Poetry

Daddy’s Making Dinner  --Jeff Mondak

Daddy’s making dinnerI’ve seen it all before

French fries black and burningAnd meat loaf on the floor

Daddy’s making dinnerThe sugar bowl just broke

Fido ate the gravyThe house has filled with smoke

Daddy’s making dinnerBut I’m not one to moanSoon he will surrender

And go pick up the phone

Daddy made the dinnerToday’s my lucky day

Dinner’s in the trash canAnd pizza’s on the way!

This is the “Poem of the Week” on this website.

http://www.jeffspoemsforkids.com/

The Toy Box Ate My Brother                --Jeff MondakThe race was on to get a toy And Thomas was the winner He beat me to the toy box But he ended up as dinner

The toy box ate my brother ‘cuz he made a tragic blunder

He entered with a head-first dive And quickly got pulled under

He kicked his feet and called my name While our toy box drooled and slurped

I knew dear Thomas was no more When that toy box loudly burped

No toy box can be trusted So I make this solemn promise I’ll rid the world of all of them

In memory of poor Thomas

I know you must be frightened So I will help you, girls and boys Just ship your toy box off to me

--along with all your toys!

      

Check out this site to hear a song written from this poem.

http://www.jeffspoemsforkids.com/s1.php?id=5

Fat Squirrel, Flat Squirrel

I saw a squirrel across the street He must have had a lot to eat

That squirrel was round and kind of fat Until a taxi squished him flat

                   --Jeff Mondak

Michael Closed the Bathroom DoorMichael Closed the Bathroom Door

Michael closed the bathroom door,Hallelujah

Michael closed the bathroom door,Hallelujah

Michael made it just in timeHallelujah

Michael made it just in timeHallelujah

Michael closed the bathroom door,Hallelujah

Michael closed the bathroom door,Hallelujah

Michael’s feeling better nowHallelujah

Michael’s feeling better nowHallelujah

Michael closed the bathroom door,Hallelujah

Michael closed the bathroom door,Hallelujah

Mom won’t make me cook againHallelujah

Mom won’t make me cook againHallelujah

 

 

The aliens have landed!It’s distressing, but they’re here.They piloted their flying saucerthrough our atmosphere.They landed like a meteorengulfed in smoke and flame.Then out they climbed immersed in slimeand burbled as they came.

Their hands are greasy tentacles.Their heads are weird machines.Their bodies look like cauliflowerand smell like dead sardines.Their blood is liquid helium.Their eyes are made of granite.Their breath exudes the stench of foodsfrom some unearthly planet.

And if you want to see thesesickly, unattractive creatures,you’ll find them working in your school;they all got jobs as teachers.

Aliens Have Landed!By Kenn Nesbitt

My teacher loves her iPod.It’s always in her ear.

She doesn’t mind it if we jokeor chat ’cause she can’t hear

If we don’t pay attention,she doesn’t seem to care.

Whenever she has music on,she wears a distant stare.

Our principal dropped by one day,and she paid no attention.

He took away her iPod,and he sent her to detention.

My Teacher Loves Her iPod

by Bruce Lansky

I’d rather wash the dishes. I’d rather kiss a frog.

I’d rather get an F in mathor run a ten-mile jog.

I’d rather do my homework.I’d rather mow the lawn.

I’d rather take the garbage out.I’d rather wake at dawn.

I’d rather dine on Brussels sproutsor catch the chicken pox.

I’d rather do most anythingthan clean the litter box.

I’d Ratherby Bruce Lansky

Little Boy Blue, Please cover your nose.You sneezed on Miss Muffetand ruined her clothes.You sprayed Mother Hubbardand now she is sick.You put out the fire on Jack's candle stick.Your sneeze is the reason why Humpty fell down.You drenched Yankee Doodlewhen he came to town.The blind mice are angry!The sheep are upset!From now on use tissuesSo no one gets wet!!!

Little Boy Blue

By Darren Sardelli

I gotta go! I gotta go! I’ll ask the teacher first.I gotta go! I gotta go!

I think I’m gonna burst.

I gotta go! I gotta go!I’d better raise my hand.

I gotta go! I gotta go!But maybe I should stand.

I gotta go! I gotta go!My hand is raised up high.

I gotta go! I gotta go!I hope my pants stay dry.

I gotta go! I gotta go!I’m really in a bind.I gotta go! I gotta—Uh-oh. Never mind.

Gotta Go!by Robert Pottle

Take a slice of moldy bread.Spread it thick with mud.Add an onion ring or two,topped with slimy crud.

Sprinkle fish food all around—add a dried-up bug.

Smear the whole thing with the lintyou picked up off the rug.

Garnish it with coffee groundsor hair spray from your mother.Then wrap it up in cellophaneand give it to your brother!

The Yuckiest Sandwichby Ellen Jackson