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poet

Jack Prelutsky

1940- , Brooklyn , NY , United States
Jack Prelutsky

On September 8, 1940, Jack Prelutsky was born in Brooklyn, and attended Hunter College in New York City. Although he claims to have hated poetry through most of his childhood, he rediscovered poetry later in life, and has devoted many years since to writing fresh, humorous poetry aimed specifically at kids.

"I realized poetry was a means of communication, that it could be as exciting or as boring as that person or that experience."

After stints as a truckdriver, photographer, folksinger, and more, he is now the author of more than forty collections of original verse and anthologies of children's poetry, including: Stardines Swim High Across the Sky: and Other Poems (2013); The Swamps of Sleethe: Poems From Beyond the Solar System (2009); Pizza, Pigs, and Poetry: How to Write a Poem (2008); Be Glad Your Nose Is on Your Facey And Other Poems (Greenwillow Books/HarperCollins, 2008); Behold the Bold Umbrellaphant and Other Poems (2006); The Beauty of the Beast: Poems from the Animal Kingdom (2006); The Random House Book of Poetry for Children (1983); Nightmares: Poems to Trouble Your Sleep (1978), and The Queen of Eene (1976).

In 2006, Prelutsky was named the first Children’s Poet Laureate by the Poetry Foundation. He lives in Seattle, Washington, and spends much of his time presenting poems to children in schools and libraries throughout the United States.

by this poet

poem
I am Super Samson Simpson,
I'm superlatively strong,
I like to carry elephants,
I do it all day long,
I pick up half a dozen
and hoist them in the air,
it's really somewhat simple,
for I have strength to spare.

My muscles are enormous,
they bulge from top to toe,
and when I carry elephants,
they ripple to and
poem
As soon as Fred gets out of bed,
his underwear goes on his head.
His mother laughs, "Don't put it there,
a head's no place for underwear!"
But near his ears, above his brains,
is where Fred's underwear remains.

At night when Fred goes back to bed,
he deftly plucks it off his head.
His mother switches off the
poem
Be glad your nose is on your face,
not pasted on some other place,
for if it were where it is not,
you might dislike your nose a lot.

Imagine if your precious nose
were sandwiched in between your toes,
that clearly would not be a treat,
for you'd be forced to smell your feet.

Your nose would be a source of