Green winter
In winter my feet get quite chilly
So I wear umpteen socks, I’m not silly
When the gas bills come in
They all go in the bin
And I burn them to boil up my billy.
Nadine Cranenburgh
Tag Archives: funny poems
Feeling Weird by Allan Cropper
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Feeling Weird
Have you woken up to find
you don’t know how you feel?
That’s how I felt when I woke up today.
I tried to find a word that would
express the way I felt
but there were not the words that would convey
the feelings I was feeling, for
it all felt so surreal,
a feeling like no other I have known.
I cannot find the words to tell you
how it is I felt.
I’ll have to make up new words of my own.
I felt flagisticatious,
all wimbillical inside.
Indubicartly grobble-poxed, was I.
Befuddulant and jingle-jacked,
quite micro-ballical,
which can’t have been too pleasing to the eye.
I felt so astro-numical,
anthortical in fact,
in a very catostrismic kind of way.
And that, my friend, just sums it up –
exactly how I felt –
the way I felt when I awoke today.
Allan Cropper
Wrecked! by Jill McDougall
Leave a commentWrecked!
I’ve scraped the skin
From off my chin,
My arms and legs are grazed,
My elbow’s sprained,
My ankle’s maimed,
I’m feeling kind of dazed.
I’ve crunched my neck,
My knee’s a wreck,
My fingers curl like claws,
My dental work
Has gone berserk
And jammed up both my jaws.
My eyes are black,
My nose is red,
My lips are turning blue –
So tell me why
The teachers cry –
SPORT IS GOOD FOR YOU!
Jill McDougall
A Frog in a Log by Allan Cropper
Leave a commentA FROG ON A LOG
A frog
a frog on a log
a frog on a log with a bag full of sticks
a frog on a log with a bag full of tricks
a frog
a magical frog
a mystical frog
a wave
a wave of a stick
a wave of a stick from his bag full of tricks
a wave of a wand from his bag full of sticks
a fog
a magical fog
a mystical fog
a mist
a mist on a pond
a mystical fog on a frog on a log
a frog on a log was no longer a frog
a frog on a log had turned into a dog
a dog
a magical dog
a mystical dog
a dog
a dog not a frog
a dog, not a frog, on a log in a fog
a dog not a frog with a bag full of sticks
a dog not a frog with a bag full of tricks
a wave
a wave of a stick
a wave of a stick from his bag full of tricks
a wave of a wand from his bag full of sticks
a smog
a magical smog
a mystical smog
a twist
a twist of a tail
a magical smog and the pond was a bog
a dog not a frog was no longer a dog
a dog not a frog had turned into a hog
a hog
a magical hog
a mystical hog
a hog
a hog not a dog
a hog not a frog
a hog in a bog
a hog not a dog or a frog on a log
a hog in a bog not a dog or a frog
a magical hog with a bag full of sticks
a magical hog with a bag full of tricks.
Allan Cropper
Unputdownable by Stephen Whiteside
Leave a commentUnputdownable
I got a book for Christmas, and I couldn’t put it down,
But it wasn’t by a writer of spectacular renown.
The plot was never gripping, and the characters weren’t great.
The illustrations, truth be told, were rather second rate.
I didn’t like the paper, and the binding looked quite cheap,
Yet still this book prevented me from drifting into sleep.
So why did I not put it down? This little puzzle still lingers.
It’s very simple, really. I had glue upon my fingers!
© Stephen Whiteside 10.01.2015
Uncle Jack by Bill Condon
Leave a commentUncle Jack
Uncle Jack belongs Outback
so when he comes to visit,
he brings along his kangaroo
and Bert, his blue-tongue lizard.
He decorates the Christmas tree
with lots of slimy critters,
and when he turns the lights up high
he makes snakeburger fritters.
He also brings his cattle dog –
it bites off postie’s limbs.
On Christmas Eve it stays awake
howling sacred hymns.
Uncle carves the turkey up,
(half for him and half for pup)
and when it’s time to have dessert
he swipes my share to give to Bert!
His kangaroo sits at the table,
on the lap of Auntie Mabel.
It chews away on Christmas cake
and Auntie’s finger(by mistake).
After lunch Jack tells us that
He’ll show us how to shear the cat.
His presents bring us added gloom,
a gift-wrapped spider’s in my room.
His boomerang display is free
it’s always a catastrophe.
He throws it with a cocky leer,
it wedges in old Grannie’s ear.
The police are called to have a chat.
They ask about the crewcut cat.
And so it’s time to say goodbye,
a tear wells up inside his eye,
he gushes like a broken drain,
we have to push him on the train.
And Uncle Jack returns Outback,
with dog and roo and lizard,
and it only takes us til July
to recover from his visit.
© Bill Condon
Note: The chest of poems for Poem of the Day has been empty for many days. Where are the poems? If you’d like to see your children’s poem published, please send it along to dibates@outlook.com
The Giant Hat by John Williams
Leave a commentThe Giant Hat
Wacko Jack from Ballarat
Built the most enormous hat,
Made of canvas with a great big brim,
Three storeys tall with a velvet trim.
Some dogs howled, while babies cried
When they saw Jack’s hat he wore with pride,
Old ladies gulped while others grinned,
Until one day a howling wind
Saw Jack take off, up he went,
Sailing high like a flying tent,
He yelled out loud with a face so grim,
“Next time I’ll make a smaller brim.”
That same night when it was late,
A UFO spotted above Bass Straight,
But it was only Jack still holding on
To the flying hat that’d gone so wrong.
© John Williams
Doctor! by Edel Wignell
Leave a commentDoctor!
‘Doctor, doctor, doctor,
I feel awfully like a goat.’
The doctor said, ‘Let’s see,’
As he put on his coat.
He tapped my head and, startled,
Said, ‘Two horns are hid!
How long have they been there?’
‘Since I was a kid.’
(Illus. Doctor peering at small horns among the hair on the head.)
‘Doctor, doctor, doctor,
I feel dreadfully like a cat.’
‘Hop up on the chair
And we’ll have a little chat.’
‘I’m not allowed to climb
On table, chair or couch.’
‘I heard a “Mia-ow”, I’m sure!’
‘All I said was “Ouch!”‘
(Illus. Doctor pressing tongue down and peering at the throat.)
© Edel Wignell
I Luv My Spelling by Warren Cox
Leave a commentI Luv My Speling
Last nite I sat doun kwietly
To get my homework dun.
I had to get my wirds rite
So I studdyd evry wun.
I thort Sir wood be hapy
and pat me on the hed.
But wen he cheked my ansirs,
his fase tirned brite brite red.
“Good heavens Smith,” he yelled at me.
“How could you be so dumb?
I’m going to write a note for you
to take home to your mum.”
I tuk the leter home with me
and wacht mum as she red.
She rote a leter bak to sir
and this is wot it sed.
Dear teecher thank you verry much
for karing bowt my sun.
I’ll help him lern his wurds tonite;
evry singal wun.
syned,
his muthar
© Warren Cox
Scarecrow by Jenny Erlanger
Leave a commentScarecrow
My scarecrow worked a wonder
in our brand new garden patch
but I made a fatal blunder
and must start again from scratch.
I’d made sure he was scary
‘cause his mission night and day
was to make the birdlife wary
and keep all the pests away.
His hair was wild and woolly
and his eyes were cold and hard.
He looked a fearsome bully
as he stood there in our yard.
His face was truly ghastly
With its horrid, evil smirk.
He looked so mean and nasty
as he carried out his work.
I’ve reassured my mother
that next time I’ll get it right.
I have to build another
’cause the plants all died of fright!
© Jenny Erlanger
Australian Children’s Poetry 