Author: 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

Sometimes poems don’t begin at a desk. They begin when you’re half asleep.

One night, just as I was drifting off, a ridiculous thought popped into my head: a dancing dinosaur in purple underwear. I have no idea where it came from. I wasn’t thinking about dinosaurs. I wasn’t thinking about underwear. But there it was.

And it made me laugh.

So instead of rolling over and going to sleep, I did what poets sometimes have to do. I grabbed my phone in the dark and typed a quick note so I wouldn’t forget it in the morning.

Then… I forgot about it anyway.

Well, not completely. The idea sat in my “poem ideas” folder for months. Every once in a while I’d scroll past it and think, “Hmm. A dancing dinosaur in purple underwear. That’s funny.” But I didn’t know what kind of poem it wanted to be.

About six months later, I looked at it again and started playing around with questions. Have you ever been here? Have you ever been there? And most importantly, have you seen a dancing dinosaur in purple underwear?

Once I found that rhythm of questions, the poem practically wrote itself.

This is one of those silly poems that exists for one very important reason: because sometimes an unexpected, ridiculous idea is enough to make you smile. And sometimes that’s all a poem needs to do.

Have You Ever Been to England?

Have you ever been to England?
Have you ever been to France?
Have you seen a dancing dinosaur
in purple underpants?

Have you visited St. Louis?
Have you visited St. Clair?
Did you see a dancing dinosaur
in purple underwear?

Have you traveled through the jungles?
Have you been to beach resorts?
Have you found a dancing dinosaur
in purple undershorts?

Have you trekked across the deserts?
Have you trudged across the snows?
Were there any dancing dinosaurs
in purple underclothes?

I suppose you haven’t seen one yet
but if you ever do,
then please tell me where you spotted it
so I can see one too.

— 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