Category: Podcast

Welcome to Poetry4kids. I’m Kenn Nesbitt. Today I’d like to share a fun new holiday poem with you. With Christmas just around the corner, I found myself wondering how many days were left until the big day. The phrase “I’m Counting the Days until Christmas” popped into my head, and I loved the rhythm of the words, as well as the idea of checking off each day on a calendar while excitedly looking forward to Christmas Day. It seemed like the perfect topic for a holiday poem! I hope you enjoy this festive little rhyme about the anticipation of Christmas.

I’m Counting the Days until Christmas

I’m counting the days until Christmas.
I’m counting them down one by one.
I’m checking my calendar daily
and crossing them off just for fun.

I’m counting the days until Christmas.
It’s something I do every year.
It’s always exciting to count them.
I can’t wait till Christmas is here.

I’m counting the days until Christmas.
I started at three sixty-five.
I just have to count down to zero,
and then Christmas Day will arrive.

I’m counting the days until Christmas.
I still have to count a few more.
Because it’s the day after Christmas,
my count is now three sixty-four.

— Kenn Nesbitt

Welcome to Poetry4kids. I’m Kenn Nesbitt. I grew up in a part of California where it never snowed, but every now and then my parents would take me and my brothers to the nearby mountains in the wintertime to play in the snow. We loved building snowmen and throwing snowballs at one another. Later, when I moved up north where it snows every winter, my own kids grew up doing the same—building snow forts and having snowball fights, but they got to do it in the front yard.

This poem was inspired by those memories and the idea of what might happen if kids got a little carried away and missed their intended target. Sometimes, snowball fights can lead to some pretty funny and unexpected situations!

My Brother Made a Snowball

My brother made a snowball.
He threw it at our sister.
He threw it hard. He threw it fast.
His aim was bad. It missed her.

It hit our mother in the head.
It blew up like a bomb.
His eyes went wide, and then he tried
to run away from Mom.

Our mother made some snowballs, and
she threw them at my brother.
She struck him with a hundred snowballs,
one after another.

So now my brother looks just like
a snowman in our yard.
I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen
my sister laugh so hard.

— Kenn Nesbitt

Welcome to Poetry4kids. I’m Kenn Nesbitt.

With Thanksgiving just around the corner here in the US, I wanted to write a fun poem about the holiday that captures the feeling of overindulging at a big family feast.

Thanksgiving is a time for gratitude and togetherness, but it’s also a time when we often eat more than we should—something kids and grown-ups alike can relate to. I thought it would be fun to explore that universal experience from a playful perspective, imagining what it might feel like to share the aftermath of a big meal with an unexpected companion.

I hope this poem brings a smile to your face as you prepare for your own holiday celebrations!

It’s Thanksgiving Night

It’s Thanksgiving night, and
I’m curled up in bed.
I’m clutching my teddy bear
next to my head.

My stomach is aching.
I let out a groan.
Then, suddenly, I hear
my teddy bear moan.

I ate too much food, so
my tummy’s in pain.
But this is the first time
I’ve heard him complain.

We’re hugging each other
and sharing our sorrow.
We can’t wait until we
feel better tomorrow.

Tonight, though, we’re whining
and huffing and puffing.
It’s Thanksgiving night, and
we’re both full of stuffing.

— Kenn Nesbitt

Welcome to Poetry4kids. I’m Kenn Nesbitt. A couple of years ago my friend, the children’s poet Janet Wong, asked if I would contribute a poem to an anthology she was creating with children’s literature professor Sylvia Vardell called Things We Feel. She gave me several photos to choose from as inspiration, and I particularly liked one of a young boy tossing a bowling ball. It made me think about that moment of suspense—the thrill, the hope, and the uncertainty you feel as soon as the ball leaves your hands.

As with other books in this series (Things We Do, Things We Wear, and Things We Eat), 100% of the profits will be donated to the IBBY Children in Crisis Fund, a cause I’m proud to support.

Suspense

I make a wish.
I close my eyes.
I toss my ball.
Away it flies.
I don’t know what
my ball will do.
I pray it travels
straight and true.
But, though I hope
with all my might,
I know it could
roll left or right.
It might become
a gutter ball,
or strike the pins
and dash them all.
I hold my breath.
I feel a thrill
like time is stopped
and standing still,
and anything
is possible
the moment that
you toss a ball.

— Kenn Nesbitt

Welcome to Poetry4kids. I’m Kenn Nesbitt. As a student, I remember being so tired in school some days that I would fall asleep at my desk and the teacher would have to wake me up. I was never so tired in the morning that I went to school in my pajamas or bedsheet or blankets. But a friend of mine actually did this once when she was in college. She was so sleepy that she woke up at the very last minute, wrapped her sheet around herself and walked to class.

Recalling this recently, I thought it might be funny to write a poem about it. I hope you enjoy it.

Welcome to Poetry4kids. I’m Kenn Nesbitt. With Halloween just around the corner, I wanted to write a poem about the holiday. I had already written a poem about spooky monsters called “The Monsters’ Thanksgiving,” so this time I thought it would be fun to come up with a poem about trick-or-treating. I imagined creating a time-saving device to help collect more candy, and the idea of an army of trick-or-treating robots came to me.

The very next day, I saw a headline that read, “Inventor Builds Six Robot Copies of Himself, Uses One to Give Speeches and Take Questions From Audience.” I took that as a sign that my idea was timely—and that this was definitely a poem I needed to write! I hope you enjoy it.

Robot Halloween

I built a hundred robots, and
I thought it would be neat
to send them out on Halloween
and have them trick-or-treat.

They went in all directions
as they sped from door to door,
collecting treats at every house,
then moving on for more.

My robots were efficient.
They were speedy and polite.
They quickly went to every single
house in town that night.

They brought their load of candy home
and dumped it on the floor.
It filled the house so fast,
it started spraying out the door.

An avalanche of candy poured
across our porch and lawn.
Our yard was buried instantly.
Our plants and fence were gone.

We may no longer have a house
or yard, but it appears
our candy pile is big enough
to last for many years.

It turns out having robots
trick-or-treat is pretty handy.
Just make sure you have room to store
a hundred tons of candy.

— Kenn Nesbitt

Ideas for poems can come from lots of different places. Sometimes when I write a poem, the idea starts with a single word or a phrase. In this case, I was thinking about the upcoming holidays, Halloween and Thanksgiving. Halloween made me think of monsters, including Frankenstein’s monster, which made me think of “Frankenstein’s Thanksgiving.” It occurred to me that it might be fun to write a single poem that combines Halloween and Thanksgiving into a single holiday. This poem is the result.

The Monsters’ Thanksgiving

When monsters spend Thanksgiving
at the house of Frankenstein,
the feast is full of frankenfoods.
That’s how they like to dine.

They each will bring a favorite dish
and share it with the group.
The Blob provides the Jell-o and
the Fly supplies the soup.

The Creature from the Black Lagoon
makes slimy stewed tomatoes.
The Wolfman and Godzilla share
their monster mash potatoes.

The Zombie drops some finger foods.
The Thing makes lots of things.
The Phantom of the Opera serves
some stuffing as he sings.

The Mummy brings a bubbling bowl
of gravy from his grave.
And Dracula doles out dessert…
blood pudding from his cave.

They do this each November, and
do not invite the living.
They simply dine with Frankenstein
to celebrate Franksgiving.

— Kenn Nesbitt

Every now and then, there’s a day when you just don’t want to get out of bed. Rather than take on the new day, you just want to stay under the blankets and sleep. I wrote this poem because I started thinking about all the wild, imaginative reasons someone might have for staying in bed—things that are so strange, they would drive just about anyone back to bed. While you can take this poem at face value, reading it as though these crazy things actually happened to the narrator, you should also consider other possibilities. Perhaps the narrator is still asleep and dreaming. Or maybe they’ve just come up with a harebrained excuse to avoid facing the day. No matter how you interpret it, sometimes it feels like it’s just easier to stay under the covers when things get too weird!

Bed Instead

This morning I woke up
and what did I see?
My houseplants were waving
good morning to me.

I thought this was odd, so
I looked all around.
My sneakers were tap-dancing
down on the ground.

My clothing was strolling.
My books flew like birds.
My games were patrolling
my bedroom in herds.

My toys and my backpack
were having a fight.
They looked like they must have
been at it all night!

If anyone needs me,
just tell them I said
it’s too weird today so
I’ve gone back to bed.

— Kenn Nesbitt

I recently had a “half birthday,” which falls in August since my real birthday is in February. Because of this, I was thinking about writing a half-birthday poem. By the time I started working on it, it was already September. The line “I never can remember if my birthday’s in September” popped into my head because September rhymes so nicely with “remember”—and also with December and November. I liked the way that line sounded, so I created this poem with that idea as the starting point.

When thinking about half birthdays, it also occurred to me that since it might be fun to celebrate your birthday twice a year, it could be even more fun to celebrate it three or four times a year, or even more often.

Oh, and by the way, the rhythm of this poem is the same as one of my all-time favorite poems, “In Praise of Llamas” by Arthur Guiterman. It was fun to use that familiar rhythm to explore the idea of never quite remembering my birthday—and deciding how often to celebrate it!

When’s My Birthday?

I never can remember
if my birthday’s in September
or in January, August, or July.
Or it could be in December,
or October, or November.
I’ve forgotten when it is.
I don’t know why.

And it may be on the seventh,
or the third, or the eleventh,
though I know that sounds a little bit absurd.
Plus it might be a Sunday,
or a Thursday, or a Monday,
on the seventeenth, or thirtieth, or third.

Now, while some might find this vexing,
or confusing, or perplexing,
I make lemons into lemonade this way:
Since I never can remember
if my birthday’s in September,
I just celebrate my birthday every day.

— Kenn Nesbitt

I wrote this poem in honor of my dear friend, the children’s poet Jack Prelutsky, who turned 84 in recently. Jack was born in 1940, which, according to Chinese astrology, was the Year of the Dragon. Interestingly, his 84th birthday also falls during the Year of the Dragon. You see, in Western astrology, there are twelve zodiac symbols, one each month. In Chinese astrology, however, there are still twelve zodiac symbols, but they celebrate one per year, so each zodiac symbol repeats every twelfth year. 84 is 12 times 7, so there have been seven dragon years since the year Jack was born.

While for people, 84 years is generally considered pretty old, I wanted to draw a playful parallel between Jack’s birth year and the idea that, for a dragon, 84 is still quite young. This poem celebrates that connection and the idea that Jack, like a dragon, is still full of life and energy.

If you would like to read some of Jack’s poems, you can find them on his website at jackprelutsky.com.

Dragon’s Birthday

Today is Dragon’s birthday
when the birthday bells are rung
and the birthday cake is frosted
and the birthday lights are strung.

The birthday cards are scribbled
and the birthday signs are hung
and the birthday gifts are given
and the birthday songs are sung.

The birthday toasts are proffered
and the birthday hats are flung.
Dragon’s eighty-four today and
for a dragon, that is YOUNG.

— Kenn Nesbitt