Monday, June 29, 2009Day 2
yup, you guessed it. More of this Elearning madness. Today I should be talk about my favortie poet.
Jack Prelutsky claims to have hated poetry when he was younger.
His book, Behold the Bold Umbrellaphant and Other Poems, won the 2007 Scandiuzzi Children's Book Award of the Washington State Book Awards in the Picture Book category.
His book, Behold the Bold Umbrellaphant and Other Poems, won the 2007 Scandiuzzi Children's Book Award of the Washington State Book Awards in the Picture Book category.
Thesis statement:There must be someone in Jack Prelutsky's life that encourage him to become a poets.
Could it be his teacher?
"In fact there was a time when I couldn't stand poetry. In grade school, I had a teacher who left me with the impression that poetry was the literary equivalent of liver. I was told that it was good for me, but I wasn't convinced. When I rediscovered poetry in my twenties, I decided I would write about things that kids really cared about, and that I would make poetry delightful."
Okay... So the person in his life was definitely not his grade school teacher...*cross out* Moving on...
Was it his wife perhaps?
"My wife's name is Carolynn, and we've been married since 1979. We don't have any children, and we're temporarily between pets. We've owned a couple of dogs and have had several cats."
1979... He began his poetry writing career in 1964. So she was not his inspiration in his life... Out!
Then who was it?
"I discovered writing as a career only by accident when I was about 24 years old. I had spent months drawing several imaginary animals, but one evening I decided to write a little poem to go with each drawing. A friend encouraged me to show the poems to an editor, and when I did, I was astonished to find that the editor — Susan Hirschman — thought I had a talent for writing verse. Susan told me I was a natural poet and encouraged me to keep writing. She published my first book and, 30 years later, she's still my editor."
Oh so the "person" who sparked off his poetry writing career was imaginary animals, an annoymous friend and his editor Susan Hirschman. Wow.... That is a lot of people. But anyway, I was correct!
And now three poems written by Jack Prelutsky that I think are the best!
The Wizard
The wizard, watchful, waits alone
Within his tower of cold, gray stone.
And ponders in his wicked way
What evil deeds he’ll do this day.
He’s tall and thin, with wrinkled skin.
A tangled beard hangs from his chin.
His cheeks are gaunt, his eyes set deep,
He scarcely eats, he needs no sleep.
His fingers wave arcane commands.
Ten boney sticks on withered hands.
His flowing cloak is smirched with grime.
He’s wanted since the dawn of time.
Upon his hat, in silver lines,
Are pictured necromantic signs.
Symbols of the awesome power of the wizard,
Alone in his cold stone tower.
He scans his mystic stalk in trade,
Charms to fetch a demon’s aid.
Seething stews of purplish potions,
Throbbing, pometergic lotions.
Supernatural tracks and tomes
Complete with lore of elves and gnomes.
Talismans, Amulets, willowy wands
To summon sprits from beyond.
He spies a bullfrog by the door
And stooping, scoops it off the floor.
He flicks his wand, the frog’s a flea
Through elemental sorcery.
The flea hops once, the flea hops twice,
The flea becomes a pair of mice.
That dive into a bubbling brew
Emerging as one cockatoo.
The wizard laughs a hallow laugh,
The soaking bird’s reduced by half.
And when, perplexed, it starts to squawk,
The wizard turns it into chalk
With witch he deafly writes a spell
That makes the chalk a silver bell
Which tinkles in the ash and air
Till flash! A fire burns brightly there.
He gestures with an ancient knack
To try to bring the bullfrog back.
Another Flash! No flame now burns
As once again the frog returns.
But when it bounds about in fear,
The wizard shouts, “Begone from here!”
And midway through a frightened croak
It vanishes in clouds of smoke.
The wizard smirks a fiendish smirk
Reflecting on the woes he’ll work
As he consults a dusty text
And checks which hex he’ll conjure next.
He might pluck someone off the spot
And turn him into who knows what.
Should you encounter a toad or lizard,
Look closely, it may be the work of the wizard.
The Wizard
The wizard, watchful, waits alone
Within his tower of cold, gray stone.
And ponders in his wicked way
What evil deeds he’ll do this day.
He’s tall and thin, with wrinkled skin.
A tangled beard hangs from his chin.
His cheeks are gaunt, his eyes set deep,
He scarcely eats, he needs no sleep.
His fingers wave arcane commands.
Ten boney sticks on withered hands.
His flowing cloak is smirched with grime.
He’s wanted since the dawn of time.
Upon his hat, in silver lines,
Are pictured necromantic signs.
Symbols of the awesome power of the wizard,
Alone in his cold stone tower.
He scans his mystic stalk in trade,
Charms to fetch a demon’s aid.
Seething stews of purplish potions,
Throbbing, pometergic lotions.
Supernatural tracks and tomes
Complete with lore of elves and gnomes.
Talismans, Amulets, willowy wands
To summon sprits from beyond.
He spies a bullfrog by the door
And stooping, scoops it off the floor.
He flicks his wand, the frog’s a flea
Through elemental sorcery.
The flea hops once, the flea hops twice,
The flea becomes a pair of mice.
That dive into a bubbling brew
Emerging as one cockatoo.
The wizard laughs a hallow laugh,
The soaking bird’s reduced by half.
And when, perplexed, it starts to squawk,
The wizard turns it into chalk
With witch he deafly writes a spell
That makes the chalk a silver bell
Which tinkles in the ash and air
Till flash! A fire burns brightly there.
He gestures with an ancient knack
To try to bring the bullfrog back.
Another Flash! No flame now burns
As once again the frog returns.
But when it bounds about in fear,
The wizard shouts, “Begone from here!”
And midway through a frightened croak
It vanishes in clouds of smoke.
The wizard smirks a fiendish smirk
Reflecting on the woes he’ll work
As he consults a dusty text
And checks which hex he’ll conjure next.
He might pluck someone off the spot
And turn him into who knows what.
Should you encounter a toad or lizard,
Look closely, it may be the work of the wizard.
The Wizard
The wizard, watchful, waits alone
Within his tower of cold, gray stone.
And ponders in his wicked way
What evil deeds he’ll do this day.
He’s tall and thin, with wrinkled skin.
A tangled beard hangs from his chin.
His cheeks are gaunt, his eyes set deep,
He scarcely eats, he needs no sleep.
His fingers wave arcane commands.
Ten boney sticks on withered hands.
His flowing cloak is smirched with grime.
He’s wanted since the dawn of time.
Upon his hat, in silver lines,
Are pictured necromantic signs.
Symbols of the awesome power of the wizard,
Alone in his cold stone tower.
He scans his mystic stalk in trade,
Charms to fetch a demon’s aid.
Seething stews of purplish potions,
Throbbing, pometergic lotions.
Supernatural tracks and tomes
Complete with lore of elves and gnomes.
Talismans, Amulets, willowy wands
To summon sprits from beyond.
He spies a bullfrog by the door
And stooping, scoops it off the floor.
He flicks his wand, the frog’s a flea
Through elemental sorcery.
The flea hops once, the flea hops twice,
The flea becomes a pair of mice.
That dive into a bubbling brew
Emerging as one cockatoo.
The wizard laughs a hallow laugh,
The soaking bird’s reduced by half.
And when, perplexed, it starts to squawk,
The wizard turns it into chalk
With witch he deafly writes a spell
That makes the chalk a silver bell
Which tinkles in the ash and air
Till flash! A fire burns brightly there.
He gestures with an ancient knack
To try to bring the bullfrog back.
Another Flash! No flame now burns
As once again the frog returns.
But when it bounds about in fear,
The wizard shouts, “Begone from here!”
And midway through a frightened croak
It vanishes in clouds of smoke.
The wizard smirks a fiendish smirk
Reflecting on the woes he’ll work
As he consults a dusty text
And checks which hex he’ll conjure next.
He might pluck someone off the spot
And turn him into who knows what.
Should you encounter a toad or lizard,
Look closely, it may be the work of the wizard.
As soon as Fred gets out of bed,
his underwear goes on his head.
His mother laughs, "Don't put it there,
a head's no place for underwear!"
But near his ears, above his brains,
is where Fred's underwear remains.
At night when Fred goes back to bed,
he deftly plucks it off his head.
His mother switches off the light
and softly croons, "Good night! Good night!"
And then, for reasons no one knows,
Fred's underwear goes on his toes.
Be Glad Your Nose Is On Your Face
Be glad your nose is on your face,
not pasted on some other place,
for if it were where it is not,
you might dislike your nose a lot.
Imagine if your precious nose
were sandwiched in between your toes,
that clearly would not be a treat,
for you'd be forced to smell your feet.
Your nose would be a source of dread
were it attached atop your head,
it soon would drive you to despair,
forever tickled by your hair.
Within your ear, your nose would be
an absolute catastrophe,
for when you were obliged to sneeze,
your brain would rattle from the breeze.
Your nose, instead, through thick and thin,
remains between your eyes and chin,
not pasted on some other place--
be glad your nose is on your face!
not pasted on some other place,
for if it were where it is not,
you might dislike your nose a lot.
Imagine if your precious nose
were sandwiched in between your toes,
that clearly would not be a treat,
for you'd be forced to smell your feet.
Your nose would be a source of dread
were it attached atop your head,
it soon would drive you to despair,
forever tickled by your hair.
Within your ear, your nose would be
an absolute catastrophe,
for when you were obliged to sneeze,
your brain would rattle from the breeze.
Your nose, instead, through thick and thin,
remains between your eyes and chin,
not pasted on some other place--
be glad your nose is on your face!
Yayz! That is all! Creditz!!!
Be glad your nose is on your face and as soon as fred get out of bed.-http://famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets/jack_prelutsky/poems
Cheers!
Fang Ziying, 1i3, 06
In living memory
The BloggerY
Ziying
Thought deeply about where can't you enter a mirror in K1.
My conclusion? Because the other guy in the mirror will block you with the same body parts that you try to enter the mirror with... And still now I still believe in it...
Spent my childhood dismantling stuff. I think would be spending the rest of my life wondering how to fix them back together...
"Invested" most of my pocket money on comics...
Favorite novels author used to be Roald Dahl.
Now is Roald Dahl and Eoin Colfer. (It is pronounced "Owen", by the way.)
Taken a liking to Murderous Maths. Author's name? Kjartan Poskitt.
Favorite authors all seem to have a unusual name...
The time I got a Nintendo DS, I polished it at least twice everyday for a week...
Almost cried the time I dropped it on the floor...
My lifetime ambitions?
Be a Scientist(or a Philosopher?)
To eat a 冰糖葫芦. (Those you see in the movies.)
Building a snowman. (With carrots and stuff.)
Swimming in a room filled with candies where I can eat candies just by opening my mouth. (...What!?...)
Filling a bag full with candies and carrying it to school. (So I can eat candies wherever I am)
Now studying in Hwa Chong Institution, and racing in this crazy Mario Game.
Law And OrderY
Do Not Spam
Do Not Be Vulgar
Do Not Impersonate
Do Not Insult Or Defame
Most Importantly- Have Fun!
Do Not Be Vulgar
Do Not Impersonate
Do Not Insult Or Defame
Most Importantly- Have Fun!
The PastY
