Laura Purdie Salas

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[psvid] “A Fishy Spell” (Tamera Will Wissinger)

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Poem_Starter_VidHappy National Poetry Month! Thanks for dropping by my Poem Starter Video party.

Today’s poem comes from Gone Fishing: A novel (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2013), by Tamera Will Wissinger.?I love this novel in verse with a boy main character and aimed at second through fourth graders.?And on top of that, it’s truly told in individual poems, not a mash-up of free verse and prose. It’s so much fun! I’m sharing a poem from Sam to his little sister, Lucy, who is really putting a damper on Sam’s fishing trip.

A Fishy Spell
Curse Poem, Poem of Address

May a worm crawl up your nose,
Leeches creep between your toes.

May your nails be caked with dirt.
May a bug fly up your skirt.

May your birthday gifts be coal.
May you smell like a dirty troll.

May you step in gooey muck
And for days be frozen stuck.

May a seagull dive and swoop
And drop a bombshell in your soup.

May you grow a knee-length beard
So your friends all think you’re weird.

If you ever take my gear
May your bones quake, SAM IS NEAR.

–by Tamera Will Wissinger, all rights reserved

And here is my Poem Starter Video:

[wpvideo hfpUt20Y]

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Comments

  1. BEDLAM
    Sleep is unforgiving.
    No sooner do I dream of eating hot fudge sundaes
    surrounded by cheerleaders then I’m jarred awake.
    It sounds like our house is under attack. Is it the
    smoke detector screaming for mercy? Is it possums
    dancing on trash cans outside my window? Is it
    Hurricane Whiplash descending, threatening to wipe
    us out of existence? I slide out of bed, scan my
    surroundings, finally pinpoint the originator of this
    cacophony. I stand up, grab my pillow and buggy
    whip it toward the bed across from mine. “Jeremy!”
    I shout, “Stop snoring!”

    (C) Charles Waters 2013 all rights reserved.

  2. BEDLAM
    Sleep is unforgiving.
    No sooner do I dream of eating hot fudge sundaes
    surrounded by cheerleaders then I’m jarred awake.
    It sounds like our house is under attack. Is it the
    smoke detector screaming for mercy? Is it possums
    dancing on trash cans outside my window? Is it
    Hurricane Whiplash descending, threatening to wipe
    us out of existence? I slide out of bed, scan my
    surroundings, finally pinpoint the originator of this
    cacophony. I stand up, grab my pillow and buggy
    whip it toward the bed across from mine. “Jeremy!”
    I shout, “Stop snoring!”

    (C) Charles Waters 2013 all rights reserved.

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