Tag Archives: fun poems for children

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The Magic Elephant

 

The Bradbury Brothers Big Top

Travelled round from town to town

With all the big attractions

Tigers, tightropes and a clown

 

To keep the patrons interested

They had to keep it new

So they brought a snake and elephant

And bearded lady too

 

But the Strongman pulled a hammie

(He exerted too much force)

And the showgirl broke her leg

When falling from her dancing horse

 

The Bradbury Brothers panicked

The tent was full of angry hicks

They would have to get the elephant

To do some magic tricks

 

Card tricks are elementary

And quite easy to debunk

This trick must be amazing

(And completed with a trunk!)

 

They set up eight big ostrich eggs

With care upon the mat

And gave the giant pachyderm

A wizard wand and hat

 

Then to the crowd’s great wonder

Each egg just sank away

Though it was not a magic elephant

(but a starving snake that day)

 

The only proof of what occurred

For the trick had gone so well

Was a smiling snake contented

Burping out the old egg shells.

Sioban Timmer
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #26

Poem of the Day

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Iggy

An impressive, aggressive iguana

while eating his breakfast banana

slipped on the skin

went into a spin

and ended up flying to Ghana.

Pat Simmons

 

 

 

 

 

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Dinner Time Rhyme

 

Did you hear how little Miss Muffet

Sat down to eat some food on a tuffet?

Her curds and whey were soft and wet

(These curds and whey are what you get

When using milk for making cheese,

So do not look for them on trees).

 

If you went out tonight to eat

Instead you’d likely have a seat

And choose a favourite food or two

And wait till it was served to you,

Or from the buffet eat your fill,

But not so much it made you ill.

 

Now should Miss Muffet too turn up

With curds and whey in bowl or cup

And say: “This buffet’s not for me,

Try this, it’s better, you’ll agree.”

Here’s what I suggest you say:

“Let’s go and get some takeaway.”

Monty Edwards
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #20

Monty says: “A buffet dinner celebration with family a few months back came to mind with the prompt. This got me thinking about how confusing a child might find the pronunciation of “buffet”, having been exposed at some point to little Miss Muffet, let alone what she ate, so I decided to explore both in this simple poem.”

 

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Retractable Teeth

 

Imagine, my friend…if you please, if you will…

That teeth were attached to your gums with great skill

By elastic – retractable, spit-proof and strong –

So that when they were wobbly, they’d not wobble long…

That the mean, ancient aunt who with glee and guffaw

Recommends that you tie your poor tooth to the door

With some cotton, then slams that old door with a bang!

Would faint dead away as your tooth, with a twang,

Zoomed back to your mouth in its boomerang way

Ready to chomp, munch and gobble all day.

 

Imagine, my friend… if you will, if you please…

That your teeth could extend down as far as your knees.

You could sit at the table with very straight back

Crunching secret supplies that were down in your lap.

And your mum, for whom manners at table are utmost,

Has cooked, let’s imagine, a nice, healthy nut-roast,

With no earthly clue that her child, yes, that’s you…

Is secretly eating the worst kind of goo.

The sugar, the colour, the taste, oh so yummy!

Is chomped in your lap, then transferred to your tummy.

 

 

Imagine, my friend… if you please, one last time…

That your teeth – so retractable, yes, so sublime –

Were immune, nay impervious, to plaque and to grot

And were teeth, everlasting, that just couldn’t rot,

So that if you ate junk, and let’s face it, you would,

Your teeth would stay healthy; your breath would stay good.

And your dentist, with beam fit to light up her clinic

Would trumpet your praise: ‘The example to mimic!’

Wouldn’t you grin at your photo beneath

Her new dentistry ad for Retractable Teeth?

 

Kesta Fleming

The Land of Puggle by Myra King

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Flea

 

Jumping, biting, annoying,

Sneaky little flea.

Scritch, scratch, scritch,

I have a terrible itch.

 

How do I ditch this itch?

A flea on board,

Becomes a terrible game.

Flea twister is no fun,

Trying to find the little biter.

 

Take off your clothes,

And jump into the sea,

Swim, dive, and float,

Surf a few waves.

 

No more itch,

Wash those clothes,

Peace at last,

No more sneaky little flea.

 

Karen Hendriks

 

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Clear the field

 

Clear the field

Run away!

The farmer’s bull escaped today.

 

Swim the creek,

He’s mad, I see.

With those big horns, we’d better flee!

 

Jump the ditch,

Scale the rocks.

Don’t follow me in those red socks.

 

Take them off!

Shut the gate.

Don’t look back, the bull’s irate.

 

Home at last.

Slam the door.

We’re not snooping anymore! 

Lynette Oxley
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #21

Lynette said: I wanted to create the suspense I felt as a child when a girlfriend said, “The bull’s escaped!”

 

Marcus the Mouser by John Williams

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Mixed-up Banquet

 

“What’s for dinner?” asked the snail from the rusty garden pail.

“Some lettuce and banana,” cried the skinny, young Iguana.

“The compost heap smells great … Hurry up! You’re running late.”

“I can’t go any faster,” wailed the snail as Ig raced past her.

 

“What’s for dinner?” asked the kid as he paddled near a squid.

“Some shrimp and little fish,” said the squid. “A tasty dish.

The water’s warm and fine. Come on in so we can dine.”

“The surf’s too deep and rough, so I’ll fetch my brothers Gruff.”

 

“What’s for dinner?” barked the dog as she raced towards a hog.

“I’m slurping applesauce. Can you guess the second course?”

“A Dagwood Dog or two? I don’t know. Give me a clue.”

“It’s frozen, in a cuppy. Starts with ‘S’ and ends with ‘Puppie’.”

 

“What’s for dinner?” purred the cat on the dusty, worn-out mat.

“Swiss cheese and raisin toast,” squeaked the mouse beside a post.

“I’d rather catch fresh meat,” yawned the cat. “A little treat.

My tummy cries for food and my eyes are set on ___.”

 

Lynette Oxley

 

  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #20

Lynette said: I wanted the poem to have internal rhyme and be a guessing game.

Poem of the Day

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Sunday Dinner

My Nan grew up in wartime

And thought nothing goes to waste

And sometimes Sunday dinner

Wasn’t really to my taste

 

I loved to go to her house

And most of the meals were great

But at times I really struggled

To eat the food upon my plate

 

Her Shepherd’s Pie was awesome

And I loved cold meats and cheese

She made Special Fried Potatoes

That always made me say “More please”

 

But every now and then

The dish that truly gave me shivers

I couldn’t even stand the smell

Of Nan’s boiled chicken livers

 

I pushed them all around the plate

And covered them with sauce

Tried to mix them with potatoes

But it didn’t help of course

 

In the end I had to say

There really was one choice

And though I knew it would be hard

I mustered up my voice

 

“Nan – I don’t like boiled chicken livers”

 

There was a moment’s silence

And my eyes were opened wide

Nan looked at me and gently smiled

“Just push them to the side”

 

After that no chicken livers

Were served at Sunday dinner

And we had all the other lovely things

My tastebuds were the winner

Sioban Timmer
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #20