Don’t approach the skeleton tree ever never at all if you hope to live another day and hang out at the mall
There once was a man from Kazoo who fell into a strawberry stew. He said, ‘This is no joke-a’ while the band played a polka and the man kicked the stew all askew.
A little man dressed in green played upon a tambourine. He slipped near the edge, took a tumble and a fall, crawled under the door and into the hall. He was oh so tiny. He was oh so small. There’s no more to tell. It’s over. That’s all.
That wall of fog with fingers is the wily labbimist. Shun its cloudy twinings. On this I must insist. For if it should enfold you in its milky sightless seep captured there forever you’ll be lost like Bo Peep’s sheep.
It’s a walking, talking pile of rocks Rance Marl is its name It doesn’t own a pair of socks It’s not afraid of flame It’s said to be a marvelous guide On one of its boulders you may ride
the mud hen is a stubborn bird it won’t come when you call you must lure it with a song and dance while balanced on a ball
Reach for the ceiling Reach for the floor Reach for the window next to the door Reach for the sky Reach for the sea Reach for the bird on the top of that tree Reach for the dog Reach for the cat Reach for your money and put it in my hat
Nonsense poems are always green unless they’re red or blue. The one below is orange. Hungry I ate a plate of flavored nails, some porridge and a boat. I was still a little hungry so I ate my sister’s coat. I went outside to ride my bike and found to my surprise I was still […]