Funny Poems for Kids - Page 2

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21. I Hate Brussels Sprouts!

As kids, my brothers and I all hated Brussels sprouts. We were not allowed to leave the table until we had finished, though I'm sure there were times when my parents caved because they couldn't stand the whining and tantrums any longer. To this day, I refuse to eat them, but both my brothers have grown to like them. I feel somewhat betrayed!
- By Cynthia C. Naspinski
- Published: April 2020
Trying To Get Out Of Eating Brussels Sprouts

I know that stink! I have no doubts
That Mom has cooked up Brussels sprouts.
Of all the things that I despise,
The Brussels sprout would take first prize.

I know that stink! I have no doubts
That Mom has cooked up Brussels sprouts.
Of all the things that I despise,
The Brussels sprout would take first prize.

I've blocked my nose and tried to swallow,
Guzzled lots of milk to follow,
But I can tell you nothing works
'Cause in my mouth the taste still lurks.

Once I slipped one in my pocket,
But after dinner I forgot it.
Next day I shoved my hand in there
And gave myself a nasty scare.

In Mom's pot plant I used to hide
A sprout or two, but then IT DIED!
And now my sister's learned to count,
I can't add to her sprout amount.

My dog won't even help me out.
He will not eat a Brussels sprout.
He'll lick his butt, eat possum poop,
But to eat sprouts he will not stoop.

Maybe it is just as well
Because his farts already smell.
He does not need a Brussels sprout
To turbocharge what's coming out!

Please Mom, can we work out a deal
That gets me out of this here meal?
I'd clear the table, do the dishes,
Be your genie, grant you wishes.

I'd clean my room a little later
And feed the dog (that little traitor!).
I'd pull weeds till my hands blister.
I'd even play nice with my sister.

But Mom, it would be best all around
If other veggies could be found,
So we could all just go without
The gross, revolting Brussels sprout!
Published by Family Friend Poems with permission of the author.

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22. Musings Of A Three-Year-Old

I am the mother of a three-year-old girl, and my poem is inspired by my experiences with her. Children perceive the world very differently from adults. Through my poem, I am trying to give voice to the daily frustrations that a preschooler must likely face.
- By Nida Mathew
- Published: February 2020
The World Through The Eyes Of A Preschooler

How tiring it is
To be three years old.
Sit here, eat that,
Be constantly told.

How tiring it is
To be three years old.
Sit here, eat that,
Be constantly told.

I would like to stomp
My feet when I'm mad,
Watch Peppa Pig all day.
Is that so bad?

Once in a while
I want to stand on the table,
Fling a few things around.
That's not unreasonable.

Instructions, instructions,
Everything is forbidden.
All the fancy breakable things
From me remain hidden.

I have many a plan
For when I grow up.
First and most importantly,
Till late I'll stay up.

I'll go around in circles
Until I'm nice and dizzy,
Sprint up and down the house,
Send everyone in a tizzy.

I'll eat all the chocolate
I can find around the house.
Next, I'll attack the chips,
Then the cookie jar I'll browse.

Yes, once I'm older,
My wings I'll unfurl.
Until then, I'll bide my time
And be a good little girl.
Published by Family Friend Poems with permission of the author.

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23. Grandad Can't See His Feet

Have you ever stood in the shower, looked down and been unable to see your feet without leaning forward? No, neither have I!
- By Graham Craven
- Published: April 2019
Funny Poem About Grandad Getting Fat

Granddad's got new glasses,
But he still can't see his feet.
No, his eyes are not the problem.
It's the amount of food he eats.

Granddad's got new glasses,
But he still can't see his feet.
No, his eyes are not the problem.
It's the amount of food he eats.

People often stop and ask,
"Is his belly real,
Or did he eat a basketball
With last night's evening meal?"

One day he'll surely pop
And Gran will go berserk. She'll say,
"See what you've done, you greedy old fool,
Making me more work."

Granddad will simply laugh and say,
"Now look, my turtle dove,
If I keep getting bigger,
There'll be more of me to love."

He calls himself the perfect man,
"Every Grandma's dream,"
Then a smirk spreads across his face
Like the cat that got the cream.

Granddad may be extra large,
But he's a sweet and lovely guy,
The heavyweight champion of the world,
And the toffee apple of my eye.
Published by Family Friend Poems with permission of the author.

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Grandma may be splittin hairs
to call Grandpa rotund,
but I believe she's got it right
as he weighs in at a quarter ton!

And just between you and me
and the lamppost on the...

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24. I Hate Peanut Butter

None of my friends ever understood why I didn't like peanut butter. Apparently, it's a delicatessen. Anyway, I wrote this poem to explain my distaste for it in a humorous way. Enjoy.
- By Innarenko
- Published: September 28, 2021
A Distaste For Peanut Butter

These words I say without a stutter:
I hate the taste of peanut butter!
In Reese's chocolate it may stay
But keep the butter far away.

These words I say without a stutter:
I hate the taste of peanut butter!
In Reese's chocolate it may stay
But keep the butter far away.
It leaves a lump inside my belly,
It's even worse when paired with jelly!
I hate its texture, hate its smell;
If I go near it, I'm unwell.
My family tells me I'm dramatic
But against PB I stay emphatic.
If you're craving butter thick,
You might as well just eat the stick,
Or wear it as a winter coat
But keep it furthest from your throat!
Last time I ate it, things went south;
My tongue got glued inside my mouth!
If you include it in my lunch,
I'll very likely throw a punch.
I'd gladly eat a Brussels sprout
But keep the peanut butter out!
Published by Family Friend Poems with permission of the author.

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Oh what fun at a time when there's a sense of so much doom and gloom. More please!
Best wishes, Ann

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25. Yucky Chucky Tucker

I wrote this poem when my children were young. I think everyone young and old alike can relate to a Yucky Chucky Tucker. I remember going to school with a young man just like that. Things sure change as we get older lol. Hope you enjoy
- By Kathy J. Parenteau
- Published: August 2012
Yucky Chucky Tucker was smelly as can be,
he never took a bath and hardly ever brushed his teeth.
Everywhere he went he left an odor in the air,
and Yucky Chucky Tucker never combed his hair.

Yucky Chucky Tucker was smelly as can be,
he never took a bath and hardly ever brushed his teeth.
Everywhere he went he left an odor in the air,
and Yucky Chucky Tucker never combed his hair.
His hands were always dirty cause he played with stinky worms,
he never cared if he got sick, he wasn't afraid of germs.
He didn't have a lot of friends except for one or two,
till Yucky Chucky Tucker met little Linda Sue.
Linda was quite pretty, an awesome sight to admire
and Yucky Chucky Tucker would give anything to sit by her.
But he'd have to make some changes and what I mean by that,
Yucky Chucky Tucker would have to take a bath.
He'd have to wash his hands and scrub his dirty face,
and to clean his stained up yellow teeth would take a tube of paste.
He'd have to wash his hair at least a dozen times,
to remove the terrible build up of sticky greasy grime.
Then Yucky Chucky Tucker would have to change his clothes,
sprinkle on cologne and find a bright red rose.
And maybe if he's lucky little Linda Sue,
might take another look at him and think he's really cute.
Funny how a pretty girl can change the way you think,
cause even Yucky Chucky Tucker washed away his stink,
All to catch the eye of little Linda Sue,
besides, her daddy owned a toy store, now what's a boy to do?
Published by Family Friend Poems with permission of the author.

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26. My Kitty

This poem is for all of the cat lovers who have ever watched their cats chase a bug.
- By Debra L. Brown
- Published: January 2019
Watching A Kitten Hunt

I once had a kitty
who had stripes in her fur.
I could pet her and brush her,
and boy could she purr.

I once had a kitty
who had stripes in her fur.
I could pet her and brush her,
and boy could she purr.

She was a mighty hunter,
and she was not shy.
She'd seek out the bugs,
especially the flies.

Oh, you mischievous little kitty,
with your face in the can.
That fly you are chasing
is now on the stand.

That nasty old bug
thinks he's smart and witty.
But he's never tangled
with my little kitty.

He thinks he's outsmart her,
that clever old bug.
She'll curl up and wait there
on that big fluffy rug.

My clever little kitty,
oh no, she's no dope.
She'll sit back and wait.
She'll show him the ropes.

She curled up and waited,
like a clever old spy.
Then she jumped up
and pounced on that taunting old fly.

So the moral of the story,
if you are a fly,
don't mess with my kitty,
or you will soon die.
Published by Family Friend Poems with permission of the author.

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Thank you, Brittany, for taking the time to comment on my poem. You were to kind with your words. I hope this poem brought a smile to your heart. -God Bless-

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27. The Sugar-Plum Tree

“The Sugar-Plum Tree” is a perfect “bedtime story” for children about sweet treats that make up an imaginary town. Eugene Field (1850-1895) wrote “Funny Fancies,” a humorous column for the St. Louis Journal. He also became known as the “Poet of Childhood” because of his children’s poetry.
- By Eugene Field
Have you ever heard of the Sugar-Plum Tree?
'Tis a marvel of great renown!
It blooms on the shore of the Lollypop sea
In the garden of Shut-Eye Town;

Have you ever heard of the Sugar-Plum Tree?
'Tis a marvel of great renown!
It blooms on the shore of the Lollypop sea
In the garden of Shut-Eye Town;
The fruit that it bears is so wondrously sweet
(As those who have tasted it say)
That good little children have only to eat
Of that fruit to be happy next day.

When you've got to the tree, you would have a hard time
To capture the fruit which I sing;
The tree is so tall that no person could climb
To the boughs where the sugar-plums swing!
But up in that tree sits a chocolate cat,
And a gingerbread dog prowls below -
And this is the way you contrive to get at
Those sugar-plums tempting you so:

You say but the word to that gingerbread dog
And he barks with such terrible zest
That the chocolate cat is at once all agog,
As her swelling proportions attest.
And the chocolate cat goes cavorting around
From this leafy limb unto that,
And the sugar-plums tumble, of course, to the ground -
Hurrah for that chocolate cat!

There are marshmallows, gumdrops, and peppermint canes,
With stripings of scarlet or gold,
And you carry away of the treasure that rains,
As much as your apron can hold!
So come, little child, cuddle closer to me
In your dainty white nightcap and gown,
And I'll rock you away to that Sugar-Plum Tree
In the garden of Shut-Eye Town.
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28. Sweet Treat Dream

I love chocolate, so I decided to write a poem about it. My grandchildren loved it.
- By Gillian M. Ward
- Published: May 2019
Dreaming Of A Chocolate World

If my world were made of chocolate,
I know what I would do.
I'd make a chocolate mountain
And share it all with you.

If my world were made of chocolate,
I know what I would do.
I'd make a chocolate mountain
And share it all with you.

We'd eat our way up to the top
Until we'd eaten every drop.
Then chocolate clouds and chocolate rain
Would float us back to Earth again.

Chocolate fields and chocolate trees,
Chocolate rivers and chocolate seas,
Chocolate people and chocolate cars,
And houses made of chocolate bars.

Chocolate coats and chocolate hats,
Chocolate dogs and chocolate cats,
Chocolate castles. Oh, what a dream.
I would be known as the Chocolate Queen.

But there's one thing that would never do,
And I know for sure that this is true.
An end would be put to all our fun
If our world had a chocolate sun!
Published by Family Friend Poems with permission of the author.

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This lovely poem is very enjoyable and resembles one I made about candy land.

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29. My Shadow

I just got to wondering about shadows. We all have one, but how much do we really know about them? Where do they go when we can't see them?
- By Peter R Wolveridge
- Published: November 2018
Thoughts About Shadows

I quite often look at my shadow.
I like how it follows me round
And does all the same things that I do
Without ever making a sound.

I quite often look at my shadow.
I like how it follows me round
And does all the same things that I do
Without ever making a sound.

It hides when the weather is cloudy.
But I know it's always quite near,
For later, as soon as the sun shines,
My shadow is bound to appear.

I've noticed sometimes in the evening,
While watching the sun going down,
My shadow gets all tired and lazy
And stretches right out on the ground.

But then when it comes to my bedtime,
I lie down and switch off the light.
My eyes close; I can't help but wonder
Where shadows like mine go at night?

Perhaps it meets with other shadows,
Sits down and tells them about me,
The silly things that I've been doing
And hears its friends laughing with glee.

But when I awake in the morning,
I'm always delighted to see
As soon as I draw back the curtains,
My shadow's there waiting for me.
Published by Family Friend Poems with permission of the author.

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30. Harvey The Hippo

This poem is in the limerick form, and it is unusual because limericks are carried through all eight stanzas. It is also an example of a rhyming poem. As for me, I am a retired university professor who enjoyed a tenure of 32 years at Chicago State University where my job was to prepare teachers for children with special needs.
- By Alan Balter
- Published: July 30, 2021
Limerick About A Hippo

Harvey is a huge hippopotamus
Who bathes in a bay that is bottomless
HIs mouth is as large
As a riverboat barge

Harvey is a huge hippopotamus
Who bathes in a bay that is bottomless
HIs mouth is as large
As a riverboat barge
And he weighs ten times more than a lot of us

Harvey wears a red cummerbund
And sewn on the back is the number one
He plays the tuba
Not far from Aruba
While dancing around in the summer sun

Once Harvey met up with a crocodile
Together they decided to walk a mile
Near the shore they strolled,
But the water got cold
So they sat down to talk on the dock a while

Eating Oreo cookies about four apiece
They talked about matters of war and peace
They discussed the economy,
Art, and astronomy
And the huge immigration of foreign geese

Then walking back toward his new shiny house
Harvey stopped for a chat with a tiny mouse
Her name was Du Barry;
They decided to marry
And soon come a baby named Stanislaus

A handsome young child was Stanislaus
Dressed up in his fine silken Spanish blouse
They all had made history;
This was no mystery
For Stan was the first Hippopotamouse

Huge Harvey adored his sweet ladylove
From her wee little feet to her head above
He brought her some strings
And other fine things
Including a snowy white turtledove

Harvey has grown really mellow now
He seldom produces a bellow now
But if you're down by the bay,
You can still see him play
This wondrous and gentle old fellow now
Published by Family Friend Poems with permission of the author.

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Hi Rita, thanks for the kind words about Harvey the Hippo. I've got about 20 otherr poems like Harvey. I can also furnish an illustrator. You go ahead and find a publisher, and we can be...

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31. My Brother Can Eat

My 6-year-old daughter, Kristy, wanted to write a poem about her brother, Ray III. He's 4 years old, and he really likes to eat. He's not a big boy, but he eats like a grown man. We had fun writing this poem together.
- By Ray S. Gordon Jr
- Published: February 2020
Funny Poem About Eating A Lot

My brother can eat.
Hide your fruits,
Hide your snacks,
Hide all your treats.

My brother can eat.
Hide your fruits,
Hide your snacks,
Hide all your treats.

It doesn't matter what it is.
Y'all don't understand.
The boy can eat.
Call him munchie man.

Rice and chicken,
Mac and cheese.
He's always in the kitchen
Saying, "More, please."

Just the other day,
He ate all Daddy's steak.
Just the other day,
He had three plates.

I guarantee if you see him, he will ask,
"What are we going to eat?"
I love my brother lots,
But the boy sure can eat.
Published by Family Friend Poems with permission of the author.

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32. Who Nose?

Hi, my name is Alan Balter, and I am a retired university professor. To keep my neurons firing during retirement, I have taken to writing fiction, personal essays, and poetry. Most of my poetic efforts are for my grandchildren; I have 14 and they really like my work.
- By Alan Balter
- Published: October 2017
Some are as long as hoses
You buy at a garden store.
Mine can be used to smell roses
From a couple of miles or more.

Some are as long as hoses
You buy at a garden store.
Mine can be used to smell roses
From a couple of miles or more.

In case you haven't guessed it,
It's noses I'm talking about here,
And although I've never expressed it
As for mine, it's unique, I fear.

On a night that's humid and warm
You'd be impressed I'd bet.
Stand under my nose in a thunderstorm.
Chances are you won't get wet.

Yesterday I had someone to meet.
The cab drive was the worst.
The driver dropped me at Eighth Street.
But my nose went on 'til First.

Then a jet plane we boarded
Me and my nose, it was neat.
I really couldn't afford it
'Cause we needed an extra seat.

For handkerchiefs, it's really rough.
It's hard to know what to do.
A small white cloth isn't enough,
So I use a bedsheet or two.

Perhaps I shouldn't be complaining.
Who knows where things went wrong?
Certainly I should be abstaining
From sticking it where it doesn't belong
Published by Family Friend Poems with permission of the author.

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I think children will like the poem. It's funny. You must have a lot of imagination to write such a poem. I like it!

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33. Reflection

Poem about a child's thoughts on seeing her own reflection in a saucepan's bottom.
- By May Fenn
- Published: December 2018
A Child's Game On Washing Dishes

I’ve heard mum say, and often too,
That washing up’s a bore.
Why she’d often give me tuppence
Just to do that dreadful chore.

I’ve heard mum say, and often too,
That washing up’s a bore.
Why she’d often give me tuppence
Just to do that dreadful chore.
But me, I rather like it
With my elbows in the sink,
Stirring up the bubbles
As I have a little think.
And when I start to wash them,
Why the dishes fade away
And in their place a special friend
Comes to visit me each day.
There’s a genie in the saucepan,
And when I make the bottom shine
He shows his great big smiling face,
(It looks a bit like mine).
He likes it when I talk to him,
Yet though it seems absurd.
Although I see him answer me,
I just can’t hear a word!
I see his lips are mouthing words,
But though I strain my ears,
I’ve never yet heard what he’s said
Whenever he appears.
Still I’m sure if Mum could see him
That she’d never say again
That washing up’s a dreadful bore
And drives her quite insane.

Published by Family Friend Poems with permission of the author.

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We had a large garden around our house. In the morning we found it covered with leaves. We children were taught by our mothers and aunts to sweep it drawing designs with ekel brooms. We...

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34. The Thing!

I was always fascinated by monster movies when I was young. I must've seen every one made in the 1950s and 60s. Other than drawing them, I never did make one. This is a story about a guy who actually makes a monster and the problems he faces afterwards. I wrote this in 1967 for boys in their pre-teems. It has some dark humor and may be a little icky in parts, but kids like that kind of thing.
- By Brian A. Bendall
- Published: January 2019
How To Make A Monster

I once set out to make a fiend,
A gruesome thing that no one's seen.
A massive gore of teeth and claws
With sixteen eyes and monster paws.

I once set out to make a fiend,
A gruesome thing that no one's seen.
A massive gore of teeth and claws
With sixteen eyes and monster paws.

Before I started out to cook,
I checked out first my Potions Book.
With some touches of my own,
I knew I'd hear my monster moan.

I finally found the perfect pot,
Huge and black and rusted not,
To place it on a fire bright
And waited for the dark of night.

The darkness came, none too soon,
And in the shining of the moon,
I began my task with hopes to fix
The makings for my monster mix.

I filled the pot half-full with grease,
And so began my monster-piece.
I added pints of castor oil
And waited for my mix to boil.

I put in five potato eyes,
A chicken's tooth and watched it rise.
A lock of hair, a roach, a worm!
I stirred it so it would not burn!

Beetle guts, hornet's feet,
Finger nails, rancid meat,
A turtle's toes, a garter snake!
So far, this was a piece of cake!

Then I put in weasel liver,
A centipede, a caterpillar,
Seven hairs from top a fly,
A horse's tongue, a lizard's eye!

Oxen hooves and turkey neck,
A gremlin's ear (just a speck),
Maggot slime, a walrus knuckle.
It smelled so good, I had to chuckle!

I listened to it curl and tip.
I took a spoon and had a sip!
And as I heard it bump and crunch,
I settled back to have my lunch.

I put the lid on good and tight.
I let it simmer all that night.
And all that day I let it brew.
All next night and the next day, too.

Then, that night, the moment came
To see if I had worked in vain.
I pried the lid with tender care,
Wondering what I'd find in there.

I held my breath, peeked inside.
I saw it...and I burst with pride!
I threw the lid aside, at last,
And danced around the pot of gas!

And through the gas the creature rose,
With sixteen eyes, a big black nose,
Fangs, hair and ten inch claws,
Warts, lice and monster paws!

It groaned! It gasped! It grunted, too!
Just why it lived, I wish I knew!
"It must be luck! A chance! A fluke!"
I chose a name and called it, "Duke"!

"Here, Duke!" I called, with outstretched hand.
Did it really understand?
It did! It did! For Duke complied!
It looked so good, I almost cried!

With happy eyes I watched it slip,
Squirm, slide, slither and dip.
Slow, at first, then like a shot,
Duke turned around....and ate the pot!

It ate the table and the chair,
And my book a laying there!
Then it ate my frying pans,
My overcoat and garbage cans.

My couch, my lamps, my stove, my suit!
I have to say, it did look cute.
But was this the monster in my mind?
Did I create a Frankenstein?!

My telephone and TV set,
But Duke? It wasn't finished yet!
My shower, toilet, tub and sink!
My sanity was at the brink!

Then Duke stopped, to my surprise,
And looked at me with thankful eyes.
I never dreamed it'd be so wild!
Duke cocked its head....and then it smiled.

Today, it's eaten all I own!
I barely even have a home!
So, I'm worried by one thing, you see,
It's that one day ... Duke ... might ... eat...
..."AARRGGHH!"
Published by Family Friend Poems with permission of the author.

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It's like the story of Frankenstein. The rhyme is very fantastic and word choice is pleasing to the atmosphere of the poem. The ending is very dramatic; that seems to me the best part of...

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35. The Owl And The Pussy-Cat

The Owl and the Pussycat was first published in 1871 in the book "Nonsense Songs, Stories, Botany and Alphabets", by Edward Lear (1812-1888). Lear played many musical instruments and often performed his poetry with music at social gatherings.
- By Edward Lear
The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five-pound note.

The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five-pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
"O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are,
You are,
You are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!"

Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl!
How charmingly sweet you sing!
O let us be married! too long we have tarried:
But what shall we do for a ring?"
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Bong-Tree grows
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
With a ring at the end of his nose,
His nose,
His nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.

"Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
Your ring?" Said the Piggy, "I will."
So they took it away, and were married next day
By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon,
The moon,
The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.
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36. Who Am I?

A fun who am I poem. Guess what it's about! :)
- By Chazz
- Published: October 2011
Riddle

Who am I?
I am a surprise
I don't have eyes
I'm wrapped in plastic

Who am I?
I am a surprise
I don't have eyes
I'm wrapped in plastic
I am fantastic
I could be red
But I'm not dead
I could be blue
Bluer than you
I could be pink
But I don't think
Make up your mind
I'm not hard to find
You could find me in a Milk Bar
Or eat me in the car
I do not walk
I do not talk
But most of all I don't taste like pork
I am not shy
I do not cry
I will never let out a wimpy sigh
I find myself covered in spit
Then fall into a bottomless pit
Serena Williams likes my taste
But doesn't like tomato paste
Do not be scared of me
All I want to be is free
I am very nice
I don't taste like rice
You can't cut me into a slice
I'm filled with sugar
But don't think I'm a booger
Do not fear
I don't taste like beer
But when I'm around everyone will cheer
People will stop
When they see me in the shop
You'll buy me five times over
Like I'm a four leaf clover
People say I rock
But I don't smell like a sock
You might say I'm food
But I'm never in a bad mood
I might ask Sam
Who I am
He might say "What?"
And tell me who I'm not.
Published by Family Friend Poems with permission of the author.

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Oh, I hate guessing, but this poem made me smile...you could be a chocolate or maybe an ice cream!

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37. If I Were King

“If I Were King” is about a child dreaming of all the things he would do if he were the king. He would run the world differently than other kings by focusing on enjoyment. A.A. Milne started his writing career by writing funny articles for various magazines.
- By A. A. Milne
I often wish I were a King,
And then I could do anything.

If only I were King of Spain,

I often wish I were a King,
And then I could do anything.

If only I were King of Spain,
I'd take my hat off in the rain.

If only I were King of France,
I wouldn't brush my hair for aunts.

I think, if I were King of Greece,
I'd push things off the mantelpiece.

If I were King of Norroway,
I'd ask an elephant to stay.

If I were King of Babylon,
I'd leave my button gloves undone.

If I were King of Timbuctoo,
I'd think of lovely things to do.

If I were King of anything,
I'd tell the soldiers, "I'm the King!"
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38. Cow In My Soup

As a child, when we had soup, I would crumble crackers in with it. When they became soggy, sometimes they would take different shapes, and I would let my imagination loose.
- By Kevin T. Pearson
- Published: September 2019
A Child's Imagination While Eating

My mom said, "Eat all your soup,
every piece of chicken and every noodle."
But there's a cow in my soup.

My mom said, "Eat all your soup,
every piece of chicken and every noodle."
But there's a cow in my soup.

I need to get him out of there.
I don't know if he can swim.
How he got there, I'm not aware.

My mom says, "Stop slurping your soup,"
every time he starts to moo.
Heck, I'm just hoping he doesn't poop

He keeps splashing me with his tail.
My mom says, "You're making a mess."
She must have gotten this soup on sale.

I give up; it's no use.
My mom says, "For dessert,
We're having chocolate mousse."
Published by Family Friend Poems with permission of the author.

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39. Night Noises

A humorous, rhyming poem about natural bodily functions that people make during the night. It is meant primarily for children, but people of any age with a sense of humor should enjoy it.
- By Alan Balter
- Published: September 2019
My parents' bedroom is far from mine, so I have to wonder
What the noise is every night that sounds a lot like thunder.
We don't live near the seashore, but almost every morn
I'm wakened by a noise that sounds like a fog horn.

My parents' bedroom is far from mine, so I have to wonder
What the noise is every night that sounds a lot like thunder.
We don't live near the seashore, but almost every morn
I'm wakened by a noise that sounds like a fog horn.

It's louder than the sound of barking dogs at night
Or a fireworks explosion that lights the sky real bright.
A chainsaw cutting logs doesn't make as much din,
Nor did the wall coming down way over in Berlin.

A jet plane at takeoff will get your attention quick,
As will a jackhammer engaged in busting up some brick.
But neither equals the clamor from Mom and Dad's bedroom,
Worse than a stack of dynamite at the moment of KABOOM!

At last I figured out the source of all the raucous roaring.
It was only good old Dad engaging in some snoring
Mom says: "I don't mind; it's really a Godsend
That all that wind isn't coming out the other end."
Published by Family Friend Poems with permission of the author.

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The writer has given a humorous touch to a common incident found in many a home. Mother's lighthearted comment, "I don't mind; it's really a godsend" makes the idea more effective.

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40. Milly-Rose

This rhyming poem was not based on anyone I know. Poetry just "pops" into my head and I have to write it. My poetry generally has a funny/weird slant to it, and I just love to write it.
- By Margaret A. Savage
- Published: July 2020
An Eccentric Teacher

Milly-Rose has a long hairy nose
that would consistently wiggle and twitch.
The kids would giggle every time it wiggled
and believed she was a silly old witch.

Milly-Rose has a long hairy nose
that would consistently wiggle and twitch.
The kids would giggle every time it wiggled
and believed she was a silly old witch.

Milly-Rose is a teacher, and her very best feature
is the hair upon her head.
Since a wee girly, her hair grew curly
and was a bright flaming colour of red.

Milly-Rose wore dresses to match her tresses
with spots or sparkles that glowed.
She had matching shoes in various hues,
and her long skinny legs were bowed.

Now, poor ol' Milly-Rose, with her long hairy nose,
didn't think that she looked weird.
All day long she would sing a happy song
and was proud of her red curly beard.

Then one day Milly-Rose got sick
and stayed home in her warm fluffy bed.
The school was quiet without the red riot,
and this is what the children said.

"We love you, Milly-Rose, with your long hairy nose.
Please come back to school.
We promise not to giggle when your nose starts to wiggle,
and your red curly beard is COOL."
Published by Family Friend Poems with permission of the author.

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21 - 40 of 53

Funny Poems for Kids - Page 2

21. I Hate Brussels Sprouts!

22. Musings Of A Three-Year-Old

I am the mother of a three-year-old girl, and my poem is inspired by my experiences with her. Children perceive the world very differently from adults. Through my poem, I am trying to give voice to the daily frustrations that a preschooler must likely face.

23. Grandad Can't See His Feet

Have you ever stood in the shower, looked down and been unable to see your feet without leaning forward? No, neither have I!

24. I Hate Peanut Butter

None of my friends ever understood why I didn't like peanut butter. Apparently, it's a delicatessen. Anyway, I wrote this poem to explain my distaste for it in a humorous way. Enjoy.

25. Yucky Chucky Tucker

I wrote this poem when my children were young. I think everyone young and old alike can relate to a Yucky Chucky Tucker. I remember going to school with a young man just like that. Things sure change as we get older lol. Hope you enjoy

26. My Kitty

This poem is for all of the cat lovers who have ever watched their cats chase a bug.

27. The Sugar-Plum Tree

28. Sweet Treat Dream

I love chocolate, so I decided to write a poem about it. My grandchildren loved it.

29. My Shadow

I just got to wondering about shadows. We all have one, but how much do we really know about them? Where do they go when we can't see them?

30. Harvey The Hippo

31. My Brother Can Eat

My 6-year-old daughter, Kristy, wanted to write a poem about her brother, Ray III. He's 4 years old, and he really likes to eat. He's not a big boy, but he eats like a grown man. We had fun writing this poem together.

32. Who Nose?

Hi, my name is Alan Balter, and I am a retired university professor. To keep my neurons firing during retirement, I have taken to writing fiction, personal essays, and poetry. Most of my poetic efforts are for my grandchildren; I have 14 and they really like my work.

33. Reflection

Poem about a child's thoughts on seeing her own reflection in a saucepan's bottom.

34. The Thing!

35. The Owl And The Pussy-Cat

The Owl and the Pussycat was first published in 1871 in the book "Nonsense Songs, Stories, Botany and Alphabets", by Edward Lear (1812-1888). Lear played many musical instruments and often performed his poetry with music at social gatherings.

36. Who Am I?

A fun who am I poem. Guess what it's about! :)

37. If I Were King

“If I Were King” is about a child dreaming of all the things he would do if he were the king. He would run the world differently than other kings by focusing on enjoyment. A.A. Milne started his writing career by writing funny articles for various magazines.

38. Cow In My Soup

As a child, when we had soup, I would crumble crackers in with it. When they became soggy, sometimes they would take different shapes, and I would let my imagination loose.

39. Night Noises

A humorous, rhyming poem about natural bodily functions that people make during the night. It is meant primarily for children, but people of any age with a sense of humor should enjoy it.

40. Milly-Rose

This rhyming poem was not based on anyone I know. Poetry just "pops" into my head and I have to write it. My poetry generally has a funny/weird slant to it, and I just love to write it.