Transcript Poetry Monday

Poetry
Daddy’s Making Dinner
--Jeff Mondak
Daddy’s making dinner
I’ve seen it all before
French fries black and burning
And meat loaf on the floor
Daddy’s making dinner
The sugar bowl just broke
Fido ate the gravy
The house has filled with smoke
Daddy’s making dinner
But I’m not one to moan
Soon he will surrender
And go pick up the phone
Daddy made the dinner
Today’s my lucky day
Dinner’s in the trash can
And pizza’s on the way!
This is the “Poem
of the Week” on
this website.
http://www.jeffspoe
msforkids.com/
The Toy Box Ate My Brother
--Jeff Mondak
The race was on to get a toy
And Thomas was the winner
He beat me to the toy box
But he ended up as dinner
The toy box ate my brother
‘cuz he made a tragic blunder
He entered with a head-first dive
And quickly got pulled under
He kicked his feet and called my name
While our toy box drooled and slurped
I knew dear Thomas was no more
When that toy box loudly burped
No toy box can be trusted
So I make this solemn promise
I’ll rid the world of all of them
In memory of poor Thomas
I know you must be frightened
So I will help you, girls and boys
Just ship your toy box off to me
--along with all your toys!
Check out this site
to hear a song
written from this
poem.
http://www.jeffspoe
msforkids.com/s1.
php?id=5
Fat Squirrel, Flat Squirrel
I saw a squirrel across the street
He must have had a lot to eat
That squirrel was round and kind of fat
Until a taxi squished him flat
--Jeff Mondak
Michael Closed the Bathroom Door
Michael closed the bathroom door,
Hallelujah
Michael closed the bathroom door,
Hallelujah
Michael made it just in time
Hallelujah
Michael made it just in time
Hallelujah
Michael closed the bathroom door,
Hallelujah
Michael closed the bathroom door,
Hallelujah
Michael’s feeling better now
Hallelujah
Michael’s feeling better now
Hallelujah
Michael closed the bathroom door,
Hallelujah
Michael closed the bathroom door,
Hallelujah
Mom won’t make me cook again
Hallelujah
Mom won’t make me cook again
Hallelujah
Aliens Have Landed!
By Kenn Nesbitt
The aliens have landed!
It’s distressing, but they’re here.
They piloted their flying saucer
through our atmosphere.
They landed like a meteor
engulfed in smoke and flame.
Then out they climbed immersed in slime
and burbled as they came.
Their hands are greasy tentacles.
Their heads are weird machines.
Their bodies look like cauliflower
and smell like dead sardines.
Their blood is liquid helium.
Their eyes are made of granite.
Their breath exudes the stench of foods
from some unearthly planet.
And if you want to see these
sickly, unattractive creatures,
you’ll find them working in your school;
they all got jobs as teachers.
My Teacher Loves Her iPod
by Bruce Lansky
My teacher loves her iPod.
It’s always in her ear.
She doesn’t mind it if we joke
or chat ’cause she can’t hear
If we don’t pay attention,
she doesn’t seem to care.
Whenever she has music on,
she wears a distant stare.
Our principal dropped by one day,
and she paid no attention.
He took away her iPod,
and he sent her to detention.
I’d Rather
by Bruce Lansky
I’d rather wash the dishes.
I’d rather kiss a frog.
I’d rather get an F in math
or run a ten-mile jog.
I’d rather do my homework.
I’d rather mow the lawn.
I’d rather take the garbage out.
I’d rather wake at dawn.
I’d rather dine on Brussels sprouts
or catch the chicken pox.
I’d rather do most anything
than clean the litter box.
Little Boy Blue
By Darren Sardelli
Little Boy Blue,
Please cover your nose.
You sneezed on Miss Muffet
and ruined her clothes.
You sprayed Mother Hubbard
and now she is sick.
You put out the fire
on Jack's candle stick.
Your sneeze is the reason
why Humpty fell down.
You drenched Yankee Doodle
when he came to town.
The blind mice are angry!
The sheep are upset!
From now on use tissues
So no one gets wet!!!
Gotta Go!
by Robert Pottle
I gotta go! I gotta go!
I’ll ask the teacher first.
I gotta go! I gotta go!
I think I’m gonna burst.
I gotta go! I gotta go!
I’d better raise my hand.
I gotta go! I gotta go!
But maybe I should stand.
I gotta go! I gotta go!
My hand is raised up high.
I gotta go! I gotta go!
I hope my pants stay dry.
I gotta go! I gotta go!
I’m really in a bind.
I gotta go! I gotta—
Uh-oh. Never mind.
The Yuckiest Sandwich
by Ellen Jackson
Take a slice of moldy bread.
Spread it thick with mud.
Add an onion ring or two,
topped with slimy crud.
Sprinkle fish food all around—
add a dried-up bug.
Smear the whole thing with the lint
you picked up off the rug.
Garnish it with coffee grounds
or hair spray from your mother.
Then wrap it up in cellophane
and give it to your brother!