Most disturbing children's poetry: your examples
A selection of children’s poems has gone gone viral on Twitter after they were published in The Los Angeles Times. Is your child the next Sylvia Plath – or more of a McGonagall? Our readers have been sharing their verses with us – here are some of the best
Goodbye to innocence? Comedian Shelby Fero, known for her quick and brilliant wit on Twitter, shared the following pieces of children’s poetry published in the section Creativity Corner of the Los Angeles Times this weekend. The poems read:
Seashells are shining. Seashells are like ocean waves. Seashells beam at night” —Christopher, aged 9
Parakeets are loud. On Friday, I take them out. They are so pretty.” — Skylar, aged 8
The fire is red as blood. I watch the flames go up in the air as I taste the sadness of the people whose houses have burnt to the ground. I turn back, but all I hear is the bursting and explosion of flames.” — Gabi, aged 9
@shelbyfero @todd_coleman pic.twitter.com/IxWKqsoSPv
@shelbyfero @alexgriendling This is my 8 year old daughter's. Romans in school, WW1 war poets at home. The darkness. pic.twitter.com/wh12fDauZc
@GuardianBooks pic.twitter.com/UBKUCkuRvG
@GuardianBooks I'm guessing my childhood poem was making a strong social statement #pollutionoffarts pic.twitter.com/X54JsdNuch
No-one knows where he lurks
But he’s only after the birthday girl
@GuardianBooks Here's the hand-written original. pic.twitter.com/363G7uG6ue
This from my then 7 year old daughter, she was asked to write a gory poem. It may help to know that she hates One Direction.
Ingredients
Guts of a human found in a cave
Heart of a slug found in a drain
A live slug found in a garden
Hand of a human found in a grave
Six legs of centipedes
Throat of a human
Brain of a rat
Fur from a wolf
Half a spider
Head of Niall Horan
Guts of Niall
Method
Twist the rat brain and boil it. Cut the slug in half. Rip Niall's guts in two and put them in Niall's neck. Add a pinch of cinnamon.
This is by my 10 year old daughter:
"If only, if only
Things could always go our way
It could be even and fair
Instead of the fools making us pay
And what friendship is ours
When I was 11 I had a guitar playing best friend and I wrote her some words to fit her music.
Verse:
A little old lady is sitting there alone,
She needs someone to talk to so she reaches for the phone,
Her hand can move no further, she feels a pain inside.
And a few minutes later the old woman died.
At the grand old age of 7 I wrote a poem about my Mum, it went:
'My Mum has long black hair and when I am bad she goes spare'. I was so disappointed when it wasn't put on the wall with the other children's sweet little poems about their Mums (I think they were for Mother's Day). For the record my poor Mum was (and is) a very mild-mannered soul who rarely 'went spare'
Black dog stares with eyes so red
Salivating mouth the jaws of dread
Running through quicksand
Not going to make it
The devils on my back
I wake up screaming
My son aged 12 at the time.
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