Tag Archive: childrens poetry

spongeman painting / picture


Head Noogies to ya! This is the sixth in a series of Kid’s Poem blogs aimed at you, the Mom and Dad challenged. Enjoy!


A kids poem

by Terofil Gizelbach

 Copyright Terofil Gizelbach, 2013


“Spongeman” waits by the doorway, sleeping…

Is he dreaming of the treasures stored within?

 That old waterfront shack, hiding loot galore!

Don’t know ‘bout you, but I…




…T-shirts, toys, an’ trinkets! Look!

Aisles an’ aisles of conch sea shells!

Carved coconuts an’ beach mattresses,

An’ tons of cool stuff no one else sells!

Sunglasses an’ racks of suntan lotion!

Parrot shirts an’ blue Hawaiian trunks!

Boards for riding on top o’ the ocean…

I can’t live ‘less I buy some o’ this junk!


Bu-ut…I like Mr. Spongeman best, I think—

And wonder at his life out of the sea.

Why does he guard the souvenir store?

And why doesn’t he answer me?

P’raps he watches for burglars….

To keep them from stealing an’ stuff.

Maybe he cleans an’ mops up after spills…

I sure hope they pay Spongeman enough!



For another kids poem like this one, please visit the “Young Reader’s” page.

For another site devoted to kids poems, please visit Kenn Nesbitt’s site: http://www.poetry4kids.com/


This is the second in a series of Kid’s Poem blogs aimed at you, the Mom and Dad challenged. Enjoy!



A Kid’s Poem by Terofil Gizelbach

(From “1313 Crabapple Street”)

Copyright Terofil Gizelbach, 2012

There’s an old oak tree where I like to play,

In a leafy glade, on a sunny day.

I call him Old Pete—

‘Cause all trees, y’know, have names.

He’s never told me what his is…

But I call him ‘Ol Pete just the same.


There’s a noisy Jay-bird nestng in Ol’ Pete;

He scolds the kids, living on my street.

I call him “Screamin’ J.”

‘Cause all birds, y’know, have names.

I’m sure he’s called me a few…

But I like Screamin’ J. just the same.


A great horned Owl lives in ‘Ol Pete’s bole,

And hooty-hoots at night, from his hole.

I call him Einstein.

‘Cause all Owls, y’know, are wise.

He’s smart just like his name;

I can see it in Einstein’s eyes


I never get tired of playing by Ol’ Pete.

Or if I do, I smile and take a grassy seat.

I call it my quiet time.

It’s good, y’know, to have nothing to say.

My friends understand without all the talk…

Pete, Einstein, and my Screamin’ J.


Other Kid’s Poems can be found on the “Young Reader’s Page.”

No Second Banana                                 A kids poem aimed at you, the Mom and Dad challenged. Enjoy!



A Kids Poem by Terofil Gizelbach

Copyright Terofil Gizelbach, 2012


A banana spoke with another banana and argued with Mr. Pear:

“A ‘nanner’ is a wonderful thing, its flavor divinely rare—

An’ skinny is better than bestest ever and yellow better still!”

But Pear said “Poo!” and “Foo on you! It’s green that fits the bill!”

Now, I’m round, it’s true, and hard—not goo—and have a leafy ‘do’

But I’ll knock the socks off you, hoo-boy!

A pear tastes as grand as you.”

The first banana thunk tolerable hard and screwed his peel into a grimace.

Ol’ One Banana’s face was mean and his dot eyes filled with menace.

But Second Banana’s feelings were bruised and he soon began to bellow:

“So I’m squishy an’ soft an’ sugary mush an’ mostly pretty mellow—

And bend when I stand like a humbled old man and folks call me ‘yella’

But I’ll never be second banana to the likes of you, oh no!

Not to a green ol’ pear like you!”

Then hands swooped down and mouths opened and all were gone in a gobble.

And if this tale has a moral it’s mostly not to squabble.

For red or green or in between a fruit is still a fruit.

And round or thin, or yellow or blue, no one gives a hoot.

So if you’re hankering to knock the next guy ‘round because he’s short or tall…

Just remember he’s no second banana…

No second banana at all.

For another kids poem like this one, please visit the “Young Reader’s” page.


Being my field of interest, I’ve read many a commentary discussing the “arts.” Most expound to a degree upon the singularity of the medium. For example, to write proper poetry or construct a novel, or churn out a short story, one must have the “soul” of a poet or a novelist, or a short story writer. A composer of music must have the proper “ear.” A painter must be able to see with his “mind’s eye.” And so on and so on.

But, be it a painting, a sculpture, a novel or a short story, the process of creation is remarkably similar; much more so than most—especially those in the profession—would have you believe. The “soul”/ “ear”/ “mind’s eye” is really nothing more than a desire to create—a yearning to fill what was previously a void with words, or pictures, or sound. And from this yearning comes the quest for the idea that will spawn the art—a product that often bears only a superficial resemblance to its inspiration.

In all mediums, the process of creation is often a series of recreations. A composer, for example, might begin with a simple tune that he then grows into a symphony, often losing the original theme along the way, or retaining it only in vestigial forms. The painter might begin a sketch that bears little resemblance to the finished painting. A writer may allow the characters to push the narrative away from the original plot. A rhyme may morph into a haiku under the poet’s pen. But always the drive to fill that artistic void continues.

And so the process of recreation continues until at some point the artist feels the piece is actualized; that it has reached its finalized form. This does not necessarily imply complete satisfaction with the product. Most artists will tell you they are pleased with their work…and they usually are—to a degree. Artists in general chase perfection, and because perfection in the real world is rarely obtainable, they are rarely completely happy.

Universal truths which apply to all of the arts, no matter the medium—be it children’s literature, a painting of moon monsters on mercury, or a poem about Aunt Brenda’s cat.

Now that I’ve taken the plunge, it’s time I told you a little about me…

Overall, I’m probably pretty much like you. I always pick the wrong lanes on the highway or the slowest moving checkout line. I’d rather eat a good hamburger and fries than a whole bucket of escargot. I don’t like wearing shoes. I yell at the TV when my football team loses. I like the “Andy Griffith Show” and “Star Trek” and “Cheers.” I have a budget and have to watch what I spend. I stay up too late, and I don’t get as much sleep as I might like. I have days where I think getting out of bed was a mistake, and others I wish would never end. And I still have a boss that makes me crazy, only these days it happens to be my conscience. Which brings me to my work…

I’m a writer of Science Fiction and Children’s Literature. Wow, super glamour, right? I mean, dictating your latest potboiler into a digital recorder while your secretary transcribes your meanderings into the next bestseller…

Unfortunately, the reality is somewhat different. Despite how it is portrayed by the media, writing isn’t usually a particularly glamorous profession. For you aspiring writers, be aware that, at times, it can be a very frustrating job—one of hammering away at a sentence that just won’t pop, or at an idea that just won’t jell. It can be pretty lonely too. And the hours are long. And it doesn’t pay particularly well, unless of course you are a Stephan King. But ultimately I wouldn’t choose to be anything else. I feel very fortunate to be a writer; it is what I was meant to do. I’ve done everything from rolling egg rolls and throwing boxes into a truck, to running a major city’s budget. All have had their moments; all have made me happy at times. But when my writing rocks, there is nothing else that gives me such a high, such a feeling of raw accomplishment. That is what drove me during the late nights when my writing was my second job, and that is what still drives me now. I believe every artist is driven to create; just as every writer feels the need to write. We do it because we must.

Besides, grandmother was a professional artist. Mom liked to paint watercolrs and design clothes…

I guess it’s just in my DNA.




Another blog. Hoo boy. Seems like everyone has one these days, doesn’t it? It’s now possible to read in sublime detail about Aunt Brenda’s cat’s sixth toe, or another mindless celebrity’s latest stint in rehab, or the doings of people you would normally go out of your way to avoid. Not that there is anything wrong with blogging. To quote the statue from the movie “Animal House,” “Knowledge is Good,” and every one of us has something positive to offer—some life-enriching nugget to share. The trick is sharing something that people actually want to read. To give them something that will move them, or shake them, or make ‘em laugh—or even cry. Kinda like writing fiction or painting or art in general, I guess…

Unfortunately, I can’t always promise to “move” you here. But I will do my best to entertain you, and to share my world view with you—and, when possible, bring a little something to put a smile on your face, or put a silly or startling thought into your head. Science Fiction and Children’s literature at its finest excels at prodding the imagination. I hope my blog does too. And maybe even once in a while I might actually throw out something that will make you think about the world a little bit differently. Now that would make me happy.

Then again, maybe Aunt Brenda’s cat’s sixth toe has already changed your world view… I know I’m going back to revisit her blog.

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