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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 - 1834

 

Poor Crow! by Mary Mapes Dodge

Give me something to eat,
Good people, I pray;
I have really not had
One mouthful today!


I am hungry and cold,
And last night I dreamed
A scarecrow had caught me—
Good land, how I screamed!


Of one little children
And six ailing wives
(No, one wife and six children),
Not one of them thrives.


So pity my case,
Dear people, I pray;
I’m honest, and really
I’ve come a long way.


= = = = = = = = = =



Cats Sleep Anywhere by Eleanor Farjeon

Cats sleep anywhere, any table, any chair.
Top of piano, window-ledge, in the middle, on the edge.
Open draw, empty shoe, anybody's lap will do.
Fitted in a cardboard box, in the cupboard with your frocks.
Anywhere! They don't care! Cats sleep anywhere.


= = = = = = = = = =



Tae an American Tourist by Stuart McLean

O, ye came across frae Texas,
Tae the land where yer faither wis born,
O, there wis an awfy lot tae see,
And ye only had one morn’.

At 6 o’clock ye did Edinbro,
Saw the castle from afar,
By 7 o’clock ye wis at Lock Ness,
Tae catch Nessie in a jar.

From eight till nine ye did Bern Nevis,
Though ye didnae climb sae high,
And twenty minutes later ye were,
Whizzin’ all around Sky.

Quickly you passed through Dondee,
Pearth, Hawich and Arderseer,
Which left ye just ten minutes,
Tae buy yer souvenir.

O, haste ye back tae Bonnie Scotland,
Please come back again,
O, haste ye back tae Bonnie Scotland,
And haste ye away again.

Stuart McLean (From No' Rabbie Burns)



= = = = = = = = = =



Curse of the Cat Woman by Edward Field

It sometimes happens
that the woman you meet and fall in love with
is of that strange Transylvanian people
with an affinity for cats.

You take her to a restuarant, say, or a show,
on an ordinary date, being attracted
by the glitter in her slitty eyes and her catlike walk,
and afterwards of course you take her in your arms
and she turns into a black panther
and bites you to death.

Or perhaps you are saved in the nick of time
and she is tormented by the knowledge of her tendency:
That she daren't hug a man
unless she wants to risk clawing him up.

This puts you both in a difficult position--
panting lovers who are prevented from touching
not by bars but by circumstance:
You have terrible fights and say cruel things
for having the hots does not give you a sweet temper.

One night you are walking down a dark street
And hear the pad-pad of a panther following you,
but when you turn around there are only shadows,
or perhaps one shadow too many.

You approach, calling, 'Who's there?'
and it leaps on you.
Luckily you have brought along your sword
and you stab it to death.

And before your eyes it turns into the woman you love,
her breast impaled on your sword,
her mouth dribbling blood saying she loved you
but couldn't help her tendency.

So death released her from the curse at last,
and you knew from the angelic smile on her dead face
that in spite of a life the devil owned,
love had won, and heaven pardoned her.


= = = = = = = = = =



The Monk and His Cat Pangur by Eighth Century Irish Monk

Written in the margins of an illuminated manuscript at the Abbey of St. Paul at Reichenau, Corinthia. The poem inspired a book telling of the adventures of the cat Pangur Ban who finally ends his travels at Cashel Castle in Eire, keeping it rodent-free and where he was greatly loved. Pangur Ban is Gaelic for 'white Pangur' or 'little white cat.'


I and my white Pangur
have each his special art:
His mind is set on hunting mice,
mine is upon my special craft.

I love to rest - better than any fame!
With close study at my little book;
White Pangur does not envy me:
He loves his childish play.

When in our house we two are all alone...
A tale without tedium.
We have - sport never-ending!
Something to exercise our wit.

At times by feats of derring-do
a mouse sticks in his net,
while into my net there drops
a difficult problem of hard meaning.

He points his full shining eye
against the fence of the wall:
I point my clear though feeble eye
against the keenness of science.

He rejoices with quick leaps
when in his sharp claw sticks a mouse;
I, too, rejoice when I have grasped
a problem difficult and dearly loved.

Though we are thus at all time,
neither hinders the other,
each of us pleased with his own art
amuses himself alone.

He is master of the work
which every day he does:
While I am at my own work
to bring difficulty to clearness.





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