<![CDATA[COLORWHEELS MOBILE ART ROOM - POETRY FOR KIDS]]>Mon, 13 Apr 2026 08:20:28 -0700Weebly<![CDATA[Never Poke a Gila Monster]]>Mon, 15 Mar 2021 19:49:41 GMThttps://www.colorwheelsaz.com/poetry-for-kids/never-poke-a-gila-monsterNever poke a Gila monster.
Even though he's slow,
pokin' at the bloke'll make him mad,
not make him go.
He’ll take a bite 'n hold on tight 
'n casually chew.
He'll slowly grind his poison jaws
and this is what you’ll do:
you’ll quickly wish you hadn’t poked a slowpoke, now,
won't you?
He'll dangle from an ankle or he'll hang off of a toe
cuz a Gila will not kill ya, but he will not let ya go.
Festooned with this reminder of your rudeness, 
you will scream,
and wish you’d poked him only in a horrifying dream.
So if you see a Gila, let him go his own slow way.
Who am I to tell ya? Why, I'm
Ol’ Nine-Finger Jay.

​About this poem: I live in the Sonoran Desert, the only place in the world where Gila monsters can be found. But they don't WANT to be found. These Halloween-themed lizards are nocturnal, which keeps them out of the hot sun. In over ten years, I've only come across ONE in the wild. I didn't touch it. 
Everything about Gilas is adapted to a hot, dry environment, from their burrow-dwelling lifestyle to their big bladders that retain water to their fat-storing tails that provide energy when food is scarce. They eat small mammals, birds, other lizards, and eggs, and their many sharp teeth angle backwards  so once they get ahold of something, letting go isn't an option. Oh, and they conserve energy by moving veeerrrrryyyyy  sssllllloooowwwllllyyyyy.

For more info on these slow-moving monsters, go to Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum Gila monster page.]]><![CDATA[LOVE DANCE OF THE BLUE FOOTED BOOBY]]>Sat, 13 Mar 2021 22:03:43 GMThttps://www.colorwheelsaz.com/poetry-for-kids/love-dance-of-the-blue-footed-booby
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About this poem: I wrote this poem as part of my original Galapagos collection. When I changed the book to focus on endemic species (plants, animals, fish, insects, and birds found only in one place on Earth), I had to remove this poem, because happily, blue-footed boobies can be found along the Sea of Cortez in Mexico and on the west coast of South America as well as in the Galapagos Islands.
      Here, I'm kind of poking fun of boobies, who attract forever partners with their bright blue feet, but also enjoy showing them off to whoever's passing by. Super blue feet come from eating nutritious fish and signal good health. Bobo means "fool" in Spanish. Maybe their slow-mo dance moves look silly to humans, but they sure work well for the birds!
]]><![CDATA[NEw pet]]>Fri, 30 Oct 2020 07:00:00 GMThttps://www.colorwheelsaz.com/poetry-for-kids/poems-from-galapagosIn the end, Herb couldn't ignore
that his new pet was an Herbivore.]]><![CDATA[Double-Decker Armadillo]]>Tue, 21 Jan 2020 00:52:48 GMThttps://www.colorwheelsaz.com/poetry-for-kids/armadillo-bunk-bedPictureThis photo is fuzzy because the habitat was dimly lit, but it is still clear who went to sleep first.
Yellow armadillos snoozing:
naptime at the zoo.
These fellows usually frolic,
but today there's something new:
a double-decker armadillo,
one stacked on the other!
I wonder which one gets to choose
who snoozes on its brother.
Do they chat about it nicely?
Do they argue? Flip a dime?
Have a gentlemen's agreement?
Is it different every time?
In the middle of the night,
Does Mamadillo make them swap?
I think whoever stays awake
the longest gets the top.

About this poem: We visit the Wildlife World Zoo and Aquarium a lot because it's just down the road, and we've named many of the animals. These little yellow armadillos we call Malcolm and Griffin, after my sons. They're usually digging in the sand or chasing each other playfully (I think playfully...). Not today. "Armadillo" is an easy rhyme with "pillow," but there were no pillows in sight today--just an armadillo bunk bed! (I stretched the truth for the poem--their mom does not share their den--it's just the two of them on their frolicsome own.)
]]><![CDATA[OUR EGGCELLENT FAMILY TREE]]>Thu, 02 Jan 2020 23:45:31 GMThttps://www.colorwheelsaz.com/poetry-for-kids/our-eggcellent-family-treePicture...there's SOMETHING weird perched somewhere up there in our family tree...
Uncle Bobby says I hatched
from an egg with polka dots. 
He says my brother hatched from one
with pink and purple spots.

He says our mother sat on us
for forty-seven weeks
before we pecked our way to freedom
with our pointy orange beaks.

Uncle Bobby says the webs 
between our toes dissolved
and then our stubby wings fell out 
before our spindly arms evolved.
​
I think I don’t believe him.
But (just between you and me)?
There’s something strange perched somewhere 
up there in our family tree.


About this poem: When my boys were about three and four, the oldest asked if he'd come from an egg. I said yes, and continued with what I thought was a brilliantly simple yet accurate response. My listeners glazed over, then dismissed it as nonsense. So the next time he asked, I said, yes, they'd hatched from eggs alright—Malcolm's had a purple shell and Griffin’s was green. That was much more satisfying for all parties. There is a time and a place for lying, and it is in the home when you have small children. 
Writing this poem, I thought about how everyone feels like their family is a little bit (or a lot bit) strange and crazy. In real life, Uncle Bobby is a family friend. His knees do not bend backwards. At least not that I'm aware of.

​
]]><![CDATA[A FAMILY TAIL]]>Mon, 30 Dec 2019 15:47:16 GMThttps://www.colorwheelsaz.com/poetry-for-kids/a-family-tail
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About this poem: When my niece and nephew were toddlers, my sister, Susanna, thought it would be hilarious if she told them that our parents have tails that no one ever saw because they kept them inside their pants. As my sister and her family lived right down the road, her kids saw a lot of their grandparents. But never enough of them to know if it was true.
Much to my disappointment, Susanna controlled her impulse and never actually told Chloe and Myles that Mom and Dad have tails. But when I had my own children, I wasn't so mature. They only believed me for a little while, but still, IT HAS NEVER BEEN VERIFIED EITHER WAY.

PS: Prehensile is one of my favorite words. Appendages that can curl are prehensile, like an opossum's tail or a monkey's toes. I wish I had a prehensile tail I could write with.
]]><![CDATA[TERKLINGTON FLUFFIOUS FORESTERHOF]]>Mon, 23 Dec 2019 03:56:03 GMThttps://www.colorwheelsaz.com/poetry-for-kids/terklington-fluffious-foresterhofTerklington Fluffious Foresterhof,
My grizzled old hamster, is out of his mind.
He’s convinced that he lives in a kingdom he rules
full of fools. He’s half deaf and all blind.
Terklington Fluffious Foresterhof
sleeps all day and he parties all night.
His gold wheel emits a high, terrible squeal
That he pays me to fix with a bite.
I scoop up his poop and I freshen his bedding
and offer fat seeds he receives with delight.
Terklington Fluffious thinks that he’s king!
I’m glad that he’s not right.

ABOUT THIS POEM: This poem was my entry for Round 2 in the 2019 MadnessPoetry tournament. I lost. But I lost by a very small margin to a very good poet, RJ Clarken. I admit, I didn't take full advantage of the prompt word, "grizzled," but once King Terklington got into my head, there was no budging him. I like the internal rhymes in this verse, and the fact that the hamster's "master" really thinks that he's the one in charge. I also just enjoy hamsters, even when they're cranky.

]]><![CDATA[As you ARE told]]>Sun, 22 Dec 2019 22:26:20 GMThttps://www.colorwheelsaz.com/poetry-for-kids/as-you-are-told
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As you're dashing for the rainbow's end
to claim that pot o' gold,
if the world holds up a STOP sign
will you do as you are told?

Well some folks would. And they're the ones
whom no one'd ever scold.
They'd stop and wait for a sign to GO 
cuz they're doin' as they're told.

They'd never find the rainbow's end,
just stand until they're old
and watch their dreams evaporate,
doin' as they're told.

So when a STOP sign looms ahead,
sure, do as you are told:
stop. Look both ways. Then GO!
Go find that pot o' gold.

ABOUT THIS POEM: I was out running one morning and turned a corner to see this amazing rainbow. It ended right there in the field across the street, just beyond two signs telling me to STOP! I thought about how boring and primitive the world would be if everyone chasing a rainbow stopped when they were told to. Of course, it's always a good idea to stop at a stop sign, but it's important to never, ever forget to start going again!
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