Poetry for Kids

Most of the time, when I write a poem, the idea sneaks up on me. It might come from something I see, something I hear, or just a silly thought that pops into my head and refuses to leave. But every now and then, I get a very specific assignment. That’s what happened with this poem. An editor at Storyworks 4–6, a magazine for students in grades four through six, asked me to write about a kid who tries to do something nice for their mom’s birthday, and tries to do it perfectly, but ends up with hilariously disastrous results. Now, if you’ve ever tried to cook or bake something on your own, you might already know that things don’t always go according to plan. Sometimes you forget an ingredient. Sometimes you add the wrong one. And sometimes… well… sometimes your cake ends up looking a lot more like meatloaf. As I was writing this poem, I had a lot of fun imagining just how wrong things could go in the kitchen, and how the character might keep going anyway, trying their best to make something special. This poem was originally published in the February 2026 issue of Storyworks 4–6. I hope it makes you laugh, and maybe even reminds you that sometimes the love that goes into what we do is more important than a perfect result. This is… The Perfect Cake Today’s my mother’s birthday. She’s a connoisseur of cakes. I tried to bake a masterpiece but made a few mistakes. I couldn’t find the flour, so I stirred in mashed potatoes, then turned it red as roses by including stewed tomatoes. I knew that eggs were needed, but is seventeen too many? We had no milk or butter, so I couldn’t put in any. The sugar was the weirdest part; it tasted just like salt! Her “cake” came out like meatloaf, which was clearly all my fault. Mom said, “This cake is perfect and you’ve totally succeeded! You made it with a lot of love, and that is all I needed.” — Kenn Nesbitt

With St. Patrick’s Day coming up, I thought it might be fun to write a poem about the holiday. Over the years I’ve written a number of poems about wearing green clothing on March 17th, because green is the color most people associate with St. Patrick’s Day. As it happens, green is also my favorite color. But while I was thinking about the holiday, I began to wonder what it might be like if someone didn’t like green at all. What if they actually disliked it? And what if that someone was expected to wear green every day—like a leprechaun? That’s where the idea for Larry the Leprechaun came from. Larry refuses to wear green, even though everyone tells him he has to. When I started writing the poem, I knew Larry didn’t like green, but I didn’t know what he was going to do about it. About halfway through writing the poem, I suddenly realized that if Larry didn’t want to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day, maybe he could celebrate a holiday named after another famous saint instead. I hope you enjoy it. This is… Larry the Leprechaun Larry the Leprechaun didn’t like green. He cried, “It’s the worst color I’ve ever seen! It might be okay for a bush or a tree, but green is a color you won’t find on me. “I’m not fond of olive, or forest, or lime. I don’t like chartreuse, neon, clover, or thyme. I shudder at shamrock and juniper too. But I’m not allowed to wear purple or blue. “They tell me I have to wear green every day, and shouldn’t wear orange, magenta, or gray. Well, sorry, I have to be true to myself. A leprechaun’s more than some silly green elf. “And that’s why, regardless of what people say, I no longer celebrate Saint Patrick’s Day. From now on, I’m dressing in pink, white, and red to celebrate Saint Valentine’s Day instead.” — Kenn Nesbitt

When I was a kid, I often imagined what it would be like to have superpowers. But the powers I dreamed about weren’t the usual ones you see in comic books. I didn’t spend much time imagining myself flying through the air or lifting cars over my head. Instead, I wondered what it would be like if I could stop time, or magically change things around me. For example, what if you could make something disappear just by wishing it away? What if you could erase mistakes, not just on paper, but in real life? That was the idea that eventually led me to write this poem. One day I started thinking about those pink school erasers that everyone used when I was growing up. They were great for fixing pencil mistakes, but they also left those little curly crumbs all over your desk. And that got me wondering: what if someone invented a super eraser; one that could erase anything at all? Of course, if a kid had something like that, they probably wouldn’t start by erasing very important things. They’d begin with the stuff kids usually wish they could get rid of: vegetables they don’t like, homework, rainy days, maybe even Monday mornings. But if you had a magical eraser that powerful, it might be easy to get carried away… and erase a little more than you meant to. I hope you enjoy it. This is… Super Eraser I bought a new “Super Eraser” today. They said it would make all mistakes go away. It seemed quite unlikely and, honestly, weird, but—swipe!—and my Brussels sprouts just disappeared. I blasted my math with another small swipe. My bedtime went poof! when I gave it a wipe. This thing was amazing! I grinned ear-to-ear, then looked for more things I could make disappear. I zapped Monday mornings. Trombone lessons too. I rubbed on the rain and away it all flew. I made homework vanish. It melted away. I wiped away chores and left nothing but play. This Super Eraser was perfect for me, and something I figured my family should see. I ran to the backyard to put on a show. That’s strange. They were just here a minute ago. — Kenn Nesbitt

Kids often ask me to write a poem about their favorite sport. Just as often, they ask me what my favorite sport is. That got me thinking… do I really have just one? Instead of choosing a single sport, I decided to imagine a kid who loves all of them. A sports fanatic! Someone who gets excited about baseball and soccer and surfing and skiing and everything in between. The result is this poem, a big, energetic list of games, races, matches, and adventures. This kind of poem is called a list poem, because it’s built from a list of related words or ideas. List poems are a lot of fun to write. You don’t have to tell a big story. You just pick a topic—sports, foods, animals, hobbies, anything—and start listing! If you’d like to try writing your own list poem, here is a simple, step-by-step lesson that can help you get started. As for me, I have to admit something: if I did choose just one sport, I think rugby might be the coolest in the world. It’s fast, tough, and exciting to watch. It’s hugely popular in places like New Zealand, South Africa, and parts of Europe, though it isn’t played quite as much here in the United States, where I live. But that’s enough about me. How about you? What’s your favorite sport? Is there just one… or do you like sports of every sort? My Favorite Sport Want to know my favorite sport? Here’s my list (it’s pretty short): Baseball, football, soccer, kickball. Table tennis, sailing, stickball. Surfing, swimming, sprinting, hiking. Rugby, running, bowling, biking. Skating, sledding, cricket, curling. Dancing, dodgeball, hockey, hurling. Paddle boarding, rafting, rowing. Horseback riding, hammer throwing. Handball, softball, skiing, cheering. Volleyball and mountaineering. I don’t have ONE favorite sport. I like sports of every sort! — Kenn Nesbitt

Have you ever seen a shape in the dark but couldn’t quite make out what it was? Maybe you caught something out of the corner of your eye—a shadow, a lump, a blur—and for just a second your imagination ran wild. This time of year, even though the days are starting to get a little longer, it’s still winter. It’s still the darkest season. The sun rises late. The evenings stretch on. And when the light is low, ordinary things can look… not so ordinary. Just this morning, I glanced across the room and thought I saw a black cat sitting perfectly still. On second look, it turned out to be a wastebasket. I’ve done that more than once; seen something indistinct and, before my brain could catch up, imagined all sorts of ominous possibilities. So I decided to write a poem about that feeling. About spotting something you can’t quite identify… something that seems to move when you move… something that stays just out of sight. When you don’t know what you’re looking at, your imagination is happy to fill in the blanks, and it doesn’t always choose the most comforting answer. I hope you enjoy it. This is… It Followed Me to School Today It followed me to school today. I’m not sure what it was, though it sounded soft and scratchy, like a chunk of rusty fuzz. I couldn’t see it clearly. It remained just out of sight as it slunk along in shadows and retreated from the light. I started walking faster. I could smell it. It was foul. Then it slithered even quicker and I may have heard it growl. I felt a rush of panic, thinking I might not escape. So I bolted down the block, but still could not outrun that shape. At last, I stumbled into school. I thought I got away, but it wriggled underneath a bush and waited there all day. It followed me back home from school. It’s now outside my room. I’m supposed to go to bed, but there’s this looming sense of doom. I’d better go tell mom and dad. They’ll want to hear this warning: I’ll be staying home tomorrow if it’s still there in the morning. — Kenn Nesbitt

I wrote this poem because Valentine’s Day was coming up, and I wanted a silly love poem that felt a little different from the usual ones. I played around with a few ideas first—like a teacher being in love with homework and quizzes, or my cat falling in love with my dog—but none of them quite clicked. Then I started thinking about how some people, especially teenagers, spend a lot of time checking their reflection, and it made me laugh to imagine what that might look like from a sibling’s point of view. Once I had that idea, the poem pretty much wrote itself. I hope you enjoy it. This is… My Brother’s in Love with His Mirror My brother is falling in love with his mirror. At first, I had doubts. Now, it couldn’t be clearer. He spent today gazing upon his reflection while whispering words of romantic affection. He straightened his hair and put on his best shirt, then said, “Hey, good lookin’,” like some kind of flirt. He waved at himself as he batted his eyes then tilted his head and let out a few sighs. My brother’s behavior is honestly odd. He smiled at himself with a wink and a nod, then blew a few kisses and started to blush. The mirror is clearly my brother’s new crush. I didn’t know why he was acting this way when I saw him eyeing his mirror today. I figured it out, though—it wasn’t that hard— when I saw him give it a Valentine’s card. — Kenn Nesbitt

I’ve always loved wordplay, especially poems that play around with the nuts and bolts of language, things like spelling, word order, and the way words look and sound on the page. Over the years, I’ve written poems that make silly use of parentheses, hyphens, and even the spacing between words, just to see what kind of mischief I could get into. While I was thinking about other punctuation marks I might work into a poem someday—commas, question marks, slashes, brackets, and so on—it suddenly occurred to me that I’d somehow skipped the most obvious one of all. Exclamation points! They’re loud, they’re enthusiastic, and they have a way of making everything feel more exciting… sometimes a little too exciting. This poem imagines what might happen if someone got just a bit carried away with exclamation points. And fair warning—this is one of those poems that really needs to be seen on the page to make sense, since the punctuation is doing most of the heavy lifting. So if it sounds a little strange out loud, that’s on me! You can read the poem exactly as it was meant to be seen online at Poetry4kids. I’m Thrilled with Exclamation Points! I’m thrilled with exclamation points! I like them so, so much! It’s awesome how they give my words that extra special touch!! Without some exclamation points my words seem dull and dry. But add a few!! Now, suddenly, the writing starts to fly!!!!! I wonder if it’s possible to use them even more!! like! every! word! could! end! with! one! or! two!! or! three!!! or! four!!!! Oh!! yes!!! it’s!! so!!! enjoyable!!!! Instead!! of!! now!! and!!! then!! I’ll!! add!!! a! few!!!! to!! every! word!!, like! eight!!!!!!!! or! nine!!!!!!!!! or! ten!!!!!!!!!! I’d!!! stay!!!! and!!!! tell!!! you!!! more!!!, except!! I!!!!! have!! to!! leave!!! this!!!! joint!!!! Besides!!!, I!!! think! it’s!!!! safe!! to!!!!! say!! by!!! now!!!! you’ve!!!! got!!! my!!!! point!!!! — Kenn Nesbitt

Before I decide what to wear, I often check the weather on my phone. How cold is it outside? Is it going to rain? Will it warm up later in the day? My wife thinks this is a little ridiculous and says I should just look out the window. Or better yet, step outside and see how it feels. But I like knowing what’s coming. A weather app can tell you if you’re going to need a coat, a hat, or an umbrella later on, even if things look fine right now. One day, while I was thinking about checking the weather online, a funny idea popped into my head, an idea that felt like it belonged at the end of a poem. As often happens for me, I wrote that ending first and then worked backward, figuring out what kind of poem would lead naturally to it. This poem grew out of that process, mixing everyday habits with a little imagination and wordplay. I hope it makes you smile, and maybe even think twice about how you decide what the weather’s like before you head outside. This is… Warm or Storm? I think I’ll stay inside today. In here, it’s nice and warm. Outside, I’m told it’s frozen. There’s a frigid winter storm. I heard that there’s a blizzard with a ton of ice and snow. Thermometers are saying that it’s twenty-five below. That’s way too cold to snowboard, or to ski, or skate, or sled. The news said, “Stay inside today and bundle up in bed.” I could have gone outside to see how chilly it would get. But I just looked online and read it on the Winternet. — Kenn Nesbitt

I love cheese, pretty much all kinds of it. A few months ago, I even decided to try making my own cheese for the very first time. I started with cottage cheese, which seemed like a sensible beginner’s choice. Unfortunately, it didn’t turn out quite as well as I’d hoped. Still, I really enjoyed the process, and I’m planning to give cheesemaking another try soon. Today, while I was eating a slice of Swiss cheese and thinking about that not-so-successful experiment, my mind started wandering. I began imagining a cheesemaker who’s a very choosy about his ingredients, and before long, the idea for this poem popped into my head. Sometimes all it takes is one small thought, and one very silly pun, to turn into a poem. That’s exactly what happened here. This is… A Cheesy Story I’m Cheesemaker Charlie. I like to make cheese. I’m fond of ricottas, and cheddars, and bries. Each cheese I prepare needs its own kind of milk, to make sure it’s creamy and smoother than silk. For string cheese, to help it stay slender and slim, I only use milk that’s been labeled as “skim.” I try to ensure that my jack cheese is jacked. I help it stay shredded with “low fat,” in fact. And when I make Swiss cheese, perfection’s my goal. So, that’s why I only use milk labeled “hole.” — Kenn Nesbitt

I’ve always loved performing. When I was a kid, I once put on a magic show for my family when I was seven years old. I even rented a cape and a top hat for the occasion. Unfortunately, the show didn’t go very well. Everyone kept shouting out how the tricks were done, which made it hard to feel very mysterious. Still, that love of performing stuck with me. One of the reasons I fell in love with poetry in the first place was because my father used to sing silly songs and recite nonsense poems at home. Watching him perform made me realize how much fun words can be when you say them out loud. Because of that, I love writing poems about performing, whether it’s singing, karaoke, student talent shows, or just putting on a show for anyone who happens to be nearby. That idea is what inspired this poem. I hope it makes you smile. This is… Toothbrush Karaoke While brushing my teeth after breakfast today, I looked at my toothbrush and, what can I say? It looked like a microphone there in my hand. I thought of a song from my new favorite band. I strolled to the living room singing that song. My brother, surprised, started clapping along. My sister stood up and applauded my tune. She begged me to keep singing all afternoon. I ran to my room where I sang to my frog. My singing and dancing delighted our dog. I chanted and rapped as I ran down the hall, to croon to the mirror we had on the wall. And that’s when my mom and dad walked in the door, complaining of slobber all over the floor. They said my performance was totally cool, except for the minty-fresh puddles of drool. — Kenn Nesbitt

When my kids were in elementary school, they loved taking rules very literally. If I told my son not to touch his sister, he would immediately find the exact spot where he could stand as close as possible without actually touching her, and think it was hilarious. Technically, he was following the rule, even if he was clearly missing the spirit of it. That kind of literal thinking has always made me laugh, especially when it comes to rules at school. Kids hear a rule, take it at face value, and then use a lot of creativity to follow it exactly, sometimes in ways adults never expected. It’s not about breaking the rules; it’s about finding all the tiny spaces around them. I realized there might be a poem hiding in that idea, especially if the rule was followed with complete sincerity… and a whole lot of imagination. That’s where this poem came from. I hope it makes you smile, especially if you’ve ever known a kid who was very good at following rules, just not quite the way they were intended. This is… No Running in the Hall They said, “No running in the hall,” and so I didn’t run at all. They didn’t say, “Don’t skip and prance.” They didn’t say, “Don’t disco dance.” And so, you may have seen me hop, or spiral like a spinning top, or zig and zag from side to side, or spread my arms to fly and glide. I might have marched. I might have stomped. I might have wriggled, rolled, and romped. I might have done a funky strut. I might have wagged my you-know-what. I might have slid across the floor, or maybe moonwalked through a door, or got down on my knees to crawl. But, hey, I didn’t run at all. — Kenn Nesbitt

A lot of my poems are inspired by things that happen in my own life. I wrote this one while my wife was watching a football game with her sister and brother-in-law, and I was in the other room working on a poem. As they cheered at the TV, it made me think about how different people in the same family often want to watch completely different things. That reminded me that many families wait until Christmas to make big purchases—like a brand-new TV—and that sometimes, instead of bringing everyone together, it can create a whole new set of arguments. Football? Parades? Christmas cartoons? A holiday movie? Everyone has a favorite. I started wondering what might happen if nobody could agree on what to watch on their shiny new television. That little idea was enough to spark this poem. Our Brand-New TV For Christmas, our gift was a brand-new TV. We couldn’t agree, though, on what we should see. My sister said, “We should all watch the parade.” Our dad said, “The football game’s on, I’m afraid.” My brother said, “Let’s watch a Christmas cartoon!” Our mom said, “A good movie’s starting at noon.” We squabbled and fought over what we should see for hours and hours but couldn’t agree. And meanwhile, our dog, who did not get a vote, just sat down and chewed up the TV remote. The TV’s now stuck from the way that he chewed. It only shows squirrels and close-ups of food. And, strangely, we all liked his channel much better. It turns out our dog is a great TV setter. — Kenn Nesbitt

I’ve always loved building snowmen. When my kids were younger, we used to spend whole winter afternoons rolling giant snowballs around the yard, hunting for the perfect sticks for arms, and deciding how he should be dresses and decorated. Which hat would work best? Should he have a scarf or a tie? Does he really need a carrot nose or would a button work just as well? This year, I started thinking about how much personality a snowman seems to have by the time you’re done with it. You give it a hat, a scarf, and a pipe, and suddenly it feels like a character—someone who might have opinions about your artistic decisions. I wondered what would happen if a snowman actually could share those opinions. That little idea was enough to spark this poem. The moment I imagined a half-finished snowman watching me choose its accessories, I knew I wanted to write about it. What would a snowman say? What would it care about? What would it absolutely not want? I hope you enjoy the result. Snow’s Nose I made a new snowman out in our front yard. It didn’t take long and it wasn’t too hard. I stacked up some snowballs. I gave them a pat, then threw on a scarf, and a pipe, and a hat. I sculpted some feet from a little more snow, and stuck in some sticks where his arms ought to go. I added some coal for his buttons and eyes, and that’s when he spoke, to my utter surprise. He said to me, “Thanks for the hat, scarf, and pipe. The sticks that you picked are exactly my type. “Now bring me some carrots. You picked all my clothes, but really, I don’t want you picking my nose.” — Kenn Nesbitt

I love writing poems about the holiday season, so I wanted to start December off with a new funny poem about Santa Claus. To get myself in the right festive mood, I reread Clement Clarke Moore’s classic poem “A Visit from St. Nicholas,” better known as “‘Twas the Night Before Christmas.” As I was reading, a couple of lines jumped out at me: He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot; I couldn’t help noticing something amusing about the word “soot.” It looks like it ought to rhyme with “suit,” but it doesn’t. “Soot” actually rhymes with “put” and “foot,” not with “suit” or “boot.” Still, that contrast made me laugh, and I thought there had to be a poem hiding inside that idea somewhere. So I first decided to call it “Soot Suit,” and then sat down to see what I could come up with. And this is the result, my newest holiday poem. Soot Suit When Santa came to visit us on Christmas Eve this year, his eyes were bright and merry and his face was full of cheer. He carried toys and presents in a sack upon his back. But Santa wasn’t dressed in red. Instead, his suit was black. Without his bright red coat and hat he looked a little weird. He also had some smudges on his cheeks and on his beard. We asked if he was trying out a new and different style. He looked down at his blackened suit then answered with a smile. He said, “My suit’s not really black, as maybe you could tell. It only looks that way because your chimney soots me well.” — Kenn Nesbitt

One question students often ask me is what my favorite “kind” of poem is. That is, they want to know if I like haiku or limericks or diamantes or some other type of poem best. The word poets use to describe these different kinds of poems is “form.” A form is kind of poem defined... Read more »

Before we begin, there’s something I haven’t talked about very much. Most people assume I was born in the twentieth century and grew up like everyone else—going to school, learning poetry, all of that. But the truth is a bit more complicated. I’m actually from the year 3017. That’s right—thirty-seventeen. A full millennium in the... Read more »

It’s the middle of autumn, and the weather is definitely changing. The leaves have mostly fallen from the trees, and it’s been cold and raining for the past few days where I live. I thought I’d write something about this change of seasons—but in a slightly unexpected way. This poem starts out as a simple... Read more »

It’s October, and the weather has finally started turning cold. The leaves are changing colors and beginning to fall, swirling and spinning in the breeze. I’ve already written a couple of Halloween poems this month, so I thought I’d do something a little different, something that simply celebrates the season itself. The idea for the... Read more »

I came up with the last word of this poem earlier this year. It’s what’s called a portmanteau word, which means a made-up word created by blending two real words together, like combining breakfast and lunch to make the word “brunch.” Now, at the time, it was the beginning of June, and writing a Halloween... Read more »

When October comes around each year, I love writing Halloween poems—especially about monsters, haunted houses, and trick-or-treating. Some of these poems are a little spooky, but most are just meant to be silly and fun, like this one. I started imagining what it might be like if Dracula and his monster friends hosted a Halloween... Read more »