Enter to Win the TOAST GHOST Poetry Contest!
Over on Instagram (where I put all my secret artwork), I recently posted a drawing for a story idea I had a while back called Toast Ghost.
(Click to enlarge)
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After I put it up, I realized something – it might make a good October poetry writing prompt. My wheels started turning and . . .
Enter the 100 Scope Notes TOAST GHOST Poetry Contest!
Kids! Grown-ups! Anyone can enter! If you’re a teacher or librarian, try it with your students! Here’s how:
- Take a good look at the Toast Ghost drawing above.
- Write a spooky Toast Ghost poem. Where did Toast Ghost come from? What does Toast Ghost like to do? The options are endless. Your poem can be long or short. Rhyming or not. Any style of poetry will be accepted.
- Email that spooky poem to me: scopenotes [at] gmail [dot] com. Put TOAST GHOST in the subject line.
- ALL ENTRIES ARE DUE BY FRIDAY, OCTOBER 29. On October 31, I’ll post my favorite Toast Ghost poem.
The winning entry will receive a handsome, extremely limited-edition Toast Ghost print!
Filed under: Articles
About Travis Jonker
Travis Jonker is an elementary school librarian in Michigan. He writes reviews (and the occasional article or two) for School Library Journal and is a member of the 2014 Caldecott committee. You can email Travis at scopenotes@gmail.com, or follow him on Twitter: @100scopenotes.
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On a cold October’s morning
Who knew what lay a head
My wife had gone to work
And my kids were still in bed
I was feeling kind of hungry
So I got onto my feet
And I went into the kitchen
Looking for a bite to eat
I opened up the cabinets
And much to my surprise
There was a ghost in the bread
But he’s such a friendly guy
He said, “Hey, what’s up
My name is Fred
I was a dentist before I was dead
It was cold outside
And in my head
You’d put me in the toaster
And I would be warm instead”
There’s a spirit in my kitchen
And this bread is its host
Ghost in my toast
There’s a ghost in my toast
A poltergeist is fearsome
But not in a loaf
Ghost in my toast
There’s a ghost in my toast
The possession of my breakfast
Is what scares me the most
Ghost in my toast
There’s a ghost in my toast
Fred lived with my family
He wasn’t in a rush
He had tea with my wife
And taught my kids to brush
And Fred and I would chat
He dreamed to be a star
He wanted to play rock songs
On a solid gold guitar
And ever night Fred would go to bed
In that toaster nice and warm
Dreaming of the day
That he’s been waiting for
And then one day, Fred wasn’t there
My family all missed Fred
On the counter was a note
And a moldy piece of bread
He left to be a rock star
He started a ghost band
He put his songs on YouTube
Now he has a million fans
But fame hasn’t changed him
He’s still a friendly ghost
and I can’t help but think of him
Whenever I make toast
Wow – thank you, Steven!
Hi Travis,
Thanks for posting this fun contest! I’m a school librarian for an elementary school and my fourth graders are all eager to participate, so we are doing a poetry corner in library class this week. However, the students’ email are restricted to within the district. How are you accepting entries from schools, please?
Thank you!
FARM TOAASSST
Came with the house on a farm in Vermont
with all the appliances and furniture. Moving in was easy
as counting to three,
but the couple was warned of a gossiped haunt.
They didn’t care.
They cooked to celebrate
and continued an exciting move news share.
On a Sunday breakfast morning,
they wanted to make French toast despite the insidious warning.
Plugged in for the first time and into the light,
the metallic toaster rattled,
left,
right,
left
up
and
down.
The couple screamed and their hairless cat Rufus frowned.
They didn’t get a chance to put in toast.
Out popped,
one,
two,
and
three
little ghosts.
They were no were near Casper’s face.
Each one represented as the realtor said the tormented
elder animal cries of The Persimmons Moon Ruby Farm place.
The past owners were monsters and the animals sought to raise alarm.
No animals ever were put back on this farm.
The bloodshed was their mission to end.
Through a toaster, they always followed the home owner’s reflections.
They hated the laughter while so many animal brethren
suffered chops, roasting, plucking, and injections.
This farm was a cursed reminder
and the couple dropped their house keys in fright.
They were never to be seen that morning again
and their truck with a busted engine was still there from overnight.
The realtor came back inside
clapped and smiled to the toaster
and said: “Good job, guys!”
She knew of the surprise.
She was a vegan, welcomed and hugged the ghosts with pride.
She fought on their side.
This farm was her parent’s loss to crazed slaughter
She missed JoJo the Chicken, Apollo the Cow, and Wally the Pig,
she was a sad daughter who wanted change.
She wanted to send a message to stop future damage
and to honor their wishes, memories of playing with her as a child,
it was the friendless pain she had to manage.
Pen name: Vevna Forrow
Real name: Jasveen “Jazz” Marie Kaur
Twitter: @jazzdraws508