Poetry for Kids: Recent Episodes
Kenn Nesbitt
Sometimes magazines ask me to write poems on a specific topic. Earlier this year, an editor at Storyworks 4-6, a multi-genre magazine for students in grades 4–6, asked me to write a poem about being nervous about making new friends on the first day of school. Instead of writing just one poem, I did what I usually do and wrote several different ideas so the editor would have a few to choose from.
In the end, they picked a different poem, called “Friendship Starter Kit,” which you’ll be able to read in the September 2026 issue of Storyworks 4-6. But I liked this one so much that I didn’t want it to sit in a folder on my computer, so I decided to share it here instead.
I think one of the nicest things about making new friends is that sometimes it happens when you least expect it. You don’t always have to plan it. Sometimes all it takes is a funny coincidence, a shared interest, or even grabbing the wrong lunchbox. I hope you enjoy it. This is…
Lunchbox Switcheroo
I brought my new lunchbox the first day of school.
Its Zombie Bananas design was so cool.
I stashed it where lunchboxes go, by the door
alongside a jumble of twenty or more.
At lunchtime the bell rang. I picked up my lunch.
I knew it had grapes and a packet of punch
along with lasagna and some kind of treat.
I rushed to the lunchroom and sat down to eat.
I unlatched my lunchbox and, to my surprise,
found caviar, soufflé, and mini meat pies.
I blinked for a minute, then had to conclude
I’d grabbed the wrong lunch with some other kid’s food.
I jumped from the table and, snapping the lid,
I raced around searching for that other kid.
I found him. He said, “This is your lunch. That’s mine.”
They shared the same Zombie Bananas design.
I said, “You like Zombie Bananas? No way!”
He answered, “Of course! We should meet up and play!”
And that’s how a simple mistake, in the end,
turned into the way that I made a new friend.
— Kenn Nesbitt
Celebrate the upcoming release of The Greatest Book of Poetry Ever Written by Kenn Nesbitt! In this special episode, Kenn shares the story behind his biggest poetry collection yet… a “greatest hits” volume featuring 120 of his favorite poems from across his career, including 18 poems appearing in print for the very first time.
Learn why this book is especially meaningful to Kenn, hear about the wonderful illustrations by Rafael Domingos, and discover why a heartfelt endorsement from Jack Prelutsky makes this release one he’ll always treasure.
Plus, enjoy an exclusive reading of a brand-new poem from the collection, “The Pirate of Pickletown.”
Pre-order the Kindle edition here: https://kennn.com/greatestebook
The paperback and hardcover editions will be released on October 13, 2026.
When I’m writing a poem, I often know how it’s going to end long before I know how it’s will begin. It’s a little like taking a road trip. You don’t usually hop in the car and start driving without a destination in mind. First, you decide where you want to go. Then you figure out how to get there. You might take a wrong turn or two along the way, but if you keep your destination in sight, you’ll eventually arrive.
This poem came together much the same way. The ending popped into my head first, and I knew I wanted to build a poem that would lead naturally to it. The challenge was finding just the right beginning and then connecting all the dots in between. Fortunately, I had two very cooperative octopuses to help me get there. I hope you enjoy it. This is…
Octo-Pair
An octopus walking along the sea floor
was startled to look up and see,
an octopus she’d not encountered before
and cried, “Why, you look just like me!”
He also exclaimed, with a look of surprise,
“Your face looks like mine in the mirror.
We have the same siphons and suckers and eyes.
We’re siblings! That couldn’t be clearer.
“Our tentacles also are all the same size,
with all the same spots on the skin.
It’s plain as can be from the arms and the eyes
that you’re my eye-tentacle twin.”
— Kenn Nesbitt
When I was a kid, it seems like I was always getting in trouble with my parents for misbehaving. The funny thing is, I usually didn’t think I was doing anything wrong. I was just having fun. I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to kick the newly planted flowers in the garden or chew on the edge of the dining room table. Somehow, though, my parents always disagreed. Those childhood memories were the inspiration for this poem, although once I started writing, the idea quickly took on a life of its own. I hope you enjoy it, and if you’ve ever gotten into trouble without quite understanding why, you might just recognize a little of yourself in this one.
I Might Have Misbehaved Today
Mom asked me when I misbehaved.
I said, “I’m not quite certain.
It may have been this morning when
I tried to climb the curtain.
“It might have been at lunch
while throwing pudding at the wall.
Or maybe when I shattered
several windows with my ball.
“Or maybe when my undies clogged
the toilet once again.
I might have misbehaved today.
I’m just not certain when.”
My mother wasn’t happy with
that answer that I gave.
From now on I’ll keep better track
of when I misbehave.
— Kenn Nesbitt
I wrote this poem because I’m due for a haircut next week, and I have reached that awkward stage where my hair feels just a little too long. It’s not quite wild enough to be a problem, but it’s long enough that I find myself looking forward to my appointment and wishing it would get here sooner.
At the same time, summer has finally arrived. After months of cool, rainy weather, the idea of spending time outdoors on a warm, sunny day sounded especially appealing. That got me wondering: what if there were a barber who worked outside instead of inside a shop? Before long, I had imagined Benny Buzzcut, a barber who gives haircuts in his back yard and has become so popular that people come from all over to visit him.
As often happens with my poems, I started with a silly idea and then followed it wherever it wanted to go. Along the way, Benny’s little back yard business grew bigger and busier, and the poem eventually found its own amusing ending. I hope you enjoy meeting Benny Buzzcut as much as I enjoyed writing about him.
Usually, the poems I write begin with some oddball idea that pops into my head, a dragon with problems, a monster Thanksgiving dinner, or a kid with a backpack full of strange surprises. But sometimes I write poems for magazines and classrooms with a particular theme or occasion in mind. That’s exactly how today’s poem came about.
Next month marks the 250th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence, America’s 250th birthday, so I thought it would be fun to write a poem celebrating all the things people enjoy doing on the Fourth of July. Fireworks, sparklers, parades, barbecues, hot dogs, lemonade, bubbles, kazoo. To me, Independence Day has always felt like one big summer celebration filled with noise, color, food, and fun.
The poem first appeared in the May 2026 issue of Scholastic Storyworks 3, a multi-genre classroom magazine for third graders, with wonderful artwork by Paula Becker. I hope it helps get you in the mood for summer, fireworks, and a very big birthday celebration. This is…
Happy Birthday, U.S.A.
Happy Birthday, U.S.A.
Time to party. Time to play.
Wave a sparkler. Wave a flag.
Blow some bubbles. Play some tag.
Drink a glass of lemonade.
March beside the big parade.
Bang a drum or play kazoo.
Have a backyard barbecue.
Eat a hot dog. Eat some pie.
Watch the fireworks in the sky.
Live it up this happy day.
Happy Birthday, U.S.A.
— Kenn Nesbitt
As the school year comes to an end, lots of kids are counting down the days until summer vacation. There’s something exciting about the last few weeks of school: turning in your books, cleaning out your desk, and looking forward to sunny days, sleeping in, and all the fun that summer brings. But the end of the school year can also feel a little bittersweet. Along with saying goodbye to homework and classrooms, you’re also saying goodbye, for a little while at least, to teachers, classmates, playgrounds, and all the routines that made up your year.
That’s what inspired me to write this poem. I wanted to capture that mixture of feelings: the excitement of summer vacation and the realization that there are things about school you’ll actually miss when the year is over. So this poem became a list of goodbyes to some of the little moments and places that make a school year memorable.
Goodbye School Year
Goodbye school year.
You were fun.
But once more
your time is done.
Goodbye classroom.
Goodbye bell.
Goodbye Friday
show-and-tell.
Goodbye playground.
Goodbye slide.
Goodbye games
we played outside.
Goodbye gym
and music too.
Goodbye homework.
(Done with you!)
Goodbye friends.
I’ll miss you all.
Meet you back here
in the fall.
— Kenn Nesbitt
When I was a kid, I loved books where somebody discovered a hidden world in a place where it absolutely shouldn’t exist. Stories like Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, The Phantom Tollbooth, and later Gregor the Overlander all begin with something ordinary—a rabbit hole, a whirlwind, a tollbooth, a laundry-room grate—that suddenly opens into someplace strange, mysterious, and much bigger than it ought to be. I think those kinds of stories stick with us because they make the world feel more magical. They suggest that adventure might be hiding anywhere if we’re curious enough to go looking for it.
That was the feeling I wanted to capture in “At the Bottom of My Backpack.” Most kids know what it’s like to have a backpack or locker full of mysterious stuff buried at the bottom; old papers, forgotten snacks, missing pencils, and things you could swear weren’t in there yesterday. So I started wondering: what if a backpack wasn’t just messy? What if it was actually impossibly deep? What if it kept going and going like a cave or an underground world?
Once I had that idea, the poem became a kind of adventure story. Mostly, though, I hope this poem encourages readers to imagine that even the most ordinary objects might contain surprises. After all, if a backpack can hide an entire world inside it, who knows what else we’ve been overlooking? This is…
At the Bottom of My Backpack
At the bottom of my backpack,
there’s a spot I cannot see.
It’s not that it’s invisible.
It’s just too deep for me.
It’s underneath my books and lunch
and pens and paper clips,
below some candy wrappers
and an empty bag of chips.
I thought I caught a glimpse of it.
But was it really there?
I stuck my arm down in my pack,
but all I felt was air.
I next unzipped it all the way
and pulled it open wide,
then grabbed my trusty flashlight
as I stuck my head inside.
I still could not quite make it out.
It seemed so far away,
and so I climbed completely in
and crawled around… all day!
I wandered through a forest
made of pencils tall as trees,
then down a homework mountain,
notebooks flapping in the breeze.
It seemed to go on endlessly.
I even met some guy
who said he’d be there decades
but could not remember why.
As things kept getting weirder,
I decided I should leave,
and scampered through a tunnel
like a giant hoodie sleeve.
I crept through tangled charger cords.
I stumbled all about.
I’m still inside my backpack
looking for the way back out.
I never thought that I would find
myself in this position.
I’ve left this note behind to say
please send a rescue mission!
— Kenn Nesbitt
Mother’s Day is always celebrated on the second Sunday in May, and since I usually post new poems on my website on Mondays, I started wondering what kind of poem would make sense to share the day after Mother’s Day. That’s when the title “Mother’s Day Disaster” popped into my head. The idea of everything going hilariously wrong on Mom’s special day made me laugh right away, so I knew I had to write it.
In this poem, the narrator tries hard to make Mother’s Day special, but every good intention somehow turns into a catastrophe instead. From terrible breakfasts to overflowing bubble baths to even bigger disasters, the day quickly spins completely out of control. This is…
Mother’s Day Disaster
Mother’s Day was yesterday.
I’m really glad it’s done.
The day was a disaster
when it should have just been fun.
I picked my mom some flowers
from her garden. She got mad.
The slimy scrambled eggs I made
were sickeningly bad.
The oatmeal in the microwave?
Oh, man, did it explode!
The bubble bath I drew for her?
The bathtub overflowed.
About the time I thought that things
could not get any worse,
I tripped and dumped a pot of coffee
straight into her purse.
The day was such a trainwreck
that I wrote this note to say,
my dad should be concerned because
next month is Father’s Day.
— Kenn Nesbitt
Most of the poems I write start with ideas I come up with on my own. But I also regularly write poems for magazines, textbooks, and even standardized tests for schools, where I’m given a specific assignment to work from.
I wrote this poem at the request of my editor at Scholastic Storyworks 1, a multi-genre magazine for first grade. She was putting together an issue focused on phonological awareness and asked if I could write a poem that repeats a beginning consonant blend, something like “fr-fr-freezing,” where kids can really hear and play with the sound.
I ended up writing a few different options, including one about being freezing cold and another about a puppy that likes to “gr-gr-growl.” But this was the one they chose. I liked the idea of using a slushy because it gave me a fun, silly situation where repeating the “sl” sound—slurp, slow, slushy—felt completely natural and playful.
This poem originally appeared in the December 2025/January 2026 issue of Storyworks 1, and it’s meant to be read out loud. The more you lean into those “sl-sl-sl” sounds, the more fun it becomes, and the more it helps young readers hear how those blends work. I hope you enjoy it. This is…
How to Drink a Slushy
If you want to drink a slushy,
there is something you should know.
You shouldn’t slurp it quickly.
You should sl- sl- slurp it slow.
If you try to slurp it quickly,
you will sl- sl- sl- sl- slurp,
then sl- sl- sl- sl- slurp some more,
then sl- sl- sl- sl- BURP!
— Kenn Nesbitt
When October comes around each year, I love writing Halloween poems—especially about monsters, haunted houses, and trick-or-treating. Some of these poems are a little spooky, but most are just meant to be silly and fun, like this one. I started imagining what it might be like if Dracula and his monster friends hosted a Halloween celebration of their own. What would they do if you came knocking on their door? I hope you enjoy the answer.
At Dracula’s Mansion
At Dracula’s mansion, on Halloween night,
the monsters are hiding inside, out of sight.
They patiently wait till the moment is right,
the moment you ring the front bell.
They’ll throw the door open and put on a show,
some magic in front of the pumpkins’ warm glow.
And you’ll have a seat in the very front row
as they cast their magical spell.
The ghost will perform his new vanishing act.
The witch will pull black rabbits out of her hat.
Count Dracula simply turns into a bat
as you’re bravely waiting for sweets.
You might find it scary to be in this fix.
But monsters… well, that’s the way they get their kicks.
At Dracula’s mansion, they always do tricks,
before they give out any treats.
— Kenn Nesbitt
One of the things I’ve loved ever since I was a kid is playing with language; making up silly words, twisting familiar phrases, and asking questions that don’t always have logical answers. I grew up reading nonsense poems like “Jabberwocky” by Lewis Carroll and “The Owl and the Pussycat” by Edward Lear, and I still remember the tongue twisters and silly songs my dad used to recite, like “Fuzzy Wuzzy Was a Bear” and “Mairzy Doats.” Those kinds of playful poems and songs sparked something in me, and they’ve inspired many of the poems I’ve written since.
A few nights ago, just as I was drifting off to sleep, a strange question popped into my head: If it’s a farmer’s job to farm and a teacher’s job to teach, is it a butler’s job to “butle?” It made me laugh so much that I grabbed my phone and jotted it down before I could forget. When I looked at it the next morning, I still thought it was fun. So I ran with it and turned it into a poem.
I hope you enjoy the result as much as I enjoyed writing it.
It’s a Farmer’s Job to Farm
It’s a farmer’s job to farm,
and it’s a teacher’s job to teach.
It’s a dancer’s job to dance,
and it’s a preacher’s job to preach.
But do butlers have to butle,
and do barbers have to barb?
Does a butcher have to butch,
and does a harbor have to harb?
Does a grocer have to groce,
and does a doctor have to doct?
Is a scholar’s job to schol,
and is a proctor’s job to proct?
Does a dollar have to doll
and does the thunder always thund?
If you know, then you’re a wonder,
and your job must be to wond.
— Kenn Nesbitt
When I was in school, I loved to paint and draw. I even thought I would become a comic book illustrator when I grew up! But honestly… I never got very good at it. My pictures usually came out kind of funny, with lots of imperfections. And that’s okay! Everyone makes mistakes when they’re learning something new. It doesn’t matter if you’re practicing the piano, trying a new sport, baking a cake, learning a new language, or painting a picture; mistakes are part of the process. In fact, they’re not really failures at all. They’re what help us get better. This poem is about a kid who learns that very lesson in a pretty silly way. I hope you enjoy it. This is…
My Family Portrait
I painted a picture this morning,
depicting my family and me.
I made some mistakes on my artwork,
mistakes that were easy to see.
I dribbled some paint on the paper.
My mom ended up with three eyes.
My dad had a head like a pumpkin
and hair like an order of fries.
My brother was partially purple,
with zigzags all over his face.
My sister had curly antennae,
and looked like a creature from space.
The little green blob that I splattered
was meant to resemble our dog.
Instead, it appeared that our puppy
was more like an oversized frog.
I nervously showed them my painting.
It turned out they liked it a lot.
They laughed and proclaimed it was perfect.
I’m better at art than I thought.
— Kenn Nesbitt
Have you ever played around with one of those video filters that makes you look older, or younger, or gives you dog ears, or turns your whole face into a cartoon? Apps like Zoom, Snapchat, and others are filled with tools that can instantly change how you look—just for fun. It made me think about the line from Snow White… “Mirror, Mirror on the wall…” What if that magic mirror still existed, but it used artificial intelligence instead of spells and potions?
That idea got my imagination spinning, and the result was this poem. I hope you enjoy it.
AI Mirror On the Wall
AI mirror on the wall,
show me what I’d look like tall.
Dress me in a suit and hat.
Make my face look like a cat.
Change my skin to turn it blue.
Add a beard and mustache too.
Make me young. Now make me old.
Place me on a pile of gold.
Show me what I’d look like blonde,
with a cape and magic wand.
Make my hair short. Make it long.
Make my muscles big and strong.
Thank you, AI. That was fun.
But for now, I think we’re done.
Turn off AI on the wall.
Normal me is best of all.
— Kenn Nesbitt
I’ve always loved writing poems about unusual characters—kids, teenagers, or even adults who do outrageous things or take ordinary situations and turn them completely upside down. “The Reason Vance Learned How to Dance” is one of those poems. It’s about a kid who puts in a ton of effort for one very specific reason… and then something unexpected happens.
Poems like this are a fun way to play with something called irony—that’s when the outcome is the opposite of what you’d expect. Imagine practicing all year to go swimming and then forgetting your swimsuit on the big day. That’s ironic—and also kind of funny! In this poem, Vance is a kooky character who works hard toward his goal, but things don’t quite go as planned.
Let’s see what happens to Vance as he prepares for his big moment…
The Reason Vance Learned How to Dance
The reason Vance learned how to dance
was for his high school prom.
He knew he needed lessons, so
he went and asked his mom.
She taught him how to jitterbug
and how to lock and pop,
and how to do the Bossa Nova
and the Bunny Hop.
She showed him how to do the Robot
and the Tango too,
the Cha-Cha and the Twist, and the
Electric Boogaloo.
He learned to do the Chicken Dance,
the Moonwalk, and the Mule.
At last he felt that he was ready
for the dance at school.
He’d learned a dozen dances, but
he realized too late
he couldn’t go to prom since he
forgot to ask a date.
— Kenn Nesbitt
The other day, I was re-reading my all-time favorite book of poetry, Colin West’s fabulous collection, The Big Book of Nonsense. In Chapter 1, there is a poem simply titled “Knitting.” In Chapter 2, there is a poem called “Octopus.” I was still thinking about the knitting poem when I started reading the octopus poem, and it occurred to me that an octopus who liked to knit would be a funny idea for a poem.
Of course, none of what was in Colin’s poems is in mine. That would be plagiarism (copying someone else’s work), and plagiarism is wrong, wrong, wrong. But it just goes to show you how you can not only find inspiration in the real world, but also in the works of others. Inspiration can come from anywhere, including art, songs, and even other poems. Just make sure to write your own words! Without further ado, here is…
Today I Met an Octopus
Today I met an octopus
who loved to sit and knit.
I watched her weave a woolen cap
and then an oven mitt.
She made a scarf, a pair of gloves,
a sweater, and a shirt,
then turned out several teddy bears,
a blanket, and a skirt.
She made a pillow cover
and pair of knee-high boots,
a hoodie and a tablecloth,
and several three-piece suits.
She made a single slipper next,
and then she made a pair.
She even knitted stockings
and some frilly underwear.
I asked if I could learn to knit.
She told me, “Not right now.
But if you’ll just grow six more arms,
I’ll gladly show you how.”
— Kenn Nesbitt
Sometimes I think of the ending of a poem before I know how it’s going to start. An idea for a good ending can come from anywhere, and sometimes it can even come from a poem someone else wrote. That’s the case with this poem.
The poet Joshual Seigal recently wrote a poem called “Motor Skills.” I loved the ending so much, that I wanted to see if I could write something similar. While his poem and mine are completely different, if you read both of them, you should see how the ending of his poem provided the inspiration for mine.
Also, since this is a poem about shapes, I thought I could also make it a learning experience by including as many common shapes as possible. While everyone knows what a circle and a triangle are, you might not remember what a rhombus or a trapezoid look like. So why not take a moment to refresh your memory.
Triangles Make Me Feel Nervous
Triangles make me feel nervous,
and rectangles make me feel sad.
I’m not at all fond of the rhombus,
and octagons drive me quite mad.
The crescent and heart aren’t my favorites.
The trapezoid’s truly bizarre.
The sphere and the circle are silly.
I’m not a big fan of the star.
Of all of the shapes I can think of,
the square is the best one I’ve found.
I’m always excited to see one.
I like when a square is around.
— Kenn Nesbitt
This poem was inspired by some real-life hair-raising moments in my family. When my daughter was about six years old, she decided, without warning, to cut her own hair one morning before school. Let’s just say the results were… not great. I had to do a quick fix before we dashed out the door. Then, years later, when she was a teenager, she offered to cut her older brother’s hair. That one didn’t go so well either. And, once again, I was the emergency barber. Fortunately, she never tried to cut her parents hair or give the pets a trim. But these memories made me think: what if a kid just couldn’t stop giving haircuts? This is…
My Sister Found Some Scissors
My sister found some scissors.
She climbed up on a chair.
She stood before the mirror
and snipped off all her hair.
She thought it was exciting,
and so, when she was through,
she gave the dog a haircut.
She gave the cat one too.
I even let her cut mine.
She didn’t do too bad.
But when our parents found out,
my goodness, they were mad.
She tried to be a barber.
Now she’s in trouble deep.
She practiced on our parents
while they were both asleep.
— Kenn Nesbitt
My friend and colleague Alan Katz , author of the “Silly Dilly” song books such as Take Me Out of the Bathtub, mentioned that going to be doing a performance called “The Joke Show” and he said that it’s called a “show” because you’re expected to “show up.” Since we both write funny poems, I jokingly asked if there “would be a showdown if I showed up?” As soon as I said it, I realized there was the seed of a poem in there. My wife was on the phone with her mother at the time and as soon as she hung up, she told me that her mom had given her the “lowdown.” That cinched it. I knew I had to write a showdown poem. I hope you enjoy the result.
The Showdown
The bad guys in the black hats,
and the good guys in the white,
declared there’d be a showdown
in the village square tonight.
The word went out for miles around,
so people got the lowdown.
And everyone decided they
should go down to the showdown.
With everybody driving
on the highway to the showdown,
the traffic got so bad that it
became a massive slowdown.
And in the end, the bad guys
and the good guys had no throwdown.
The roads were blocked, so nobody
could show up at the showdown.
— Kenn Nesbitt
Summer is here, and the days are getting hot! I wrote this poem a couple of years ago for Storyworks 2 magazine, just in time for the end of the school year. Now that July has arrived again and the days are scorching, it felt like the perfect moment to share it on the website, along with a little “ice advice.” After all, there’s nothing better than a cool, sweet treat on a scorching day… as long as you remember how to treat your treat. This is…
Ice Pops, Ice Pops
Ice pops, ice pops.
A tasty frozen treat.
Ice pops, ice pops.
Delicious, cold, and sweet.
Nice pops, ice pops,
in summer can’t be beat.
But don’t drop. Ice PLOPS
aren’t as good to eat.
— Kenn Nesbitt
Welcome to Poetry4kids. I’m Kenn Nesbitt.
Have you ever found something unexpected—a hidden passage, a strange map, or a place no one else seemed to know about? Did you then keep it a secret too, or was it too good not to share?
This poem is all about discovering a secret place and exploring the unknown. It also uses repetition to build a rhythm and to heighten the sense of mystery. As you read it, see if you can feel the excitement of the narrator’s journey and maybe imagine where your own secret passageway might be hiding and where it might lead. This is…
I Found a Secret Passageway
I found a secret passageway
behind a secret door,
inside a secret closet that
I’d never seen before.
I tiptoed through that secret door
and down that secret hall
to find a secret room behind
a secret sliding wall.
And in that secret room there sat
a secret pirate’s chest
that held a secret map that led me
on a secret quest.
I traveled down the secret path
upon that secret map,
but tripped a secret switch and fell
inside a secret trap.
I felt around that secret trap
and grabbed a secret latch
that turned a secret handle
and unlocked a secret hatch.
A secret tunnel took me through
a secret catacomb,
then up a secret stairway where
I found myself back home.
I might have found some secret gold
beyond that secret door…
I’d tell you, but it wouldn’t
be a secret anymore.
— Kenn Nesbitt
Welcome to Poetry4kids. I’m Kenn Nesbitt
I thought of the idea for this poem while I was out on a brisk walk one day, feeling unusually full of energy. That got me thinking about how some kids just seem to have endless energy—always moving, always playing, always going. I began imagining what it would be like to be one of those kids, and from there the idea for “Hyper Nate” was born.
This poem is all about motion and excitement and the joy of being active. It has a bouncy rhythm and lots of extra rhymes to match the character’s boundless energy, and of course I had to add a little twist at the end. I hope you have just as much fun listening to it as I did writing it! This is…
Hyper Nate
My name is Nate. My normal state
is one of being hyper.
I’ve been a wild and active child
since I was in a diaper.
You’d be surprised how energized
a kid like me can be.
It’s tons of fun to run and run.
I’m filled with energy.
I’m called “live wire,” and “ball of fire,”
and “human dynamo.”
I love to skip and dash and zip.
I go, go, go, go, go!
I charge and chase and rush and race
until my hyper state
gets so extreme I lose my steam,
and then I hibernate.
— Kenn Nesbitt
Welcome to Poetry4kids. I’m Kenn Nesbitt.
I’ve always enjoyed writing poems about characters who are a little… well… less than excellent at what they do. There’s something especially funny about someone who tries their best but still manages to get everything hilariously wrong. Over the years, I’ve written about a pirate who’s never seen the sea, a scientist who searches for things that don’t exist, an old west bank robber who always fumbles the loot, and many more kooky characters.
This time, I thought it would be fun to take on the classic mystery genre, but with a detective who isn’t exactly solving any mysteries. This is her story and I hope you enjoy it!
Annette the Detective
Annette the Detective is bad at detecting.
She’s crummy at hunting for clues and inspecting.
She can’t catch the bad guys or solve any cases
by following footprints or studying faces.
She doesn’t spot obvious, telltale signs.
She can’t point out patterns or notice designs.
She has no suspicions, not even a hunch.
She’s slow on the uptake (except for her lunch).
She’s bad with disguises, like costumes and masks.
She messes up even the easiest tasks.
She bungled the case of the neighbor’s lost cat.
(The cat was asleep in her Sherlock Holmes hat.)
The criminals cheer when Annette’s on the case.
They know she won’t catch them or even give chase.
If you need a crime solved, it’s better if you
don’t work with Annette—she does not have a clue.
— Kenn Nesbitt
Welcome to Poetry4kids. I’m Kenn Nesbitt. One of my favorite things about writing poems is playing with language—especially when it comes to words or phrases that can mean more than one thing. Sometimes, we use expressions that sound perfectly normal… until you stop and really think about what they say. And when you do, well, they can start to sound pretty silly.
Today’s poem is one of those. It began with a common phrase you’ve probably heard before, and turned into something completely unexpected. Let’s see what happens when everyday language takes a very strange turn. This is…
The Sofa Ate My Father
My dad was on the sofa.
He was watching the TV
when the sofa swiftly swallowed him,
then burped and said, “‘Scuse me.”
I’d never heard the sofa speak,
so that was really weird.
But I was mainly mad because
my father disappeared.
I yelled, “Hey, that’s my dad you ate!
You have to give him back!”
The sofa answered, “Sorry,
but I had to have a snack.
“I didn’t mean to eat your dad.
I know that might seem rude,
but your dad’s a ‘couch potato,’
so I figured he was food.
“I’ll try to be more careful
from now on with what I eat,
and you’ll have him back tomorrow
once he passes through my seat.”
— Kenn Nesbitt
Welcome to Poetry4kids. I’m Kenn Nesbitt.
This poem was inspired by another poet I greatly admire—Jack Prelutsky. I had been reading his poem “As Soon as Fred Gets Out of Bed,” which is a wonderfully silly poem that features underwear. That got me thinking, “Maybe it’s time I wrote an underwear poem too.”
I also remembered another poem Jack wrote years ago called “I’m Growing a Glorious Garden,” where the garden grows musical instruments instead of vegetables. That poem planted a seed in my imagination—what if something even stranger grew in the garden? And that’s when the idea of “The Underwear Tree” came to me.
So I sat down and started imagining a tree that doesn’t grow fruit or flowers, but instead produces all kinds of colorful, comical underpants. And once I started writing, I couldn’t stop giggling.
By the way, if you enjoy poetry about underwear as much as I do, some of my other favorites are Jack Prelutsky’s My Underdog Is Overweight, from It’s Raining Pigs and Noodles, and Karla Kuskin’s A Bug Sat in a Silver Flower, from her book Moon, Have You Met My Mother?
Now, let’s take a walk out to the backyard and see what’s growing on…
The Underwear Tree
Outside, in our garden, you have to come see
the tree that we planted—an underwear tree.
Our underwear tree isn’t like normal plants;
it doesn’t grow fruit, it just grows underpants.
There aren’t any leaves on our underwear tree.
Instead, it grows briefs for my family and me.
It grows tighty-whities and cartoon-print shorts,
and colorful undies of all different sorts.
Some bloomers are blooming, some long johns as well,
but please be aware that they may have a smell.
The clothes on the underwear tree are the type
it’s better to harvest before they turn ripe!
— Kenn Nesbitt
Welcome to Poetry4kids. I’m Kenn Nesbitt. Today’s poem is all about a well-intentioned surprise that doesn’t go quite as planned. With Mother’s Day right around the corner, one young child decides to do something extra special—make breakfast and deliver it to Mom in bed. But sometimes, even the best ideas can turn into a bit of a mess. Stick around for a funny, food-flinging adventure called…
Mother’s Day Breakfast
I brought my mom Mother’s Day breakfast in bed.
I tripped and spilled orange juice right on her head.
She woke with a scream and knocked over the tray.
The coffee dumped out, and it drenched her duvet.
The pancakes went flying and clobbered the cat.
The eggs struck the wall with a sloppy, wet splat!
Our dog started barking and jumping and squealing—
He wanted the sausages stuck to the ceiling.
A whole bowl of cereal spilled on the rug.
Mom giggled and grabbed me and gave me a hug.
She told me, “I love you, so don’t be upset.
This breakfast is one I will never forget.”
— Kenn Nesbitt
Welcome to Poetry4kids. I’m Kenn Nesbitt.
One of the things that I enjoy most about writing poems is playing with words—especially when a word sounds like something else entirely. Today’s poem is one of those where the idea came from imagining a mix-up… the kind of mix-up that might happen if you were shopping for something high-tech and got something completely unexpected instead. This is…
My Smelly Telephone
My telephone is smelly.
It’s a smelly telephone.
I wish it didn’t stink but
it’s the only one I own.
I thought I bought a smartphone
that was also cellular.
It seems that’s not exactly what
they meant by “smellular.”
And so, I learned the hard way
what I didn’t know before…
They don’t sell normal cellphones
when you’re at the smellphone store.
— Kenn Nesbitt
Welcome to Poetry4kids. I’m Kenn Nesbitt.
Sometimes a poem begins with just a sound—two words that almost rhyme, or a funny phrase that gets stuck in my head. That’s what happened with today’s poem. I started playing with the sounds of two familiar words, and before long, I found myself wondering, “What if there were a place where people celebrated one of these things instead of the other?” Though the result may seem a little bizarre, I had so much fun writing it that I just had to share it. This is…
An Oyster Celebration.
There’s an Oyster celebration
every year in Oyster Bay,
when the Oyster Bunny brings
his Oyster eggs on Oyster Day.
They put their Oyster clothes on,
Oyster morning, getting dressed
in their brand-new Oyster bonnets
and their Oyster Sunday best.
They watch the Oyster Day parade
go marching through the streets,
and enjoy their Oyster baskets
filled with tasty Oyster treats.
They listen to the Oyster sermon
given by the priest,
then they have an Oyster egg hunt
and prepare their Oyster feast.
It might seem odd to you and me,
but this is just the way
that they celebrate on Oyster Island
every Oyster Day.
— Kenn Nesbitt
Welcome to Poetry4kids. I’m Kenn Nesbitt.
The seasons are changing, and it feels like winter is finally over—but spring hasn’t really started yet. Where my sister lives, people like to say they have only three seasons: summer, winter, and mud. I always thought that was a funny way to describe this in-between time of year, when the snow is melting, the ground is wet and messy, and everything turns to sludge.
So I decided to write a poem celebrating the muddy, splashy, sock-soaking season that comes right before the flowers bloom and the trees start to bud. For kids who love jumping in puddles and getting a little dirty, it might just be the best season of all!
Splash!
The snow is gone.
Outside I dash.
I jump up high
and then I SPLASH!
A spray of sludge
goes everywhere.
It cakes my clothes
and hands and hair.
I stomp around
in mucky ooze.
It soaks my socks.
It fills my shoes.
It’s such an awesome
time of year
before the signs
of spring appear.
Before new leaves
and flowers bud,
we have my favorite season:
MUD!
— Kenn Nesbitt
Welcome to Poetry4kids. I’m Kenn Nesbitt.
I wanted to write a poem about nature in the springtime, especially for young reader… kids in first grade. Spring is such a fun season to explore the outdoors—you never know what kinds of animals or colors you might see! So I thought it would be fun to create a simple, playful poem that includes both: a list of colorful animals that follow a child home like a parade of pets.
I hope you enjoy the rhythm, the rhyme, and the chance to imagine your own list of colorful animals you might like to have as pets!
I Went for a Walk
I went for a walk
in the woods with my dog.
I found a brown mouse
and a little green frog.
I found a blue bird
and a friendly white rat.
I found a red bug
and a cute orange cat.
They followed me home.
I hope my mom lets
me keep them forever—
my rainbow of pets!
— 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
Do you ever feel like the summer sometimes seems too short? One minute you’re having fun in the pool and the next thing you know, you’re sitting in class practicing spelling and arithmetic. At least, that’s the way it often feels to me. I love the summer, and not just because school is out. I love the sunshine, the warm weather, the fresh fruits, and all the summer activities.
Now, dn’t get me wrong… The other seasons are nice too. But if I had to pick a favorite, it would definitely be summer.
As I was thinking about writing a poem about the summer coming to an end, as it is where I live, I was thinking that it is short as well as summery.
And that’s how the idea for this poem was born. Because it’s such a short poem (much like the idea it expresses), but still has to get the whole idea across, I did have to write several drafts to get it just write. I hope I succeeded and that it brings a smile to your face!
The Summer Isn’t Like a Book
The summer isn’t like a book.
It’s like a book report.
That’s why they call it “summery,”
and why it’s always short.
— Kenn Nesbitt
Hi, I’m Kenn Nesbitt. Welcome to today’s episode of Poetry4kids! With the new school year just starting up here in the U.S., I couldn’t help but think about all those shiny, new back-to-school supplies—new clothes, fresh pencils, spotless notebooks, and clean lunch boxes. There’s something exciting about starting the school year with everything brand new. But as we all know, it doesn’t take long for those new supplies to show a little wear and tear. I wrote this poem to capture what the first week of school is like, from that eager first day to what happens after just a few days of fun and learning. I hope you enjoy it.
The First Week of SchoolThe First Day of School
My pencils are sharpened.
My shirt is brand new.
My pants and my socks and
my sneakers are too.
My folders are empty.
My lunch box is clean.
I’ve got a new phone with
no cracks on the screen.
My notebook is spotless.
My markers are bright.
My scissors are sharp and
my backpack is light.
One Week Later
My pencils are broken.
I tore my new shirt.
My pants, socks, and sneakers
are covered in dirt.
My folders are full and
my lunch box is black.
My notebook is tattered.
My phone has a crack.
My scissors are twisted.
My pack weighs a ton.
My markers are dry.
Man, this week sure was fun!
— Kenn Nesbitt
With the start of a new school year right around the corner, I thought it would be fun to write a humorous back-to-school poem. While kids often feel sad that summer is over and they have to go back to school, parents sometimes have a different perspective. After a busy summer filled with family activities, parents might secretly look forward to a little peace and quiet when school starts again. This poem plays with that idea, showing how parents can celebrate the end of summer in a way that kids might not expect. I hope it brings a smile to your face as you get ready for the school year ahead!
I also used some poetic techniques to make the poem more engaging. You’ll notice repetition with the line, “Our parents are planning a party,” which helps emphasize the main theme and creates a rhythm that makes the poem fun to read aloud. Additionally, there’s a bit of alliteration, like in the phrases “parents are planning a party” and “celebration as soon the summertime ends,” which adds a playful musicality to the poem. These techniques help bring the poem to life and make it more enjoyable to read!
Our Parents Are Planning a Party
Our parents are planning a party,
a feast for their neighbors and friends.
They’re having a big celebration
as soon as the summertime ends.
Our parents are planning a party.
It’s one that they have every year.
My siblings and I always miss it.
They plan it for when we’re not here.
Our parents are planning a party.
We think it’s a little bit cruel,
that they always throw a big party
the day that we go back to school.
— Kenn Nesbitt
Can you believe I wrote an entire poem just so you could learn a new, funny word. Well, I did, and that word is “borborygmus.” A borborygmus is not only a funny-sounding word, but it’s also the sound your tummy makes when it rumbles, usually because of gas moving in your intestines.
When I sat down to write today, my own tummy started grumbling loudly. That happens sometimes when I’m hungry, but today, my tummy was making a lot of noise and I have no idea why. It got me thinking about all the funny and strange sounds our stomachs can make, and that’s how Iggy was born!
In this poem, I had fun playing with words, using assonance, which is where you repeat vowel sounds like “clearly hear” and “loud, resounding howl.” I also used some alliteration, which means repeating consonant sounds at the beginnings of words, like “grumble and growl,” to make the poem more playful and musical. And of course, there’s a bit of exaggeration—or hyperbole—too, with Iggy’s tummy sounds being compared to thunder and even an earthquake! I hope you enjoy hearing about Iggy as much as I enjoyed writing this poem.
Iggy Borborygmus
He’s Iggy Borborygmus, and
whenever he’s around,
without a doubt, you’ll clearly hear
a tummy rumbling sound.
His gut is always gurgling
with a grumble and a growl.
It’s known to groan and moan
or give a loud, resounding howl.
The noises Iggy’s insides make
are something of a wonder.
You’d likely be forgiven if
you thought that it was thunder.
You heard a herd of elephants?
A hungry grunting piggy?
An earthquake hurling furniture?
That probably was Iggy.
But if you think his stomach makes
a loud and rowdy sound,
when Iggy toots,
you truly do not want to be around.
— Kenn Nesbitt
Welcome to Poetry4kids. I’m Kenn Nesbitt. Today, I want to share a new poem that’s based on a true story.
I have a cat named Reed. You might think I named him that because I like to read, but really it’s because he was rescued from a summer camp called Camp Reed.
When I first got Reed, he was just a tiny kitten. I remember how he loved to play and explore, but one thing he really liked to do was scratch. I don’t mean he liked to scratch the furniture or the curtains. I mean he liked to scratch ME.
Even though Reed is now a full-grown cat, he still scratches me sometimes, especially when he gets tired of me petting him too much. This poem is inspired by my experiences with Reed and how much I love him, despite all the scratches. I hope you enjoy “Brand New Cat.”
Brand New Cat
I got myself a brand new cat,
a teeny-tiny kitten.
She’s smaller than your average cat.
She fits inside a mitten.
I’m so in love with my new cat,
it’s fair to say I’m smitten.
I’m also scratched and scraped and scarred
and sliced and slashed and bitten.
— Kenn Nesbitt
Welcome to today’s episode! I’m excited to share one of my favorite types of poems with you—those that play with idioms. Idioms are fun expressions that mean something different from the literal meanings of the words. For example, if I say “it’s raining cats and dogs,” I don’t mean actual pets are falling from the sky! I just mean that it is raining really, really hard.
In this poem, I’ve taken an idiom and explored both its figurative meaning and its literal meaning in a playful way. This particular poem is about the turn of the seasons from summer to fall. As you listen, see if you can spot the idiom and enjoy the clever twist at the end. I hope this poem brings a smile to your face and maybe even makes you think differently about everyday phrases. Now, let’s dive into “The Summer’s Nearly Over.”
The Summer’s Nearly Over
The summer’s nearly over and
the autumn’s coming soon
so I put a pair of pennies
in a helium balloon.
I also took a nickel
and attached it to my drone
and a dime went on a Frisbee
that I hadn’t ever thrown.
I made a paper airplane and
I used some glue and strings
to attach a couple quarters on
the paper airplane’s wings.
I found a fifty-cent piece and
I tied it to my kite,
then I took them to the park today
and launched them all in flight.
I thought I ought to tell you so
that you would be aware
that the summer’s nearly over now
and change is in the air.
— Kenn Nesbitt
When I was in elementary school, everyone would give Valentine’s Day cards to everyone else in the class. In second grade, there was a girl in my class that I really liked, and my father convinced me that I should give her an extra special card. The card was big. It was pink and purple,... Read more »
When my kids were in school, my wife and I packed them each a lunch every day. My wife would sometimes put notes in their lunchboxes, often saying, “I love you.” I always wondered whether they found it embarrassing to have love notes from their mother in their lunches. I never did find out. Instead,... Read more »
I have a dog; a little black pug named Jesse. But I often joke that his name should be Hoover, because he’s so great at cleaning up dropped food that it’s like having a little vacuum cleaner. When people ask about him, I tell them he is a “purebred chow-hound” because he seems to always... Read more »
I have a couple of cats, and they both love to sit on my lap. Whenever I’m watching TV or playing a video game, one of my cats will jump up on my lap and go to sleep. Sometimes, they both sit on my lap at the same time! Over the past few months, I... Read more »
This Christmas poem is all about an “idiom.” In case you don’t know, an idiom is an expression whose meaning is not predictable from the words used. For example, to “kick the bucket” means to die, and to “let the cat out of the bag” means to reveal a secret. If you were just learning... Read more »
If you’ve ever talked to an assistant on a mobile device, like Siri, Alexa, or Google Assistant, you probably know that it doesn’t always understand what you are saying as well as you would like. And, often, when you type on a phone or tablet, the autocorrect feature can make some pretty bizarre mistakes. I... Read more »
When I talk to kids, one question they often ask me is if any of my poems are true? That is, they want to know if any of the things I write about actually happened. Of course, I tell them, “No.” My poems are all fiction, meaning I just made them up. However, many of... Read more »
Do you ever feel like your teacher assigns way too much homework? Do you wish it didn’t take so long, or that there was an easier way to do it? My book When the Teacher Isn’t Looking contains about 50 poems about all the silly things that happen at school, including Homework, I Love You, My Dog Does My... Read more »
Do you walk to school? Ride your bike? Take the bus? Or does your mom drive you to school? Where else does she drive you? Do you play a sport or take lessons after school? If you want to go to the store to buy something, does she drive you there? When I was a... Read more »
I love chocolate. Don’t you? I mean, doesn’t everybody? When I was a kid, my favorite Halloween treats were always chocolate candy bars like Hershey’s, Snickers, and Three Musketeers. After Halloween night, I always ate those ones first. After a few days, all that was left were the candies I didn’t like. I’ve heard that... Read more »