Category Archives: Children’s Poems

The Cruelest Month is Surely Not April

 

The cruelest month is surely not April
Because thinking so would prove me unstable
For insisting that sunny skies should hide from our view
The brewing of storms with the grayest of blue,
Lightning bolts piercing a dark burgeoning sky,
And a miraculous clearing caused by the eye
Of a treacherous storm as it hustles by.

If storms don’t delight but rather befuddle
Then we must never had found a most suitable puddle
Before which we’ll peel off our shoes and our socks
With wild abandon we’ll run along old wooden docks
From which we’ll jump screaming into a lake
Whose dusty thirst has been slaked by a downpour of late.
We’ll shake ourselves off like dogs from a bath
Squishing mud through our toes up a slippery path
Where we’ll fall and laugh and ruin our clothes
And withstand icy cold blasts from a garden hose.
As we’re wrapped in towels, we’ll shiver with coldness
And the Dry Ones will marvel at our stupid boldness.

Surely April seems cruel to those who hide
And peek through the blinds to glimpse outside.
But I still take issue with that ridiculous claim—
April isn’t cruel—it’s simply not tame.

Photo Credit: pinterest.com

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The Harbor Master of the Great Mystic Flow

Cosmic Fairies Wallpaperf

So one day, a Magical Winged Creature found herself spinning slightly out of control in the Swirling Cosmos which, either accidentally, randomly or a bit of both, but quite fortuitously, flung her out like a pea from a pea shooter into the giant face of the Harbor Master of the Great Mystic Flow. Once both had regained their composure, the Magical Winged Creature convinced the Harbor Master of the Great Mystic Flow to create a Bright Calming Force that would stabilize the cacophonous and dissonant elements of the Great Mystic Flow, channel them into a harmonious configuration, sweep up the sparkling gold and silver flecks with shimmering brushes that would sift the stardust into hypnotic rhythms, dig grooves into the ether with shuffle beats, and you know, just make everything cool, groovy and totally good. The Harbor Master of the Great Mystic Flow was so very pleasantly surprised, but now had the problem of naming this Bright Calming Force. The Magical Winged Creature, without hesitation, said, “Why, of course, such a Bright Calming Force could only be called, ‘Andy’.”

Art Credit: http://wallpapersinhq.com
Note: Andy, a drummer, is the son of the author.

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I Hope You Love My Tomato Soup!

tomato-soup-recipe-jen-norton

I hope you love my tomato soup—
It’s guaranteed to dispel the droop
Of the soul, occasioned by a cold winter’s day
And replace it with warmth in a comforting way.

And don’t forget my vegetable, pea or pasta “fazoole”
And my good lentil soup that will make you drool…
So let me know which one appeals to you best,
And I’ll bring you another to put to the test.

And once you are up and around and out and about
You can walk over to my house and give me a shout
You’ll sit at my table now that you’re able,
And I’ll feed you more soup while I tell you a fable–

Of a friend who made soup for her friends on the mend,
Telling jokes and stories that didn’t quite end.
And the soup flowed like rivers which they rode down in bowls
Using soup spoons as oars to steer clear of the shoals.

The bowls spun madly as they laughed themselves silly,
While they careened hither and yon and all willy-nilly.
When the river delivered them back to her stoop,
She said, “I sure hope you liked my tomato soup!”

Photo Credit: Painting by Jen Norton, http://fineartamerica.com/art/paintings/soup/all

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The Raincoat

Downpour Vision

I was reluctant to blame
Getting wet on the rain,
Since from the sky it was plain
That rain was the game.

Although it wasn’t raining then
And hadn’t just rained before,
I grabbed my raincoat on second thought
As I headed out the door.

As I embarked on my walk, I tried not to balk
At having to carry my slicker,
Especially because, my friend really was
Trying hard at me not to snicker.

An umbrella or raincoat
He said was the height
Of pusillanimity,
Which he thought was not right.

But the longer I schlepped
The hotter it got;
And then it got steamy
Instead of just hot.

I was sweating up a veritable storm
Feeling evermore like a jerk–
Dragging the raincoat over my arm
Was feeling a lot more like work.

If only the sky would hurry and rain—
As all of my inklings had indicated—
For having hauled a raincoat completely in vain
Only a downpour could get me vindicated.

But once again,
My friend was right—
I was over prepared—
Much too uptight!

Wriggling into my raincoat
When I felt the first drop,
I felt better and better
When the drops didn’t stop.

At first the light rain
On our heads felt good,
But then I judiciously
Put up my hood.

And so it began
As an innocent patter;
Then the drops got fatter
And started to splatter.

As the cold rain pelted
My poor friend on the head,
I savored the dryness
I was enjoying instead.

Rain dripped from his nose
And ran into his shirt.
All his remarks
Sounded shivery and curt.

Although my poor friend
Was a cold, soggy sight,
Guilty comfort is mine:
Still dry, and, for once, right!

Photo Credit: Downpour vision, http://www.northernpanriders.co.uk

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Thunder and Lightning

Thunder and Lightning

Mom says when it thunders,
I shouldn’t cry—
It’s just God and the angels
Bowling up in the sky.

The lightning’s not scary—
It’s just a light,
So the birdies can find
Their way home in the night.

I’ve tried to understand
With all of my might,
Why thunder and lightning
Give my Mom such a fright.

She clamps the pillow
Tightly over her head,
Shaking and quaking,
Curled up on the bed.

“You made me not afraid, Mom,
So how can this be?”
She said, “My Mom never told
The same story to me.”

Photo Credit: https://sphotos-a.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ash4/384491_438042882959334_2065137114_n.jpg

 

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A Weed’s Lament

 

Dune-Thistle-b.jpg_595

I am the lowly,
Unwanted weed.
I sprang accidentally
From a wayward seed.

I am the plant world’s
Orphaned daughter—
If it doesn’t rain,
I don’t get watered.

I’m sometimes tolerated
But always hated,
Simply because
I’m uncultivated.

You won’t find me
In a flower show,
But just where am I
Supposed to go?

You pamper your roses
Until you’ve got dozens,
But me you’ll attack,
Fearing me and my cousins.

For my unsightly presence
I have to pay—
Ripped out by my roots
And thrown away.

When I show up in your yard,
You always scream,
Though I’ve saved your hills
From washing downstream.

Weed eaters kill and
Weed whackers slice,
But did it ever occur to you
Just once to be nice?

You destroy me with powders
And poisons and sprays,
Then you don’t see me
Or my ilk for days.

But just when you think
You’ve won is when
I pop back up
And you spray me again!

Of the thousands of beasts
In the world that there are,
The beast they call “bugs”
Are my favorites by far.

They don’t gnaw at my stems
And my leaves they don’t bite,
They may not be friendly,
but at least they’re polite.

You and I must share
God’s good green earth.
One day you may realize
That I do have some worth.

So put your poison away
Before it’s too late–
Before it gets me,
It might end up on your plate.

Photo Credit:

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The Praying Mantis

christian-ziegler-praying-mantis-barro-colorado-island-panama

One hot day I was playing outside,
When all of a sudden, something green I spied.
A big praying mantis stood as still as could be,
Cocking his head quite intelligently.

His head looked like a martian’s,
His eyes bulged out like beads,
But his knowing, calm expression,
Made me feel at ease.

I told my heart to beat more slowly,
And my fears, they did subside.
I saw a sweet look on his face—
So sweet, I could have cried.

I thought that we’d begun to breach
The gulf between man and beast.
We’d go down in history—
My alien friend and the civilized me.

He opened his mouth as if to speak,
And I inclined my head for a closer peek.
If I could decode this message concealed,
The secrets of the universe would soon be revealed.

As I drew closer
To lessen the space,
He drew his limbs inward…
And jumped in my face!!!!

Photo Credit:

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