Dedication
For
Sandy and Jack Floyd
Mark and Karin Leuthy Benjamin
Louise England
Rob Leuthy
all of whom
love love love their dogs
With special thanks to
Walter Dean Myers
and to all the poets
and Mr.-and-Ms. Stretchberrys
who inspire students every day
Contents
Dedication
September 13
September 21
September 27
October 4
October 10
October 17
October 24
October 31
November 6
November 9
November 15
November 22
November 29
December 4
December 13
January 10
January 17
January 24
January 31
February 7
February 15
February 21
February 26
March 1
March 7
March 14
March 22
March 27
April 4
April 9
April 12
April 17
April 20
April 24
April 26
May 2
May 7
May 8
May 14
May 15
May 17
May 21
May 28
May 29
June 1
June 6
Love That Dog
Excerpt from Hate That Cat September 12
September 13
September 14
September 19
September 21
September 26
October 3
About the Author
Books by Sharon Creech
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
JACK
ROOM 105—MISS STRETCHBERRY
SEPTEMBER 13
I don’t want to
because boys
don’t write poetry.
Girls do.
SEPTEMBER 21
I tried.
Can’t do it.
Brain’s empty.
SEPTEMBER 27
I don’t understand
the poem about
the red wheelbarrow
and the white chickens
and why so much
depends upon
them.
If that is a poem
about the red wheelbarrow
and the white chickens
then any words
can be a poem.
You’ve just got to
make
short
lines.
OCTOBER 4
Do you promise
not to read it
out loud?
Do you promise
not to put it
on the board?
Okay, here it is,
but I don’t like it.
So much depends
upon
a blue car
splattered with mud
speeding down the road.
OCTOBER 10
What do you mean—
Why does so much depend
upon
a blue car?
You didn’t say before
that I had to tell why.
The wheelbarrow guy
didn’t tell why.
OCTOBER 17
What was up with
the snowy woods poem
you read today?
Why doesn’t the person just
keep going if he’s got
so many miles to go
before he sleeps?
And why do I have to tell more
about the blue car
splattered with mud
speeding down the road?
I don’t want to
write about that blue car
that had miles to go
before it slept,
so many miles to go
in such a hurry.
OCTOBER 24
I am sorry to say
I did not really understand
the tiger tiger burning bright poem
but at least it sounded good
in my ears.
Here is the blue car
with tiger sounds:
Blue car, blue car, shining bright
in the darkness of the night:
who could see you speeding by
like a comet in the sky?
I could see you in the night,
blue car, blue car, shining bright.
I could see you speeding by
like a comet in the sky.
Some of the tiger sounds
are still in my ears
like drums
beat-beat-beating.
OCTOBER 31
Yes
you can put
the two blue-car poems
on the board
but only if
you don’t put
my name
on them.
NOVEMBER 6
They look nice
typed up like that
on blue paper
on a yellow board.
(But still don’t tell anyone
who wrote them, okay?)
(And what does anonymous mean?
Is it good?)
NOVEMBER 9
I don’t have any pets
so I can’t write about one
and especially
I can’t write
a POEM
about one.
NOVEMBER 15
Yes, I used to have a pet.
I don’t want to write about it.
You’re going to ask me
Why not?
Right?
NOVEMBER 22
Pretend I still have that pet?
Can’t I make up a pet—
a different one?
Like a tiger?
Or a hamster?
A goldfish?
Turtle?
Snail?
Worm?
Flea?
NOVEMBER 29
I liked those
small poems
we read today.
When they’re small
like that
you can read
a whole bunch
in a short time
and then in your head
are all the pictures
of all the small things
from all the small poems.
I liked how the kitten leaped
in the cat poem
and how you could see
the long head of the horse
in the horse poem
and especially I liked the dog
in the dog poem
because that’s just how
my yellow dog
used to lie down,
with his tongue all limp
and his chin
between
his paws
and how he’d sometimes
chomp at a fly
and then sleep
in his loose skin,
just like that poet,
Miss Valerie Worth,
says,
in her small
dog poem.
DECEMBER 4
Why do you want
to type up what I wrote
about reading
the small poems?
It’s not a poem.
Is it?
I guess you can
&n
bsp; put it on the board
if you want to
but don’t put
my name
on it
in case
other people
think
it’s not a poem.
DECEMBER 13
I guess it does
look like a poem
when you see it
typed up
like that.
But I think maybe
it would look better
if there was more space
between the lines.
Like how I wrote it
the first time.
And I liked the picture
of the yellow dog
you put beside it.
But that’s not how
my yellow dog
looked.
JANUARY 10
I really really really
did NOT get
the pasture poem
you read today.
I mean:
somebody’s going out
to the pasture
to clean the spring
and to get
the little tottery calf
while he’s out there
and he isn’t going
to be gone long
and he wants YOU
(who is YOU?)
to come too.
I mean REALLY.
And you said that
Mr. Robert Frost
who wrote
about the pasture
was also the one
who wrote about
those snowy woods
and the miles to go
before he sleeps—
well!
I think Mr. Robert Frost
has a little
too
much
time
on his
hands.
JANUARY 17
Remember the wheelbarrow poem
you read
the first week
of school?
Maybe the wheelbarrow poet
was just
making a picture
with words
and
someone else—
like maybe his teacher—
typed it up
and then people thought
it was a poem
because
it looked like one
typed up like that.
And maybe
that’s the same thing
that happened with
Mr. Robert Frost.
Maybe he was just
making pictures with words
about the snowy woods
and the pasture—
and his teacher
typed them up
and they looked like poems
so people thought
they were poems.
Like how you did
with the blue-car things
and reading-the-small-poems thing.
On the board
typed up
they look like
poems
and the other kids
are looking at them
and they think
they really are
poems
and they
are all saying
Who wrote that?
JANUARY 24
We were going for a drive
and my father said
We won’t be gone long—
You come too
and so I went
and we drove and drove
until we stopped at a
red brick building
with a sign
in blue letters
ANIMAL PROTECTION SHELTER.
And inside we walked
down a long cement path
past cages
with all kinds of
dogs
big and small
fat and skinny
some of them
hiding in the corner
but most of them
bark-bark-barking and
jumping up
against the wire cage
as we walked past
as if they were saying
Me! Me! Choose me!
I’m the best one!
And that’s where we saw
the yellow dog
standing against the cage
with his paws curled
around the wire
and his long red tongue
hanging out
and his big black eyes
looking a little sad
and his long tail
wag-wag-wagging
as if he were saying
Me me me! Choose me!
And we did.
We chose him.
And in the car
he put his head
against my chest
and wrapped his paws
around my arm
as if he were saying
Thank you thank you thank you.
And the other dogs
in the cages
get killed dead
if nobody chooses them.
JANUARY 31
Yes
you can type up
what I wrote
about my yellow dog
but leave off the part
about the other dogs
getting killed dead
because that’s too sad.
And don’t put
my name
on it
please.
And maybe
it would look good
on yellow paper.
And maybe
the title
should be
YOU COME TOO.
FEBRUARY 7
Yes
it looks good
on yellow paper
but you forgot
(again)
to leave more
space
between the lines
like I did
when I wrote it.
That’s okay though.
FEBRUARY 15
I like that poem
we read today
about street music
in the city.
My street is not
in the middle
of the city
so it doesn’t have
that LOUD music
of horns and trucks
clash
flash
screech.
My street is
on the edge
of a city
and it has
quiet music
most of the time
whisp
meow
swish.
My street is a one
with houses on both sides
and my house is
the white one
with the red door.
There is not too much traffic
on my street—
not like in the
middle
of a city.
We play in the yards
and sometimes
in the street
but only if
a grown-up
or the big kids
are out there, too,
and they will shout
Car!
if they see a car
coming down our street.
At both ends
of our street
are yellow signs
that say
Caution! Children at Play!
but sometimes
the cars
pay no attention
and speed down
the road
as if
they are in a BIG hurry
with many miles to go
before they sleep.
FEBRUARY 21
That was so great
those poems you showed us
where the words
make the shape
of the thing
that the poem
is about—
like the one about an apple
that was shaped like an apple
and the one about the house
that was shaped like a house.
My brain was pop-pop-popping
when I was looking at those poems.
I never knew a poet person
could do that funny
kind of thing.
FEBRUARY 26
I tried one of those
poems that looks like
what it’s about.
MY YELLOW DOG
by Jack
MARCH 1
Yes
you can type up
the yellow dog poem
that looks like a dog
but this time
keep the spaces
exactly
the same
and maybe
it would look
really really good
on yellow paper.
Maybe you could
put my name on it.
But only if you want to.
Only if you think it
looks
good enough.
MARCH 7
I was
a little embarrassed
when people said
things to me like
Neat poem, Jack
and
How’d you think of that, Jack?
And I really really like
the one you put up
about the tree
that is shaped like
a tree
not a fake-looking tree
but like a real tree
with straggly branches.
But I want to know
who is the
anonymous poet
in our class
who wrote that
and why didn’t
he
or
she