Poetry for Kids

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