School Poems, Too*: Children's Books by Douglas Evans Return to School Poems *For school use with permission
Anonymous I enjoy reading funny poems, From Ogden Nash to Roald Dahl, But of the poets that I read, Anonymous is best of all. Each time I read a funny poem, With Anonymous below it, I wonder why she’s still unknown. Who is this wonderful poet?When Chuck Threw Up We saw Chuck bend and his shoulders hunch, Then we saw what Chuck had had for lunch. Lucky Chuck got to go home that day, But in our classroom we had to stay. Hear the song When Chuck Threw UP! ListenIn the Library Reading In the library there is a nook, Where Larry takes his favorite book, And spends the morning like a crook, Since that’s teachers never look, When Larry’s in the library reading. Fiction is what Larry reads most. To far off lands his mind might coast. But far too often he gets engrossed, And forgets the things he is supposed, To, when Larry’s in the library reading. Larry cares not what his grades are, He never adds a books read star, He thinks SSR is too bizarre, And book reports bore him by far. He’d rather be in the library reading. At the time that reading groups to meet, The teacher saw Larry’s empty seat. “Where’s, Lawrence?” she said, not sounding sweet. Then again she heard her class repeat, “Larry’s in the library reading.” Down the hall teacher’s voice did chime, As if Larry committed a crime. “Get back to class! It is reading time!” “Sorry,” he said. “I forget when I’m, In the library reading.” “Lawrence,” said teacher “It’s a concern, When you leave class and don’t return. A good GPA you cannot earn, If you miss lessons and do not learn, When you’re in the library reading.” Larry shrugged and shook his head. He'd not heard one word she said. He grabbed a new book instead, Looking forward to recess ahead, When he'd be in the library reading.Boy With His Head Down
Miles has his head down.
He was the meanest brute.
His head’s down on his desk so much,
It began taking root.
Slender shoots grew down from his ear,
Sank into the desk top.
Tiny buds sprouted from his hair,
To form a flower crop.
We all like Miles a lot better now,
But he can’t come to play.
His head's been down on his desk so much,
We must water him each day.
Here's the song Boy With His Head Down! Listen
Grandpa says they mean victory.
“It’s the peace sign,” my mother said.
But at school they’re called Bunny Ears,
When we hold them behind a head.
Teachers raise them to mean ‘quiet’.
Scouts raise them when their oath’s begun.
But we just raise those Bunny Ears,
When we want to have some fun.
Crabby Mood Don’t make noises. Don’t be rude. Teacher’s in a crabby mood. Don’t be silly. Don’t intrude. Teacher’s in a crabby mood. Don’t complain. Don’t get stewed. Teacher’s in a crabby mood. Don’t be lazy. Do not feud. Teacher’s in a crabby mood.Hans's New ClothesHans marched to the playground, For the Halloween parade. Ghosts and ghouls were lined up, Kindergarten to fifth grade. Music played; the line moved. In his costume Hans felt proud, But when he reached the field, A hush fell on the crowd. Parents gasped; Parents gawked. All video cams turned off. Some boys pointed; some girls laughed. They could hear their teachers cough. “Guess who I am?” Hans said. “Now who do you suppose? I’m from a story my class read. Come see my fine new clothes?” “The Emperor!” all the kids cried. “That’s the best costume ever!” “From Hans Anderson's tale!” “How creative! How clever!” Parents in the crowd scowled. Mad shouts blared everywhere. “Someone put clothes on that boy! He's stark, buck-naked bare!”
All the classrooms filled with turkeys,
The week before Thanksgiving Day.
Kindergartners traced around hands.
First-graders used paper-mâché.
Grade Two stuck feathers in pine cones.
Grade Three cut out a paper plate.
Grade Four pinned gumdrops on apples.
Grade Five stuffed bags to decorate.
We loved the turkeys at our school,
So imagine how we’ll feel
Tomorrow on Thanksgiving Day,
When we’re served turkey at our meal.
Add broken crayons, white chalk dust,
Pencil shavings, red scissors rust.
A pinch of paste, a dab of glue,
That’s what goes into Classroom Stew.
Pour in black paint, six drops of ink.
Squeeze the sponge from the classroom sink.
Mix eraser crumbs, and hand soap goo,
That’s what goes into Classroom Stew.
Sprinkle on fish food, eight lumps of clay,
Silver glitter, paper-mâché.
Rubber cement, gum off your shoe,
That’s what goes into Classroom Stew.
Stir it well; dump it in a cup,
Toast your teacher, and bottoms up.
Hold your belly before you spew.
Then flood the floor with Classroom Stew.
Hear the song Classroom Stew! Listen
Teacher says my handwriting is hard to read.
I could write neater, but I’d never tell her.
Since teacher cannot read the words I wrote,
She cannot tell I’m an even worse speller.
How Substitutes Get Jobs
They each have teacher voodoo dolls,
And into them pins they stick.
So when they want to work at schools,
They can make the teachers sick
Most kids in class bring a lunch from home.
All except one boy who’s named Jerome.
Most kids charge to lunch as if in a race.
“Why rush?” says Jerome. “I’ve reserved my place.”
A maitre d’ greets Jerome in the gym.
He bows and hands a menu to him.
“Good day, sir,” the man says, clicking his heels.
“Your chef’s prepared you a choice of fine meals.”
Jerome sits at the end of our table.
We try to ignore him, but who is able?
China plates are set, one just for his roll,
Two spoons, four forks, and a finger bowl.
A tuxedoed man steps forward to say,
“My name is Pierre; I’m your waiter today.”
We take out sandwiches, and start to munch,
While hearing Jerome order his lunch.
“For my first course a dozen oysters, please.
Some caviar, and a wedge of brie cheese.
“I’ll try the salmon fillet, cedar grilled,
And the jumbo shrimp salad, slightly chilled.
“Pour me a glass of your finest grape juice,
And for dessert an eclair and chocolate mousse.”
Jerome’s first course comes on a tray,
He kisses fingertips like a gourmet.
With a cloth napkin tucked under his chin,
He rubs his palms and gives us a grin.
“I’m so famished,” he says. “Bon appetite.”
And raising his pinkie begins to eat.
But we eat our lunches without remorse,
As Pierre brings Jerome course after course.
“Poor kid,” we think, with a growling belly.
“Nothing beats good old peanut butter and jelly."
Cold Hands“My hands are sooooo cold. My hands are sooooo cold.” The kindergartner cried. Teacher said, “Find your pockets, And stick your hands inside." “I juuuuuuuuuust can’t. I juuuuuuuuuust can’t,” We heard the boy declare. “There’s no room in my pockets. My mittens are in there.”
Teacher Gasoline The coffee teachers constantly drink Is what keeps teachers running, I think.Winslow, the Wild Wheelchair Driver
Winslow whirred off in his wheelchair
When lowered from the bus.
He careened up the front door ramp,
And down the hall toward us.
We clapped and cheered as he came near.
Teachers yelled and scattered.
His chair rammed the janitor’s cart,
And ten light bulbs shattered.
He peeled off in his seat of steel.
Through the office he flew.
When he knocked the copy machine,
A thousand papers strew.
He popped a wheelie, twirling twice,
And rolled down twenty stairs.
He took a corner on two wheels,
And bowled down twenty chairs.
His wheelchair was a silver streak,
Speeding across the gym.
He struck the stage and ricocheted,
With teachers chasing him.
Winslow zoomed into his room.
Toward his desk he tore.
He yanked the brake; the tires made,
Skid marks across the floor.
Running is not allowed in school.
Now one more rule we need.
The next day signs hung in the hall:
10 MPH Maximum Speed.
Etc.Here are three handy letters, E...T...C and then a dot. If you stick them in a story. Teachers think you know a lot...etc.My JournalThis afternoon I wrote in my journal. We had to write about what we did today. I wrote about writing in my journal, And here’s what I had to say: This afternoon I wrote in my journal. We had to write about what we did today. I wrote about writing in my journal, And here’s what I had to say: This afternoon I wrote in my journal…Here's the song My Journal! Listen
Messy Desk Pest
Beware all you kiddies of the Messy Desk Pest,
Who will lurk inside any desk it finds messed.
It lolls among comic books, coins, stinky socks,
Banana peels, paper wads, toys, and rocks.
It nibbles pencils, gnaw pens, and white glue it will slurp.
It chews chalk, chomps crayon, and ends with a burp.
It erases math answers, pops desktops an inch,
If you’re getting out paper, your nose it will pinch.
Warning! During reading be especially aware!
The pest might reach out to snap underwear.
So you’ve been warned kiddies of the Messy Desk Pest.
Let this be a lesson: NEVER LEAVE YOUR DESK MESSED!
Here's the song Messy Desk Pest! Listen
Our School Secretary Seven band-aids, a bloody nose, Forgotten lunches, bright hellos, Twisted ankles, Ritalin pills, Five calls home, two orange juice spills. A lost jacket, a stain to soak. An ice packet, zipper that broke Ripped pair of pants, some muddy shoes. Dog in the hall, a purple bruise. Cupcakes to class, lozenge for throat. Two peeved parents, a tardy note. Janitor found, a tummy ache. Papers copied, announcements to make. Our secretary has lots to do. We think she helps our principal, too. School Pictures In preschool I wore pigtails Did I ever look that young? And Joe stood in the front row, Sticking out his tongue. In first grade I stood in back. Overnight my height had sprung, And Joe stood in the front row, Sticking out his tongue. In fifth grade I wore blue jeans. Past my shoulders my hair hung, And Joe stood in the front row, Sticking out his tongue. In eighth grade I had pimples. The braces on my teeth stung, And Joe stood in the front row, Sticking out his tongue. In tenth grade I wore makeup. My short skirt tightly clung, And Joe stood in the front row, Sticking out his tongue. In my graduation picture, I faced the future unsung, But Joe still stood in the front row, Sticking out his tongue.Pledge to the FlagI pledge allegiance to the flag,
Above the whiteboard every day. So why must I repeat myself? Don’t teachers believe what I say?Here's the song Pledge to the Flag! Listen