back home;
And there he found security
Despite his need to roam.
This magic book, though very odd,
No reader can resist.
The genius who created it
Will very much be missed.
(In honor of Maurice Sendak, 6/10/28 – 5/8/12)
Categories:
sendak, childhood, loss, on writing
Form: Rhyme