Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Is that 5-minute work you gave me?

Angelica and I have been working on poems. She'd read a poem and draw a picture to go with it. Sometimes she would make up her own. Today, she was supposed to illustrate two poems of her own choosing.

She chose these:
Why Do I Have To Clean My Room by Jack Prelutsky

Why do I have to clean my room
when I would rather play?
The crayons scattered on the floor
are hardly in the way.
I almost never trip upon
my basketball or drums,
and I don't pay attention
to the cake and cookie crumbs.

Why do I have to clean my room?
I think my room looks nice.
There's pizza in the corner,
but it's only half a slice.
I'm not at all concerned about
the gravy on the chair,
my piles of model planes and trains,
my stack of underwear.

I will admit some bits of clay
are sticking to the wall.
I scarcely even notice them
and do not mind at all.
Beneath my bed there's just a wedge
of last week's apple pie,
and yet I have to clean my room...
I simply don't know why.

This is the illustration she gave me for the above.
Her second poem is:
I'm Building a Bridge of Bananas by Jack Prelutsky

I'm building a bridge of bananas,
it's pretty, but not very strong.
Bananas are not very sturdy,
bananas don't last very long.
Initially green, then yellow,
increasingly speckled with brown,
inevitably, as they ripen,
it's clear that my bridge will fall down.

My bridge is developing fissures
and even some sizable gaps.
It's senseless to try and repair it,
I might as well let it collapse.
I waggles and sags in the middle,
it wobbles and droops at the ends,
and so I've alerted my neighbors,
as well as my family and friends.

They're trucking in freezers of ice cream
of every last flavor that's made,
plus whipped cream and chocolate syrup,
both of a premium grade.
They're bringing me barrels of walnuts,
and cherries without any pits -
we'll shortly be sharing delicious
gigantic banana bridge splits.

This is her illustration:
Uh-uh, I told her, I do not accept 5-minute work. So I made her sit down and read the poems again. And I asked her what she understood from each. Then I told her to draw me new pictures for them.

These are her revised versions.
Why Do I Have to Clean My Room?
I'm Building A Bridge of Bananas.
There's more thought and detail this time. It's not about correcting her work, it's about asking her to produce the best version possible.

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