After writing about children's songs, I'll switch to the words alone of children's poetry. After hearing Michael Rosen on the radio many years ago, I became hooked on his poems, and bought collections of his children's and adults poems, and have to admit I prefer the children's. As a child I loved Hilaire Belloc and also Ogden Nash, who wrote for adults but appealed to both.

Here's my favourite, Don't put mustard in the custard, by Michael Rosen, which I originally heard him read on the radio.

Don't do,
Don't do,
Don't do that.
Don't pull faces,
Don't tease the cat.

Don't pick your ears,
Don't be rude at school.
Who do they think I am?

Some kind of fool?

One day
they'll say
Don't put toffee in my coffee
don't pour gravy on the baby
don't put beer in his ear
don't stick your toes up his nose.

Don't put confetti on the spaghetti
and don't squash peas on your knees.

Don't put ants in your pants
don't put mustard in the custard
don't chuck jelly at the telly
and don't throw fruit at the computer
don't throw fruit at the computer.

Don't what?
Don't throw fruit at the computer.
Don't what?
Don't throw fruit at the computer.
Who do they think I am?
Some kind of fool?

Michael Rosen

What are some of your favourites?

I Will Not Tease Rebecca Grimes

by Dave Crawley


I have to write one hundred times:
"I will not tease Rebecca Grimes."
Okay, that’s one. I’m far from done.
(This isn’t gonna be much fun.)

"I will not tease Rebecca Grimes."
That’s two. I’m paying for my crimes.
It’s all because I pulled her hair
And put spaghetti on her chair.

Because I gave her goofy looks
And squirted mustard on her books,
I have to write one hundred times:
"I will not tease Rebecca Grimes."

That’s three. Whoopee. It’s going slow.
Just ninety-seven more to go.
"I will not tease" (I’m keeping score.)
"Rebecca Grimes." (Now that makes four.)

I’m soaked with sweat. My shirt is damp.
I think I’m getting writer’s cramp.
"I will not, will not, will not tease
Rebecca Grimes!" Can I stop, please?

The teacher frowns, and that means no.
I still have sixty-six to go.
"I will-will-will not-not-not-not
Tease-tease-tease-tease…" It’s getting hot.

"I will not tease Rebecca Grimes."
That’s ninety-nine. The school bell chimes.
Just one more line and I’ll be through.
Rebecca Grimes, this one’s for you!

My final line will rhyme with "Grimes":
"I will not tease Rebecca…Slimes!"
Rebecca Slimes! Ha ha! That’s great!
I’d better hide it. Oops! Too late!

The teacher sees what I wrote down.
She takes my paper with a frown.
I now must write one thousand times:
"I will not tease Rebecca Grimes."

Less literary but totally unforgetable:

The Goops they lick their fingers,
And the Goops, they lick their knives,
They spill their broth on the tablecloth,
Oh!, they lead disgusting lives!

My favourite is Robert Lewis Stevenson's "From A railway carriage" (I think was the title) which began "Faster than fairies, faster than witches..."

a more serious and sad poem I have always loved is Little Boy Blue by Eugene Field

The little toy dog is covered with dust,
But sturdy and stanch he stands;
And the little toy soldier is red with rust,
And his musket moulds in his hands.
Time was when the little toy dog was new,
And the soldier was passing fair;
And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue
Kissed them and put them there.

"Now, don't you go till I come," he said,
"And don't you make any noise!"
So, toddling off to his trundle-bed,
He dreamt of the pretty toys;
And, as he was dreaming, an angel song
Awakened our Little Boy Blue---
Oh! the years are many, the years are long,
But the little toy friends are true!

Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,
Each in the same old place---
Awaiting the touch of a little hand,
The smile of a little face;
And they wonder, as waiting the long years through
In the dust of that little chair,
What has become of our Little Boy Blue,
Since he kissed them and put them there

I think there is a tie between my three absolute favorite children's poets. A.A. Milne, Dr. Seuss and Shel Silverstein.

For Mother's Day last year, my husband bought me the 30th anniversary edition of Where the Sidewalk Ends. I mourned Shel's death in 1999 just as I mourned for the loss of Jim Henson and Dr. Seuss. When I read the last poem in this edition of Where the Sidewalk Ends I cry every time. It says "The pen is almost out of ink, but I still have enough, I thin..." I can't help myself. It brings me to tears. (That isn't a typo, the K is missing at the end...)

Shel:

If you are a dreamer, come in,
If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar,
A hope-er, a pray-er, a magic bean buyer,
If you're a pretender, come sit by my fire
For we have some flax-golden tails to spin.
Come in!
Come in!


A.A. Milne:

Wherever I am, there's always Pooh,
There's always Pooh and Me.
Whatever I do, he wants to do,
"Where are you going today?" says Pooh:
"Well, that's very odd 'cos I was too.
Let's go together," says Pooh, says he.
"Let's go together," says Pooh.

"What's twice eleven?" I said to Pooh.
("Twice what?" said Pooh to Me.)
"I think it ought to be twenty-two."
"Just what I think myself," said Pooh.
"It wasn't an easy sum to do,
But that's what it is," said Pooh, said he.
"That's what it is," said Pooh.

"Let's look for dragons," I said to Pooh.
"Yes, let's," said Pooh to Me.
We crossed the river and found a few-
"Yes, those are dragons all right," said Pooh.
"As soon as I saw their beaks I knew.
That's what they are," said Pooh, said he.
"That's what they are," said Pooh.

"Let's frighten the dragons," I said to Pooh.
"That's right," said Pooh to Me.
"I'm not afraid," I said to Pooh,
And I held his paw and I shouted "Shoo!
Silly old dragons!"- and off they flew.

"I wasn't afraid," said Pooh, said he,
"I'm never afraid with you."

So wherever I am, there's always Pooh,
There's always Pooh and Me.
"What would I do?" I said to Pooh,
"If it wasn't for you," and Pooh said: "True,
It isn't much fun for One, but Two,
Can stick together, says Pooh, says he. "That's how it is," says Pooh.


My favorite poem that isn't as long as a book, which most of Seuss's poems are, is "What Was I Scared Of" in which we meet a pair of pale green pants with nobody inside them. But alas, it is too long to post here. But I feel I must share a birthday present I made for my sister for her 25th:
http://www.craftster.org/forum/index.php?topic=1946.0

Edited to add:
That link up there is to another forum. I will admit that not everything there is exactly family appropriate, but it isn't a commercial site, and the link has my explanation of the pictures as well as the pics themselves. However, if a mod objects, I CAN just post links to the pics. I thought it might be nice for anyone who looked at them to read about the process as well.

I've always been a Eugene Field fan too, and my favorite children's poem is Wynken, Blynken and Nod:

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night
Sailed off in a wooden shoe ~
Sailed on a river of crystal light,
Into a sea of dew.
"Where are you going, and what do you wish?"
The old moon asked the three.
We have come to fish for the herring fish
That live in this beautiful sea;
Nets of silver and gold have we!"
Said Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.

The old moon laughed and sang a song
As they rocked in the wooden shoe,
And the wind that sped them all night long
Ruffled the waves of dew.
The little stars were the herring fish
That lived in the beautiful sea ~
"Now cast your nets wherever you wish ~
Never afeard are we";
So cried the stars to the fisherman three:
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.

All night long their nets they threw
To the stars in the twinkling foam ~
Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe,
Bringing the fishermen home;
'Twas all so pretty a sail it seemed
As if it could not be,
And some folks thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed
Of sailing that beautiful sea ~
But I shall name you the fishermen three:
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,
And Nod is a little head,
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
Is a wee one's trundle-bed.
So shut your eyes while mother sings
Of wonderful sights that be,
And you shall see the beautiful things
As you rock in the misty sea,
Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three:
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.

Lothruin and Mandelbrotset have mentioned some of my favorites. Another great Shel Silverstein poem that I loved when I was very little is "Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Mee Too." (It was the first poem that I memorized, long before I was forced to by mediocre teachers who thought that memorization is the only way to teach poetry!) I also had a book called "A Great Big Ugly Man Came Up and Tied His Horse to Me." I can't remember who wrote it or who illustrated it, but it was full of silly, rhythmic poems. My two-year-old now loves it.

I liked Hilair Belloc and Edward Lear. I particularly liked "The Owl and the Pussycat" by Lear.

I
The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
'O lovely Pussy! O Pussy my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are,
You are,
You are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!'



II
Pussy said to the Owl, 'You elegant fowl!
How charmingly sweet you sing!
O let us be married! too long we have tarried:
But what shall we do for a ring?'
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Bong-tree grows
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
With a ring at the end of his nose,
His nose,
His nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.


III
'Dear pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
Your ring?' Said the Piggy, 'I will.'
So they took it away, and were married next day
By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon,
The moon,
The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.

I also like Hilair Belloc. I think my favourite is "Jim, the boy who was eaten by a lion"