Children's Poems

[Stranger]

The Broken Phone

At night, when I was left alone,
I loved to be "the broken phone".

I made up words just to pretend,
And shaped them twisted at the end.

I played with words since early age,
But suddenly my life was changed.

From three attempts to use my pen
I ended up with a fork again.

I wished to get a piece of bread,
But I picked up a cat instead.

All common things became so weird,
A normal life seemed disappeared.

I started looking for my shoes,
I saw them taken by a goose.

That was for real, not a dream,
When pigs devoured my ice cream.

My life was turned into nightmares
With walking fish and flying bears.

And all the time I'd been talking
Something else was getting broken.

I wish I knew, or I could guess,
What was the cause of such a mess.

In the beginning was the game.
Why couldn't things just stay the same?

Since then, if I am left alone,
I hate to be "the broken phone".  

                               ***

Pull and Push

I had two friends, a girl and a boy,
They made my life a constant joy.

I shall not beat about the bush -
The girl's name's Pull, the boy's name's Push.

When Push was pushing something new,
Pull always had her "pulling" view.

Once, they were visiting my place,
And disagreed in every case.

Push made a left, Pull made a right.
They did not know what's wrong or right.    

Push had to stop, Pull had to run.
They're confused what should be done.

When Push made changes in his pace,
Pull could not hide her sour face.

I tried to help my friends in need,
But that was difficult, indeed.

There was a vital ancient rule
I had revealed for Push and Pull:

"When you come in, and PUSH a door,
You PULL it, when you leave a store.

When you come in, and PULL a door,
You PUSH it, when you leave a store".

I wrote this poem for girls and boys,
So, they could make a clear choice.


                               ***    

Lost and found  

I love to scatter things around.
No wander they can not be found!  

Sometimes I have to look, and look,
Before I spot my pen or book.

I always need my head to scratch
Until I sight my shoes to match.

I have large piles of my clothes,
And what's in them nobody knows.

Last night I had a scary dream,
It made me sorry, sad, and dim.

I lost myself and never could be found
At some misterious and awful ground.

I was a visitor in a city-ghost
Packed with my things that were lost.

I saw my toys at every corner,
They were after their owner.

My pen was thirsty for a revenge.
My shoes were matching for a change.

My books and clothes made stronger ties
Becoming in a fight allies.

If they could have had found me,
I'd haven't had a chance to flee...

When I woke up, I found new myself:
I hanged my clothes and put my books on shelf.

If I don't want to loose myself, indeed,
I have to be well-groomed and neat.


Copyright c 2002 by Boris Tiraspolsky
All Rights Reserved