A Children’s Charivari

I have begun to put together an anthology of poems for children. I’m willing to bet that most of you can still recite several that you learned in your childhood. Poetry is very important for the development of language, especially verse that rhymes, scans and entertains. Poetry gives a sort of bounce to the words, making them both attractive and memorable.

My poems for children are very varied. Some are based upon traditional children’s rhymes, some on animal and some tell simple stories. There are nearly three hundred of them, so I have picked out sixty of the ones I like the most.

What to call the collection? I told my daughter that I wanted to call it A Children’s Charivari. She said, “You can’t!” I asked why not. She said, “Because nobody knows what a Charivari is!” I agreed, but I pointed out that, should it prove popular, no one would forget what it’s called.

A Charivari is a procession, usually following a wedding, but on occasions a funeral, consisting of musicians, acrobats, jugglers, singers and so forth. As it will contain poems of a wide variety, I think it’s a very appropriate description.

Here are a couple of poems that show how varied they are:

Rupert the Rat

Proud Rupert the Rat wore a very large hat
And a matching green doublet and britches,
For he’d had to decide to make Liza his bride
And he hoped there’d not be any hitches.

He discovered a bat had hung onto his hat
Who said,’ Thanks for the ride, now I’m resting.”
Rupert said, “No you’re not!” Plucked him off on the spot.
“If you think I’m your roost, you are jesting!”

He tripped over a cat, who exclaimed, “Fancy that!
I’ve a bruise on my bottom that’s hurting.”
Rupert hurried away, as he’d nothing to say
Except, “Sorry.” It was disconcerting.

He was singing a song as he trotted along,
But his singing voice wasn’t the greatest.
And the song that he sang didn’t go with a bang,
Though he knew it was one of the latest.

He encountered a cow, who enquired of him how
He could sing when his voice was so awful.
Rupert said, “I don’t care!” with his head in the air,
“And, besides, it is perfectly lawful.”

So he went on his way, past a field full of hay,
Then he came on a horse in a pasture.
The horse whinnied and said, “What is that on your head?”
“It’s a hat!” “Well, I’m sorry I asked yer.”

Then a vole in the hedge said, “I’ll make you a pledge,
If you’ll help me escape from this bramble.’
Rupert said, “I’ve no time, I’ve a mountain to climb,
Til I get to the end of this ramble.”

He arrived at a road. There, was asked by a toad,
“Are you sure that you know where you’re going?”
He replied, “I can’t wait, for I mustn’t be late.”
And he hurried on, puffing and blowing.

An old badger was stood at the edge of a wood
Who called out, “There’s no reason to hurry!”
“I’ve my girlfriend to meet and she won’t be so sweet
When she learns that I’ve lingered in Surrey!”

He next came on a mole who was out for a stroll
And said, “Join me for afternoon cocoa?”
Rupert answered, “I can’t. Ask my mad maiden aunt.
Just a sip of that drink sends her loco!”

With a frog in his throat, he was stopped by a stoat
With a menacing look on his features.
So he quickly passed by, while averting his eye,
Hoped he wouldn’t meet more nasty creatures.

In a ditch was a pig who was overly big
To escape from his muddy entrapment.
“Will you help me get out?” he asked, raising his snout.
“No, I can’t,” Rupert said, with detachment.

He arrived at the farm, without further alarm,
Where his girlfriend, fair Liza, awaited.
He presented the ring he’d remembered to bring;
His arrival was slightly belated.

The next week they were wed, at the wedding feast fed
On delicious poached earwigs and weevils.
They had children galore, they’d have liked to have more
And they suffered no further upheavals.

Monday’s Child

Monday’s child is fair of face

Maggie was a Monday’s child,
As ugly as they come.
Her nose was long, her hair was wild,
She always sucked her thumb.

Tuesday’s child is full of grace

Tuesday’s child was known as Tim,
As gawky as could be.
The knees and elbows of each limb
Would stick themselves in me.

Wednesday’s child is full of woe

On Wednesday we had sunny Sam,
Who laughed the whole day long.
As soon as he had left his pram
Was full of smiles and song.

Thursday’s child has far to go

Thursday’s girl was sorry Sue,
Who never moved an inch.
She sat and ate and fatter grew;
To move required a winch.

Friday’s child is loving and giving

Friday’s Will became a thief,
Stole everything he could.
Became the local robber chief;
He always was no good.

Saturday’s child works hard for its living

Sal was born on Saturday,
As lazy as they come.
She loved it best in bed to stay
With chocolate and rum.

And a child that’s born on the Sabbath day
Is fair and wise and good and gay.

But Sunday’s Sid was worse by far.
So vicious, dark and grim.
None was more evil, or bizarre.
We’re all afraid of him.