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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 - 585

 

The Christmas Kitten by Author Unknown

I once was a cuddly kitten,
But now I am a stray,
'Cause when I was no longer fluffy,
They sent me on my way.

They've kept their big watchdog,
As he can bark and growl,
But I could fly at strangers,
If I caught them on the prowl.

I slink around their garbage can;
I mew outside their door;
But it's clear from their behaviour,
They don't want me anymore.

Now I'm cold and hungry,
And getting very thin,
What have I done to hurt them,
Why won't they let me in?

I crouch in sheds and boxes,
In my bedraggle fur,
So shivery and dejected,
I cannot even purr.

They have another kitten,
Their children's whole delight;
But probably next Christmas,
It will share my wretched plight.



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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)  



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Gus: The Theatre Cat by T S Eliot

Gus is the Cat at the Theatre Door.
His name, as I ought to have told you before,
Is really Asparagus. That's such a fuss
To pronounce, that we usually call him just Gus.
His coat's very shabby, he's thin as a rake,
And he suffers from palsy that makes his paw shake.
Yet he was, in his youth, quite the smartest of Cats--
But no longer a terror to mice and to rats.
For he isn't the Cat that he was in his prime;
Though his name was quite famous, he says, in its time.
And whenever he joins his friends at their club
(Which takes place at the back of the neighbouring pub)
He loves to regale them, if someone else pays,
With anecdotes drawn from his palmiest days.
For he once was a Star of the highest degree--
He has acted with Irving, he's acted with Tree.
And he likes to relate his success on the Halls,
Where the Gallery once gave him seven cat-calls.
But his grandest creation, as he loves to tell,
Was Firefrorefiddle, the Fiend of the Fell.

'I have played,' so he says, 'every possible part,
And I used to know seventy speeches by heart.
I'd extemporize back-chat, I knew how to gag,
And I knew how to let the cat out of the bag.
I knew how to act with my back and my tail;
With an hour of rehearsal, I never could fail.
I'd a voice that would soften the hardest of hearts,
Whether I took the lead, or in character parts.
I have sat by the bedside of poor Little Nell;
When the Curfew was rung, then I swung on the bell.
In the Pantomime season I never fell flat,
And I once understudied Dick Whittington's Cat.
But my grandest creation, as history will tell,
Was Firefrorefiddle, the Fiend of the Fell.'

Then, if someone will give him a toothful of gin,
He will tell how he once played a part in East Lynne.
At a Shakespeare performance he once walked on pat,
When some actor suggested the need for a cat.
He once played a Tiger--could do it again--
Which an Indian Colonel purused down a drain.
And he thinks that he still can, much better than most,
Produce blood-curdling noises to bring on the Ghost.
And he once crossed the stage on a telegraph wire,
To rescue a child when a house was on fire.
And he says: 'Now then kittens, they do not get trained
As we did in the days when Victoria reigned.
They never get drilled in a regular troupe,
And they think they are smart, just to jump through a hoop.'
And he'll say, as he scratches himself with his claws,
'Well, the Theatre's certainly not what it was.
These modern productions are all very well,
But there's nothing to equal, from what I hear tell,
That moment of mystery
When I made history
As Firefrorefiddle, the Fiend of the Fell.'



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Mother Goose - Nursery Rhyme by Mother Goose

Hey Diddle, diddle,
The cat and the fiddle,
The cow jumped over the moon,
The little dog laughed,
To see such sport,
And the dish ran away with the spoon.

Mother Goose - Nursery Rhyme



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DINGLE BANK by Edward Lear

He lived at Dingle Bank—he did;—
He lived at Dingle bank;
And in his garden was one Quail,
Four tulips, and a Tank;
And from his windows he could see
The otion and the River Dee.

His house stood on a Cliff, — it did,
In aspic it was cool;
And many thousand little boys
Resorted to his school,
Where if of progress they could boast
He gave them heaps of buttered toast.

But he grew rabid-wroth, he did,
If they neglected books,
And dragged them to adjacent cliffs
With beastly Button Hooks,
And there with fatuous glee he threw
Them down into the otion blue.

And in the sea they swam, they did,—
All playfully about,
And some eventually became
Sponges, or speckled trout;—
But Liverpool doth all bewail
Their Fate;—likewise his Garden Quail.




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