School Poems*: dd Douglas Evans' Children's Books      School Poems,Too!    
                                                                                                    *From Cozy Up to the Whiteboard/ Use with permission

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                                                                 The School Day Begins
      
     It's Monday morning at 7:01.
     You’re still half asleep; your homework’s half done.
     Your shower is cold; your oatmeal’s dry.
     Your mother forgets to kiss you good-bye.
     You’re walking to school; it’s thirty degrees.
     Your fingers won’t work; your toes and ears freeze.
     Your zipper is stuck; your left sneaker squeaks.
     Your backpack strap snaps; your soup thermos leaks.
     You slip on school steps; you trip in the hall.
     The toilet floods in the bathroom stall.
     The gym door is locked; library’s the same.
     The principal greets you by the wrong name.
     Your classroom is hot; the coat rack is packed.
     Your bean sprout is dead; your clay pot is cracked.
     Your pencils are dull; the sharpener jams.
     Your fingers get crunched when your desktop slams.
     Your math partner’s gone; your neighbor is rude.
     Your teacher’s again in a crabby mood.
     The morning bell rings; it's 8:01.
     Come cozy up to the whiteboard,
     Another school day has begun.    

    Hear the song The School Day Begins (video)! Listen and watch

 


                                                Irene, Tetherball Queen

Like a nimble ballerina,
She'll rise onto her toes.
To swat the orb into orbit;
Around the pole it goes.
We surround the white ring,
Watching the yellow sphere.
The ball and string it's tethered to,
Like magic disappear.
She's the best kid at this game,
Our playground's ever seen.
No one in school can put her out,
Irene, Tetherball Queen.

She's neither strong or very long,
Sweet timing is her skill.
She picks her hits and knows the tricks,
To help her make a kill.
Way high and fast, the ball blows past.
She never let's it stop.
When the rope winds, the T-pole finds,
A turban at the top.
Won't make a lick of difference,
When she becomes a teen.
For now may she enjoy her rein,
Irene, Tetherball Queen.
            
Hear the song Irene, Tetherball Queen! Listen  
                       
                    
                                                                     
      

Gone High Tech

You may have noticed, teacher,
I am not in school today,
But the voice recorder on my desk,
Will pick up each word you say.

Switch on my laptop’s Web cam,
When you have something to show,
And if you pass out homework,
Find my fax number below.

I’ve e-mail and a smart phone,
So I won’t be hard to reach.
Since I don’t need to be in class,
I’ll do lessons at the beach.

Here's the song Gone High Tech! Listen

 


Cuts

I gave cuts to Lena, and she gave cuts to Jim.
Jim gave cuts to Cory; Mac cut in front of him.

Mac gave cuts to Ashley, and she gave cuts to Lee.
Tom took cuts before Dawn, and she gave cuts to me.

And when we left for recess, out the classroom door,
All the kids in our line, stood where they were before.

Here's the song Cuts! Listen




  

 

Homework Load

Not long ago the homework load,
Did Helen little harm.
She hiked to school with one notebook,
Tucked in her little arm.
Homework increased until the girl,
Had no choice but to pack,
Binders, texts and notebooks,
In a sack strapped on her back.
But then how Helen's shoulders slumped,
Her spine started to sag.
So Helen took to pulling books,
In a wheeled luggage bag.
As Helen grew, homework did too,
And fourth grade marked the start,
Of pushing homework to and fro,
In a large shopping cart.
Soon tractors towed her homework load.
Still Helen found no luck.
Next forklifts hauled her homework,
And then a pick-up truck.
But still the work load grew and grew,
And the truck bed overran.
So sixth grade saw Helen driving home,
In a U-Haul moving van.
Helen’s homework load reached its height,
When school closed in the fall.
For teachers assigned so much work,
No kid could move at all.

Hear the song Homework Load! Listen

 

                                                                   A Bee Seas*                                                                               
 *click here from CRICKET magazine



 

                                                                    Writers' Workshop

Our Writers' Workshop follows math.
We write and work nonstop.
But Writers' Workshop doesn't mean,
We ever get to shop.
 

 


Oprah, Our Opera Diva Bus Drive

She  dreams of singing on the opera stage,
But for now she drives our bus.
And each day on the way to school,
She sings arias for us.        

“La-la-la-la-laaaaa!”she warms up,
Folding open the school bus door.        
“Me-me-meeeee!” she sings harmony,
With the bass of the motor's roar.

Riding along, she’ll belt a song,
Jaw wobbling as she grips the wheel.
Hitting the brakes, she hits high notes.
A prima donna duet squeal.

Once she wore a helmet with horns,
And warbled “Ho-jo-to-ho!”
She clutched the gear shift like a spear,
While we cheered, “BRAVO!  BRAVO!

When she sang Madame Butterfly,
She gave us an excellent ride,
Especially when at the end,
She grabbed her kimona and died.

Some day we'll hear her at the Met,
Now librettos lie beside her.
Riding to class is classy because,
Oprah is our diva driver.


Hear the song Opra, Our Opera Diva Bus Driver! Listen


              

 

Upside-Down Playground

They built the playground upside-down.
The jungle gym looks like a crown.
The tetherball still goes around,
But now it rolls along the ground.
The slide spirals into the air.
The climbing pole takes you nowhere.
The monkey bars are like train tracks.
To use them we must bend our backs.
The swings won’t swing; the rings are dead.
We get drinks standing on our head.
The ball wall did an odd flip-flop.
The play fort floor is on the top.
Basketball dunk shots are a breeze.
We start our bar twirls from our knees.
Our parents built is all the wrong way. Now it's topsy-turvy recess play. Hear the song Upside-Down Playground! Listen

 

 

                                                                  Teacher's Pets
               
    For lunch we ate the hot dogs,
    That chased the copy cats,
    That caught the computer mouse.
    That worried the spelling bee,
    That stung the early birds,
    That gobbled the book worms,
    That they stuffed into the hot dogs,
    That we ate for lunch.
    Ick!

Here's the song Teacher's Pets! Listen

 


                                                                   

Sand Sandwich

I bit it.
I spit grit. 

 

Dad’s Going To Make It

 

Dad phoned from the East Coast,
While waiting for a flight home.
He said that he'd make it,                                                                                           
To my school play tonight.
Dad phoned from an airplane,
Somewhere in the air.
Then he gave his promise,
Tonight he would be there.
Dad phoned from the airport.
His plane had landed late.
The time was six-thirty.
My play began at eight.
Dad phoned from a taxi,
Stuck in a traffic jam.
He said I was important.
I said I know I am.
Dad phoned from our kitchen.
He told me not to worry.
Ten minutes till show time.
I said he better hurry.
When the curtain went up,
On stage I searched the place,
As I spoke my first line,
I saw Dad’s smiling face.

Hear the song Dad's Going to Make It!  Listen



              
                                                                           X 

Behold the excellent X,
It expects no excuses.
Dictionaries give it one page.           
But it has many uses.               
In math it means multiply.            
It fills squares in Tic-Tac-Toe.               
Romans counted it as ten.            
It’s a kiss when with an O.            
On bottles it says don ’t  drink.               
Coaches draw it for a play.            
And when written before mas,              
It becomes a holiday.            
On treasure maps it marks spots.        
With Brand X you can not tell.               
Sign on the line beside it.            
It’s jumbo before an L.               
It names a generation,            
Or sports that daredevils do,            
It’s the last name of Malcolm,               
And a ray that sees straight through.           
So if math problems stump you,            
Don’t sit at your desk and pout.               
Use this exciting letter,            
And X the whole thing out.                   

 


U

 No matter how much thinking I do,
I can’t find a word that ends with U.
U begins hundreds of words we use,
And it always must come after Q’s.
Side by side they make a W.
I know that letter ends quite a few.
But who knows a word that ends  in U.
Do you?


 Shrinking Teacher
I saw my last year’s teacher.
Had she shrunk an inch or two?
It took me time to figure
out, She was no shorter... I grew.
H
ear the song Shrinking Teacher! Listen

             
The Noise Expert
  

We each have special talents.
That is what our teachers tell.
Matthew is a whiz in math.
Sabrina does spelling well.

Drew’s the best at Double Dutch.
Sam spits farthest of the boys.
But Tammy’s skill tops them all.
She’s a pro at making noise.

She slaps her cheeks, clicks her teeth.
Her belches are seconds long.
And with hands in her armpits,
She trumpets a catchy song.

She whistles through her fingers,
Or into a blade of grass.
She can blow on her forearm,
Imitating passing gas.

Her knuckles crack like gunshots.
Her two palms squeal with a squeeze.
Fingers snap like castanets,
She plays drum rolls on her knees

My report cards show straight A’s,
I play soccer like a star.
What’s that to Tammy’s talent?
Someday that girl will go far.

Hear the song The Noise Expert! Listen

The Noise Expert set to music by composer Matt Van Brink and performered at the Concordia Conservatory Listen


Apple Island 
                          
 W    
      h
            e
               r
                 e
                 do teachers come from?
                 Who has the slightest notion?
                 Teachers lived on Apple Island,
                 In the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.
                 All the kind teachers set sail for America,
                 And that is where they built the first schools.
                 But the crabby teachers remained on the island,
                 And from his Office Palace, Prince Apple still rules.
                 You might spy teachers hiking on the Great Hall Way.
                 Some might be in the bushes picking off thumbtacks.
                 Many will be on the Grand Playground hard at play,
                 Or down in the mines, drilling colorful crayon wax.
                 Some wade in Purple Lake to fill buckets with ink,
                 And some will be picking paper leaves off trees.
                 Others are filling milk cartons that you’ll drink,
                 At either white or chocolate half-pint dairies.
                 Now you know the truth about teachers,
                 They are different from you or me.
                 They come from a distant land,
              In the middle of the sea.