Poetry for Kids

Kenn Nesbitt

Funny poetry for kids by children’s author and former US Children’s Poet Laureate, Kenn Nesbitt.

Episodes

  1. 1d ago

    Benny’s Back Yard Barbershop

    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.

    3 min

  2. Jun 1

    Happy Birthday, U.S.A.

    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

    2 min

  3. May 26

    Goodbye School Year

    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

    2 min

  4. May 18

    At the Bottom of My Backpack

    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

    4 min

  5. May 11

    Mother’s Day Disasaster

    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

    2 min

  6. May 4

    How to Drink a Slushy

    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

    2 min

  7. Apr 27

    Rusty Roads

    Every once in a while, I find myself coming back to one of my favorite kinds of poems to write. I especially enjoy creating characters who are terrible at the one thing they are supposed to be good at. There is something inherently funny about that idea. Over the years, I have written poems like “The Pirate of Pickletown,” “Lorenzo Liszt, Non-Scientist,” and “Steve the Superhero,” all featuring characters who somehow manage to get everything completely wrong. This poem began the same way. I started thinking about a race car driver, someone whose job is to go fast and win races, and wondered what it would be like if he did the exact opposite. Instead of speeding ahead, what if he took his time, got distracted, and treated the race more like a leisurely Sunday drive? This is how Rusty Roads came to be. As I wrote, I had fun imagining all the little things he might do differently from a typical race car driver, especially the kinds of habits that would make him a very polite, very careful, and very unsuccessful racer. I hope you enjoy meeting Rusty as much as I enjoyed writing about him. You may even find that he has a pretty good reason for doing things his own way. This is… Rusty Roads The race car driver Rusty Roads has never won a race. In fact, the best he’s ever done is thirty-seventh place. He likes to find the scenic route and take it nice and slow. He’ll stop to ask directions then forget which way to go. He’ll honk the horn and flash the lights, but then forget to steer. He’ll holler, “Vroom, vroom, vroom!” while driving in the lowest gear. He slams the brakes at every turn but barely taps the gas. He likes to smile and wave at other drivers as they pass. He’ll pull off on the shoulder when he wants to have a nap. He’s proud to take his time and come in last on every lap. And if you ask him why, without a moment’s hesitation, he’ll tell you, “Life’s about the journey, not the destination.” — Kenn Nesbitt

    3 min

  8. Apr 20

    A Spring in My Step

    Some poems begin with a big idea, and others start with something small and simple. This one began when I was out for a walk on a beautiful day. The weather was just right—not too hot, not too cold—and everything felt bright and cheerful. Without even thinking about it, I realized I had a little extra bounce in my step. That expression, “a spring in my step,” has always made me smile. It’s such a happy way to describe that feeling when you’re full of energy for no particular reason at all. I liked the sound of it, and I liked the feeling behind it, so I decided to see if I could turn that idea into a poem. As I wrote, I had fun imagining all the different ways that feeling might show up, skipping, bouncing, practically floating along. But the real challenge was figuring out why it was happening. I tried a few possibilities before settling on the one that felt just right. I hope this poem puts a little spring in your step too. A Spring in My Step I’m bopping along with a spring in my step. I’m skipping and leaping and loaded with pep. I’m bounding around like I don’t have a care. I feel like I’m practically walking on air. I’m bouncing along like a red rubber ball. My head’s in the clouds like I’m twenty feet tall. It’s not that I got some extremely good news, or ate lots of candy, or bought some new shoes. But after each winter I get the same thing… a spring in my step as we step into spring. — Kenn Nesbitt

    2 min

  9. Apr 13

    On the Street There’s a House

    Ever since I was a kid, I’ve loved poems and stories that build on themselves—ones where each new line adds something to what came before. You might know stories like “The House That Jack Built” or “There Was an Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly.” They’re fun because you can almost predict what’s coming next, and sometimes you can even join in as they go along. I’ve always wanted to write a poem like that, something that stacks one idea on top of another, step by step. I also really enjoy stories that are a little bit meta. That’s a fancy word that means a story that knows it’s a story. For example, in my book MORE BEARS!, the author is actually inside the story, trying to write it while everything keeps going wrong. I’ve also written poems where I discover words and turn them into the very poem you’re reading, or where the poem loops around and ends up right back where it started. I even wrote one about building a time machine after my future self came back to show me how! So when I wrote this poem, I wanted to combine those ideas, a poem that builds and builds, and maybe does something a little surprising along the way. I hope you enjoy it. This is… On the Street There’s a House On the street there’s a house. On the house there’s a door. Through the door there’s a room. In the room there’s a floor. On the floor there’s a stain. On the stain there’s a rug. On the rug there’s a leaf. On the leaf there’s a bug. On the bug there’s a wing. On the wing there’s a vein. On the vein there’s a zigzag that leads to a lane. On the lane there’s a car. In the car there’s a seat. In the seat there is you as you drive down the street. On the street there’s a house. On the house there’s a door. Through the door there’s a room. Do I need to say more? — Kenn Nesbitt

    3 min

  10. Mar 23

    The Perfect Cake

    Most of the time, when I write a poem, the idea sneaks up on me. It might come from something I see, something I hear, or just a silly thought that pops into my head and refuses to leave. But every now and then, I get a very specific assignment. That’s what happened with this poem. An editor at Storyworks 4–6, a magazine for students in grades four through six, asked me to write about a kid who tries to do something nice for their mom’s birthday, and tries to do it perfectly, but ends up with hilariously disastrous results. Now, if you’ve ever tried to cook or bake something on your own, you might already know that things don’t always go according to plan. Sometimes you forget an ingredient. Sometimes you add the wrong one. And sometimes… well… sometimes your cake ends up looking a lot more like meatloaf. As I was writing this poem, I had a lot of fun imagining just how wrong things could go in the kitchen, and how the character might keep going anyway, trying their best to make something special. This poem was originally published in the February 2026 issue of Storyworks 4–6. I hope it makes you laugh, and maybe even reminds you that sometimes the love that goes into what we do is more important than a perfect result. This is… The Perfect Cake Today’s my mother’s birthday. She’s a connoisseur of cakes. I tried to bake a masterpiece but made a few mistakes. I couldn’t find the flour, so I stirred in mashed potatoes, then turned it red as roses by including stewed tomatoes. I knew that eggs were needed, but is seventeen too many? We had no milk or butter, so I couldn’t put in any. The sugar was the weirdest part; it tasted just like salt! Her “cake” came out like meatloaf, which was clearly all my fault. Mom said, “This cake is perfect and you’ve totally succeeded! You made it with a lot of love, and that is all I needed.” — Kenn Nesbitt

    3 min
  • 10 Episodes

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About

Funny poetry for kids by children’s author and former US Children’s Poet Laureate, Kenn Nesbitt.

Information

  • Creator
    Kenn Nesbitt
  • Years Active
    2012 - 2026
  • Episodes
    10
  • Rating
    Clean
  • Show Website
    Poetry for Kids