Instructions to an Artist

What does it mean to be art? This Badgerblog selection, by fourth grader Varun, explores perception, observation, and description from the point of view of an artist’s model. Written in first person, Varun’s similes take the reader to unexpected places, as the poet includes everything from battering rams to blueberries in this imaginative piece.

I wish my head to appear
like an oval, and the canvas
should be painted like a meadow.
Trace the oval with a battering ram
that has a big, screaming can.

My neck should be painted
like a boulder with a ferocious
act of flower. My arms should be
painted like ants with the giant
beaks of rats. My body should be
painted like a snake
with a piece of blueberry drake.

My legs should be painted
like cheetahs with spotted feet,
like hyenas.

Varun, fourth grade, Badgerdog Creative Writing Summer Camp

Back to Our Roots

Part of Badgerdog’s summer camp experience includes two getaways intended to provide a change of pace from the classroom environment and to offer other life forms and art forms as inspiration for students’ writing. This summer, for the first time, our elementary-aged writers took a trip to the Urban Roots farm, where they enjoyed an up-close look at the summer harvest, a little work in the fields, and plenty of grasshopper sightings. Though it was a hot, hot summer day in Texas, the students turned their experiences on the farm into beautiful poetry and prose, and we’re happy to share it with you this week. Enjoy!


Round and very sweet.
It is red and fruity. Yum!
It is ripe today.

Angela, fifth grade

A Spider’s Point of View

I am a spider, and right now I am so angry at those human monsters. I spent two days finishing my web, and then those monsters came with a broom and bang, my web broke. My friends and I have tried to avoid those human monsters. We tried to tell the humans our webs are delicate, but they won’t listen. Right now, my family is sitting dead at the bottom of a dumpster.

It is really boring weaving a web. It is like weaving a basket. My mom taught me to weave a web. My first web was really small. But the web the monsters broke was as a big as this whole page. Most of my friends died because of the monsters. It is the worst life for a spider.

Francisca, fourth grade

A Day in the Life of a Tree

Sitting, watching, waiting. I have a sad, lonely life as an evergreen tree. My spikes are mean, and they will never go away or fall of because I am an evergreen tree. Other trees lose their mean leaves, and the mean ones turn different colors. But the innocent leaves are picked off the branches, for they lived on a regular tree.

I sit. I watch. I wait.

Sage, fifth grade


The leaves
are as green as
a grasshopper. I feel
as fresh as the time
I opened my door
when the weather
was great!

The flowers
are like a garden
in a secret place
I have never seen.

Aditi, fourth grade

Field Trip



Eric, third grade

A Two-Winged Dragonfly

Perching on a branch
Looking for a place to land
Fluttering away

Joshua, third grade

Beautiful Fields

I feel the smooth grass
I taste the sweet tomatoes
I see the tomatoes growing before me
I hear the crunch, crack, click of a bug

I taste the sweet tomatoes
I see the flutter of excitement
I hear the crunch, crack, click of a bug.
I see the flies flying away.

Joshua, third grade

The Flying Bug

Black and clear
Flying swiftly
Buzzing in your ear

Flying swiftly
And skinny.

Lauren, fourth grade

Weed Tree

A weed
as big as a tree.
A colossal, huge
weed. It’s
agony. It’s
to pull. Sweat
pouring down
my head.
I never got
it out.
Will it
come out?

Alex, fifth grade

A Tree

In the middle
of nowhere
stands a lifeless,
twisted, deformed
tree. All the leaves
have fallen and
gone. What is
left is only
the hollow trunk
and the shady
branches, giving
the tree
a spooky image.

Alexander, sixth grade

Drying Onions

Drying out the onions
under the hay,
as dry as a hot desert.
The sun shines
as bright as a flashlight.

In the greenhouse,
it is hot, sweaty, and bright.
The sun bleeds through
like a marker on a paper.

Shreyas, fifth grade