Poetry for Kids

I wrote this poem because Valentine’s Day was coming up, and I wanted a silly love poem that felt a little different from the usual ones. I played around with a few ideas first—like a teacher being in love with homework and quizzes, or my cat falling in love with my dog—but none of them quite clicked. Then I started thinking about how some people, especially teenagers, spend a lot of time checking their reflection, and it made me laugh to imagine what that might look like from a sibling’s point of view. Once I had that idea, the poem pretty much wrote itself. I hope you enjoy it. This is… My Brother’s in Love with His Mirror My brother is falling in love with his mirror. At first, I had doubts. Now, it couldn’t be clearer. He spent today gazing upon his reflection while whispering words of romantic affection. He straightened his hair and put on his best shirt, then said, “Hey, good lookin’,” like some kind of flirt. He waved at himself as he batted his eyes then tilted his head and let out a few sighs. My brother’s behavior is honestly odd. He smiled at himself with a wink and a nod, then blew a few kisses and started to blush. The mirror is clearly my brother’s new crush. I didn’t know why he was acting this way when I saw him eyeing his mirror today. I figured it out, though—it wasn’t that hard— when I saw him give it a Valentine’s card. — Kenn Nesbitt

I’ve always loved wordplay, especially poems that play around with the nuts and bolts of language, things like spelling, word order, and the way words look and sound on the page. Over the years, I’ve written poems that make silly use of parentheses, hyphens, and even the spacing between words, just to see what kind of mischief I could get into. While I was thinking about other punctuation marks I might work into a poem someday—commas, question marks, slashes, brackets, and so on—it suddenly occurred to me that I’d somehow skipped the most obvious one of all. Exclamation points! They’re loud, they’re enthusiastic, and they have a way of making everything feel more exciting… sometimes a little too exciting. This poem imagines what might happen if someone got just a bit carried away with exclamation points. And fair warning—this is one of those poems that really needs to be seen on the page to make sense, since the punctuation is doing most of the heavy lifting. So if it sounds a little strange out loud, that’s on me! You can read the poem exactly as it was meant to be seen online at Poetry4kids. I’m Thrilled with Exclamation Points! I’m thrilled with exclamation points! I like them so, so much! It’s awesome how they give my words that extra special touch!! Without some exclamation points my words seem dull and dry. But add a few!! Now, suddenly, the writing starts to fly!!!!! I wonder if it’s possible to use them even more!! like! every! word! could! end! with! one! or! two!! or! three!!! or! four!!!! Oh!! yes!!! it’s!! so!!! enjoyable!!!! Instead!! of!! now!! and!!! then!! I’ll!! add!!! a! few!!!! to!! every! word!!, like! eight!!!!!!!! or! nine!!!!!!!!! or! ten!!!!!!!!!! I’d!!! stay!!!! and!!!! tell!!! you!!! more!!!, except!! I!!!!! have!! to!! leave!!! this!!!! joint!!!! Besides!!!, I!!! think! it’s!!!! safe!! to!!!!! say!! by!!! now!!!! you’ve!!!! got!!! my!!!! point!!!! — Kenn Nesbitt

Before I decide what to wear, I often check the weather on my phone. How cold is it outside? Is it going to rain? Will it warm up later in the day? My wife thinks this is a little ridiculous and says I should just look out the window. Or better yet, step outside and see how it feels. But I like knowing what’s coming. A weather app can tell you if you’re going to need a coat, a hat, or an umbrella later on, even if things look fine right now. One day, while I was thinking about checking the weather online, a funny idea popped into my head, an idea that felt like it belonged at the end of a poem. As often happens for me, I wrote that ending first and then worked backward, figuring out what kind of poem would lead naturally to it. This poem grew out of that process, mixing everyday habits with a little imagination and wordplay. I hope it makes you smile, and maybe even think twice about how you decide what the weather’s like before you head outside. This is… Warm or Storm? I think I’ll stay inside today. In here, it’s nice and warm. Outside, I’m told it’s frozen. There’s a frigid winter storm. I heard that there’s a blizzard with a ton of ice and snow. Thermometers are saying that it’s twenty-five below. That’s way too cold to snowboard, or to ski, or skate, or sled. The news said, “Stay inside today and bundle up in bed.” I could have gone outside to see how chilly it would get. But I just looked online and read it on the Winternet. — Kenn Nesbitt

I love cheese, pretty much all kinds of it. A few months ago, I even decided to try making my own cheese for the very first time. I started with cottage cheese, which seemed like a sensible beginner’s choice. Unfortunately, it didn’t turn out quite as well as I’d hoped. Still, I really enjoyed the process, and I’m planning to give cheesemaking another try soon. Today, while I was eating a slice of Swiss cheese and thinking about that not-so-successful experiment, my mind started wandering. I began imagining a cheesemaker who’s a very choosy about his ingredients, and before long, the idea for this poem popped into my head. Sometimes all it takes is one small thought, and one very silly pun, to turn into a poem. That’s exactly what happened here. This is… A Cheesy Story I’m Cheesemaker Charlie. I like to make cheese. I’m fond of ricottas, and cheddars, and bries. Each cheese I prepare needs its own kind of milk, to make sure it’s creamy and smoother than silk. For string cheese, to help it stay slender and slim, I only use milk that’s been labeled as “skim.” I try to ensure that my jack cheese is jacked. I help it stay shredded with “low fat,” in fact. And when I make Swiss cheese, perfection’s my goal. So, that’s why I only use milk labeled “hole.” — Kenn Nesbitt

I’ve always loved performing. When I was a kid, I once put on a magic show for my family when I was seven years old. I even rented a cape and a top hat for the occasion. Unfortunately, the show didn’t go very well. Everyone kept shouting out how the tricks were done, which made it hard to feel very mysterious. Still, that love of performing stuck with me. One of the reasons I fell in love with poetry in the first place was because my father used to sing silly songs and recite nonsense poems at home. Watching him perform made me realize how much fun words can be when you say them out loud. Because of that, I love writing poems about performing, whether it’s singing, karaoke, student talent shows, or just putting on a show for anyone who happens to be nearby. That idea is what inspired this poem. I hope it makes you smile. This is… Toothbrush Karaoke While brushing my teeth after breakfast today, I looked at my toothbrush and, what can I say? It looked like a microphone there in my hand. I thought of a song from my new favorite band. I strolled to the living room singing that song. My brother, surprised, started clapping along. My sister stood up and applauded my tune. She begged me to keep singing all afternoon. I ran to my room where I sang to my frog. My singing and dancing delighted our dog. I chanted and rapped as I ran down the hall, to croon to the mirror we had on the wall. And that’s when my mom and dad walked in the door, complaining of slobber all over the floor. They said my performance was totally cool, except for the minty-fresh puddles of drool. — Kenn Nesbitt

When my kids were in elementary school, they loved taking rules very literally. If I told my son not to touch his sister, he would immediately find the exact spot where he could stand as close as possible without actually touching her, and think it was hilarious. Technically, he was following the rule, even if he was clearly missing the spirit of it. That kind of literal thinking has always made me laugh, especially when it comes to rules at school. Kids hear a rule, take it at face value, and then use a lot of creativity to follow it exactly, sometimes in ways adults never expected. It’s not about breaking the rules; it’s about finding all the tiny spaces around them. I realized there might be a poem hiding in that idea, especially if the rule was followed with complete sincerity… and a whole lot of imagination. That’s where this poem came from. I hope it makes you smile, especially if you’ve ever known a kid who was very good at following rules, just not quite the way they were intended. This is… No Running in the Hall They said, “No running in the hall,” and so I didn’t run at all. They didn’t say, “Don’t skip and prance.” They didn’t say, “Don’t disco dance.” And so, you may have seen me hop, or spiral like a spinning top, or zig and zag from side to side, or spread my arms to fly and glide. I might have marched. I might have stomped. I might have wriggled, rolled, and romped. I might have done a funky strut. I might have wagged my you-know-what. I might have slid across the floor, or maybe moonwalked through a door, or got down on my knees to crawl. But, hey, I didn’t run at all. — Kenn Nesbitt

A lot of my poems are inspired by things that happen in my own life. I wrote this one while my wife was watching a football game with her sister and brother-in-law, and I was in the other room working on a poem. As they cheered at the TV, it made me think about how different people in the same family often want to watch completely different things. That reminded me that many families wait until Christmas to make big purchases—like a brand-new TV—and that sometimes, instead of bringing everyone together, it can create a whole new set of arguments. Football? Parades? Christmas cartoons? A holiday movie? Everyone has a favorite. I started wondering what might happen if nobody could agree on what to watch on their shiny new television. That little idea was enough to spark this poem. Our Brand-New TV For Christmas, our gift was a brand-new TV. We couldn’t agree, though, on what we should see. My sister said, “We should all watch the parade.” Our dad said, “The football game’s on, I’m afraid.” My brother said, “Let’s watch a Christmas cartoon!” Our mom said, “A good movie’s starting at noon.” We squabbled and fought over what we should see for hours and hours but couldn’t agree. And meanwhile, our dog, who did not get a vote, just sat down and chewed up the TV remote. The TV’s now stuck from the way that he chewed. It only shows squirrels and close-ups of food. And, strangely, we all liked his channel much better. It turns out our dog is a great TV setter. — Kenn Nesbitt

I’ve always loved building snowmen. When my kids were younger, we used to spend whole winter afternoons rolling giant snowballs around the yard, hunting for the perfect sticks for arms, and deciding how he should be dresses and decorated. Which hat would work best? Should he have a scarf or a tie? Does he really need a carrot nose or would a button work just as well? This year, I started thinking about how much personality a snowman seems to have by the time you’re done with it. You give it a hat, a scarf, and a pipe, and suddenly it feels like a character—someone who might have opinions about your artistic decisions. I wondered what would happen if a snowman actually could share those opinions. That little idea was enough to spark this poem. The moment I imagined a half-finished snowman watching me choose its accessories, I knew I wanted to write about it. What would a snowman say? What would it care about? What would it absolutely not want? I hope you enjoy the result. Snow’s Nose I made a new snowman out in our front yard. It didn’t take long and it wasn’t too hard. I stacked up some snowballs. I gave them a pat, then threw on a scarf, and a pipe, and a hat. I sculpted some feet from a little more snow, and stuck in some sticks where his arms ought to go. I added some coal for his buttons and eyes, and that’s when he spoke, to my utter surprise. He said to me, “Thanks for the hat, scarf, and pipe. The sticks that you picked are exactly my type. “Now bring me some carrots. You picked all my clothes, but really, I don’t want you picking my nose.” — Kenn Nesbitt

I love writing poems about the holiday season, so I wanted to start December off with a new funny poem about Santa Claus. To get myself in the right festive mood, I reread Clement Clarke Moore’s classic poem “A Visit from St. Nicholas,” better known as “‘Twas the Night Before Christmas.” As I was reading, a couple of lines jumped out at me: He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot; I couldn’t help noticing something amusing about the word “soot.” It looks like it ought to rhyme with “suit,” but it doesn’t. “Soot” actually rhymes with “put” and “foot,” not with “suit” or “boot.” Still, that contrast made me laugh, and I thought there had to be a poem hiding inside that idea somewhere. So I first decided to call it “Soot Suit,” and then sat down to see what I could come up with. And this is the result, my newest holiday poem. Soot Suit When Santa came to visit us on Christmas Eve this year, his eyes were bright and merry and his face was full of cheer. He carried toys and presents in a sack upon his back. But Santa wasn’t dressed in red. Instead, his suit was black. Without his bright red coat and hat he looked a little weird. He also had some smudges on his cheeks and on his beard. We asked if he was trying out a new and different style. He looked down at his blackened suit then answered with a smile. He said, “My suit’s not really black, as maybe you could tell. It only looks that way because your chimney soots me well.” — Kenn Nesbitt

One question students often ask me is what my favorite “kind” of poem is. That is, they want to know if I like haiku or limericks or diamantes or some other type of poem best. The word poets use to describe these different kinds of poems is “form.” A form is kind of poem defined by a set of rules, which might include a certain rhyme scheme, number of lines, syllable count and so on. The truth of the matter is that I don’t normally write in poetic forms, but if I had to pick a favorite, it would either be a funny form like limericks or clerihews, or it would be the acrostic, where the first letters of each line spell out a word or phrase. With Thanksgiving Day (in the United States) coming soon, this week I was putting together a program on how to write “thankful” poems. One example I gave was a simple acrostic on the word “thanks.” I enjoyed that simple example enough that I decided to create a longer acrostic using the word “Thanksgiving,” listing things that you or I might be thankful for on Thanksgiving Day. I hope you enjoy it! Thanksgiving These are things I’m thankful for: Hugs from people I adore. Apple cider. Pumpkin pie. Next-door neighbors dropping by. Kicking balls around the yard. Singing, laughing, playing cards. Glasses clinking for a toast. Ice cream sundaes. Yummy roast. Visitors from out of town. Inside, children running ’round. Napping after food and play. Giving thanks, Thanksgiving Day.  — Kenn Nesbitt

Before we begin, there’s something I haven’t talked about very much. Most people assume I was born in the twentieth century and grew up like everyone else—going to school, learning poetry, all of that. But the truth is a bit more complicated. I’m actually from the year 3017. That’s right—thirty-seventeen. A full millennium in the future. Back home, time travel is fairly common. It’s not something people make a big fuss about, either. It’s more like catching bus. You can take a weekend trip to ancient Egypt, visit your great-great-great-great-grandparents, or hop forward to see how your favorite TV show eventually ends. Most time travelers don’t stay very long in the past, but I’ve always been curious. I wanted to see what life was like a thousand years ago, so I climbed into my trusty time machine and set the dial for the early 2000s. Unfortunately—well, I won’t spoil the poem—but let’s just say things didn’t go exactly as planned. What you’re about to hear is a completely accurate, totally factual account of what happened next. Some people think I wrote it as fiction, but I assure you: every word is true. And yes, time machines in the future are usually more reliable than this. My Time Machine Is Broken I came here from the future in my trusty time machine. I flew almost a thousand years from thirty-seventeen. I thought it would be fun to see the far-off distant past. It never had occurred to me this trip might be my last. But now I’m getting worried. It’s a serious concern. My time machine has broken down so now I can’t return. I traveled too far back in time, which now I quite regret, since time machine repair shops haven’t been invented yet. — Kenn Nesbitt

It’s the middle of autumn, and the weather is definitely changing. The leaves have mostly fallen from the trees, and it’s been cold and raining for the past few days where I live. I thought I’d write something about this change of seasons—but in a slightly unexpected way. This poem starts out as a simple bike ride through the park, but things take a strange turn once the weather begins to shift. Here is… Dark Park I went for a ride on my bike in the park. Some clouds started forming. It quickly got dark. The rain pounded down as the wind began blowing. The weather turned colder, and soon it was snowing. I shivered and shook as a blizzard was forming, and thunder and lightning were suddenly storming. I tried to escape, but my bike wouldn’t go. The wheels were both frozen and stuck in the snow. I jumped off my bike and ran out of the park. The sky was all sunny, not cloudy and dark. It’s really a puzzle why out here it’s nice, but inside the park it’s all snowbanks and ice. I’ve taken a breath, and I’m counting to ten, preparing myself to go back in again. I might sound insane, like a crazed maniac. I don’t really care, though— I want my bike back. — Kenn Nesbitt

It’s October, and the weather has finally started turning cold. The leaves are changing colors and beginning to fall, swirling and spinning in the breeze. I’ve already written a couple of Halloween poems this month, so I thought I’d do something a little different, something that simply celebrates the season itself. The idea for the ending of this poem came to me almost instantly, and I knew I had to write the whole thing just to build up to that moment. I hope you enjoy it. The Leaves Are Falling Of the Trees The leaves are falling off the trees. It’s fun to watch them whirl. It only takes the slightest breeze to make them swoop and swirl. They twist and spin, they dip and dance. Their flights are acrobatic. They do this yearly, not by chance; instead, it’s autumn-matic. — Kenn Nesbitt

I came up with the last word of this poem earlier this year. It’s what’s called a portmanteau word, which means a made-up word created by blending two real words together, like combining breakfast and lunch to make the word “brunch.” Now, at the time, it was the beginning of June, and writing a Halloween poem in the middle of spring didn’t make much sense. So I just jotted the word down in my notes and waited. Now that October is here, I thought it was the perfect time to see if I could turn that one silly word into a whole poem, and this is what I came up with. Sticky Sweet Trick-or-Treat I went trick-or-treating. I only got stuff with marshmallows in it or marshmallow fluff. My basket was filled up with Rice Krispies Treats, s’mores, Peeps, and Moon Pies, and other such sweets, like cocoa with marshmallows floating on top, a rocky road bar, and a marshmallow pop. I’m not sure what happened. I guess this must mean I went trick-or-treating on Marshmalloween. — Kenn Nesbitt

When October comes around each year, I love writing Halloween poems—especially about monsters, haunted houses, and trick-or-treating. Some of these poems are a little spooky, but most are just meant to be silly and fun, like this one. I started imagining what it might be like if Dracula and his monster friends hosted a Halloween celebration of their own. What would they do if you came knocking on their door? I hope you enjoy the answer. At Dracula’s Mansion At Dracula’s mansion, on Halloween night, the monsters are hiding inside, out of sight. They patiently wait till the moment is right, the moment you ring the front bell. They’ll throw the door open and put on a show, some magic in front of the pumpkins’ warm glow. And you’ll have a seat in the very front row as they cast their magical spell. The ghost will perform his new vanishing act. The witch will pull black rabbits out of her hat. Count Dracula simply turns into a bat as you’re bravely waiting for sweets. You might find it scary to be in this fix. But monsters… well, that’s the way they get their kicks. At Dracula’s mansion, they always do tricks, before they give out any treats. — Kenn Nesbitt

One of the things I’ve loved ever since I was a kid is playing with language; making up silly words, twisting familiar phrases, and asking questions that don’t always have logical answers. I grew up reading nonsense poems like “Jabberwocky” by Lewis Carroll and “The Owl and the Pussycat” by Edward Lear, and I still remember the tongue twisters and silly songs my dad used to recite, like “Fuzzy Wuzzy Was a Bear” and “Mairzy Doats.” Those kinds of playful poems and songs sparked something in me, and they’ve inspired many of the poems I’ve written since. A few nights ago, just as I was drifting off to sleep, a strange question popped into my head: If it’s a farmer’s job to farm and a teacher’s job to teach, is it a butler’s job to “butle?” It made me laugh so much that I grabbed my phone and jotted it down before I could forget. When I looked at it the next morning, I still thought it was fun. So I ran with it and turned it into a poem. I hope you enjoy the result as much as I enjoyed writing it. It’s a Farmer’s Job to Farm It’s a farmer’s job to farm, and it’s a teacher’s job to teach. It’s a dancer’s job to dance, and it’s a preacher’s job to preach. But do butlers have to butle, and do barbers have to barb? Does a butcher have to butch, and does a harbor have to harb? Does a grocer have to groce, and does a doctor have to doct? Is a scholar’s job to schol, and is a proctor’s job to proct? Does a dollar have to doll and does the thunder always thund? If you know, then you’re a wonder, and your job must be to wond. — Kenn Nesbitt

When I was in school, I loved to paint and draw. I even thought I would become a comic book illustrator when I grew up! But honestly… I never got very good at it. My pictures usually came out kind of funny, with lots of imperfections. And that’s okay! Everyone makes mistakes when they’re learning something new. It doesn’t matter if you’re practicing the piano, trying a new sport, baking a cake, learning a new language, or painting a picture; mistakes are part of the process. In fact, they’re not really failures at all. They’re what help us get better. This poem is about a kid who learns that very lesson in a pretty silly way. I hope you enjoy it. This is… My Family Portrait I painted a picture this morning, depicting my family and me. I made some mistakes on my artwork, mistakes that were easy to see. I dribbled some paint on the paper. My mom ended up with three eyes. My dad had a head like a pumpkin and hair like an order of fries. My brother was partially purple, with zigzags all over his face. My sister had curly antennae, and looked like a creature from space. The little green blob that I splattered was meant to resemble our dog. Instead, it appeared that our puppy was more like an oversized frog. I nervously showed them my painting. It turned out they liked it a lot. They laughed and proclaimed it was perfect. I’m better at art than I thought. — Kenn Nesbitt

Have you ever played around with one of those video filters that makes you look older, or younger, or gives you dog ears, or turns your whole face into a cartoon? Apps like Zoom, Snapchat, and others are filled with tools that can instantly change how you look—just for fun. It made me think about the line from Snow White… “Mirror, Mirror on the wall…” What if that magic mirror still existed, but it used artificial intelligence instead of spells and potions? That idea got my imagination spinning, and the result was this poem. I hope you enjoy it. AI Mirror On the Wall AI mirror on the wall, show me what I’d look like tall. Dress me in a suit and hat. Make my face look like a cat. Change my skin to turn it blue. Add a beard and mustache too. Make me young. Now make me old. Place me on a pile of gold. Show me what I’d look like blonde, with a cape and magic wand. Make my hair short. Make it long. Make my muscles big and strong. Thank you, AI. That was fun. But for now, I think we’re done. Turn off AI on the wall. Normal me is best of all. — Kenn Nesbitt

I’ve always loved writing poems about unusual characters—kids, teenagers, or even adults who do outrageous things or take ordinary situations and turn them completely upside down. “The Reason Vance Learned How to Dance” is one of those poems. It’s about a kid who puts in a ton of effort for one very specific reason… and then something unexpected happens. Poems like this are a fun way to play with something called irony—that’s when the outcome is the opposite of what you’d expect. Imagine practicing all year to go swimming and then forgetting your swimsuit on the big day. That’s ironic—and also kind of funny! In this poem, Vance is a kooky character who works hard toward his goal, but things don’t quite go as planned. Let’s see what happens to Vance as he prepares for his big moment… The Reason Vance Learned How to Dance The reason Vance learned how to dance was for his high school prom. He knew he needed lessons, so he went and asked his mom. She taught him how to jitterbug and how to lock and pop, and how to do the Bossa Nova and the Bunny Hop. She showed him how to do the Robot and the Tango too, the Cha-Cha and the Twist, and the Electric Boogaloo. He learned to do the Chicken Dance, the Moonwalk, and the Mule. At last he felt that he was ready for the dance at school. He’d learned a dozen dances, but he realized too late he couldn’t go to prom since he forgot to ask a date. — Kenn Nesbitt

The other day, I was re-reading my all-time favorite book of poetry, Colin West’s fabulous collection, The Big Book of Nonsense. In Chapter 1, there is a poem simply titled “Knitting.” In Chapter 2, there is a poem called “Octopus.” I was still thinking about the knitting poem when I started reading the octopus poem,... Read more »