What I Did on My Summer Vacation

Kids' Favorite Funny Summer Vacation Poems


Selected by Bruce Lansky

Illustrated by Stephen Carpenter

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This item is a preorder. Your payment method will be charged immediately, and the product is expected to ship on or around May 31, 2011. This date is subject to change due to shipping delays beyond our control.

Summer days are here again! Here are over forty sidesplitting poems about summer vacation, covering everything from the much-anticipated last day of school to family road trips, wacky days at summer camp, learning how to swim, dizzying roller coaster rides, fun-filled days at the beach, and finally, the dreaded first day of the new school year.

These hilarious poems written by Bruce Lansky, Kenn Nesbitt, Robert Pottle, Eric Ode, and Neal Levin, and the rest of the all-star gang of Giggle Poets are sure to make you count the days until summer vacation begins!


My Summer Vacation

I have a special talent that I learned right here at school.

My friends all asked to see me try. They said, “Come on, it’s cool!”

So I unlocked my locker’s door and flung it open wide.

I said, “For your amusement, I will close myself inside.”

I squished and squeezed and twisted limbs while trying to get in.

My nose was crushed by smelly shoes. Some gum was on my chin.

With moldy cupcakes underfoot, a coat hook in my ear,

I used my toe to close the door. My friends began to cheer.

But then I heard the school bell ring. My friends yelled, “Yay, we’re done!”

I panicked as I figured out that summer had begun.

I tried to open up the door, but somehow it had locked.

So I began to kick and scream. I shouted and I knocked.

But it was all of little use ’cause everyone was gone.

I tried to bust my locker door, but didn’t have the brawn.

Most kids will spend their summer playing games like tag or soccer,

but not poor me—I’ll spend my summer trapped inside my locker.

Robert Pottle

The Teachers Jumped Out of the Windows

(sing to the tune of “My Bonnie”)

The teachers jumped out of the windows.

The principal ran for the door.

The nurse and librarian bolted.

They’re not coming back anymore.

The counselor, hollering madly,

escaped out the door of the gym.

The coach and custodian shouted

and ran out the door after him.


Oh my! Goodbye!

They’re not coming back anymore, no more.

How fun! They’ve run!

They’re not coming back anymore.

The lunch ladies threw up their ladles,

then fled from the kitchen in haste,

and all of the students looked puzzled

as staff members scurried and raced.

We’d never seen anything like it.

But still, it was pretty darned cool

to see all the staff so excited

to leave on the last day of school.


Oh my! Goodbye!

They’re not coming back anymore, no more.

How fun! They’ve run!

They’re not coming back anymore.

Kenn Nesbitt

The Last Day of School

Summer vacation is starting today.

The teachers are shouting out, “Hip, hip, hooray!”

Our grumpy old principal grins ear to ear

and runs down the hall shouting, “Summer is here!”

The buses come early. (They’re usually late.)

The teachers say, “Hurry up! Pack up! Don’t wait!”

The school bell is ringing. There’s no time to chat.

The whole school is emptied in one second flat.

Everyone’s happy. Our spirits are flying.

Except for our parents—they’re sulking and crying.

Robert Pottle

Summer Blues

At last, at last, it’s summertime!

The school is closed up tight.

No mean and scary teachers.

No more spelling words to write.

No quizzes and no horrid tests.

No science, reading, math.

No unexciting homework,

and no boring nightly bath.

No waking at the crack of dawn.

No bedtime rules to break.

No faking flu or chickenpox

or dreadful bellyache.

No wearing clothes I really hate—

just bathing suits and shorts

to wear while hunting tons of frogs

that give me tons of warts.

It’s time to suck on Popsicles.

It’s time for lemonade.

It’s time to go to beaches

and then play in the arcade.

It’s time for building awesome forts.

It’s time for hide-and-seek.

It’s time for going barefoot

while you’re fishing in the creek.

It’s time to go to bed real late

with dirt beneath my nails

from hunting salamanders, bugs,

and slimy, creeping snails.

I dream of all the stuff I’ll find


On Sale
May 31, 2011
Page Count
80 pages
Running Press