Porridge

There once was a boy named George
who hated eating porridge.

He would a yuck and yack
cough and hack

all before his tongue even knew
if it truly tasted like shoes

His mother’s brow gave him a scowl and said a little taste will do.
If he gave it a chance he might like it too.

The sight looked horrid,
the smell smelt forged
George just didn’t like porridge.

But mother insisted he gave it a try
She reassured him, he wouldn’t die.

With the tip of his tongue,
he took the plunge

He prayed for his mother to be right
and to his delight,
it tasted alright.

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Published by Heather Congrove

Words are my playground, and stories are my passion. As a writer, I weave tales that transport, transform, and transcend. Join me on this journey into the world of words, where imagination knows no bounds, and the possibilities are endless. If you enjoy reading, like and subscribe to see my latest content. Thank you for visiting and God Bless. View more posts

5 thoughts on “Porridge”

You’ve got a delightful sense of rhythm and humor—this poem is brimming with charm! George’s exaggerated disgust and the eventual twist of him enjoying the porridge makes it both relatable and funny, especially for kids (and even adults) who remember the dread of trying something new. The conversational tone and rhyme give it a whimsical, storybook feel, and the mother’s patient persistence adds a gentle moral without being preachy.

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Heather Congrove says:

May 11, 2025 at 11:40 am

Thank you for your kind comments. I enjoy rhyming poetry and often find myself thinking in rhymes. I have tried other kinds but nothing brings me joy like finding the perfect word to complete the verse. Thank you for reading and God bless.

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