Author: 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