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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 - 349

 

Hoppity by A. A. Milne

Christopher Robin goes
Hoppity, hoppity,
Hoppity, hoppity, hop.
Whenever I tell him
Politely to stop it, he
Says he can't possibly stop.

If he stopped hopping,
He couldn't go anywhere,
Poor little Christopher
Couldn't go anywhere…
That's why he always goes
Hoppity, hoppity,
Hoppity,
Hoppity,
Hop.


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Knight's Song by Lewis Carroll

I'LL tell thee everything I can:
There's little to relate.
I saw an aged aged man,
A-sitting on a gate.

'Who are you, aged man?' I said.
'And how is it you live?'
And his answer trickled through my head,
Like water through a sieve.
He said, 'I look for butterflies
That sleep among the wheat:
I make them into mutton-pies,
And sell them in the street.

I sell them unto men,' he said,
'Who sail on stormy seas;
And that's the way I get my bread --
A trifle, if you please.'
But I was thinking of a plan
To dye one's whiskers green,
And always use so large a fan
That they could not be seen.

So having no reply to give
To what the old man said, I cried
'Come, tell me how you live!'
nd thumped him on the head.
is accents mild took up the tale:

He said 'I go my ways,
And when I find a mountain-rill,
I set it in a blaze;
And thence they make a stuff they call
Rowland's Macassar-Oil --
Yet twopence-halfpenny is all
They give me for my toil.'

But I was thinking of a way
To feed oneself on batter,
And so go on from day to day '
Getting a little fatter.
I shook him well from side to side,
Until his face was blue:
'Come, tell me how you live,' I cried,
'And what it is you do!'

He said, 'I hunt for haddocks' eyes
Among the heather bright,
And work them into waistcoat-buttons
In the silent night.
And these I do not sell for gold
Or coin of silvery shine,
But for a copper halfpenny,
And that will purchase nine.

'I sometimes dig for buttered rolls,
Or set limed twigs for crabs:
I sometimes search the grassy knolls
For wheels of Hansom-cabs.
And that's the way' (he gave a wink)
'By which I get my wealth --
And very gladly will I drink
Your Honour's noble health.'

I heard him then, for I had just
Completed my design
To keep the Menai bridge from rust
By boiling it in wine.
I thanked him much for telling me
The way he got his wealth,
But chiefly for his wish that he
Might drink my noble health.

And now, if e'er by chance I put
My fingers into glue,
Or madly squeeze a right-hand foot
Into a left-hand shoe,
Or if I drop upon my toe
A very heavy weight,
I weep, for it reminds me so
Of that old man I used to know --
Whose look was mild, whose speech was slow
Whose hair was whiter than the snow,
Whose face was very like a crow,
With eyes, like cinders, all aglow,
Who seemed distracted with his woe,
Who rocked his body to and fro,
And muttered mumblingly and low,
As if his mouth were full of dough,
Who snorted like a buffalo-
That summer evening long ago,
A-sitting on a gate


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Infant Joy by William Blake

'I have no name:
I am but two days old.'
What shall I call thee?
'I happy am,
Joy is my name.'
Sweet joy befall thee!


Pretty joy!
Sweet joy but two days old,
Sweet joy I call thee:
Thou dost smile,
I sing the while,
Sweet joy befall thee!


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Wee Joukydaidles by J Smith

Wee Joukydaidles,
Toddlin' out an' in :
Oh but she's a cuttie,
Makin' a sair din !
Aye sae fou' o' mischief,
An' minds na what I say :
My verra heart gangs loup, loup,
Fifty times a-day !

Wee Joukydaidles -
Where's the stumpie noo ?
She's peepin' thro' the cruivie,
An' lauchin' to the soo !
Noo she sees my angry e'e,
An' aff she's like a hare !
Lassie, when I get ye,
I'll scud ye till I'm sair !

Wee Joukydaidles -
Noo she's breakin' dishes -
Noo she's soakit i' the burn,
Catchin' little fishes -
Noo she's i' the barn-yard,
Playin' wi' the fouls ;
Feedin' them wi' butter-bakes,
Snaps, an' sugar-bools.

Wee Joukydaidles -
Oh, my heart it's broke !
She's torn my braw new wincey
To mak' a dolly's frock -
There's the goblet owre the fire !
The jaud ! she weel may rin !
No a tattie ready yet,
An' faither comin' in !

Wee Joukydaidles -
Where's the smoukie noo !
She's hidin' i' the coal-hole
Cryin' 'Keekyboo !' -
Noo she's at the fireside,
Pu'in' pussy's tail -
Noo she's at the broun bowl,
Suppin' a' the kail !

Wee Joukydaidles -
Paidlin' i' the shower -
There she's at the windy !
Haud her, or she's owre !
Noo she's slippit frae my sicht :
Where's the wean at last ?
In the byre amang the kye,
Sleepin', soun' an' fast.


= = = = = = = = = =



Porridge by Spike Milligan

Why is there no monument
To Porridge in our land?
It it's good enough to eat,
It's good enough to stand!

On a plinth in London
A statue we should see
Of Porridge made in Scotland
Signed, 'Oatmeal, O.B.E.'
(By a young dog of three)



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