Mixed Poetry

The Listeners BY WALTER DE LA MARE ‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller, Knocking on the moonlit door; And his horse in the silence champed the grasses Of the forest’s ferny floor: And a bird flew up out of the turret, Above the Traveller’s head: And he smote upon the door again a second time; ‘Is there anybody there?’ he said. But no one descended to the Traveller; No head from the leaf-fringed sill Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes, Where he stood perplexed and still. But only a host of phantom listeners That dwelt in the lone house then Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight To that voice from the world of men: Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair, That goes down to the empty hall, Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken By the lonely Traveller’s call. And he felt in his heart their strangeness, Their stillness answering his cry, While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf, ’Neath the starred and leafy sky; For he suddenly smote on the door, even Louder, and lifted his head:— ‘Tell them I came, and no one answered, That I kept my word,’ he said. Never the least stir made the listeners, Though every word he spake Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house From the one man left awake: Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup, And the sound of iron on stone, And how the silence surged softly backward, When the plunging hoofs were gone.

My name is Elaine and I like to complain. Complaining is all that I do. I moan when it’s hot and I groan when it’s not. I whine when the sky is too blue. I fuss that the food on my plate must be chewed. I whimper whenever I clean. I frequently fret if my bath gets me wet. I gripe if the grass is too green. I act like my brain is in terrible pain when people are being polite. But then, if they’re rude, it will ruin my mood; I’ll grumble and mumble all night. But though I delight in complaining all night, there’s one thing I simply can’t see. I don’t understand (since I’m clearly so grand) why people complain about me. “Elaine the Complainer” copyright © 2021 Kenn Nesbitt. All Rights Reserved. Reprinted by permission of the author. www.poetry4kids.com

I cooked my math book in a broth and stirred it to a steaming froth. I threw in papers—pencils, too— to make a pot of homework stew. I turned the flame up nice and hot and tossed my binder in the pot. I sprinkled in my book report with colored markers by the quart. Despite its putrid, noxious gas, I proudly took my stew to class. And though the smell was so grotesque, I set it on my teacher’s desk. My teacher said, “You’re quite a chef. But, still, you’re going to get an F. I didn’t ask for ‘homework stew,’ I said, ‘Tomorrow, homework’s due.'” “Homework Stew” copyright © 2005 Kenn Nesbitt. All Rights Reserved. Published in When the Teacher Isn’t Looking. Reprinted by permission of the author. www.poetry4kids.com

We Bought A Lot Of Candy Bars By Kenn Nesbitt More Kenn Nesbitt We bought a lot of candy bars. We thought it would be neat to have a ton for all the kids who came to trick-or-treat. We bought them early in the month when they were all on sale. We dragged the bags in from the car and set them on the scale. The candy weighed a hundred pounds! I’m sure we got enough. In fact, we may have had too much of all that yummy stuff. It wouldn’t hurt to just eat one, or two, or three, or four. We bought so much that we could even eat a dozen more. So every day we had a few; a minuscule amount. How many? I can’t say for sure. I wasn’t keeping count. Our pile grew smaller every day by ten, fifteen, or twenty. But, still, it didn’t matter. We were certain we had plenty. When Halloween arrived we checked the candy situation, and found that we had given in to way too much temptation. A single bar was all we had. We’d eaten all the rest. So, if our lights are off tonight, I think that’s for the best. “We Bought a Lot of Candy Bars” copyright © 2020 Kenn Kenn Nesbitt. "We Bought A Lot Of Candy Bars." Family Friend Poems, https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/we-bought-a-lot-of-candy-bars-by-kenn-nesbitt

I Can't Wait For Summer By Kenn Nesbitt More Kenn Nesbitt I can’t wait for summer, when school days are done, to spend the days playing outside in the sun. I won’t have to study. No homework, no tests. Just afternoons spent on adventures and quests. Instead of mathematics and writing reports, I’ll go to the park and play summertime sports. Instead of assignments, report cards, and grades, I’ll get to play baseball and watch the parades. I’ll swing on the playground. I’ll swim in the pool instead of just practicing lessons in school. The second the school year is finally done I’ll spend every minute with friends having fun. I hardly can wait for the end of the year. I’m counting the days until summer is here. It’s hard to be patient. It’s hard to be cool. It’s hard to believe it’s the first day of school. Kenn Nesbitt. "I Can't Wait For Summer." Family Friend Poems, https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/i-cant-wait-for-summer-by-kenn-nesbitt

A Vampire Bit My Neck Last Night By Kenn Nesbitt More Kenn Nesbitt A vampire bit my neck last night. And, though it sounds insane, some zombies chased me down the street and tried to eat my brain. A mummy shambled after me. Godzilla stomped my face. I nearly I got abducted by an alien from space. When Frankenstein attacked me I escaped, but then almost got tackled by a skeleton, a werewolf, and a ghost. A slimy blob engulfed me. Then I woke up with a scream. I’ve never been so overjoyed to wake up from a dream. Last night I learned a lesson; if you want to keep your head, don’t watch a scary movie right before you go to bed. Kenn Nesbitt. "A Vampire Bit My Neck Last Night." Family Friend Poems, https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/a-vampire-bit-my-neck-last-night-by-kenn-nesbitt

Lunchbox Love Note BY KENN NESBITT Inside my lunch to my surprise a perfect heart-shaped love note lies. The outside says, “Will you be mine?” and, “Will you be my valentine?” I take it out and wonder who would want to tell me “I love you.” Perhaps a girl who’s much too shy to hand it to me eye to eye. Or maybe it was sweetly penned in private by a secret friend Who found my lunchbox sitting by and slid the note in on the sly. Oh, I’d be thrilled if it were Jo, the cute one in the second row. Or could it be from Jennifer? Has she found out I’m sweet on her? My mind’s abuzz, my shoulders tense. I need no more of this suspense. My stomach lurching in my throat, I open up my little note. Then wham! as if it were a bomb, inside it reads, “I love you—Mom.”

The Grandest Foal Author Unknown I'll lend you for a little while, my grandest foal, God said. For you to love while he's alive, and mourn for when he's dead. It may be one or twenty years, or days or months, you see. But will you, til I take him back, Take care of him for me? He'll bring his charms to gladden you and should his stay be brief, you'll have those treasured memories, as solace for your grief. I cannot promise he will stay, since all from earth return. But there are lessons taught on earth I want this foal to learn. I've looked the wide world over in my search for teachers true. And from the throngs that crowd life's lanes, with trust, I have selected you. Now will you give him all your love? Nor think the labor vain. Nor hate me when I come to take him back again? I know you'll give him tenderness and love will bloom each day. And for the happiness you've known, you will forever-grateful stay. But should I come and call for him much sooner than you'd planned, you'll brave the bitter grief that comes, and maybe understand.

The Arabian Stallion I am the famous Arabian stallion, I am worldly renowned as champion l am the descendent of a special breed, I am the soundness and the speed I am the king, of every hill, no other horse could match my skill I am the pride, I am the grace, I am the hero of every race I am the beauty, I am the glow, I am the star of every show I am the stallion, I am the mare, I am the spirit of every heir To every king or lord I serve, I am the jewel they do deserve In battle I charge without fear, enduring the thrust of every spear I am to knights, “the warrior horse”, I kick and bite without remorse I am the jumper, I am the strider, I am the one loyal to his rider I am simply a legend. Saleh Ben Saleh 27 Total read Share on Facebook Share on Twitter This poem is related to Arabian Horses Comments about The Arabian Stallion Share your comments OR Login to use your account and earn points. Max. 500 chars There is no comment yet. Be first to comment!

Oh there once was a swagman camped in the billabong, Under the shade of a Coolabah tree; And he sang as he looked at his old billy boiling "Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me." Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda, my darling. Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me. Waltzing Matilda and leading a water-bag — Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me. Down came a jumbuck to drink at the waterhole, Up jumped the swagman and grabbed him in glee; And he sang as he stowed him away in his tucker-bag, "You'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me." Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda, my darling. Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me. Waltzing Matilda and leading a water-bag — Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me. Down came the squatter a-riding his thoroughbred; Down came policemen — one, two, and three. "Whose is the jumbuck you've got in the tucker-bag? You'll come a-waltzing Matilda with we." Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda, my darling. Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me. Waltzing Matilda and leading a water-bag — Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me. But the swagman, he up and he jumped in the waterhole, Drowning himself by the Coolabah tree; And his ghost may be heard as it sings in the billabong "Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me?" Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda, my darling. Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me. Waltzing Matilda and leading a water-bag. Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with m