POEM FOR CHILDREN: A Tiger’s Fur

tigerfur

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POEM FOR CHILDREN: Amanda Minty-Twist

Amanda Minty-Twist

 

My breath is fresh

as fresh can be—

Amanda Minty-Twist

kissed

me.

 

I cannot have

a cavity—

Amanda Minty-Twist

kissed

me.

 

I’ll throw my brush

and paste away

because her breath’s

the best breath-spray.

 

And yes, it’s fresh

as fresh can be.

Amanda Minty-Twist

kissed

me.

                                            

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What’s the Moon?

What’s the moon?

A PANCAKE.

And syrup is the sun.

It dumps its lovely goldenbutterstuff

on everyone.

 

                                          

From Monkey Shines, an unpublished manuscript of night-themed poetry for children.

 

A Banana

How can a

banana

be glowing up dere

so golden

and bold in

da night?

 

Dere must be

a monkey

who lugged it up dere

who licked it

and sticked it

on tight.

                                         

From Monkey Shines, an unpublished collection of night-themed children's poetry.

 

My Flavourite Favour

Orangutan, do me a flavour!

What flavour?

Orange like you, my sweet.

Just take this jar of marmalade,

and smear it on my feet.

And when my toes are stuck together, dear,

won’t that be neat?

 

I will, if you do ME a flavour.

What flavour?

Why child, a strawberry one.

Just take this triple ice-cream cone,

and melt it in the sun,

then very gently pour it on my head,

and watch it run.

 

Of course I can, orang-utan!

And you know I’LL do IT

of all the favours in the world,

THAT’S my flavourite!

 

                                        

From The Conga Lion, an unpublished collection of jungle-themed poetry for children.

 

 

Skippy!

The Skippy Warthog

(Yipee!

Look at me!)

runs

with the sun

above him.

He’s a warty,

snorty,

piggy little thing,

but his mother loves him.

 

What a fine swine,

that Skippy of mine.

Skip, Skippy, skip –

yipee!

My pride and joy!

My hairy-legged boy!

Oh, skip, Skippy, skip –

yipee!

 

Yes!

The Skippy Warthog

(Oh!

Here I go!)

runs

with the sun

above him.

He’s a zippy,

trippy,

skinny little thing,

but his mother loves him.

                                   

From The Conga Lion, an unpublished collection of jungle-themed children’s poetry.

The Little Elephant

elephant

The squeaky little elephant,

all day long, sings his mama’s song –

but it comes out wrong!

Though he blows his nose,

and grows his cheeks,

and practices week after week after week,

nothing comes out

but a sweet sneakersqueak –

eeeeeeeeeek

(a teeny air leak).

“Too bad,” he says. “Too bad.”

Little elephant’s so sad.

 

Sometimes, mama elephant,

walking along, hears the little song

coming out all wrong.

Of course she knows

it’s just a squeak –

but he does practice week after week after week.

So when nothing comes out

but a cupboarddoor creak –

eeeeeeeeeek

(a mini mouse shriek),

his mama says, “That’s LOUD!”

Little elephant’s so proud.

*     *     *

From The Conga Lion, an unpublished collection of jungle-themed children’s poetry.