Janet S. Wong - Author of Acclaimed Children's Books - School Visits

Here is an article I wrote for California English (June 1997) magazine which describes how I use props during my performances to make poetry fun for the children.

Five Minutes Before the Bell
Using Poetry in K-12 Classrooms
by Janet S. Wong

The bell will ring in five minutes. It is hot in your room. The kids are tired. You are exhausted. But you want them to leave buzzing with the love of language. What can you do? Pull out a box of poems.

Pull out a box filled with shoes–a man's cracked old black leather shoes, a boy's smelly tennis shoes, a grandmother's precious dress shoes and small silk baby shoes three inches long. Ask a student, maybe the noisy boy who's been bothering you all afternoon, to choose a shoe. Then read a poem. If he picks the man's old shoes, read Deborah Chandra's poem "Grandpa's Shoes" from Rich Lizard in a tough but soft voice, whispering the words "We've been somewhere." If he picks the tennis shoes, read "Ode to Pablo's Tennis Shoes" from Neighborhood Odes by Gary Soto, holding your wrinkled nose as he dangles the shoes in front of you. If he picks the dress shoes, fling yours off and hug them to your chest as if they are treasure. Pretend you are walking down a rocky dirt road on your way to church and, stubbing your toe, say "Thank you, God, / it wasn't me Sunday shoes," like Monica Gunning's grandmother in Not a Copper Penny in Me House. Or, if he picks the baby shoes, hobble around the room like a woman in ancient China, hips swaying, and read my poem "Bound Feet" from Good Luck Gold:

Bound Feet

Smoothing her fingers,
Popo shows how, back in China, long ago
they used to roll young girls' feet,
soaked in salt for softer bones,
rolled and rolled and rolled and tied
in packages of tender meat.

Hearing that, I like my feet.

–from Good Luck Gold

Read that poem one Friday afternoon, and the girls who are thinking of wearing pointy-toed, high-heeled shoes to the dance that night might just change their minds, showing up in flats with rubber soles. Here are some other poems that go with shoes:

"Shoes" from All the small poems by Valerie Worth
"Hospitality" from A Suitcase of Seaweed by Janet Wong
"Left Shoe on the Right Foot" from Canto Familiar by Gary Soto
"Dressed Up" from The Dream Keeper by Langston Hughes
"Shoes" from Something Permanent by Cynthia Rylant
"The Streets Are So Hot" from Street Music by Arnold Adoff

Maybe shoes are not your thing. How about money, and the poem "My Offering" from Come Sunday by Nikki Grimes? Spoons and the poem "Spoon" by Conrad Hilberry from I Feel A Little Jumpy Around You edited by Paul Janeczko and Naomi Shihab Nye? A fish hook and "Keeper" from Keepers by Alice Schertle? (Or cooked fish eyes, and my poem "After a Dinner of Fish" from A Suitcase of Seaweed.) A satin heart for Ralph Fletcher's love poems in Buried Alive, your Arbor Day seedling for Wang Jian's Tang dynasty poem "Little Pine" from Maples in the Mist by Minfong Ho, and a wooden bird to hold while you read Langston Hughes' "Dreams" from The Dream Keeper.

Pull a box with props like these out from under your desk and even the most reluctant high school reader will turn to look, even the most active third grader will stop–and listen. Soon they will ask for the box of props at the beginning of class. Maybe you can ask them to help you find fish poems one day, as you plop down a pile of thirty-five poetry collections, each by a different author. Maybe, after hearing a dozen fish poems, they will finally remember their own small fish tales–and want to write them down.

I fill my suitcase, which I lug from school to school, city to city, with these things plus a stuffed turtle (for my poem "Dad"), a calculator (for my poem "Math") a dog bone (for "GongGong and Susie"), a fly-swatter (for "Old Mother Chung"), and a cell phone (for "Ask a Friend"). Often I will dash into a grocery store for some last minute props, and I might buy a lemon for my poem "Poetry" from A Suitcase of Seaweed:

Poetry

"What you study in school?" my grandfather asks.

"Poetry," I say, climbing high to pick a large ripe
lemon off the top limb.

"Po-tree," he says. "It got fruit?"

–from A Suitcase of Seaweed

When my day at a school is over, I look for a hungry kid–one who could gobble another poem down, whole, right there–and, reading "Noodles," I give him my box of macaroni and cheese.

Return to School Visits


		Here is an article I wrote for California English (June 1997) magazine which describes how I use props during my performances to make poetry fun for the children. Five Minutes Before the Bell Using Poetry in K-12 Classrooms by Janet S. Wong The bell will ring in five minutes. It is hot in your room. The kids are tired. You are exhausted. But you want them to leave buzzing with the love of language. What can you do? Pull out a box of poems. Pull out a box filled with shoes–a man's cracked old black leather shoes, a boy's smelly tennis shoes, a grandmother's precious dress shoes and small silk baby shoes three inches long. Ask a student, maybe the noisy boy who's been bothering you all afternoon, to choose a shoe. Then read a poem. If he picks the man's old shoes, read Deborah Chandra's poem "Grandpa's Shoes" from Rich Lizard in a tough but soft voice, whispering the words "We've been somewhere." If he picks the tennis shoes, read "Ode to Pablo's Tennis Shoes" from Neighborhood Odes by Gary Soto, holding your wrinkled nose as he dangles the shoes in front of you. If he picks the dress shoes, fling yours off and hug them to your chest as if they are treasure. Pretend you are walking down a rocky dirt road on your way to church and, stubbing your toe, say "Thank you, God, / it wasn't me Sunday shoes," like Monica Gunning's grandmother in Not a Copper Penny in Me House. Or, if he picks the baby shoes, hobble around the room like a woman in ancient China, hips swaying, and read my poem "Bound Feet" from Good Luck Gold: Bound Feet Smoothing her fingers, Popo shows how, back in China, long ago they used to roll young girls' feet, soaked in salt for softer bones, rolled and rolled and rolled and tied in packages of tender meat. Hearing that, I like my feet. –from Good Luck Gold Read that poem one Friday afternoon, and the girls who are thinking of wearing pointy-toed, high-heeled shoes to the dance that night might just change their minds, showing up in flats with rubber soles. Here are some other poems that go with shoes: "Shoes" from All the small poems by Valerie Worth "Hospitality" from A Suitcase of Seaweed by Janet Wong "Left Shoe on the Right Foot" from Canto Familiar by Gary Soto "Dressed Up" from The Dream Keeper by Langston Hughes "Shoes" from Something Permanent by Cynthia Rylant "The Streets Are So Hot" from Street Music by Arnold Adoff Maybe shoes are not your thing. How about money, and the poem "My Offering" from Come Sunday by Nikki Grimes? Spoons and the poem "Spoon" by Conrad Hilberry from I Feel A Little Jumpy Around You edited by Paul Janeczko and Naomi Shihab Nye? A fish hook and "Keeper" from Keepers by Alice Schertle? (Or cooked fish eyes, and my poem "After a Dinner of Fish" from A Suitcase of Seaweed.) A satin heart for Ralph Fletcher's love poems in Buried Alive, your Arbor Day seedling for Wang Jian's Tang dynasty poem "Little Pine" from Maples in the Mist by Minfong Ho, and a wooden bird to hold while you read Langston Hughes' "Dreams" from The Dream Keeper. Pull a box with props like these out from under your desk and even the most reluctant high school reader will turn to look, even the most active third grader will stop–and listen. Soon they will ask for the box of props at the beginning of class. Maybe you can ask them to help you find fish poems one day, as you plop down a pile of thirty-five poetry collections, each by a different author. Maybe, after hearing a dozen fish poems, they will finally remember their own small fish tales–and want to write them down. I fill my suitcase, which I lug from school to school, city to city, with these things plus a stuffed turtle (for my poem "Dad"), a calculator (for my poem "Math") a dog bone (for "GongGong and Susie"), a fly-swatter (for "Old Mother Chung"), and a cell phone (for "Ask a Friend"). Often I will dash into a grocery store for some last minute props, and I might buy a lemon for my poem "Poetry" from A Suitcase of Seaweed: Poetry "What you study in school?" my grandfather asks. "Poetry," I say, climbing high to pick a large ripe lemon off the top limb. "Po-tree," he says. "It got fruit?" –from A Suitcase of Seaweed When my day at a school is over, I look for a hungry kid–one who could gobble another poem down, whole, right there–and, reading "Noodles," I give him my box of macaroni and cheese. Return to School Visits
		Copyright © 1999 Janet S. Wong. All Rights Reserved.