Book excerpt:

Teach Yourself Grammar and Style in 24 Hours

Rhyme

Rhyme is a series of word endings that repeats the same, or similar, sounds.

Old Mother Hubbard went to her cupboard….

Rhymes can be used to add a whimsical, yet effective, touch to ad copy:

e.g.

You can always trust our milk, so buy some now.
The only stuff fresher is still in the cow.

If you’d enjoy playing a word game designed increase attention spans and improve the vocabulary in young children, take a look at “Task: Rhyme Time” from page 14 of Teach Yourself Grammar and Style in 24 Hours:

Task: Rhyme Time

Rhymes increase a child’s attention span because the child soon learns to listen for the repeated, familiar sound patterns. You can use this to your advantage if you have a youngster in the car with you during a long trip.

Example: Through the fog, the little green frog in a soggy wet bog jumped from log to log before the dog could hog all the grog.

Play a game to see how many rhyming words you can use in a sentence. This stuff is allowed to be fun, too. (Don’t forget to let the kid win!)

End note:

One of the sentences that survives from when I’d play that game with my daughter Lara is: Please don’t tease the fleas on my knees, you’ll make them sneeze and wheeze; just give them a cuddle, and give them a squeeze, and feed them some cheese.

Last week, I recited that sentence to my granddaughter — who just celebrated her fifth birthday in August. She listened to me say the sentence and remained silent for a minute, then said, “You left out trees.” So, we modified the sentence to: Please don’t tease the fleas on my knees, the breeze from the trees makes them sneeze and wheeze; just give them a cuddle, and give them a squeeze, and feed them some cheese.

Copyright © 2000 Pamela Rice Hahn
All Rights Reserved

You can read more about this book — expanded table of contents, introduction, author bio’s — on this Web site.

For more fun with rhymes, read The Ball That Started It All, also in The Blue Rose Bouquet.

Rhyme is a post from: The Blue Rose Bouquet

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Maggie Bab Boon

This is the ball that started it all.

This is the cat with her bed in the hall
Who ran from the baby, sweet and small
Who hit the ball that started it all.

This is the parrot they call McCall
Who was scared by the cat with her bed in the hall
Who ran from the baby, sweet and small
Who hit the ball that started it all.

This is the feathered, right-sided wing

That flapped as the parrot they call McCall
Was scared by the cat with her bed in the hall
Who ran from the baby, sweet and small
Who hit the ball that started it all.

This is the bell that made a soft ding
As it fell from the shelf, being hit by the wing

That flapped as the parrot they call McCall
Was scared by the cat with her bed in the hall
Who ran from the baby, sweet and small
Who hit the ball that started it all.

This is the vase, a fragile, glass thing
That was hit by the bell that made a soft ding
As it fell from the shelf, being hit by the wing

That flapped as the parrot they call McCall
Was scared by the cat with her bed in the hall
Who ran from the baby, sweet and small
Who hit the ball that started it all.

This is the Mother who jumped from her swing
When she heard the crash of the fragile, glass thing
That was hit by the bell that made a soft ding
As it fell from the shelf, being hit by the wing

That flapped as the parrot they call McCall
Was scared by the cat with her bed in the hall
Who ran from the baby, sweet and small
Who hit the ball that started it all.

This is the tea, that was brought on a cart

And splashed as the Mother jumped from her swing
When she heard the crash of the fragile, glass thing
That was hit by the bell that made a soft ding
As it fell from the shelf, being hit by the wing

That flapped as the parrot they call McCall
Was scared by the cat with her bed in the hall
Who ran from the baby, sweet and small
Who hit the ball that started it all.

This is the lady who clutched at her heart
When her dress got wet from the tea on the cart

That splashed as the Mother jumped from her swing
When she heard the crash of the fragile, glass thing
That was hit by the bell that made a soft ding
As it fell from the shelf, being hit by the wing

That flapped as the parrot they call McCall
Was scared by the cat with her bed in the hall
Who ran from the baby, sweet and small
Who hit the ball that started it all.

This is the sister who did her own part
By patting the lady who clutched at her heart
When her dress got wet from the tea on the cart

That splashed as the Mother jumped from her swing
When she heard the crash of the fragile, glass thing
That was hit by the bell that made a soft ding
As it fell from the shelf, being hit by the wing

That flapped as the parrot they call McCall
Was scared by the cat with her bed in the hall
Who ran from the baby, sweet and small
Who hit the ball that started it all.

This is the Father, older and smart
Who stared at the sister doing her part
By patting the lady who clutched at her heart
When her dress got wet from the tea on the cart

That splashed as the Mother jumped from her swing
When she heard the crash of the fragile, glass thing
That was hit by the bell that made a soft ding
As it fell from the shelf, being hit by the wing

That flapped as the parrot they call McCall
Was scared by the cat with her bed in the hall
Who ran from the baby, sweet and small
Who hit the ball that started it all.

The father stands staring, his hands in his hair
When he sees a ball roll, kind of slow, down the stair

And he thinks to himself that a ball on the stair
Could cause a commotion if left to stay there

“Why, one could get hurt, one might even fall”
So he walked and bent over and picked up the ball

And placed it back safe, by the cat in the hall.

Copyright © 1998-2008 Tim Boon
All rights reserved.

Authors’ 1998 bio:

“The authors of The Ball That Started It All are a father and daughter team. The 37-year-old father half is the administrator for a hospice agency in Ft. Wayne, Indiana. His other recently published works appeared in RN magazine in 1995 and 1998. The daughter is 11 years old and is in the 5th grade. The authors would love to hear from you! You can tell them what you thought of their story by sending an email to Tim Boon, the father half at TBOON02 [at] aol [dot] com. “

The Ball That Started It All is a post from: The Blue Rose Bouquet

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