Category: Podcast

It might be a little late in the year for picnics in the park, at least where I live. With the days getting colder and the leaves falling, eating lunch outside starts to sound less inviting. Still, I thought it would be fun to imagine one last picnic before winter. All you need is a blanket, some tasty food, and a little cooperation from the weather. Unfortunately, in this poem, the weather isn’t the only thing that refuses to cooperate. This is…

We Went to the Park

We went to the park for a picnic today.
The sky became cloudy and windy and gray.

We spread out our blanket with all of our food.
(A couple of clouds couldn’t ruin our mood.)

An army of ants came and started to munch
on all of the foods we had brought for our lunch.

Some bees started buzzing around our dessert.
Mosquitos attacked us. Their stings really hurt.

A dog began barking. He chased us around
as squirrels and birds dumped our drinks on the ground.

A skunk wandered over. It started to rain.
We ran away screaming. This day was insane!

Completely defeated, we went home and cried.
I think that we’ll have our next picnic inside.

— Kenn Nesbitt

With Halloween just around the corner, I decided it was time to write a new Halloween poem. Or maybe a monster poem. But then I thought, why not write both?

Of course, there are plenty of poems about monsters being scary, chasing people, or lurking in dark places. But I wanted to do something a little different. I started wondering what monsters might do for fun when they’re not busy frightening everybody.

That’s when I imagined a group of famous monsters getting together at a haunted house for a friendly game night. After all, even Dracula, Frankenstein, and the Wolfman probably enjoy playing games with their friends now and then.

But what kinds of games would monsters play? Would they play the same games we do, or would they have their own spooky versions? Once I started thinking about that, I came up with all sorts of silly possibilities, and the poem practically wrote itself.

The result is a poem called “Game Night at the Haunted House.” It’s about a group of monsters having a wonderful time playing some rather unusual games. And, as you’ll discover, they’re always happy to welcome new players.

At least, that’s what they say.

Game Night at the Haunted House

It’s Game Night at the Haunted House
on Halloween this year.
The Wolfman, Mummy, Frankenstein,
and Dracula are here.

They’ve played a game of Duck, Duck, Ghost,
Brain Toss, and Tic-Tac-Boo,
plus Monster Polo, Slime-on Says,
and Dead Light, Green Light too.

They had such fun with Hide-and-Shriek,
and playing Truth-or-Scare,
but all the monsters hope that, next year,
you can join them there.

They say that you should come and play.
They’ll try their best to beat you.
So join them at the Haunted House.
They promise not to eat you.

— Kenn Nesbitt

When I was a kid, I had lots of toys, including toy cars, trucks, and airplanes. I loved imagining that they could go on incredible adventures, racing down highways, flying through the clouds, or speeding away from bad guys in daring escapes.

I also had quite a few pets growing up. Over the years, my family had cats and dogs, a parakeet, an aquarium full of fish, and even a snake! But there’s one pet I never had: a hamster.

That got me wondering what might happen if I combined two things I loved as a kid: pets and toy vehicles. What if a hamster got hold of a whole collection of toy cars, boats, and airplanes? What would he do with them? And why would a tiny little hamster need so many different ways to get around?

I started imagining a hamster with some pretty fancy transportation, including a monster truck, a limousine, a submarine, and even a hovercraft. Before long, I had a poem about a very unusual pet with a mysterious collection of vehicles. I hope you enjoy it. This is…

My Hamster Has a Hovercraft

My hamster has a hovercraft.
I couldn’t tell you why.
I think he’s on a secret mission.
Maybe he’s a spy.

He also has a monster truck,
a long black limousine,
a motorcycle, speedboat,
and a snazzy submarine.

He has a helicopter
and a supersonic jet,
a Lambo, a Ferrari,
and a cherry-red Corvette.

His cage contains a hamster wheel
he uses every day,
but when he saw my toys,
he snatched them up and ran away.

It seems he doesn’t need to be
the fastest pet alive.
He’s just so tired of exercise,
he’s learning how to drive.

— Kenn Nesbitt

I only recently discovered just how popular squishy toys have become. These soft, stretchy, squeezable toys come in all kinds of shapes, sizes, and colors, including cute animals, funny faces, and even pretend food. Kids love to squeeze them, stretch them, squish them, and watch them slowly return to their original shapes. They’re fun to play with, and squeezing them can even help some people relax or relieve stress.

When I learned how much kids love their squishies, I thought it would be fun to write a poem about someone who absolutely adores theirs. After all, a favorite toy can feel almost like a best friend, and what better way to celebrate that friendship than with an ode, a poem of praise?

But then I started thinking about something funny. When you really love a squishy, you don’t just admire it or cuddle it. You squeeze it, squash it, stretch it, twist it, and generally put it through all sorts of terrible treatment. If squishies had feelings, they might have a very different opinion of the relationship!

So I decided to write a poem in which the narrator makes one loving declaration after another, while casually admitting to some rather questionable behavior. The result is “Dear Squishy, I Love You,” a poem about a friendship that’s full of affection, even if it might not always look that way. This is…

Dear Squishy, I Love You

Dear Squishy, I love you.
(I yanked on your nose.)
I treasure our friendship.
(I stomped on your toes.)
You’re thoughtful and caring.
(I stretched out your skin.)
You’re endlessly cheerful.
(I twisted your chin.)
You never get grumpy.
(I pushed in your eyes.)
You never hold grudges.
(I mangled your thighs.)
You make me so happy.
(I pounded your ear.)
You’re one in a million.
(I sat on your rear.)
I’m lucky to have you.
(I scrunched up your cheek.)
I’ll love you forever.
(Except if you leak.)

— Kenn Nesbitt

Halloween is coming up soon, so this year I decided to write several different pumpkin poems. Out of all of them, this one quickly became one of my favorites.

One of the fun things about visiting a pumpkin patch is seeing how many different kinds of pumpkins there are. Some are tall, some are short, some are wide, some are skinny, and some have funny stems or unusual colors and stripes. When every pumpkin has something special about it, picking just one can be a lot harder than it sounds.

That was the idea behind this poem. I wanted to write something simple, playful, and a little bit silly about trying to choose the perfect pumpkin for Halloween. I hope it reminds you of a trip to a pumpkin patch of your own.

Pumpkin Problems

I’m searching for a pumpkin
at The Perfect Pumpkin Patch.
They have so many different kinds.
I can’t find two that match.

I want a jack-o’-lantern for
our house on Halloween.
I found one caked in tons of mud.
I found one squeaky clean.

I found a long and skinny one.
I found one short and wide.
I found a shiny orange one
with stripes along the side.

I found one with a curly stem.
I found one big and tall.
My mom said I could pick and so
I did.
I bought them all.

— Kenn Nesbitt

Football season has just begun, and some members of my family are already enthusiastically watching the games and hoping their favorite team will make it to the Super Bowl again this year.

I’ve written lots of sports poems over the years, including a couple about football. But those poems could just as easily have been about soccer as American football. This is the first poem I’ve written that is unmistakably about American football, complete with a quarterback throwing the ball and sending it spiraling through the air.

When I started thinking about what kind of football poem I wanted to write, I thought it might be fun to tell the story from the football’s point of view. After all, what would it feel like to actually *be* a football? You’d get to soar through the air while thousands of people cheered. Players would leap to catch you, cradle you in their arms, protect you from the other team, and carry you down the field. That sounds like a pretty exciting life.

Of course, being a football might have its downsides too. But I’ll let the football tell you about those itself.

Here’s my newest poem…

It’s Fun to Be a Football

It’s fun to be a football.
It’s phenomenal to fly.
The feeling is fantastic as
I spiral through the sky.

The quarterback releases me.
I rocket through the air
and soar above the roaring cheers
of everybody there.

The players leap to catch me.
Then they form a human shield
to keep me from the other team
and run me down the field.

They hold me close and rock me
like a baby as they run.
I’m glad that I’m a football.
As a football, life is fun.

It’s honestly incredible
except in one regard…
I really wish the players wouldn’t
kick me quite so hard.

 — Kenn Nesbitt

I wrote this poem because, here in the northern hemisphere, summer is almost over and fall will be here in just a few days. But, at least where I live, you wouldn’t necessarily know it from the weather. The days are still sunny and warm, and it still feels a lot like summer, even though I know the cooler autumn weather will be arriving before long.

That got me thinking about what might happen if Summer and Autumn were actual people with jobs to do and schedules to keep. Maybe Summer can’t simply leave whenever he wants. Perhaps he has to wait for Autumn to show up and take over his shift first. And what if Autumn happens to be running a little late?

Of course, when Summer leaves us here in the northern hemisphere, he has somewhere important to go. In places south of the equator, such as Australia, South Africa, and much of South America, the seasons are reversed. Their summer runs roughly from December through March, while we’re having winter. So I imagined Summer getting ready to head south, with people there eagerly waiting for his arrival, while Autumn has reasons of her own for not being quite ready to take his place.

The result is a phone conversation between two very busy seasons trying to sort out their schedules.

Summer and Autumn

The Summer phoned the Autumn
and he asked, “Why aren’t you here?
It’s time for my vacation in
the southern hemisphere.

“My shift is nearly over and
it’s time for me to split.”
The Autumn answered, “Just relax.
I’ll be there in a bit.

“I’m shopping for an outfit.
I could use a brand-new gown.
I need an orange dress with lots
of yellow, red, and brown.

“As soon as I can find the one
I really want to wear,
I’ll come and take your place,
so please be patient. I’ll be there.”

“But Autumn,” said the Summer,
“There’s a place I have to be.
Australia sent a text to say that
they’re expecting me.

“South Africa’s been calling too.
They want me right away.
And down in South America
they’ve asked for no delay.”

So if it’s hot and sunny when
the Autumn should be here,
it’s just the grumpy Summer
working overtime this year.

— Kenn Nesbitt

My wife recently started a new job as a school picture day photographer. Every day when she comes home, she has interesting, and often funny stories about the people and things she photographed that day. She’s taken pictures of hundreds of students, of course, but she’s also photographed teachers, school staff, and even a principal’s dog!

One thing she quickly discovered is that the grown-ups aren’t necessarily any easier to photograph than the kids. Teachers, for example, are much more likely to ask for do-overs of their staff photos because they didn’t like their smile, their hair, or the way they looked in the first one.

After hearing all these stories, I started thinking that picture day sounded like a perfect subject for a poem. My wife agreed and asked me to write a funny picture day poem that she could share with her coworkers.

So I wrote this one. Thankfully, she liked it. I hope you do too.

Picture Day

It’s picture day at school today.
I sat down in the chair
then rolled my tongue and crossed my eyes
and messed up all my hair.

I mugged for the photographer.
She frowned and shook her head,
and told me I should comb my hair
and try to smile instead.

She said, “Say cheese!” I puffed my cheeks
and jutted out my chin,
then stuck my fingers in my ears
and forced a silly grin.

She told me that, for picture day,
our portraits should be formal.
Instead, I made a zombie face,
all twisted and abnormal.

The camera clicked. I laughed so hard
I felt like I might burst.
But she just rolled her eyes and said,
“You teachers are the worst.”

— Kenn Nesbitt

The beginning of a new school year can be exciting, but it can also be a little scary. You might wonder who you’ll sit with, whether you’ll make new friends, or whether the other kids will think you’re cool. That was one of the ideas that got me started on this poem.

The other idea has been bouncing around in my head for years. Once, during an assembly at an elementary school, I was speaking to about 200 fourth- and fifth-graders. We were going to write a poem together, so I asked for a volunteer to tell me their favorite thing ever… something we could use as the subject of our poem.

I called on one student, and they enthusiastically shouted, “Space llamas!”

I thought that was hilarious and I told them so, though I heard a lot of other kids groan, which just goes to show that we don’t all like the same things and that’s okay. We ended up writing about regular llamas that day, but I never forgot those space llamas. Every so often, they would wander back into my imagination, waiting for the right poem.

Well, I finally found a place for them. Here’s a back-to-school poem about feeling nervous, trying to fit in, and, of course, Space Llamas.

Space Llamas

I dyed my hair green for the first day of school.
I wore my new Space Llamas shirt to look cool.
I stepped on the bus, but then felt like a fool.
It only had one empty seat.

It looked like I’d have to sit right next to him;
The kid who would always get picked first in gym.
My guts did a backflip. The world seemed to dim.
I gulped and looked down at my feet.

My legs turned to noodles. I whispered a prayer.
I trudged to that seat thinking, “This isn’t fair.
Oh, why’d I decide to have neon-green hair?
I’d rather be home with the flu.”

I plodded along for what felt like a mile,
then took off my pack and stepped out of the aisle.
He glanced at my getup, then gave me a smile
and said, “I like Space Llamas too.”

 — Kenn Nesbitt