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| "Laughter translates into any language." - Graffiti |
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Please keep in mind that none of these poems may be reprinted without my permission.
The following poem was my first published piece for kids. The illustration was hilarious.
*The Horn I Scorn
My brother has a slide trombone,
he plays it every day.
I'd like to dig a great big hole
and hide the thing away.
His blasts assault my brain cells
until they're black and blue.
My eardrums cry in agony
long after he is through.
As if the horn weren't bad enough,
more racket fills my head--
pathetic whimpers from our dog,
who trembles 'neath my bed.
Someday I'll play a tune myself--
just wait till my turn comes.
I hope that we still share a room
when I take up the DRUMS!
*Copyright 2000 Jill Esbaum, first published in Cricket
I like to write about pets...
Fido's Folly
I bought my dog
an ice cream cone;
the day was burning hot.
I waited while
he chased his tail.
The ice cream cone
did not.
Just a Light Snack
My cat, Ebeneezer,
eats fireflies at night,
a habit I wish he would break.
I don't think the bug guts
have hurt him at all,
but his blinking sure keeps me awake.
Fernando, Doggy Decorator
It doesn't matter
what I spill--
Fernando licks it up.
From peanut shells to
popcorn seeds,
he's not a picky pup.
Two days ago,
I dumped
a tube of glitter
on the floor.
And now our back yard
**SPARKLES**
like it never has before.
and grand ambitions...
*Rhinestone Dreams
I was born to be an Elvis,
Born to sing and play guitar.
Like I've tried to tell my brothers,
I was meant to be a STAR.
I can curl my lip and swivel,
I can strut and sweat and such,
I can mumble humble thank yous--
"Thank you. Thankyouverymuch."
I've got seven rhinestone jumpsuits,
I've got dangling blue-black curls.
I've got silken scarves and photos
That I'll fling to screaming girls.
I've been growing out my sideburns,
I've been memorizing chords.
All my bedroom walls are empty
To make room for my awards.
Let my brothers laugh and mock me,
I refuse to fume or fuss.
If they ever need employment . . .
I might let them wash my bus.
*Copyright 2003 Jill Esbaum, first published in Cicada
and school...
So I Was Coming in From Recess When . . .
my icicle got me in trouble.
I swear
it was only a joke.
When I poked it d
o
w
n
Emily's sweater,
my icicle
(tragically)
broke.
And while we're on the subject of ice...
On An Icy Morning
Our Kitty loses traction, belly flops, and slowly spins.
But once she gets the hang of things, her outdoor fun begins.
She skates the glossy driveway with a certain loopy grace.
She executes a double Lutz and pirouettes in place.
She's growing bolder, reckless, when she gets a big surprise:
Our neighbor's sent his burly bulldogs out for exercise.
Unwisely, Kitty taunts them, the two terrifying brutes.
That's when -- too late -- she notices
They're wearing studded boots.
I also like to write free verse...
*The Pigeon & the Peacock
At the end of our driveway,
where streams of soapy water
have pooled against the curb,
struts a pigeon who's in love with himself.
He circles a puddle,
cocking his head
first one way,
then another,
admiring his iridescent feathers
and trying to determine his most flattering profile.
At the top of our driveway,
where my brother waxes his car to mirrored perfection,
struts a peacock who's in love with himself....
My brother.
He circles the car,
cocking his head
first one way,
then another,
practicing his lover-boy smile
and striking a muscle pose in the windshield.
A car splashes by,
dousing the pompous pigeon,
and I tiptoe around the garage
with a well-aimed hose.
*Copyright Jill Esbaum 2003, first published in Cicada
or from real-life experiences...
Trouble
Oh, I'm gonna be in trouble--
I can see the headlines now:
CARELESS BABYSITTER GROUNDED!
LOCAL MOTHER HAS A COW!
See, my sister found my markers
in their secret hiding place,
and she doodled and caboodled
on my baby brother's face!
Now a road-map squiggle dances
from his forehead to his chin,
and a swirly purple mustache
almost hides his yellow grin.
Loops of fuchsia ring his nostrils,
and his cheeks are cobalt blue.
He has zigzagged lines of orange
on his neck and shoulders, too.
Oh, I wish my sister hadn't tried
to beautify my brother,
and -- I wonder if it's possible
to hide him from my mother...?
or often just for fun...
On Forgetting to Put the Seat Down
"YOU BONEHEADED DORKWAD!" Elizabeth bellows.
Then comes . . . an unprintable threat.
I'm guessing my sister is somewhat perturbed,
and also, quite possibly, wet.
Snow Woe
My snowman didn't look so great-
his cheeks were flushed and blue.
His eyes were dull and droopy,
and his smile had wilted, too.
I felt his melting forehead
and discovered what was wrong:
My snowman had a fever!
But
...not for very long.
Ivan
Ivan, my tarantula,
can move without a sound-
which comes in very handy
when my sister
is around.
She's terrified of Ivan,
won't come near my little pet,
not to meet him,
not to touch him-
nope, Belinda McZimmer
not even
on a bet. My neighbor has feet that are half a block long.
Her name is Belinda McZimmer.
On days She can't take two steps
when she's been really mean, without tripping herself,
a super rotten creep, but she's quite a magnificent swimmer.
we simply wait,
my friend and I,
until she falls asleep.
Then Ivan gets his exercise
by crawling round
on Sis-
from knee to neck,
and ending with,
a tender goodnight kiss.
Bee-Fuddled
I only stopped to sneeze
and readjust my tuba case,
when suddenly
a bumblebee
alighted on my face.
I didn't move a muscle
as he scrutinized my cheek.
I shuddered while,
in bumble style,
he pondered my physique.
He waded through my eyebrows.
He zigzagged down my nose.
He took a trip
across my lip
on microscopic toes.
His stinger tapped my ch-ch-chin.
He analyzed my zit.
I stand here, stiff,
uncertain if
he'll ever up and split.
Please, Mother, keep my supper warm,
and pray my soul to keep.
He'll soon wear out
(I hope to shout)
. . . do bumbles ever sleep?
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