Author: Kenn Nesbitt

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