Gone Fishing
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.
1112182025
Gone Fishing
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.
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Overview

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.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780547820118
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
Publication date: 03/05/2013
Pages: 120
Product dimensions: 5.80(w) x 8.60(h) x 0.70(d)
Lexile: NP (what's this?)
Age Range: 6 - 9 Years

About the Author

Tamera Wissinger was inspired to write this novel-in-verse after writing "Night Crawlers," a poem that stemmed from her fun childhood memories of night crawler hunting with her dad before fishing trips. A graduate of Hamline University’s MFA Writing for Children program, Tamera Wissinger shares her time between Chicago and Florida. This is her first book.

Mattthew Cordell and his brother Eric were all-around best buds. They grew up in a small town in South Carolina, where his family would often take fishing trips together. Matthew lives in Illinois with his family. He is the illustrator of Like Pickle Juice on a Cookie by Julie Sternberg and Justin Case by Rachel Vail.

Read an Excerpt

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!

What People are Saying About This

From the Publisher

"Just the thing for readers with a burgeoning interest in poetry—or angling."
Publishers Weekly

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