Poems about Music and/or Children needed ASAP(19 Posts)
Kids by Spike Milligan
'Sit up straight',
said mum to Mabel.
Keep your elbows
off the table.
Do not eat peas
with a fork.
Your mouth is full -
don't try and talk.
Keep your mouth shut
when you eat.
Keep still or you'll
fall off your seat.
If you want more
you will say "please".
Don't fiddle with
that piece of cheese!'
If then we kids
cause such a fuss,
why do you go on
The Sound Collector by Roger McGough
A stranger called this morning
dressed all in black and grey
put every sound into a bag
and carried them away
the whistling of the kettle
the turning of the lock
the purring of the kitten
the ticking of the clock
the popping of the toaster
the crunching of the flakes
when you spread the marmalade
the scraping noise it makes
the hissing of the frying-pan
the ticking of the grill
the bubbling of the bathtub
as it starts to fill
the drumming of the raindrops
on the window-pane
when you do the washing-up
the gurgle of the drain
the crying of the baby
the squeaking of the chair
the swishing of the curtain
the creaking of the stair
a stranger called this mroning
he didn't leave his name
left us only silence
life will never be the same.
When I am grown to man's estate
I shall be very proud and great
And tell all the other girls and boys
Not to meddle with my toys!
R L Stevenson
Colin by Allan Ahlberg
When you frown at me like that. Colin,
and wave your arm in the air,
I know just what you're going to say:
'Please , Sir, it isn't fair!'
It isn't fair
on the football field
if their team scores a goal.
It isn't fair in a cricket match
unless you bat and bowl.
When you scowl at me that way, Colin,
and mutter and slam your chair,
I always know what's coming next:
'Please, Sir, it isn't fair!'
It isn't fair
when I give you a job.
It isn't fair when I don't.
If I keep you in
it isn't fair.
If you're told to go out, you won't.
When heads bow low in assembly
and the whole school's saying a prayer,
I can guess what's on your mind, Colin:
'Our Father... it isn't fair!'
It wasn't fair
in the infants.
It isn't fair now.
It won't be fair at the comprehensive
(for first years, anyhow).
When your life reaches its end, Colin,
Though I doubt if i'll be there,
I can picture the words on the gravestone now.
They'll say: IT IS NOT FAIR.
Mother Love by Jan Porter
She is the mirror you gaze in.
Plucking at her breasts
one hungry mouth,
your need - her need
a world entire.
And whenever this mirror clouds,
The brightness of an outer world
breaks you apart,
you tug at a lock of hair,
flush red indignation,
tiny fist thump the air.
rocked in your cradle:
The universe of moon and stars -
no bigger than a spangled toy.
One Mum to Another by Pam Ayres
Dear Mum, a little letter while the baby is asleep
I've tucked him in his cot and put the nappies in to steep
I took the bottle teat because his feeding seemed so slow
and stabbed it with a safety pin to quicken up the flow.
I haven't learned the knack of how to bath the baby yet
he seems to get so angry that he baths himself with sweat
and when I get him in it after dithering about
he widdles in the water and I have to take him out.
But if the days are difficult, the nights are harder still
I'm not one to complain but well perhaps today I will
I'm sleeping in my cosy bed and everything's all right
when a little hungry whipering comes stealing through the night.
And off into the gloom we go, the baby and the mother
slowly down the landing holding on to one another
I know he's only little and I know he must be fed
but I'd give a thousand pounds if I could jump back into bed.
You see I haven't had a decent sleep for weeks and weeks
but still I gamely dab the bottled roses on me cheeks
my lovely shiny hair that use to bounce about before
is clogging up the hairbrush in the dressing table drawer.
I'm so tired mother and my muscles seem so slack
they say that doing exercise will bring my figure back
my lovely tummy, flatter thatn the surface of a lake
feels just like a plate of that blancmange you used to make.
So in the afternoon I have a nap, a little rest
an easy thing to do, a normal person would suggest
I curl up on the sofa with the papers on the floor
and half a dozen people start to hammer on the door.
Friends I haven't seen for years are there in overcoats
in they troop with coughs and colds and ulcerated throats
I have to give them cups of tea, I have to give them cake
and underneath my breath I think 'push off for goodness sake!'
I'll cook the dinner now and peg the nappies on the line
Mum, that's all for now but yes the babe and me are fine
I'd walk him in his pram now but it's gone in for repairs
for I'm afraid it got a rupture when I heaved it down the stairs.
Love to everyone at home and will you tell them all
Thank you for the knitted coats. Every one's too small
I'll have to love and leave you, there is wailing from on high
Did I make the right decision , mother, Yes! Goodbye!
Still thinking about one with music in, Beety.
I'll do my best.
Second Stomach by Bill Harley
I have a second stomach -
Its bigger than the other
But it seems no matter how I try
I cant convince my mother.
The first one fills at dinner time
With vegetables and meat,
Broccoli and lima beans
And roasted beef and beets.
I eat that stuff until Im full
And cant eat anymore
Stomach One is stuffed with food
Thats what I use it for.
But when I push the plate back
And say out loud Im done!
Stomach Number Two cries out
Not so fast, my son!
Cause Im not filled, Im empty!
Im starving, Im not fed!
So fill me up, cause if you dont
Youre bound to wind up dead.
But it cant digest lettuce
or turkey, peas and beans
Number Two wants cakes and pies
And cookies and ice cream.
Its hungry and its empty
And I hate to see it hurt,
So I cant eat all my spinach,
But I still need dessert.
With Trumpet and Drum by Eugene Field
With big tin trumpet and little red drum
Marching like soldiers, the children come!
My! but that music of theirs is fine!
This way and that way, and after a while
They march straight into this heart of mine!
A sturdy old heart, but it has to succumb
To the blare of that trumpet and beat of that drum!
Come on, little people, from cot and from hall-
This heart it hath welcome and room for you all!
It will sing you it's songs and warm you with love,
As your dear little arms with my arms intertwine;
It will rock you away to the dreamland above-
Oh, a jolly old heart is this heart of mine,
And jollier still is it bound to become
When you blow that big trumpet and beat that red drum!
So come; though I see not his dear little face
And hear not his voice in this jubilant place,
I know he were happy to bid me enshrine
His memory deep in my heart with your play-
Ah me! But a love that is sweeter than mine
Holdeth my boy in its keeping to-day!
And my heart it is lonely-so little folk come,
March in and make merry with trumpet and drum!
A poem about children. . .
The Lonely Street by William Carlos Williams
School is over. It is too hot
to walk at ease. At ease
in light frocks they walk the streets
to while the time away.
They have grown tall. They hold
pink flames in their right hands.
In white from head to foot,
with sidelong, idle look--
in yellow, floating stuff,
black sash and stockings--
touching their avid mouths
with pink sugar on a stick--
like a carnation each holds in her hand--
they mount the lonely street.
Sorry, don't think I know any about music. Have looked through lots of my books.
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