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random poetry for children kids poems

Can't make up you mind whether you want a funny or sad - long or short - pink or violet poem? Here are a few from our vast poetry collection.



Collection : Poems for Children - 345

 

Times Table by Stuart Macfarlane

Times Table
Two ones ur two,
Two twos ur four,
Don’t fancy Jenny any more,
Two threes ur six,
Two fours ur eight,
Think Ah’ll ask Mary fur a date,
Two fives ur ten,
Two sixes ur twelve,
Two sevens ur fourteen,
She looks jist like a beauty queen,
Two eights ur sixteen,
Two nines ur eighteen,
Wae hair o’ brown and eyes o’ green,
Two tens ur twenty,
Two elevens ur twenty-two,
Ah’ll ask here wance this lesson’s through,
Two twelves ur twenty-four,


Three ones ur three,
Three twos ur six,
Ah’ll maybe ask her oot tae ra pics,
Three threes ur nine,
Three fours ur twelve,
Three fives ur fifteen,
Three sixes ur eighteen,
Mustnae let her think thit Ah’m too keen,
Three sevens ur twenty-one,
Three eights ur twenty-four,
Even though she’s the one thit Ah adore,
Three nines ur twenty-seven,
Three tens ur thirty,
Three elevens ur thirty-three,
Wow, she’s whispering tae her friend about me,
Three twelves ur thirty-six,


Four ones ur four,
Four twos ur eight,
They’re bloody well laughing aboot ma weight,
Four threes ur twelve,
Four fours ur sixteen,
Four fives ur twenty,
Four sixes ur twenty-four,
Don’t think Ah like her any more,
Four sevens ur twenty-six,
Four eights ur thirty-one,
Four nines ur thirty-seven,
Hey Miss, Ah need tae go tae the lavvie.
(Copyright Stuart Macfarlane)  



= = = = = = = = = =



Cat's Prayer by Author Unknown

I hope I'm not asking too much, Lord;
All I want is a home of my own,
And to know when my next meal is coming
Instead of the scraps I get thrown.

I've been out in the cold for so long now,
Just coping as best as I can;
But it's not been so long I've forgotten
The touch of a soft caring hand.

I look in house windows at Christmas,
As cats doze by the fire, quite replete;
How I'd welcome a box in the kitchen,
And tasty food for me to eat.

For me there was tinsel and giftwrap,
But the fun didn't last very long.
They put me outside with the rubbish;
I still don't know what I did wrong.

I really don't want to be greedy;
At the moment I'm all skin and bone,
So would it be too much to hope for
That someone will give me a home?



= = = = = = = = = =



The Broom, the Shovel, the Poker and the Tongs by Edward Lear

I
The Broom and the Shovel, the Poker and the Tongs,
They all took a drive in the Park,
And they each sang a song, Ding-a-dong, Ding-a-dong,
Before they went back in the dark.
Mr. Poker he sate quite upright in the coach,
Mr. Tongs made a clatter and clash,
Miss Shovel was all dressed in black (with a brooch),
Mrs. Broom was in blue (with a sash).
Ding-a-dong! Ding-a-dong!
And they all sang a song!



II
'O Shovel so lovely!' the Poker he sang,
'You have perfectly conquered my heart!
'Ding-a-dong! Ding-a-dong! If you're pleased with my song,
'I will feed you with cold apple tart!
'When you scrape up the coals with a delicate sound,
'You encapture my life with delight!
'Your nose is so shiny! your head is so round!
'And your shape is so slender and bright!
'Ding-a-dong! Ding-a-dong!
'Ain't you pleased with my song?'



III
'Alas! Mrs. Broom!' sighed the Tongs in his song,
'O is it because I'm so thin,
'And my legs are so long -- Ding-a-dong! Ding-a-dong!
'That you don't care about me a pin?
'Ah! fairest of creatures, when sweeping the room,
'Ah! why don't you heed my complaint!
'Must you needs be so cruel, you beautiful Broom,
'Because you are covered with paint?
'Ding-a-dong! Ding-a-dong!
'You are certainly wrong!'



IV
Mrs. Broom and Miss Shovel together they sang,
'What nonsense you're singing to-day!'
Said the Shovel, 'I'll certainly hit you a bang!'
Said the Broom, 'And I'll sweep you away!'
So the Coachman drove homeward as fast as he could,
Perceiving their anger with pain;
But they put on the kettle and little by little,
They all became happy again.
Ding-a-dong! Ding-a-dong!
There's an end of my song!




= = = = = = = = = =



The Duck and the Kangaroo by Edward Lear

Said the Duck to the Kangaroo,
'Good gracious! how you hop!
Over the fields and the water too,
As if you never would stop!
My life is a bore in this nasty pond,
And I long to go out in the world beyond!
I wish I could hop like you!'
Said the duck to the Kangaroo.




II
'Please give me a ride on your back!'
Said the Duck to the Kangaroo.
'I would sit quite still, and say nothing but 'Quack,'
The whole of the long day through!
And we'd go to the Dee, and the Jelly Bo Lee,
Over the land and over the sea;--
Please take me a ride! O do!'
Said the Duck to the Kangaroo.



III
Said the Kangaroo to the Duck,
'This requires some little reflection;
Perhaps on the whole it might bring me luck,
And there seems but one objection,
Which is, if you'll let me speak so bold,
Your feet are unpleasantly wet and cold,
And would probably give me the roo-
Matiz!' said the Kangaroo.



IV
Said the Duck ,'As I sate on the rocks,
I have thought over that completely,
And I bought four pairs of worsted socks
Which fit my web-feet neatly.
And to keep out the cold I've bought a cloak,
And every day a cigar I'll smoke,
All to follow my own dear true
Love of a Kangaroo!'



V
Said the Kangaroo,'I'm ready!
All in the moonlight pale;
But to balance me well, dear Duck, sit steady!
And quite at the end of my tail!'
So away they went with a hop and a bound,
And they hopped the whole world three times round;
And who so happy, -- O who,
As the duck and the Kangaroo?






= = = = = = = = = =



A Blue Valentine by Joyce Kilmer

(For Aline)

Monsignore,
Right Reverend Bishop Valentinus,
Sometime of Interamna, which is called Ferni,
Now of the delightful Court of Heaven,
I respectfully salute you,
I genuflect
And I kiss your episcopal ring.

It is not, Monsignore,
The fragrant memory of your holy life,
Nor that of your shining and joyous martyrdom,
Which causes me now to address you.
But since this is your august festival, Monsignore,
It seems appropriate to me to state
According to a venerable and agreeable custom,
That I love a beautiful lady.
Her eyes, Monsignore,
Are so blue that they put lovely little blue reflections
On everything that she looks at,
Such as a wall
Or the moon
Or my heart.
It is like the light coming through blue stained glass,
Yet not quite like it,
For the blueness is not transparent,
Only translucent.
Her soul's light shines through,
But her soul cannot be seen.
It is something elusive, whimsical, tender, wanton, infantile, wise
And noble.
She wears, Monsignore, a blue garment,
Made in the manner of the Japanese.
It is very blue-
I think that her eyes have made it more blue,
Sweetly staining it
As the pressure of her body has graciously given it form.
Loving her, Monsignore,
I love all her attributes;
But I believe
That even if I did not love her
I would love the blueness of her eyes,
And her blue garment, made in the manner of the Japanese.

Monsignore,
I have never before troubled you with a request.
The saints whose ears I chiefly worry with my pleas
are the most exquisite and maternal Brigid,
Gallant Saint Stephen, who puts fire in my blood,
And your brother bishop, my patron,
The generous and jovial Saint Nicholas of Bari.
But, of your courtesy, Monsignore,
Do me this favour:
When you this morning make your way
To the Ivory Throne that bursts into bloom with roses
because of her who sits upon it,
When you come to pay your devoir to Our Lady,
I beg you, say to her:
'Madame, a poor poet, one of your singing servants yet on earth,
Has asked me to say that at this moment he is especially grateful to you
For wearing a blue gown'.



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