Taking another stab at Writing for Children
Pete and Repeat sat on a wall
Repeat fell off
Now Pete can finally move on
Writing for children
Writing For Children (No, really)
Kendra Lords makes her audio debut reading Espionage (A juvenile short story).
Espionage is short story centered on five juveniles. Chris, Matt, Tony, Jesse and Sam entertain themselves as amateur agents in a game of espionage with a delightful twist.
Plus the poetic tale of Hailey & Taylor’s Adventure.
This truly is writing for children unlike my other attempts. Of course it is also the brain child of my late mother.
Available at Audible, Amazon and iTunes
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For Jessica (A Poem & A Picture)
This is my daughter (Jessica’s) favorite poem by Shel Silverstein. I cannot count the number of times we read Where the Sidewalk Ends as she was growing up.
As I was readying to take a shot of the book nestled among jasmine a caterpillar dropped from the sky and pooped! Can you believe it? Hmph! What does he know about poetry?! Gee-sh… and I had just scraped twenty years of boogers off!
SARAH CYNTHIA SYLVIA STOUT WOULD NOT TAKE THE GARBAGE OUT
Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout
Would not take the garbage out.
She’d wash the dishes and scrub the pans
Cook the yams and spice the hams,
And though her parents would scream and shout,
She simply would not take the garbage out.
And so it piled up to the ceiling:
Coffee grounds, potato peelings,
Brown bananas and rotten peas,
Chunks of sour cottage cheese,
It filled the can, it covered the floor,
It cracked the windows and blocked the door,
With bacon rinds and chicken bones,
Drippy ends of ice cream cones,
Prune pits, peach pits, orange peels,
Gloppy glumps of cold oatmeal,
Pizza crusts and withered greens,
Soggy beans, and tangerines,
Crusts of black burned buttered toast,
Grisly bits of beefy roast…
The garbage rolled on down the hall,
It raised the roof, it broke the wall…
Greasy napkins, cookie crumbs,
Globs of gooey bubble gum,
Cellophane from green baloney,
Rubbery, blubbery macaroni,
Peanut butter, caked and dry,
Curdled milk, and crusts of pie,
Rotting melons, dried-up mustard,
Eggshells mixed with lemon custard,
Cold French fries and rancid meat,
Yellow lumps of Cream of Wheat.
At last the garbage reached so high
That finally it touched the sky,
And all the neighbors moved away,
And none of her friends would come to play,
And finally, Sarah Cynthia Stout said,
“OKAY, I’ll take the garbage out!”
But then, of course it was too late…
The garbage reached across the state,
From New York to the Golden Gate,
And there in the garbage she did hate,
Poor Sarah met an awful fate
That I cannot right now relate
Because the hour is much too late
But children, remember Sarah Stout,
And always take the garbage out!
It comes as no surprise Jessica grew up to be a goofball. I thank God every day for allowing me to be her mom.
Reminder: Getting Me Back (The Voices Within) released this month…
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Childs Play (Dino Wars)
There’s no school today and the natives are restless.
I’m not really sure why the children are getting a holiday. They had last Monday off in honor of Martin Luther King Jr.! How many holidays do these kids need?
Maybe this is for the teachers?
Or maybe it is the day of the Dino Wars. Where dinosaurs and Star Wars meet in the mind of an eight year old boy.
Yes, the same grandson that shunned my attempt at writing for children has Tyrannosaurus Rex pooping a Raptor. Go figure….
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Lucky Me
laundry
dishes
mail on the table
things piling up
leaks
leaning toilet
dad by nine
things falling down
mom on her i-phone, i-pad, i – i – i
I make dinner for myself
empty fridge, fruits and vegetables are for farm heroes.
save candy crush for dessert.
trip over musty towels, bang my head on rusty washer.
still no clean clothes in the dryer.
saving pets is more humane. baseball practice tomorrow.
a fruit cup with a bowl of lucky charms.
Lucky me.
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When a Picture is Worth a Thousand Words
The Ants and the Grasshopper
THE ANTS were spending a fine winter’s day drying grain collected in the summertime. A Grasshopper, perishing with famine, passed by and earnestly begged for a little food. The Ants inquired of him, “Why did you not treasure up food during the summer?” He replied, “I had not leisure enough. I passed the days in singing.” They then said in derision: “If you were foolish enough to sing all the summer, you must dance supperless to bed in the winter.”
That cautionary tale from Aesop’s Fables [as we all know] is intended to discourage slothfulness. It does not however go on to tell children what happens to lazy, good for nothing, don’t want to work and can’t even sing worth a damn beggars. That’s when a picture is worth a thousand words.
Ant #1: I’m really looking forward to vacation.
Ant #2: Yes indeed. Ah, the rewards of labor.
Yo, I been so busy singin’ I ain’t had time to tend to business can you little dudes help a hopper out?
Sure we’ll help you out- out of your wings and your legs. Now dance you lazy bum!
More and more I am entertaining the idea of writing for children. With that in mind I added a few captions. Children like that sort of thing. 😉
Credits: The Ants and the Grasshopper: Aesop (2012-05-17). Aesop’s Fables Translated by George Fyler Townsend. Kindle Edition.
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Switched at Birth & Writing for Children
Have you considered writing for children?
That is a question I have heard more than once and the answer is always yes. Yes indeed I have considered it but considering is a far cry from accomplishing.
I wrote a poem last year for my grandson when our fancy goldfish died because (as I explained to him) this sort of thing gets the creative juices flowing and writing can be very therapeutic.
Shubunkin
(From Interior Verse PLUS Pose Prose & Poems)
Little shubunkin all silver and pumpkin
with calico dotted on scales
You streak through the water
no teeter or totter fanning your cute tiny tale
You race and you turn but the water don’t churn
never so much as a swish
I’ll miss you shubunkin, your dashin’ and dunkin’
but oh what a sweet taco dish
I thought he would find it entertaining instead he cried and said “that’s not funny Nana and I don’t feel better.” Oops, my bad.
This same grandson loves the Skippyjon books by Judith Schachner so when he had finished mourning the goldfish he asked, “Can you write something like Skippyjon Jones and make him be a pirate?” I of course wanted to rectify the damage I had done so I quickly penned him another little poem.
Skippy Red
In the house where he lived void of laughter and kisses
In the room where he smoked and the little dog pisses
Where the ghost of a bloke stirs a foul reminiscence
Lies the frame of a maimed Skippy Red
…
Go down, go down poor Skippy Red
Alas, alas no water to tread
No ropes, no planks, no breaking of bread
In your world of endless abysses
…
Go on, go on let sleeping dogs lie
A new crib for you, twas a good day to die
Hoist a fresh cup, here’s spit in your eye
Abaddon is better off dead
…
Farewell, farewell Skippy Red
Well… Dang it!! I struck out again! Being scolded by a seven year old for saying piss is a shameful experience but at least he didn’t cry.
I wanted to impress him with my literary accomplishments be a good grandmother so I scribbled a few more verses. Judging from the look on his face each one was worse than the one before so after a few hours I untied him. He rubbed his little wrists, shook his head and walked away. At that point I had to be honest with myself and admit …
My grandson may have been switched at birth.
The Real Janna Hill in 