Who knows how to spell onomatopoeia?
This started an impromptu game of hang man. Poetry Friday is a staple of my classroom. This week, Amy Ludwig VanDerwater’s Poems are Teachers helped with my lesson. As I read the model poem by Kate Coombs “Garbage Truck”, the students listened for the onomatopoeia. I think we found 17 onomatopoetic words. (I secretly fell in love with the word onomatopoetic.)
Poetry Friday is usually a fun day, but Ben crumpled when he couldn’t identify the t-sound during hangman. He insisted it was an N. And Elizabeth was crying because she didn’t get a chocolate cupcake at recess. All that was left were vanilla ones. Alice chose to write behind a curtain in a cubby hole in the back of the room. Hiding helps her focus. So even though they all eventually recovered, my classroom is like everyone’s classroom, filled with complicated kids.
Once we got over the Can-you-spell-onomatopoeia hurdle, some poems were written. Joy is found in poetry.
Onomatopoeia
Onomatopoeia you say,
the cars buzzing,
the chirping,
the beeping
the boom,
the flock.
The warning
that I haven’t closed
my fridge,
my alarm in
the
morning.
Avalyn, 3rd grade
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My ClassroomThe singing of Sadie, “La La Laaaa!”
Adelyn, 4th grade
Mrs. Simon sneezing who knows how many times, “Achoo, achoo, achoo, achoo!”
The sounds of kids playing, “Ahh! Haha!”
The sound of a pen, “Ch, ch, ch”
Water and zen, “Slish, slosh”
Doors opening and slamming shut, “Badumph!”
And the sound of new poems being made, “Scribble scribble”
Nothing is more calming than sitting in a cubby and writing all my thoughts and dreams!
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Reflections on the Teche 