My collection of original, unpublished poems for kids, "To Catch a Poem," was published in March, 2022 by Ukiyoto Publishing. The book contains over one hundred poems in more than twenty five poetic forms and rhyme schemes. The book is available as a paper back on Amazon & Flipkart and e-book kindle form on GooglePlay Smashwords, and in hardback from the Ukiyoto store. |
Two of my poems for children appear in this international anthology of poetry, 'Ravishing Rhapsodists,' edited by Manjushree Sardesh pande, and published by The Impish Lass Publishing House, Mumbai. November 2022 |
Read some of my poems (from my Instagram page) featured on
Family Friend Poems - Heartfelt Popular Poems
https://www.familyfriendpoems.com -
https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/user/santhini-govindan
My poem "Travel for Fun,' was featured among the 35 best po
for children on FamilyFriend Poem a website started in 2006, featuring
more than 8000 poems.
' Travel for Fun,' was the featured 'Poem of the Day,' on November 14th, 2021
Some of my poems are also featured among the website's favourite
children's poems from Instagram.
Read some of my poems (from my Instagram page) featured on
Family Friend Poems - Heartfelt Popular Poems
https://www.familyfriendpoems.com -
https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/user/santhini-govindan
My poem "Travel for Fun,' was featured among the 35 best po
for children on FamilyFriend Poem a website started in 2006, featuring
more than 8000 poems.
' Travel for Fun,' was the featured 'Poem of the Day,' on November 14th, 2021
Some of my poems are also featured among the website's favourite
children's poems from Instagram.
Read my original, unpublished poems for children on my Instagram Poetry Page https://www.instagram.com/lottle_kids_poetry/ |
A concept poem to teach opposites - twenty pairs of opposites
ANTS BUILD A HOME
An army of busy ants, decided one day,
Not to idle, and build a home where they could all stay.
All the ants, both young and old, started to dig tunnels underground,
They were not slow - they moved fast to pile the mud they dug out, into a mound.
The ants ran up and down, to the left and the right,
They ran forward and backward, as they worked through the day and night.
The tiny ants worked hard, hoping to build a huge place,
To live in when they were asleep or awake - a home with lots of space.
While some ants remained in the growing mound, others marched out,
To search for twigs, bits of rough grass, and smooth sand lying about.
They marched in front of stones, and behind the knobbly roots of trees,
They marched under heavy rocks, and over piles of light, dried up leaves.
When the ants returned from far and near, with all the things they had found,
They continued to add to their home, without making a sound.
In places where the mud walls were weak, the ants made them strong,
They built rooms for many of their activities, and a few passages that were long.
The ants, always hardworking, and never lazy, finally built a big home for themselves to stay;
It was a splendid anthill, in which they could happily work, and play!
© Santhini Govindan
Please do not reproduce this poem without permission of the author
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THE BEST LEAVES
“My leaves are the finest!” exclaimed the banana tree,
“They’re as large as an elephant’s ears, you see.
At mealtimes, they are used as fresh, natural leaf platters.”
The coconut palm said, “I don’t think that matters.
Though my leaves are thin and very long,
They’re surely the best. They’re so strong.
My leaves make toys, brooms, hats and mats.
They’re used to thatch roofs – what can be better than that?”
My lovely leaves are special,” the henna tree said with pride.
“They give off such a lovely colour after they are dried.
Henna from my leaves is used in such a wonderful way,
To decorate and adorn hands and feet on a festive day.”
“Hmm,” said a neem tree, shaking its leafy green head,
"I’ve listened carefully to everything the other trees have said.
My leaves are used to make oil and medicines, so they’re the best.
I’m certain that my leaves are Mother Nature’s finest.”
“I disagree,” said the curry tree haughtily, raising its tone,
“Your leaves may be popular, but you are not alone.
My curry leaves are healthy, and I must tell you,
That putting my leaves in any dish adds such flavour too.”
The little tea bush said, “All this boasting is making me tired.
Don’t you know that my tiny leaves are the world’s most
My leaves are the only ones in the world, you see,
That can be brewed, to make the world’s most popular drink –
© Santhini Govindan
Please do not reproduce this poem without permission of the author
EXAM PANIC
I got up this morning, feeling quite ill.
I think I have a fever and a chill.
I can feel butterflies in my tummy,
My legs are shaking just like jelly.
There’s a terrible ache in my head -
The whites of my eyes are turning red.
I think I’m getting a rash on my face -
My pulse is really beginning to race.
My throat is sore - I can barely speak,
My knees feel extremely weak.
I feel dizzy – my head seems to spin,
There are goose bumps all over my skin.
My heart is pounding in my breast,
I feel a tightness in my chest.
When I complained that I felt sick,
Mom took me to the doctor, double quick.
“Dr,” I said, “I feel just terrible.
“The discomfort I have is just unbearable.
Do you want to keep me here to run some tests?
Or do you think I need a week’s bed rest?
X-ray my chest if that’s what you need to do;
I don’t even mind getting a jab or two.”
The doctor shook his head, and said with a smile,
“I see complaints like yours once in a while.
Your ailments will soon vanish without medicines – so don’t be vexed.
But they might reappear when your examinations come around next!”
© Santhini Govindan
Please do not reproduce this poem without permission of the author
PASSWORD PUZZLES
The problem with my laptop, smart phone, and other gizmos
Is that every single one,
Needs a password for every Internet log in;
These passwords spoil all the fun.
Making a password doesn’t seem complicated -
The instructions always say,
‘Use a symbol, digit, capital letter, and lower case,
And don’t use your initials, address, or birthday.
If you use the same password in too many places,
The nasty hackers will break in,
So, make sure your password is so complicated and unique,
That hackers can’t figure it out, and win.
Remember that your password
Must be changed every month or two,
For the safety of all your accounts,
This is something you must do.’
When I first created a brilliant, complicated password,
I was astonished, and a little shaken,
When a message popped up on my screen -
‘This password is already taken!’
I hurriedly rearranged all the letters and numbers,
To make another password so clever;
That I was certain that no hacker would
Be able to figure it out, ever.
I skillfully invented many new passwords –
They were original, bright, and witty,
But in my haste to put them into use,
I did not note them down – more’s the pity!
I soon forgot all my clever passwords,
And had to reset them again, you know.
In my agitation, I forgot some of my user names too,
To add to my misery and woe.
I wish someone would think of a password
That would let me log into the memory cells in my brain –
So I can retrieve all my forgotten passwords,
Instead of resetting them, time and time again.
© Santhini Govindan
Please do not reproduce this poem without permission of the author
Illustration for this poem is from <a href="https://www.freepik.com/free-photos-vectors/mockup">Mockup psd created by Aleksandr_samochernyi - Freepik.com</a>
MY KIND OF ADVENTURE SPORT
Mountaineering, rock climbing, and bungee jumping are not for me –
These adventure sports are much too arduous, you see.
Kayaking, white water rafting, and hang gliding don’t fill me with delight-
In fact, the thought of trying them out makes me tremble with fright.
But if there’s one sport that I yearn to try,
It’s hot air ballooning through the wide, open sky.
Hot air balloons are truly marvellous inventions,
They fly without wings, propellers, or noisy engines.
They don’t need seat belts and aeroplane windows –
They just drift along as the wind blows.
A hot air balloon seems to fly like magic -
As soon as its burner heats up an envelope of fabric.
I like the thought of standing in a basket in the sky,
And looking down at towns and valleys as I float by.
I’d like to skim over rivers, and brush over treetops tall,
And not worry about whether I’m going to fall –
I’d like to feel the wind blowing over my face and hair,
As my hot air balloon soars through the air.
It’s no wonder that hot air ballooning makes me so enthusiastic –
As an adventure sport – it seems just fantastic!
It needs no pushing or pulling, or raving and ranting,
Or straining long unused muscles, and panting.
It doesn’t require tough preparation, and special gear,
And the rides won’t make me dizzy, or fill me with fear –
Marvellous hot air balloons have no controls over which I’ll have to ponder -
They’ll just take me straight up into the great blue yonder!
© Santhini Govindan
Please do not reproduce this poem without permission of the author
A ‘DIGI’ MISTAKE
When I held my first digital camera in my hands,
I was very excited, and made many grand plans.
I dreamt of becoming a photographer beyond compare –
One who shot images exquisite and rare.
The manual that came with my digicam was easy to figure out;
The instructions left me in no doubt.
My digicam didn’t need photo film, chemicals, or a dark room;
It would take perfect photographs with its digital zoom!
I just had to point my camera and click,
In an instant I could view my photo – it was that quick.
But my first pictures were hazy and blurry –
Did my hands shake in my hurry?
Or had I foolishly placed,
My fingers over the lens in my eager haste?
I clicked again, but let out a frustrated shout –
The charge of my digicam’s batteries had run out!
I gnashed my teeth – I was getting really vexed.
I wondered what my digicam would do next.
But, after several more tries, I let out a whoop of delight –
The photographs I had taken were sharp, clear, and bright.
They weren’t filled with shadows, or patches of white light;
And it seemed that finally, I’d got my camera angles right!
But when I tried to admire my photos again, my hands began to shake –
My photos were missing – I’d pressed the ‘delete’ button by mistake!
© Santhini Govindan
Please do not reproduce this poem without permission of the author
THE LAND OF I FORGOT
My mother says I’m careless, and too forgetful of my things.
But however hard I try, there’ll always be something missing!
My pencils and pens vanish without a trace,
I keep them safe, but they’re never n the same place.
My water bottles and lunch-boxes always seem to be left behind,
I search so hard for them, but they are impossible to find.
“Where are your things?” Mother cries in a loud, angry shout.
And very quietly, I can only say, “I forgot. I forgot…”
I often sit and wonder where all my lost things are -
Perhaps they’re all in a mysterious land, somewhere afar.
In a magical place called the ‘Land of I Forgot,’
A place where we can find everything we’ve ever lost!
What an interesting place the Land of I Forgot must be!
With hundreds and hundreds of lost things to see!
Forgotten pencils and pens, and lunch boxes and water bottles abound.
There are lost purses, spectacles, and umbrellas that have never been found!
And the pleasantest thing about the Land of I Forgot,
Is the fact that no one minds if you are forgetful or not!
Someday, I’m going to go there, and have a look around.
And who knows what wonderful treasures of mine are there to be found?
Perhaps I’ll return with a sackful of things I’ve lost before.
Can you imagine mother’s face as she meets me at the door?
“Where did you get them?” she will cry, as my things all tumble out
And for once, I’ll not have to say, “I forgot. I forgot!”
But till I get a chance to go to that magical land afar,
Things will probably be just the way they are!
“Where are your things?” Mother will regularly cry out with a shout.
And I can only sigh and say, “I forgot! I forgot!”
© Santhini Govindan
Please do not reproduce this poem without permission of the author
THE DRAGON’S RAGE
When Mother Earth was young, long long ago,
She held strange beasts that wandered to and fro.
Like the long, scaly dragon with huge snapping jaws,
Wings on his back, and fearsome claws.
When he breathed, hot tongues of fire from his mouth he blew,
And he had live coals for breakfast, lunch, and dinner too!
Through dense forests, deep valleys and grassy hills the dragon did roam,
He was happy and free in his wide, open home.
So the dragon lived, and rejoiced as the ages passed,
But change crept into the dragon’s dream world at last.
As the number of people living on Mother Earth’s face grew and grew,
So did the hamlets and little villages too.
The trees in the dragon’s beloved forests were all cut down,
To make way for new buildings, factories, and towns.
The dragon was dismayed – he had no place to stay,
So he retreated to the mountains far, far away.
He dug himself into a cave, many fathoms deep,
And closing his eyes wearily, decided to have a long lingering sleep.
When the dragon awoke from his slumber at last,
Many moons and seasons had swiftly sped past.
He peeped out from his cave, hoping eagerly to find,
Once more, the idyllic land he had long left behind.
Instead he saw crowded cities and ugly factories making a crescendo of sound,
Wrathfully, the dragon withdrew – his rage knew no bounds!
Breathing fire, he roared fearfully, and the mountain began to rumble and shake,
The earth trembled and was cleaved in a mighty EARTHQUAKE!
Finally, when he’d shattered rocks and boulders with his anger most foul,
The dragon returned to sleep, with a long sorrowful howl.
Deep beneath that mountain, the smouldering dragon still does stay-
Who knows what will happen, should he crawl out one day?
© Santhini Govindan
Please do not reproduce this poem without permission of the author
THE DRAGON’S RAGE
When Mother Earth was young, long long ago,
She held strange beasts that wandered to and fro.
Like the long, scaly dragon with huge snapping jaws,
Wings on his back, and fearsome claws.
When he breathed, hot tongues of fire from his mouth he blew,
And he had live coals for breakfast, lunch, and dinner too!
Through dense forests, deep valleys and grassy hills the dragon did roam,
He was happy and free in his wide, open home.
So the dragon lived, and rejoiced as the ages passed,
But change crept into the dragon’s dream world at last.
As the number of people living on Mother Earth’s face grew and grew,
So did the hamlets and little villages too.
The trees in the dragon’s beloved forests were all cut down,
To make way for new buildings, factories, and towns.
The dragon was dismayed – he had no place to stay,
So he retreated to the mountains far, far away.
He dug himself into a cave, many fathoms deep,
And closing his eyes wearily, decided to have a long lingering sleep.
When the dragon awoke from his slumber at last,
Many moons and seasons had swiftly sped past.
He peeped out from his cave, hoping eagerly to find,
Once more, the idyllic land he had long left behind.
Instead he saw crowded cities and ugly factories making a crescendo of sound,
Wrathfully, the dragon withdrew – his rage knew no bounds!
Breathing fire, he roared fearfully, and the mountain began to rumble and shake,
The earth trembled and was cleaved in a mighty EARTHQUAKE!
Finally, when he’d shattered rocks and boulders with his anger most foul,
The dragon returned to sleep, with a long sorrowful howl.
Deep beneath that mountain, the smouldering dragon still does stay-
Who knows what will happen, should he crawl out one day?
© Santhini Govindan
Please do not reproduce this poem without permission of the author
SHOOTING STAR
Whenever I see a shooting star,
Whizzing across the dark night sky,
I marvel at its beauty from afar,
And wonder what is it doing, and why?
Could the shooting star be a happy star,
Trying to turn cartwheels in the sky?
Or could it be just an adventurous star
That’s decided to try and learn to fly?
Perhaps it’s a star that’s got bored of its place
High up in the crowded Milky Way.
Maybe that’s why it’s trying to race,
To find another galaxy in which to stay!
Or could a shooting star just be,
A lonely star in search of a friend who’ll be true?
So perhaps if I get a shooting star to notice me –
I’ll soon be whizzing through the Milky Way too!
© Santhini Govindan
Please do not reproduce this poem without permission of the author
SHOOTING STAR
Whenever I see a shooting star,
Whizzing across the dark night sky,
I marvel at its beauty from afar,
And wonder what is it doing, and why?
Could the shooting star be a happy star,
Trying to turn cartwheels in the sky?
Or could it be just an adventurous star
That’s decided to try and learn to fly?
Perhaps it’s a star that’s got bored of its place
High up in the crowded Milky Way.
Maybe that’s why it’s trying to race,
To find another galaxy in which to stay!
Or could a shooting star just be,
A lonely star in search of a friend who’ll be true?
So perhaps if I get a shooting star to notice me –
I’ll soon be whizzing through the Milky Way too!
© Santhini Govindan
Please do not reproduce this poem without permission of the author
THE CAMEL
He has no beauty in his long, bony face,
Nor much grace in his clumsy body too,
But this beast with a hump never ceases to amaze,
Beholders with one wonderful thing it can do!
Which other creature can live for forty long nights and days,
Without any food, or a drop of water to drink?
Mysterious indeed are the camel’s ways,
If we pause for a moment to think!
He’s not at all choosy, nor does he care,
About the flavours of the food he gets to eat.
He swallows everything whole, but later takes care,
To chew it all up with his huge white teeth!
But if he sounds like an ideal guest-
One who’s not greedy, and who doesn’t fuss,
I think you’d better hear all the rest
About him- things you’d never guess!
He’s willful and obstinate when he wants his way.
He’s been known to bite, and kick and spit.
So, if you’re thinking of inviting him to stay,
I'd advise you to think it over a little bit!
© Santhini Govindan
Please do not reproduce this poem without permission of the author
THE CAMEL
He has no beauty in his long, bony face,
Nor much grace in his clumsy body too,
But this beast with a hump never ceases to amaze,
Beholders with one wonderful thing it can do!
Which other creature can live for forty long nights and days,
Without any food, or a drop of water to drink?
Mysterious indeed are the camel’s ways,
If we pause for a moment to think!
He’s not at all choosy, nor does he care,
About the flavours of the food he gets to eat.
He swallows everything whole, but later takes care,
To chew it all up with his huge white teeth!
But if he sounds like an ideal guest-
One who’s not greedy, and who doesn’t fuss,
I think you’d better hear all the rest
About him- things you’d never guess!
He’s willful and obstinate when he wants his way.
He’s been known to bite, and kick and spit.
So, if you’re thinking of inviting him to stay,
I'd advise you to think it over a little bit!
© Santhini Govindan
Please do not reproduce this poem without permission of the author
CLOUDS Whenever I get time to stretch out on the grass, And look up at the clouds drifting by, I wonder, what must it be like for them To live miles above in the great blue sky? I’m sure it must be fun for them, of course, To watch the Sun wake up each day. And when night time comes, I’ll bet, That they enjoy their special view of the Milky Way! I know that clouds like to play as well, For I often see them chasing each other across the sky. I think they like to play at make believe too- For they sometimes change into the strangest shapes when they’re up there, so high! But I wonder how the puffy white clouds feel, When aeroplanes tear through them with a noisy roar Do they tremble anxiously and cover their ears? Or are they so used to it, that they don’t mind anymore? I wonder if the clouds hum and sing along with the birds, That fly alongside them through day and night. Do they ever wish that they could wear shady hats? To shield their eyes from the Sun’s bright light? © Santhini Govindan Please do not reproduce this poem without permission of the author |
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WHAT IS A GOOGOL?
Have you ever heard of a Googol?
I’m not surprised that you say, ‘no’!
For Googol seems to be a word,
That very few people know!
What kind of word is it, you ask?
It does sound rather strange –
Is a Googol a bird or an animal?
Or a monster hidden on a mountain range?
Could it be an enormous dinosaur,
That lived millions of years ago?
Or perhaps, a Googol is a dragon,
A fierce, fire-breathing fellow?
Could a Googol be something magical,
Like a fairy, or a gnome, or an elf?
Why, let me tell you the answer
Since you don’t know it yourself.
A Googol is just a NUMBER,
But it’s the biggest one we know –
It has EXACTLY ONE HUNDRED ZEROES,
Following one another, all in a row!
It’s bigger than a million, or a billion,
And trillion too, for you see -
A Googol is quite simply the largest
That a number can ever be!
Now since you know what a Googol is,
Why don’t you have some fun?
Try writing one down on a piece of paper –
One hundred zeroes – ONE BY ONE!
© Santhini Govindan
Please do not reproduce this poem without the permission of the author
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SOMEDAY
Many people I know make lists all the time – They list all the things they mustn’t forget to do. They make shopping lists, and birthdays to remember lists, And lists of important telephone numbers too. But the lists that I make once in a way, After I’ve had time to think matters through, Are quite unlike any of these, you know, For my lists are full of wonderful things that I hope, someday to do! Someday, I’ll buy a rocket, and zoom to outer space, I’ll visit Venus, Jupiter and Mars. I’ll make stopovers at every planet I see, To check if I can find new, undiscovered stars. Someday, I’ll dive to the bottom of the sea, To hunt for mermaids with long, green tails. On my way down, I’ll swim with dolphins, And listen to the songs of the humpback whales. Someday, I’ll fly one hundred kites Up into the blue sky, all at once! As they flutter and leap and dance, I’ll make them perform the most incredible stunts! Someday ’ll own a houseful of pets, For I’ll adopt every creature who rolls a friendly eye at me. Gosh! As you read all the things on my wonderful lists, Don’t you see what fun ‘someday’ is going to be? © Santhini Govindan Please do not reproduce this poem without the permission of the author. |
THINGS I’D LIKE TO KNOW
Our garden is full of wonderful trees,
And I just love to watch them grow.
But there are still so many things about them,
That I’d really like to know.
Do trees stretch their limbs the way we do,
Do they sometimes long to sit down to rest their feet?
And when the fierce summer sun beats down on them all day,
Don’t they wish that they too could hide indoors to beat the heat?
I’m sure that trees must feel cold when gusty autumn winds,
Tear away their leaves and leave their branches bare -
I wonder if they ever think about how it would feel,
If they too had a nice shawl or sweater to wear!
I’m sure that trees must sometimes feel very sad,
When the air that they breathe is not fresh and clean.
But I like to think that when spring comes, trees sway and rejoice,
For they know it’s time for them to dress up and be green!
© Santhini Govindan
Please do not reproduce without the permission of the author
SNAKE
He slithers around our garden on his belly,
And makes not a single sound.
But almost everyone I know,
Dislikes having him around!
I wonder what it is about him,
That makes everyone scream and shout?
He seems a harmless fellow really,
Who might like a friend when he’s about.
But I hear that he has a bag of poison,
That he carries with him wherever he goes;
And he has two sharp, pointed fangs too,
To bite with, if you get too close!
He seems a lonesome kind of chap,
So perhaps I should just let him be…
If he really needs a friend after all,
I don’t think its going to be me!
© Santhini Govindan
Please do not reproduce this poem without the permission of the author.
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GRANDFATHER THUNDER
When I hear grandfather Thunder’s voice,
As he calls out from his home in the clouds,
I wish I could ask grandfather Thunder –
Why does your voice always sound so angry and so loud?
And why is it, grandfather Thunder, that I hear your voice,
Only on dark, gloomy days when the sky is grey?
Perhaps you wouldn’t sound so very cross,
If you were to call out instead on a warm, sunny day!
And if you were to make friends with the Wind, grandfather Thunder,
Maybe he could teach you to whistle a tune or two.
And if he is able to make you a little less cross,
Perhaps then, I’ll not be so scared every time I hear you!
© Santhini Govindan
Please do not reproduce this poem without the permission of the author.
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MR. TURTLE’S HOME Though Mr. Turtle often opens his front door and peers out, He never sets a foot outside his little home. In fact, wherever he goes, he carries it about - A little brown shell shaped like a dome. Since he’s always at home, I’m sure Mr. Turtle’s home must be, A really cozy and comfortable place. How I wish I could just peep in and see, How he has filled up his own little space! I wonder if he has an armchair that is snug and deep, And perhaps a small table and chair on which to dine. Maybe he reads in the armchair before he falls asleep, In a soft bed lined with sheets so fine! I wonder if Mr. Turtle has hung paintings on his walls, And got curtains to shut away the glare of the sun. But I guess this is something I will never know at all- For Mr. Turtle’s house has got room for just one! © Santhini Govindan Please do not reproduce this poem without the permission of the author This poem was first published in “Just Imagine Stories and Poems,’ Madhuban Educational Books, 2002 |
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MR MANGO
At the beginning of summer, you appear on my favourite tree,
Wearing a little green jacket that’s buttoned up tight.
And though you’re as delicate and as tiny as can be,
You cling to your little branch with all your might!
As the days pass, the flaming sun’s rays,
Caress you gently, and encourage you to grow.
As you bask in the warmth of long, summer days,
Your little green jacket turns to gold, and glows.
Your body grows plump and soft and round,
And smells deliciously sweet too, I find.
A juicier, tastier mango on my tree, I’m sure I’ve never found-
So I’m going to gobble you up, Mr. Mango- hope you don’t mind!
© Santhini Govindan - Please do not reproduce this poem without the permission of the author
This poem was first published in “Just Imagine Stories and Poems,’
Madhuban Educational Books, 2002
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SHOPPING FOR SHOES As a centipede strolled past a shoe shop one morning, He happened to pause, and look in. The shop was crammed with shoes from the floor to the ceiling, There were more shoes than the little creature had ever seen. “This is just the place for me!” he cried, And his eyes were filled with delight. “There are hundreds of pairs of shoes here to be tried, So I’m sure something will fit me just right! So he climbed onto a stool, and sat himself down, Then stretched all his hundred feet out. To the salesman, he cried, “I need fifty pairs of shoes to wear about town, So bring all your best wares out! The shoes must be smart and durable,” he said, “So that I can wear them when I’m at work and at play. I’d prefer them to be in pink, yellow, blue, or red, Without zips or laces to get in the way! For I don’t have the time to do up one hundred shoe laces, Or to unravel the knots in them too. And when I’m out, visiting important place A jammed up zipper just will not do! I can’t wear high heels either, for fear, That they’d make me trip, and have a big fall. But soft velvet shoes are comfortable, I hear, So I wouldn’t mind those at all! Perhaps you can show me shoes that glitter and glow, Or some that are trimmed with fine lace? Do you have anything with a satin bow, Or track shoes that will help me to race? “ I’m sorry sir,” said the salesman with a frown, Although you’ve been very polite and precise, I regret to tell you that in this town, You’ll never find one hundred shoes in your SIZE!” © Santhini Govindan Please do not reproduce this poem without the permission of the author This poem was first published in “Just Imagine Stories and Poems,’ Madhuban Educational Books, 2002 |
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JUST IMAGINE
If crocodiles had to brush their teeth, The way I do, every morning and night. Just imagine the number of toothbrushes they’d need, To keep all those rows of teeth sparkling white! If elephants had to use handkerchiefs, Every time they sneezed, or had a bad cold. Just imagine how many hankies they’d have, To wash, and iron and fold! If giraffes had to wear ties around their necks, Like I do to school every day. Just imagine how long those ties would be, And how they’d dangle, and flutter, and sway! If centipedes had to wear boots with laces, All fastened, and tied up tight. Just imagine what a tangle of legs there’d be, If just one of those laces wasn’t done up right! If children like me had wings like birds, With which we could fly, and soar up high. Just imagine how many children there’d be, Zooming about in the sky! © Santhini Govindan - Please do not reproduce this poem without the permission of the author
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GUARDIAN ANGEL
I know that each one of us has a guardian angel, An angel who watches over us night and day. Sometimes I wonder where my guardian angel lives, And if we should meet, what would she say? Perhaps she’ll ask me why I make such long lists of wishes, That I hope she will grant me, one by one. Maybe she’ll ask me to shorten my lists, please, Because even overworked angels need some free time for fun! Maybe she’ll explain why, if things don’t always work out for me, The way I’d hoped they would. I should remember that even angels can be forgetful sometimes, When they have more to do than they should! I’ll surely ask my angel if she bounces up and down on the clouds, Or slides down the pretty rainbows I sometimes see in the sky. I do hope that she’ll be so pleased to talk to me at last, That she’ll promise to teach me to fly. © Santhini Govindan Please do not reproduce this poem without the permission of the author This poem was first published in “Just Imagine Stories and Poems,’ Madhuban Educational Books, 2002 |
A GREAT DESSERT
My tummy is very full, so at any rate,
I cannot eat a single morsel more from my plate.
If I’m forced to finish my vegetables, my tummy will detonate,
I won’t be able to finish them even if I pause and wait.
There are more vegetables on my plate than my meal did necessitate,
If I try to eat them, my tummy ache they will surely aggravate.
You put too many vegetables on my plate, mama. You did miscalculate.
Next time before you serve me, please think and evaluate.
What’s that you’re saying mama? You're sorry that my tummy can’t accommodate,
The dessert of ice-cream and gulab jamuns you wanted to serve on my plate?
Ha! Ha! I was only joking, mama. You know how I like to exaggerate
I’m going to finish my vegetables in a trice – so please don’t hesitate,
To spoon a generous serving of ice-cream and gulab jamuns onto my plate –
My mouth is already watering – I’m sure dessert will taste just great!
My tummy is very full, so at any rate,
I cannot eat a single morsel more from my plate.
If I’m forced to finish my vegetables, my tummy will detonate,
I won’t be able to finish them even if I pause and wait.
There are more vegetables on my plate than my meal did necessitate,
If I try to eat them, my tummy ache they will surely aggravate.
You put too many vegetables on my plate, mama. You did miscalculate.
Next time before you serve me, please think and evaluate.
What’s that you’re saying mama? You're sorry that my tummy can’t accommodate,
The dessert of ice-cream and gulab jamuns you wanted to serve on my plate?
Ha! Ha! I was only joking, mama. You know how I like to exaggerate
I’m going to finish my vegetables in a trice – so please don’t hesitate,
To spoon a generous serving of ice-cream and gulab jamuns onto my plate –
My mouth is already watering – I’m sure dessert will taste just great!
This poem is a monorhyme. The term describes the use of one (mono) type of repetitious sound (rhyme), at the end of each line.
© Santhini Govindan
Please do not reproduce this poem without the permission of the author.
THE GNU
At first glance, the gnu seems such an unremarkable creature,
That we assume he’s an ordinary antelope or deer.
But he has one interesting and amazing feature,
That makes all these assumptions disappear.
Beneath his chin, he sports a fine little beard,
Its soft tufts may be black or snowy white.
Perhaps he wears it so that he may be respected and revered,
By all the other animals that come within his sight.
But there’s one thing about him I wish I knew-
Who gave him a funny name like GNU?
© Santhini Govindan
Please do not reproduce this poem without the permission of the author
WHERE DO YOU GO AT NIGHT, MR. SUN?
I know that you shine brightly during the day,
And then go to bed each night.
But dear Mr. Sun, where do you stay,
When you disappear from our sight?
Do you have your own bed in the clouds so high,
With a blanket to pull over your head?
Do you and the moon have pillow fights in the sky,
When I’m asleep in my bed?
© Santhini Govindan
Please do not reproduce this poem without the permission of the author
WHERE DO YOU GO AT NIGHT, MR. SUN?
I know that you shine brightly during the day,
And then go to bed each night.
But dear Mr. Sun, where do you stay,
When you disappear from our sight?
Do you have your own bed in the clouds so high,
With a blanket to pull over your head?
Do you and the moon have pillow fights in the sky,
When I’m asleep in my bed?
© Santhini Govindan
Please do not reproduce this poem without the permission of the author
GRAVITY
Yesterday at school, I learnt something new.
It sounded so strange that I thought it must be untrue.
My teacher taught us about gravity, an extraordinary force,
That holds the universe together, and keeps the planets on course.
“Gravity,” teacher said, “keeps things in their proper place.
It keeps people, buildings, air, and water from floating into space.
When you throw a ball up into the air, gravity makes it fall
to the ground.
Gravity, nature’s invisible, most dominant force, works
without a sound.”
After I learnt about gravity, I was filled with great wonder,
The amazing things that gravity did, really made me ponder.
It’s gravity that makes fruits from trees fall to the ground,
Instead of rolling into the sky, never to be found.
It’s gravity that helps me to have a shower every day;
Without gravity, my bathwater would levitate, and glide away.
The Moon orbits around Earth because of gravity’s power;
Gravity grabs rocks from a passing comet to bring a meteor shower.
I’m glad I know so much about gravity, but now I’m worried too –
If the force of gravity vanishes one day, what will I do?
I’m terrified that I’ll soar into the air, and float into space,
And land on another star, in a scary, cold, dark place.
I asked Mama about this, but she just laughed and said, “No. No.
That’s never going to happen, so don’t you worry so.”
But I’m still not fully convinced, and hope that Mama’s right,
If she’s not – I can’t bear to think of my plight!
© Santhini Govindan
Please do not reproduce this poem without the permission of the author
IF EVER
If ever I have lots of money to spend
Perhaps even a billion or two –
I won’t have any problems in spending it at all,
Because I’ve already decided what exactly I’ll do!
I won’t invest in boring stocks and shares,
Or in diamonds and fancy cars,
I’ll buy myself a tropical jungle instead,
In an exotic land somewhere afar.
I’ll ride through the jungle on elephant back,
And say hello to every creature I meet,
And if some of them turn unfriendly, I won’t be scared,
For I’ll be very safe, perched high up on my lofty seat!
I won’t buy a private airplane or a fine yacht,
To travel around the way rich folks usually do,
I’ll buy an enormous hot air balloon instead,
And visit every land the balloon chances to float to!
I’ll buy a big chocolate factory somewhere,
And maybe a sprawling amusement park too.
And if I still have some money left over,
Perhaps I’ll share some of it with you!
This poem was first published in ‘Just Imagine – Stories & Poems’ by Santhini Govindan
Madhubun Books, Vikas Publishing House Limited, New Delhi, 2002.
© Santhini Govindan. This poem cannot be reproduced without the permission of the author.
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THE OCTOPOET
An octopus sat upon the ocean bed
He had an important matter to think through
With eight long arms, & a big round head
What kind of work should he do
He didn’t want a job that was commonplace
Or one that would soon become a bore,
The octopus wanted to fill his days,
With an occupation to make his spirits soar!
After discussions with other creatures of the sea,
And thinking it over long and hard,
The octopus knew just what he wanted to be –
He’d become a poet – a lyricist- a bard!
He was sure that there were wonderful verses in
his mind,
And eight arms could jot them down double quick.
So, he brought gallons of ink and hurried to find,
A smooth rock on which to write with a stick.
But alas! Though the enthusiastic poet was ready to write,
With all his eight eager hands stretched out,
The Muse to inspire him was nowhere in sight,
So, he couldn’t think of anything to write abou
But the octopus wasn’t giving up – no, not at all!
He decided it would be best for him to wait,
Till the elusive muse gave him a call,
And he would write poetry that was truly first rate!
Though ages have passed, the octopus still waits,
His despair and anger have slowly grown.
If anyone questions him about his terrible state,
He’ll squirt out gallons of ink, and moan!
So, if you ever meet an octopus, you mustn’t stay,
For he’ll spray you too, with his sticky black ink.
It’s best to ignore him, and move far away.
And leave him to just sit and think!
This poem was first published in ‘Just Imagine –Stories & Poems’ by Santhini Govindan
Madhubun Books, Vikas Publishing House Limited, New Delhi, 2002.
© Santhini Govindan . This poem cannot be reproduced without the permission of the author.
FOXED BY THOSE STRIPES
At a waterhole, in a jungle far away,
A fox met a zebra, one bright summer’s day.
“Mr. Zebra,” said the fox, “I have a question for you.
I hope that you will try and answer it too.
It’s a question that’s puzzled me from the time we first met -
I haven’t been able to think up the answer myself yet.
Do you have a black body, Mr. Zebra, and are your stripes white?
Or is your body all white, covered with stripes as black as night?”
After the zebra had refreshed himself with a cool drink,
He creased his brow and began to think.
When at last he spoke, his words were wise.
“Mr. Fox,” he said, “let me give you some advice.
Why do you worry whether my stripes are black or white?
To me it doesn’t matter – they seem just right!
And beneath all my stripes, Mr. Fox, can’t you see?
That the creature there is just the same me?”
© Santhini Govindan - Please do not reproduce this poem without the permission of the author
GROWN UP TALK
Grown-up talk really puzzles me -
At times it really makes me rather cross too.
I wish I could understand why grownups like to speak,
In the strange way they often do!
I’ve found that when they say ‘later-later’,
It really means ‘go away and don’t bother me now.’
And I’ve discovered that when grownups say ‘perhaps.’
They want to say ‘no’, but don’t seem to know how!
So that’s why I’ve decided, after some thought,
That when I become a grown up too,
I’ll give every question that is put to me,
An answer that is completely honest and true.
So, if someone were to ask me, ‘can we have ice-cream for dinner?’
I won’t ever hum and haw and say ‘not now’.
I’ll just clap, and say ‘of course’,
Without batting an eyelid, or raising a brow!
And if I’m asked ‘can we go to the zoo,
Instead of going to school today?
I’ll smile happily and say ‘certainly’-
In the twinkling of an eye, we’ll be on our way!
And if I’m ever asked whether I like homework,
I won’t shrug, and reply with a polite ‘maybe’
I ’ll shake my head, firmly and say –
‘No, not at all!’ in a loud voice full of glee!
© Santhini Govindan - Please do not reproduce this poem without the permission of the author
SHOPPING FOR TIME
If there was a wonderful store somewhere
That we could step into to buy time,
I’d be a regular customer there, you know,
Because I’m always running short of time!
I’d buy small packages of five or ten extra minutes-
They’d help me to stretch my hours a little more,
And linger lazily in my bed in the mornings
For just a few precious minutes more.
I’d surely buy some lazy Sunday afternoons,
And lots of sunny summer days too.
But I’m sure that I won’t buy any Monday mornings-
They remind me of all the work ahead for me to do!
© Santhini Govindan
Please do not reproduce this poem without the permission of the author
If there was a wonderful store somewhere
That we could step into to buy time,
I’d be a regular customer there, you know,
Because I’m always running short of time!
I’d buy small packages of five or ten extra minutes-
They’d help me to stretch my hours a little more,
And linger lazily in my bed in the mornings
For just a few precious minutes more.
I’d surely buy some lazy Sunday afternoons,
And lots of sunny summer days too.
But I’m sure that I won’t buy any Monday mornings-
They remind me of all the work ahead for me to do!
© Santhini Govindan
Please do not reproduce this poem without the permission of the author
The abecedarian is an ancient poetic form guided by alphabetical order. Generally, each line or stanza begins with the first
letter of the alphabet, and is followed by the successive letter, until the final letter is reached. Here is an abecedarian for you to read and enjoy.
ANTS
Ants,
Bearing
Crumbs,
Deftly,
Each day,
From
Great distances
Hurry, hurry
In never ending lines.
Journeying determinedly, they
Keep faith, knowing that empty
Larders and hungry
Mouths await them at home!
Never shirking
Or stopping to
Pause or rest,
Quietly and
Resolutely they
Stride along.
Together,
United, they
Vanquish foes, and
Wage wars to win
X-tra morsels for their
Young ones to enjoy with
Zest!
© Santhini Govindan -Please do not reproduce this poem without the permission of the author
WAITING
Waiting for Diwali and for my birthday,
Always seems to take so very long.
When I’m waiting it seems as if each new day,
With very tiny steps, just creeps along.
Then why is it that once these big days are over,
And all the waiting is finally done.
I actually miss ticking the days off on my calendar.
Was the anticipation of waiting really half the fun?
© Santhini Govindan - Please do not reproduce this poem without the permission of the author
THE BEST TONGUE OF ALL
A giraffe’s tongue is one and a half feet long,
How strange that sounds to me!
If a giraffe could lick an ice-cream cone,
Just think how big those licks would be!
The chameleon is just a tiny chap,
Who changes his colour upon a whim.
But when he flicks out his little tongue,
It’s twice as long as him!
The snake has a tongue with a fork at its end,
So he always dines in great style –
The frog uses his tongue to catch flies,
And the dog’s tongue seems to be lolling out all the while.
But I think my pink tongue is best of all,
Small and ordinary though it seems to be -
For none of these tongues can chatter and talk,
Except the one that belongs to me!
© Santhini Govindan - Please do not reproduce this poem without the permission of the author
THE BEST TONGUE OF ALL
A giraffe’s tongue is one and a half feet long,
How strange that sounds to me!
If a giraffe could lick an ice-cream cone,
Just think how big those licks would be!
The chameleon is just a tiny chap,
Who changes his colour upon a whim.
But when he flicks out his little tongue,
It’s twice as long as him!
The snake has a tongue with a fork at its end,
So he always dines in great style –
The frog uses his tongue to catch flies,
And the dog’s tongue seems to be lolling out all the while.
But I think my pink tongue is best of all,
Small and ordinary though it seems to be -
For none of these tongues can chatter and talk,
Except the one that belongs to me!
© Santhini Govindan - Please do not reproduce this poem without the permission of the author
