Tag Archives: poem about kids

Things That Go Bump in the Night, for NaPoWriMo Day 19, 2023

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Monster Mash

When wind howls like a banshee to fill the dark night air
and monsters lurk in closets or in creakings up the stair,
when your brother knows they’re out there––these creatures he can’t see,
when nightmares wake you up at night and you have to pee
but daren’t leave your bed in fear those creatures will come “getcha”
(all those night-born monsters that come out at night to fetch ya.)
It’s times like these when all the kids form a small tribunal
and determine that their parents’ bed should be declared communal.

A scary night poem For NaPoWri Mo

Stay of Execution

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Pardon by Way of a Higher Power

There was  a stay of execution, and the prisoner was relieved.
The executioner, in a turmoil, was sorely aggrieved.
If he couldn’t fire incessantly, it put him off his game.
And yet he couldn’t argue with the one who was to blame.
Sometimes it was the law that won, and sometimes the sinner.
He cut his prisoner free and then shuffled off to dinner.
“Does Jimmy want to stay to eat?” his mom was heard to say,
“I can call his mom to ask her, if he wants to stay.”
But the sheriff told his mom that since he wasn’t ichthyophagous,
a tuna sandwich wouldn’t make it past his friend’s esophagus!

Prompt words today are stay, incessant, ichthyophagous, turmoil and game. What travesties of plot these prompts sometimes force upon us!!!

People Talk

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People Talk

“Precocious,” said the neighbor lady, talking about me.
And so I grabbed the dictionary, perched it on my knee,
intent upon my purpose, concentrating on my need
to know the meaning of the word, although I couldn’t read.

At three years old, another neighbor said that I was sweet.
I licked my arm, thinking that I might be good to eat,
but I tasted of my modeling clay, and I began to choke.
I figured out his comment was something of a joke.

My crazy older brother used to call me “out of sight”
when at the dinner table—in daylight, not at night.
The space between us was not much. Why couldn’t he see
this person in her rightful place was obviously me?

At four years old, I know a lot: numbers, letters, words.
What to call the insects. The names for all the birds.
I listen when they talk to me from grass or tree or fence.
It’s only human animals that often don’t make sense!

Prompt words for today are space, precocious, sweet, rightful and purpose.

And A Little Child Shall Lead Them

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Click on photos to enlarge. All photos used with permission from Unsplash.

And A Little Child Shall Lead Them
(For Greta Thunberg)

When it comes to children, upper classes can be haughty.
Even normal kid stuff they consider to be naughty.
They send them off to private school to simplify their keep
and their favorite time when they are home is when they are asleep.

The words and thoughts of children are rarely heard at table,
for it might upset the apple cart if they were only able
to introduce hot topics like the way this world is headed.
But, alas, they’re fed and watered and then promptly bedded

without asking what they’re thinking and of course they don’t insist.
They’re patted and they’re smiled at and they’re talked at and they’re kissed,
but their parents don’t consider how they are dissembling
and it’s their children’s future that they are disassembling.

Trashing up the oceans, melting the North Pole,
ruining the air with oil and gas and coal—
it’s the parents who are unruly and should be sent to bed
to see if kids could run things better in their stead.

 

Prompt words today are cart, asleep, hot, word and naughty. Photos from unsplash.

The Prize

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Version 2

The Prize

Our weekends at the cabin were vacations we adored,
for our grandpa and our grandma made sure that we weren’t bored.
Every single Saturday, they sent us on a quest.
I always set out on my own for I feared that the rest
would take credit for the fact that I’d found the strangest thing
that our grandparents had set the task for each of us to bring.

Those times out on my own were a relief from the noise
from all the squealing little girls and all the shouting boys,
for the numbers of my cousins— all those brothers and those sisters—
pounded on my eardrums ’til I feared that they’d make blisters.
I hated all the folderol, for I preferred the calm.
The quiet sounds of nature acted as a balm.

The whispering of treetops and the music of the loons
were a contrast to the cowboy movies and the Looney tunes
streaming from the playroom where the television
was another thing that prompted my decision
that I could best seek treasure on a solitary search,
and, indeed, I found it in the shadows of a birch—

an eye that looked out at me from the darkness and the gloom
like the only thing alive within a haunted room.
I freed it with my pocketknife—too large for my pocket.
Too large for grandpa’s “thing” box, let alone for grandma’s locket.
What is it? I’m not going to tell where I found the eyes
one of which won me that week’s treasure prize!

 

Prompt words today are calm, cabin, quest, hate.
I’m also including my photo for the What is it? prompt.

Hard Knocks

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Hard Knocks

That first triumphant journey of a toddler on a trike
predicts his future conquering of a two-wheel bike.
Despite his mom’s temptation to grab his overalls
to whisk him off from crisis and save him from his falls,
nothing can be gained from this. He needs to face his spills.
Part of education is dealing with the ills
that he’ll be called upon to deal with in his future life.
We cannot live our children’s lives or guarantee no strife.

 

Prompt words today are nothing, crisis, temptation, triumph and bike.

Reined-in Adventures

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daily life color096

Reined-in Adventure

My first mount was a hobbyhorse, I’d ride him up and down
all around the basement, if not around the town.
In summer we would come outside and ride along the walk
that my sister used for hopscotch–all scribbled up with chalk.

With reins clipped to his harness, I maintained a healthy clip.
Careful over sidewalk grooves, avoiding every dip.
Never did he tarry as we hurried on our way,
for when we reached our destination, I would feed him straw and hay.

Then, being very hungry after my vigorous ride,
I’d put away my pony before I went inside
and I’d become the pony and my mother would feed me
carrot sticks and cabbage hay, sitting on Daddy’s knee.

I’d whinny with each forkful. I’d toss my head, then prance
upstairs to my nap to dream of England and of France
where policemen still rode horses along the city streets,
racing after robbers and other heroic feats.

And in my dreams, my horse and I would have a glorious ride
more dangerous than earlier rides we had had inside.
Charging after bandits, fording rivers and
forsaking backyard sidewalks for dirt and stone and sand.

We’d clamber up steep mountainsides to try to find a pass,
then kick up rocks while sliding down to sail through fields of grass.
We’d conquer all the beaches, then roll through fields of clover,
having wilder adventures until my nap was over.

Prompt words for today are hobbyhorse, harness, groovy, tarry and straw.

Interlopers

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Click on first photo to enlarge all.

“I don’t know that there are real ghosts and goblins, but there are always more trick-or-treaters than neighborhood kids.”     —Robert Brault

Interlopers

They watch the clock, waiting for dark,
impatient for their All-souls lark.
Small ghosts and goblins screech and moan,
their ghastly act to finely hone.
“Eye of newt and toe of frog,”
Mother prompts, as off they jog—
little witches in Walmart capes
with itchy tags upon their napes.

Meanwhile, other ghastly things
soar in on brooms, flap in on wings.
They’ve found that yearly secret door
under the earth, under the floor,
and creaked it open. Joining the flood
who lust for treats, they lust for blood.
Who among us might ace the task
of sorting countenance from mask?

That little vampire, newly gone—
was his blood real or painted on?
“Double double toil and trouble,
cauldron boil and cauldron bubble.”
Were those lines recently rehearsed
or are these witches instead well-versed
in brewing up a recipe
of wing of gnat and eye of bee?

Which ghoulies real and which ones playing?
Which ones begging? Which ones preying?
What other night of any year
do we open doors, devoid of fear
for such strange beings? Who thinks of this—
Hershey’s kisses or vampire’s kiss?
A silly poem. When small ghosts boo, they
offer no real threat. Or do they?

 

IMG_8456

 

Prompts for today are the secret door, adage, screech, treat and clock. Since one of the prompt words was “adage,” rather than use the actual word in the poem, I used a quote (an adage of sorts) by Robert Brault as inspiration for this poem.

Rubber Boots

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Rubber Boots

All the flowers are crying, their petals streaming drops
inherited from rivers flooding over troughs
running up above them, collecting all the streams
that run down the roof top and across the beams.

The rainfall is most copious. It kisses windowpanes
with countless fractured raindrops, each falling where it deigns.
If this were not a school day, I’d run about outside.
This staying inside looking I cannot abide.

I’d rather splash in puddles, damming off the flood
with my rubber rain boots, crushing down the mud
to form private embankments to stem the rushing tide.
What an unfair punishment, this keeping me inside.

Reading, maths and spelling cannot hold my attention,
for I have these new rubber boots I am driven to mention.
I can’t wait ’til recess so I can try them out,
for in rainy weather, splashing’s what it’s about!!!!

 

Prompts today are “a flower cried,” school, crush, copious and kiss.

Photo Credits: Red boots by Rupert Brooks , blue boots by markus Spiske, both on Unsplash, used with permission.

Hop Scotch (Don’t Worry. Be Happy!)

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                       Click on photos to enlarge.

 

T

                                  Hop
Scotch

                      “How green is blue?” the child asks,
“What is the taste of pink?”
                        A prodigy koan-master
 with a novel way to think,
                        such problems keep a child’s mind
engaged in matters other
                         than all the daily problems
of a father or a mother. 

                         No spider ever stumbles
when spinning out her strands,
                         for the feet she walks around on
are really only hands.
                         No specter of a problem
ever plagues a goat.
                          He simply feeds upon the world
and lives his life by rote.

                       And so it is with children.
They go from thing to thing
                      with no worries of the outcomes
that their acts might bring.
                       They leave to human adults
the worries of such things
                        and simply live with pleasures
that every new day brings.

Prompts for today are “How green is blue?” spider, stumble, specter and goat.