POEMS FOR CHILDREN

The Monsters in My Closet

BY PHIL BOLSTA

The monsters in my closet

Like to sleep the day away.

So when I get home from school,

I let them out to play.

When Mom calls me for supper,

I give them each a broom.

First they put my toys away,

And then they clean my room.

The Mummy hates to vacuum.

So if he starts to whine,

I kick his rear and tell him,

“Trade jobs with Frankenstein.”

Wolfman used to fold my clothes.

I’ll give him one more chance—

Last time he wasn’t careful

And left furballs in my pants.

 
When my room is nice and neat,

I bring them up some food.

But Dracula wants to drink my blood—

I think that’s pretty rude.

When it’s time to go to bed,

I hug them all goodnight.

They jump back in my closet,

While I turn out the light.

I’ve taken care of monsters

For as long as I recall,

But the monsters in my closet

Are the nicest ones of all!

Mystery Object
I don’t know where you came from.
I don’t know what you are.
Maybe you came from a camera,
Or a radio? or a car?
I don’t know what your name is.
I don’t know what you do.
In all my life I’ve never seen
A thing shaped quite like you.
So I’ll keep you in my pocket
As a puzzling mystery bit.
And, who knows? Maybe one day
I’ll find out where you fit.
© Tony Mitton
The Door

Go and open the door.

Perhaps outside there´s
A tree, or a wood,
A garden
Or a magic city.

Go and open the door.

Perhaps a dog is rummaging.
Perhaps you´ll see a face,
Or an eye,
Or the picture of a picture.

Go and open the door.

If there´s a fog,
It will clear.

Go and open the door.

Even if there´s only
The darkness ticking,
Even if there´s only
The hollow wind,
even if nothing is there,
go and open the door.

At least there´ll be
A draught.

Miroslav Holub

The Vulture

The vulture eats between his meals,

And that's the reason why

He very, very rarely feels

As well as you or I.
His eye is dull, his hair is bald,
His neck is growing thinner.
Oh! What a lesson for us all
To only eat at dinner!

Hilaire Belloc
The Cat
Within the porch, across the way,
I see two naked eyes this night;
Two eyes that neither shut nor blink,
Searching my face with a green light.

But cats to me are strange, so strange –

I cannot sleep if one is near;
And though I'm sure I see those eyes,
I'm not so sure a body’s there!

W.H. Davies

The cheerful crocodile

Upon the sacred river Nile
There lives a lazy, long reptile
Who's full of greed and full of guile,
Whose skin's as rough as any file,
Who's got a wide deceptive smile
That's visible for half a mile.

Of course you've guessed that all the while

I'm speaking of the crocodile.
Perhaps you don't admire his style;
His manners, I admit, are vile,
But glum folk — those who never smile —
Might with advantage pause awhile
And ponder on the crocodile.

Thomas Bolt

Eletelephony

Once there was an elephant

Who tried to use the telephant.
No, no! I mean an elephone
Who tried to use the telephone —
Dear me, I am not certain, quite,
That even now I've got it right.
However it was, he got his trunk
Entangled in the telephunk;
The more he tried to get it free,
The louder buzzed the telephee —
I fear I´d better stop this song
Of elephop and telephong!

Laura E. Richards

The pig

It was an evening in November,

As I very well remember,
I was strolling down the street in drunken pride.
But my knees were all a-flutter,
So I landed in the gutter,
And a pig came up and lay down by my side.
Yes, I lay there in the gutter,
Thinking thoughts I could not utter,
When a lady passing by did softly say,
'You can tell a man who boozes
By the company he chooses.'
At that, the pig got up and slowly walked away!

Anón

The eagle
He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ringed with the azure world, he stands

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;

He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt, he falls.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Adventures Of Isabel

Isabel met an enormous bear,

Isabel, Isabel, didn't care;
The bear was hungry, the bear was ravenous,
The bear's big mouth was cruel and cavernous.
The bear said, Isabel, glad to meet you,
How do, Isabel, now I'll eat you!
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry.
Isabel didn't scream or scurry.
She washed her hands and she straightened her hair up,
Then Isabel quietly ate the bear up.
Once in a night as black as pitch
Isabel met a wicked old witch.
the witch's face was cross and wrinkled,
The witch's gums with teeth were sprinkled.
Ho, ho, Isabel! the old witch crowed,
I'll turn you into an ugly toad!
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry,
Isabel didn't scream or scurry,
She showed no rage and she showed no rancor,
But she turned the witch into milk and drank her.
Isabel met a hideous giant,
Isabel continued self reliant.
The giant was hairy, the giant was horrid,
He had one eye in the middle of his forhead.
Good morning, Isabel, the giant said,
I'll grind your bones to make my bread.
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry,
Isabel didn't scream or scurry.
She nibled the zwieback that she always fed off,
And when it was gone, she cut the giant's head off.
Isabel met a troublesome doctor,
He punched and he poked till he really shocked her.
The doctor's talk was of coughs and chills
And the doctor's satchel bulged with pills.
The doctor said unto Isabel,
Swallow this, it will make you well.
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry,
Isabel didn't scream or scurry.
She took those pills from the pill concocter,
And Isabel calmly cured the doctor.

© Odgen Nash

Sick

"I cannot go to school today,"

Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
"I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox
And there's one more—that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut—my eyes are blue—
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke—
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb.
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is—what?
What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is. . .Saturday?
G'bye, I'm going out to play!"

Shel Silverstein