Tag Archives: poems for children

Humungous Fungus by Pat Simmons

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Humungous Fungus

Humungous Fungus is among us

And it’s rather smelly.

It slowly creeps between your toes

Then right up to your belly.

 

It can be blue but when it’s pink

It gives off such an awful stink.

Sometimes it floats down in the breeze

And leaves great blobs on both your knees.

 

When it sparkles like a fairy

Then you must be very wary.

If it waves its magic wand

You’ll smell like slime from next door’s pond.

 

Beware if Fungus goes to school

It doesn’t care who looks a fool.

Your teacher might get quite a shock

If Fungus hides inside his sock.

 

If poor Grandma while she’s sitting

Concentrating on her knitting

Notices a sudden pull

It’s Fungus climbing up her wool.

 

Even Mum must be quite careful

She might cop a blobby hair full

If she happens to be shopping

Right where Fungus slime is dropping.

 

Family pets should run and hide

‘Cos Fungus loves to slip and slide

Into kennels, baskets, cages

Sending critters into rages.

 

But Fungus loathes a water spray

So get yourself one right away

And squirt that fiend with all your might

You’ll be a hero overnight.

Pat Simmons

Sound Advice by Jenny Erlanger

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Sound Advice

 

Sometimes when you’re out of sorts

and wound up like a spring

or plagued with nasty, angry thoughts

it really helps to sing.

 

Sing out loud, you can’t go wrong,

sing anything you choose.

There’s nothing like a happy song

to chase away the blues.

Jenny Erlanger

The Lost Things by Dianne Bates

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The Lost Things

 

They must be all around me —

the lost things,

My best pencil, my first doll,

a single sock,

the locket Mum gave me

for my seventh birthday,

the one I promised to never lose.

 

They lurk in dusky corners,

and grooves and places

I can’t begin to think of

Loving their freedom

Camouflaging their grins

Watching me as I search everywhere —

 

But where they are

Those clever, clever, lost things

Forever playing hide

While I play seek.

Dianne Bates

 

Noisy World Poem by Elizabeth Cummings

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Noisy world poem

 

If I lie still

So still and true

No wriggle

No rustle

I

Can

Just

About

Hear

The

Hum and roar

And rise and

Fall and crash

And surge of

The gushing

Rushing

Urgent sucking

Retreating and

Lunging

That never stops

Bound to its constant action

Slave-like

Yet lording over

Its often

Ignorant subjects

And dreamy admirers

This sea will be heard

And I will listen.

Elizabeth Cummings

 

One Little Raindrop by Sharon Hammad

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One Little Raindrop

 

One little raindrop

Arrives on my nose

Dangles a moment

Then splashes my toes

 

Slides down my pinkie

Lands on the grass

Washes a blade so

It glimmers like glass

 

One little raindrop

Joins with its mates

A cackling creek

That skitters and skates

 

On through the forests

And meadows it snakes

Merges with rivers

That pour into lakes

 

One little raindrop

Drawn out to sea

Plays with the dolphins

A long way from me

 

Out comes the sunshine

Blazing and high

Hauls up that raindrop

Far into the sky

 

One little raindrop

Now it’s a cloud

Here is the thunder

Looming and loud

 

Quick! Run for shelter

Before the storm blows

As one little raindrop

Arrives on my nose

Sharon Hammad

Sharon Says: I wrote it in response to Poetry Prompt ‘In Winter’ during the Big Wet Weekend we had recently. I was thinking about how to explain the water cycle to children.

Count-up to Planet Bed by Katherine Gallagher

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Count-up to Planet Bed

 

I’m one for the window

and two for the door.

 

I’m three for the ceiling

and four for the floor.

 

I’m five for the morning

and six for the night.

 

I’m seven for the stairs

and eight for the light.

 

I’m nine for a story

and ten for my bed.

 

Now I’m off for a dream

to hold in my head.

 

Katherine Gallagher

Published in Toothpaste Trouble (ed. Nick Toczek, Macmillan, 2002)

Katherine says: Going to bed isn’t always a happy time but it can be made fun with ‘ a one-step-at-a-time’ count-up. Your Poetry Prompt #23 reminded me of this situation.

 

I Hate Books by Alix Phelan

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I HATE BOOKS

My teacher says I have to

read

Books!  I hate them.

They’re boring. They are

not as exciting as thinking about

what you’d do if you were caught

in a storm, on a boat

In the middle of the bay,

with your dad injured,

and you’ve had to sail by yourself

and your mum’s worried sick

about where you both might be

when the police launch arrives

and has to winch you across

cas the water’s so rough

that you vomit all over the

rescuer, who tells you not to

apologise.

No, books are not as exciting as

seeing your mum waiting on the shore

crying,

when she finds you’re both ok.

 

Actually, you know what?

I reckon I could write a book about that.

I’d read it, wouldn’t you?

 Alix Phelan

Night Magic by Jenny Erlanger

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Night Magic

 

At night if feel anxious and my heart begins to race,

if all I want to do is weep or yell

I look outside my bedroom at that diamond-studded space,

and wait for it to cast its magic spell.

 

I feel the tension easing, all the pressure start to lift

and let my thinking go without a fight.

A magnet way above me sets my frazzled mind adrift

and draws it gently up into the night.

 

In weightless bliss I flitter with the wings of fantasy

past planets, moons and stars that no one knows.

In breathless awe I float within my private galaxy.

I’m free at last from all those earthly woes.

 

My mind is now uncluttered and as peaceful as can be.

It’s lost, for now, that pressing sense of gloom.

Before I even know it, it has floated back to me

from somewhere worlds and worlds beyond my room.

 

The magic moment passes and I’m really glad to say

I feel a little fluttering of hope.

Although I know my problems haven’t really gone away

I thank the sky for helping me to cope.

 

Jenny Erlanger

The Visitor by Monty Edwards

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The Visitor

 

A witch flew through my window! I saw her on her broom.

One starry night, down moonbeams bright, she rode into my room!

I cried out to my mother. “A witch came in!” I screamed.

She softly said: “No, no, my dear, believe you me, there’s no witch here.

It’s just something you dreamed.”

 

I wanted to believe her. I’d had a nasty fright.

I said: “Please lock the window, Mum, or I won’t sleep tonight.”

Once Mum had turned the window key she tucked me back in bed.

“No need for you to worry then, no witch can frighten you again,”

My mother calmly said.

 

When Mum had left and dimmed the lights, I tried to close my eyes,

But found I still felt wide awake, though that was no surprise.

Quite suddenly I heard a noise!  A scratching mouse or rat?

Then, while I lay there quiet and still – a dark shape on the window sill!

The witch’s jet black cat!

 

Monty Edwards

 

Monty says: The black cat, moon and starry night turned my thoughts to witches and their significance for children. The open window provided a point of entry for the narrative and the focus then became developing a suitable rhyming scheme to carry the narrative to its conclusion.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Night by Katherine Gallagher

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Night

 

I tiptoed to the window –

suddenly I could see

the stars come marching,

blinking at me.

 

When I woke next morning

they had gone away,

and the dark had unwrapped

a brand new day.

(From Somewhere in the Sky, Nelson Blackie,1996)

Katherine Gallagher

Katherine says: When I saw your cat, moon and window full of stars for a Poetry Prompt, I was reminded of my poem ‘Night’ and watching the stars make their slow entrance, then exit.