Gone fishing : a novel in verse

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Where to find it

Information & Library Science Library — Juvenile

Call Number
J Wissinger
Status
Available

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Names:

Summary

Nine-year-old Sam loves fishing with his dad. So when his pesky little sister, Lucy, horns in on their fishing trip, he's none too pleased: "Where's my stringer? / Something's wrong! / The princess doll does not belong!" All ends well in this winsome book of poems--each labeled with its proper poetic form, from quatrain to tercet. Together the poems build a dawn-to-dusk story of a father-son bond, of sibling harmony lost and found--and most of all, of delicious anticipation. Charming line drawings animate the poetry with humor and drama, and the extensive Poet's Tackle Box at the end makes this the perfect primer to hook aspiring poets of all ages.

Sample chapter

Sam NIGHT CRAWLERS Tercet Variation Dark night. Flashlight. Dad and I hunt worms tonight. Grass slick. Worms thick. Tiptoe near and grab them quick. Hold firm. They squirm. Tug-o-war with earth and worm. Ninety-four. Worms galore. Set our bucket near the door. Next day. No delay. Look out, fish -- we're on our way! Sam JUST DAD AND ME Free Verse Poem For fishing tomorrow it's just us two. Not Mom, not Grandpa, not Lucy. It'll be like playing catch or painting the garage. Just Dad and me. Fishing. Sam MY TACKLE BOX Switcheroo Poem I love my fishing tackle box -- it's green and blue and gold. My grandpa gave it to me when I wasn't very old. I need to get it ready for tomorrow at the lake. We're leaving in the morning just as soon as we're awake. One tiny click and now my treasure chest is open wide. A shelf with lots of little spaces holds my gear inside. My silver sinkers, wiggle worms, my floating frogs, my line. My shiny spinner lures, my bobbers, hooks--there're 29. The shelf is on a hinge--it hides my secret space below. It's where I keep my special treasures out of sight-- OH NO! . . . Where's my compass? Where's my map? Where's my lucky fishing cap? Where's my stringer? Something's wrong! This princess doll does not belong! . . . What is this? A throne? A crown? A polka-dotted circus clown? A tiny bottle of perfume? I smell Lucy in my room! Lucy FISHING FOR PRETEND Dramatic Poem for One, Quatrains Oh, Sam--you're here. Come on, let's play! I'm fishing for pretend tonight. It's fun to use your gear this way. Hold on, I think I have a bite. Your map's a paper fishing boat. Your compass is the steering wheel. I think our boat could really float. It would be fun to fish for real. Your stringer makes a tiny lake. I didn't crumple up your map. Your compass works--it didn't break. I sure do like your fishing cap. I didn't snoop--I made a trade. Stay here, sit down, don't go away. Don't you like the boat I made? Your fishing stuff is fun--come play! Excerpted from Gone Fishing by Tamera Will Wissinger All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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