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Poetry for Children |
Themes and such... |
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Children are the most difficult audiences to please. Their sometimes refreshing honesty lacks the diplomacy learned with the years and they can be the most critical of critics. Still, I enjoy writing works with the young (and young at heart) in mind. I have also added several poems inspired by my dearest and closest canine friends - my first and biggest (canine) love, Russo, who lived to 18 and Tosca, the most recent addition to our family. We love her dearly too. Both Silkie Terriers, they are as different as night and day.
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Pet Poetry- Tosca: Russo:
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An utterly absurd story/poem, I wrote this for no other reason than the fun I had with it. Later, I realized that it is useful to help teach the very young about opposites and nonsense.
On
the balmy shores of Timbuktu
enjoying
the heat of the snow,
I
witnessed a creature emerge from the sea
so
quizzical, it held me in awe!
An
enormous thing, it towered at least
to
barely under my chin.
It
did have toes, I managed to observe,
coloured
a shade of rose.
A
stump of a nose, three eyes as well
(many
hued from what I could tell)
were
lined up above it’s mouth.
It’s
ears though red were in pairs of two,
and
on top of it’s head, was a frizzy frou-frou!
(You
don’t believe me, do you?)
Well,
between the toes and that incredible nose
were
the most remarkable things.
There
were feathers and scales
and
something of a wing
set
smack in the middle of it’s tail!
How
could it fly on one wing alone?
That
I shall never know.
Perhaps
it could be for maneuv’ring about
more
freely under the sea.
The
tail was scaly and rather short
tapering
to a pointy blue lump.
I’d
almost forgotten to mention the claws
protruding
from feathery paws.
They
stuck out in front of an enormous belly
that
jiggled with each slither like jelly.
So
shocked was I, my eyes quite round
as
the creature stopped in it’s tracks.
It
was then I recalled from an old book I had,
I
was staring at quite a rare Gizgak!
Not
uttering a sound, it let out a shriek
and
leapt back into the sea.
Before
it submerged forever from sight
it
turned and said to me:
“Good
heavens but you’re
a hideous freak! You’ve
given me an awful fright!”
Little doggie at her plate,
eating daintily, her steak
Doesn't like it too well done,
just warm enough for her tongue!
Doesn't mind it very blue,
that requires a healthy chew!
Tosca's fare is haut cuisine,
only the best and always lean!
Never minds a pea or two,
but one must never overdo!
Little doggie likes poulet,
but much prefers a fine filet.
(blue - very rare meat)
To Keep her figure slim and trim
we give her kibble now and then.
We beg and plead and hope she'll try it
but Tosca does not care for diets!
Mixed with broth and bits of meat
(to change her mind is quite a feat)
She'll sample some with great suspicion
then march haughtily out the kitchen.
(kibble - dry dog food)
Wherever
my little bed is,
I
feel quite at home.
And
when no one's there,
I`m
not so alone.
Should
the maid forget it,
and
leave it on the chair.
then
that's where I'll lay
for
my home is there.
Sometimes
when I'm playing
and
I've tugged it to the hall,
wherever
it is
is
no matter at all,
for
whenever I get sleepy
into
it I fall,
for
wherever my little bed is,
is
no matter at all!
Two
little doggies
waiting
by the door,
hoping
for a bone
or
perhaps a little more.
Should
the butcher come
oh,
what a tasty feast!
There
will be enough
for
at least another week!
But
if the butcher's wife
is
in the shop that day,
then
two little doggies
had
better run away!
Little
Miss Daisy Tiddles
O,
won't you come out to play?
Little
Miss Daisy Tiddles
we'll
have a lovely day!
Race
the garden high and low,
and
up and down the path
mock
fights we'll play
exploring
too
and
sometimes chase the cats.
Rain
or shine dear friend of mine,
no
matter the weather today!
Little
Miss Daisy Tiddles,
O, won't you come out to play?
(Inspired
by a forlorn looking Rosena - my mother's dog - waiting for mine to come over to
play. 'Miss Daisy Tiddles' is one of the silly names we called our Tosca.)
Poetry inspired by Caruso von Tannenwald (Russo)
She puts food
most awful
in my very own
private dish.
“The best.“
she says. “Healthy, you know.“
That leaves me
quite perplexed.
I think at her
back:
“It‘s not.
Who cares, and I don‘t.“
If only roast
chicken in titbits
instead of her
roses grew,
the garden
would be more useful,
no cats would
dare enter
for I’d guard
and patrol!
I think at her
back:
“That stuff
in my dish? I won’t!
If only steaks
grew on bushes
low enough for
me to reach,
then I would
have
no more wishes,
for there'd be
plenty of the best to eat!
At the human age of a hundred and twenty,
he‘s entitled to do as he please.
Eating is managed between his naps
and awakening to visit his trees.
But his heart is where the cupboard is,
for in it his goodies reside.
It‘s nine o‘clock in the evening, you
see.
He demands his treats on time!
Though he sometimes sleeps the time away
waiting for the hours to pass,
he never forgets what is owed to him
and wolfs down those bits quite fast.
His nightly ritual for years, you know
was faithfully his dose of two.
Yet being geriatric at seventeen,
he insists that no longer will do.
When I think he has been satisfied,
he‘ll beg again for more.
And be his wishes unfulfilled
he makes a boisterous score!
"But aren‘t I cute and loveable?
Am I not your faithful friend?
Look deeply into my eyes and see
to my love there is no end!“
“Read my thoughts and act on them,
I know that cupboard‘s not bare.
My favourite sucker, you know you are!
Don‘t I show at evening how I
care?“
Being stern and resolute
just spurns his antics on.
He‘s having his fun as well as we,
little champion, again you‘ve won!