Poetry For Kids
Hello and welcome to a page of poetry written for younger readers. If you are a child, parent, teacher, or simply someone who enjoys children's poetry, I would really like to know what you think of these poems - any feedback would be very welcome. If you have any comments please get in touch via the contact page - use the 'contact' button on the main menu - and I will respond to all messages left.
THE TALE OF ELIZA AND CLAUDE
Eliza-Jayne Myfanwy Letts
was fond of creepy crawly pets
although forbidden by her mother
and warned she shouldn’t by her brother
she kept a multi-legged collection
and tended them with true affection.
In pickle jars of graded size
she housed in rows her moths and flies
beetles, spiders and odd things
that hopped and wriggled, flapped their wings —
her natural fascination grew
for all that buzzed and hummed and flew.
Her favourite bug above all else
took pride of place upon her shelf —
a ‘hairy worm’ she just adored —
a caterpillar known as Claude
who munched through leaves and fattened quick —
his bristles shiny, long and thick.
Eliza watched with glowing pride
as Claude climbed up the jar’s smooth side
and wandered round its glassy rim
and listened as she spoke to him
then on her finger took a crawl
as though he didn’t mind at all.
But some weren’t happy in her zoo —
some barely thrived and quite a few
(however hard Eliza tried)
curled up their toes and quietly died
and nothing she could do or say
made much difference. Every day
she’d find to her intense despair
a casualty — legs in the air
and stiff to every poke and prod —
no sign of life — they’d gone to God
without a word — no fond farewell —
no cause — as far as she could tell.
It was a puzzle why they died —
Eliza worried, frowned and sighed
and made especial fuss of Claude
afraid he might get sick or bored
with life alone in his round jar —
feel stressed at where his family are...
She felt quite quite anxious as she checked
how many leaves were holey — wrecked
and chewed right down to their tough veins
while Claude — curled round their stalk remains —
seemed well content and fit enough
packed full of healthy veggie stuff.
But then it came about one day
that on the bottom poor Claude lay
and twitching gently while Eliza
tearful, wishing she was wiser
watched the skin peel from his back
revealing something brownish-black.
It gleamed — peculiar and shiny —
bullet-shaped — its pulse a tiny
heartbeat flickered ’neath the skin
where Claude was hidden — trapped within
and past all remedy or cure —
Eliza feared him dead for sure.
What fever caused his sense to float
and shrug off his long hairy coat
she could not fathom — even guess
why Claude would leave her so — unless
he had a need of a disguise...
so she’d be patient — dry her eyes.
The days passed by — with Winter gone
still Claude slept on — and on — and on.
Eliza fretted while fresh slugs
garden snails, assorted bugs
all shared the tense, nail-biting wait
and prayed Claude’s trance-like spell would break.
Spring sunlight found Claude’s dusty jar —
a nerve was triggered from afar —
the brittle skin cracked like an egg
as Claude pushed through one slender leg
and pulled his crinkled body free
of everything he used to be.
You should have heard Eliza shout —
she danced for joy — she skipped about —
amazed to see such awesome things
as Claude’s unfolding peacock wings —
the chubby brown-furred grub was gone —
his colours now like stained glass shone.
She ran to tell her mother — found
her brother, too, who at the sound
of the commotion dropped his book
and jumped right up to take a look
demanding what had made her so
excited (like he didn’t know!)
Transformed, Claude pumped his wings and stared
right through the glass — got all prepared
for his first flight into the blue.
Eliza knew she must unscrew
the lid and let her pet fly free
and found his insect dynasty.
They stood aside — Eliza’s mother
and her know-it-all big brother —
watched how carefully she set
Claude — her best and favourite pet
fluttering free — up through the sky —
no looking back — not one goodbye.
Afterwards she felt quite sad —
missing Claude — on balance glad
she’d let him go — had done what’s right
it being an uplifting sight
to witness his return to wild —
in fact it so impressed the child
she promised (as she wiped her eyes)
she’d take her spiders, bugs and flies
back to the field where they belonged
despite the fact she was so fond
of Earl the earwig and his wife —
they so deserved a better life!
Eliza grew up wise and good
and studied like a smart girl should
until she’d earned a top degree —
a first in entomology
for all the knowledge she had learned
began with Claude — a ‘hairy worm.’
WHEN TWO BUGS HAVE A HUG
When two bugs have a hug
it’s a complicated affair —
all those legs and long thin bits
waving around in the air.
It’s something of a tangle —
an intricate muddle
when two insects in love
have a kiss and a cuddle.
Twelve arms/legs — whatever —
four antennae plus mouth parts
locked in confusion
while fast-beating bug-hearts
are caught up in the moment —
they wrestle insanely —
their courtship impetuous
rough and ungainly.
Which one lets go first
and breaks off the embrace
when they’re so tightly glued
is a problem they face ...
Sometimes one will take off
while the other still clings —
a clear demonstration
that true love has wings.
POPULARITY STAKES
Nobody loves poor Mary-Jane —
her hair is lank — her face is plain —
just nobody loves Mary-Jane.
She had a party — nobody came
and no one really was to blame
when nobody cares for Mary-Jane.
She went to the beach — it poured with rain —
bad luck follows Mary-Jane —
but nobody’s sorry all the same.
Nobody notices Lindy-Lou —
she doesn’t ask why — hasn’t a clue —
what nobody does, or doesn’t, do.
Nobody knows what Lindy-Lou
says about them — if it’s true
she won’t tell me — or even you.
Nobody misses Lindy-Lou —
she’s shy — like nobody through and through —
Nobody questions — wonders — who?
Nobody cares for Sally-Ann —
not one single friend or fan —
most avoid her — if they can.
Nobody sides with Sally-Ann
when debating should they ban
bossy brothers — to a man.
Nobody votes for Sally-Ann
in any poll that ever ran —
no secret ‘kiss’ for Sally-Ann.
Everybody* likes Billie-Jo —
she’s cute and really nice to know —
her friendships don’t swing to and fro —
she’s loyal and kind — sweet Billie-Jo —
her prettiness not all for show —
she’s good all through — from head to toe.
*All except for Mary-Jane
and Lindy-Lou finds her a pain
while it drives Sally-Ann insane
for deep inside they each know
they’ve got a million miles to go —
Nobody’s as perfect as Billie-Jo.
TELL ME
Mother, why do you hold your head —
what news has made you cry?
What did that policeman have to say —
tell me — did someone die?
I know a little about death —
I found a mouse today
frozen on the garden path
and touched it where it lay
eyes shut and tiny paws clenched tight
its tail a question mark
curling as it left this world
went off into the dark...
So tell me, Mother — I’ll be brave
what’s happened? — Is it bad?
Although he left us years ago
I’m half-afraid it’s Dad...
It isn’t fair to shut me out
it’s written on your face
something hurts inside of you —
your grief chokes up the place.
So tell me, tell me, tell me please —
the truth and nothing less —
why do you weep — what is the cause
of such intense distress?
HOW BIG?
How big is big?
How small is small?
And who’s to judge?
We think it’s all
just up to us —
how we compare
to harvest mice
or polar bears.
Yet to a beetle
mice are giants
and bears have no
idea of science —
the only measurement
they know
is footprints marking
miles of snow.
The whale is huge —
gargantuan —
when fully grown
dwarfs a man
who seems a monster
to the gnat
and other bugs
we squirt stuff at.
And elephants
are quite a size
and heavy, too —
it’s no surprise
they’re dangerous
but have no claws
unlike the died-out
dinosaurs...
who would have made
us all look small —
however wide
or long, or tall —
we’ve learnt from fossils
that occur
what size of big
the biggest were.
No zoo for them
but a museum
where people go
and pay to see ’em —
stand and stare
get quite reflective
and put this size thing
in perspective.
COMEUPPANCE
I wasn’t nice to Henry —
I tied him to a tree
because he played with Tom and Ben
and everyone but me.
He said I was a bully
and when I set him free
he threatened to tell teacher
but that didn’t worry me.
I boasted — said I didn’t care —
I wasn’t scared one bit —
I laughed and pushed him in the mud
I tore his football kit.
He didn’t tell our teacher
but by the school’s main gate
I saw our sisters talking —
I guess that sealed my fate.
Now Henry’s big sis Sarah
is not a girl to cross —
she’s got a reputation —
she’s kind of like the boss.
And she explained in detail
as she rolled me in the dirt
that this was called ‘comeuppance’
then she ripped my new school shirt.
I sort of got her meaning
she made her point so well
I promised I’d apologise
and that I wouldn’t tell.
These days I’m nice to Henry
and quite like Sam and Ben
and sometimes I join in their game
I think we’re nearly friends.
DOING NOTHING
When they ask me what I’m doing
and I just answer “nothing”
they don’t believe me — get annoyed —
start frowning, sighing, tutting
like I must be doing something
and they’re absolutely sure
whatever I’ve been doing’s bad —
I should be punished for
not owning up, admitting what
I’m hiding with that word —
“nothing” is ridiculous —
“nothing” is absurd!
For nobody does nothing
quite so frequently as me —
nothing before breakfast,
nothing after tea.
I haven’t got a hobby,
I never watch TV,
instead, I sit and wonder —
why do they pick on me?
Perhaps, next time they ask me,
I’ll tell them something new
because they’ll never understand
that nothing’s what I do!
BAT CHAT
I’m a barbastelle bat
I flutter and flap
and spend most of my time in the dark
I hunt the night skies
catch midges and flies
and I sleep in a tree in the park.
’Though I’m only a bat
it’s unfortunate that
some people are scared I might bite ’em
I look creepy and black
and in films I attack
so everyone screams and gets frightened.
But I’m just a shy bat —
a real quiet sort of chap —
imagine a mouse with big wings on
and my appetite’s small
I don’t drink blood at all
and I’m not made of rubber with strings on.
I am simply a bat
and I promise you that
I’ve no horribly gruesome intentions
so unless you’re a moth
it is quite safe to scoff
for the vampire is mostly invention.
I’m a rare kind of bat
so don’t hassle or trap —
all you humans should try to protect me
if you see me flit by
please don’t shriek, yell or cry
for it’s sure to freak out and upset me.
I’m a sensitive bat
and I’m hoping this chat
will help get these fears off my chest
a quick word in your ear
might make it all clear
us bats are endangered unless
you understand that
horror movies aren’t fact
and people are way too suspicious
I get quite perplexed
when they cover their necks
a fresh insect is much more delicious!
PLAYING PIRATES
We’ve been playing Spanish pirates —
we’re rough and tough and mean
I’m one-eyed Jack the Fearless
my old parrot’s blue and green
he’s been perching on my shoulder
so my t-shirt’s far from clean.
For hours we have sailed due east
with Mad Thomas at the wheel
on the look out for adventure
and some bags of gold to steal
(and some food — for hungry pirates
need to snatch a tasty meal.)
Our boat’s really a cardboard box
we got from Mad Tom’s Mum
we made a wicked paper flag
with skull and crossbones on
and pretended that our lemonade
was really pirate rum.
Tom suddenly cried “Ship Ahoy!” —
his sister had come home
and didn’t know it’s dangerous
to sail strange seas alone —
we stole her sweets and tied her up
then rolled her in the foam!
But Tom’s Mum came and rescued her
and said “That’s quite enough! —
Even pirates have their rules,
so don’t play quite so rough!”
We had to hand back all the sweets
(except the ones we’d sucked.)
So now we’re starving and fed up —
we’ve sailed the ocean wide
and found no treasure — not one jewel
nor ounce of gold we’ve spied
maybe the time has come when we
should give up and decide...
tomorrow we’ll play something else!
SEA DREAMS
I wish I was a mermaid
with a super swishy tail —
then I’d swim the seven oceans
with the singing humpback whale.
I would make a starfish garden
build a little coral house
keep a pair of clever catfish
and a deep sea diving mouse.
I’d plant cockle shells and mussels
rows of limpets by the score
have a nesting box for oysters
strings of pearls around my door.
I’d have lots of friendly neighbours
who I’d chat to every day
I’d be kind to lonely lobsters
but keep nosy sharks at bay.
I’d hold parties for the turtles
teach the spider crabs to knit
help the octopus make doilies
with a seaweed crochet kit.
We’d have fern arranging sessions
and the squids could use their ink
for seahorse drawing classes —
it’s amazing when I think
of that world under the water —
all those possibilities —
Oh I wish I was a mermaid
so I could explore the sea!
LABELS
Gary’s got new trainers,
Tommy’s got some, too —
they’re really cool, with silver stripes
on bright metallic blue.
I’d kind of like a new pair —
my ones are old and not
half so neat as Charlie’s,
whose Nike shoes are hot.
And even Sam has Reeboks,
although they’re second hand
and not as flash as Barney’s —
his dad’s quite rich and grand
and drives a posh Mercedes,
and smokes a big cigar,
so Barney gets the very best
and thinks he is a star.
Poor Benny wears black plimsolls —
at home the money’s tight —
says labels aren’t important.
I think maybe he’s right.
LEOPARD CAKE
If leopards ever sampled cake
they would never find the crumbs
that dropped — lost among
their camouflaging spots...
and they would likely itch
more than a little bit —
these morsels caught
between their furry folds
might tickle and infuriate
so for their uncertain temper’s sake
hungry leopards in the wild
avoid eating cake.
SING A SONG
Sing a song of starlight
a pocketful of dreams
the sky is full of angels
how bright the magic seems
the roofs with snow all glisten
the moon’s so clear and high
like a shiny silver button
or a pale and spooky eye.
Hum a tune to shadows
when night is cold and dark
and fog hangs by the river
fills the playground in the park
where ghouls and ghosties listen
hog the dampness as they lurk
music interrupts their haunting
and most other creepy work.
So whistle when you’re nervous
but carol when you’re glad
especially at Christmas
or the birthday you’ve just had
and when it comes to bedtime
go sing yourself to sleep
like the birds lulled in the treetops
or the fish who bubble deep.
GOOD COMPANIONS
Said the bunny to the kitten —
“I’m a bunny — how d’you do?”
The kitten, playful, answered “I’m
a bunny rabbit, too!”
The bunny looked her up and down
he thought her face was sweet
but kindly pointed out she lacked
a bunny rabbit’s feet.
Perplexed, the pretty kitten sat
and washed her dainty paws
while bunny groomed his fluffy coat
and licked between his claws.
At last the bunny spoke again
“I’m guessing you’re a kitten —
my theory’s quite a simple one
if you’ve an ear to listen...
You don’t eat dandelions or hay
but dine on meat or fish
and there’s another giveaway —
see — ‘Pussy’ on your dish!”
Kitten blinked her big blue eyes
and agreed he must be right
for ’though they both looked small and cute
they weren’t that much alike.
So, while Kitten pounced and chased about
Bunny sniffed and pondered —
chewing on a carrot top
long and hard he wondered...
There was no reason he could see —
all differences apart —
they shouldn’t mix — at least be pals —
this seemed a hopeful start.
“Hey, Kitty!” Bunny hopped across
and nuzzled at her ear.
She stopped her playing while he told
the jist of his idea...
Inseparable, the two became
and bucking Nature’s trends
bonded and from that day on
were loyal and lifelong friends.
MY ROOM — A WARNING
No one comes in my room —
it’s private — so keep out —
and don’t think you can just sneak in
when nobody’s about!
Mum does a bit of cleaning
but doesn’t touch my stuff,
she hoovers round and dusts a bit,
collects odd socks and fluff,
but never opens cupboards
or pokes or prods or pries —
she knows what I have hidden’s
not fit for grown-up eyes...
Now I don’t want to scare you,
but things can get grotesque,
so curb your curiosity —
it’s really for the best,
and heed the sign pinned on my door —
I wrote it very clear:
NO ENTRY — WIZARD TRAINING ZONE:
DARK FORCES LURK IN HERE.
A SECRET PLACE
I’ve just come back from being gone
and when they ask me where
I scratch my head and vaguely point
to some place over there.
And when they question what it’s called —
this land so far away —
I rack my brain and shrug because
I really cannot say.
There are no sign posts where I go
there are few stars to guide me
I wander down the nearest path
and trust the map inside me.
And every minute that I spend
can seem more like an hour
for magic grows in every tree
and shines from every flower.
It is forever summer there
beneath those cloudless skies
and nothing nasty happens there
and no one ever dies.
No grown-ups come to spoil my fun
no big kids bully me
it’s never bedtime, there’s no school —
I’m absolutely free!
So I won’t say just where it is —
not the exact location —
but keep the secret safely locked
in my imagination.
GREEN MAN
There is a Green Man in the wood
his hair is full of leaves
his fingers are long skinny twigs
he hides inside the trees
but I have seen him once or twice —
glimpsed his berry eyes
peering at me through the bark
and guess that his disguise
is just so he can guard the oaks,
the elms and silver birches,
watch out for those who cut and burn
Mother Nature’s churches
and he protects the sapling beech,
the hazel and the holly —
I’ve seen his face in picture books
and he looks kind of jolly
for he’s the spirit of the wood —
he’s very old and wise
and he knows every bird and bush
he has a thousand eyes
and he will feel the branch go crack
and sense the tree’s in pain
he’ll curse such vandals with one stare
and send them all insane.
So when you’re playing in the wood
be careful what you do
don’t ever think you are alone —
the Green Man’s watching you!
SEA STORIES
The sea’s cold lips
curl white with pain
they suck on rocks
draw back again
its quick wet tongue
flicks sand and spray
just listen close —
you’ll hear it say...
I crunch the bones
of sailors drowned
I chew on stones
and lick them round
I spit them out
or swallow whole
to feed dark hungers
soothe my soul.
The sea’s thin voice
whines all night long —
it’s part lament
part victory song —
it tells old secrets
whispers, cries
howls its madness
sobs and sighs...
I sink your ships
rip up their sails
I whip up storms
blow salt-breath gales
I wield great power
and my rule
is often fickle
sometimes cruel...
The sea’s high tides
reach up the wall
erode the cliff —
waves bite and gnaw
and inch by inch
it eats away
each stubborn edge
grown soft as clay...
I hiss my stories
taunt the moon
my rising flood
will cover soon
the fields and cities
’til men wish
they could go back
to being fish.
FRIENDLESS
I haven’t got a lot of friends —
in fact I haven’t any
except for bats who share my cave
though lately there’s not many
and they don’t really count because
I’ve noticed them avoid me
and even when I say hello
they flap past and ignore me.
There’s spiders but they’re really quiet —
I’ve never heard them speak.
They hang around all dangly-legged
but utter not one squeak.
Last week a rat came visiting
but once he’d sniffed the air
decided that he wouldn’t stop
inside a dragon’s lair
even though there’s loads of room —
I’d welcome company —
I’m guesing he just didn’t like
the awful smell of me.
It’s not as if I never wash
or polish my red scales
and I am most particular
at cleaning teeth and nails
and yet no matter what I do
my cave smells strange and sickly —
in fact there is a dreadful pong
so passers-by leave quickly.
They glimpse a pile of mouldy bones
and even though I smile
they can’t see I’m a friendly chap
and always run a mile!
THE CAT, THE WIZARD AND THE WICKED PIRATE
Black Jake he was a pirate proud —
the scourge of seven seas
his ship was called the Gyspy Queen
and all her crew got fleas.
They made Jake itch, they made him scratch
and bang his wooden leg
he swore the vessel had been cursed
by a cat called Pretty Peg.
Now Peg was once a wizard’s cat
who got the urge to roam
she stowed away one moonlit night
and made Jake’s ship her home.
The first mate, Bill, discovered her
and said “What ’ave we ’ere? —
A lucky cat!” He let her lap
the last drops of his beer.
But when Jake heard he wasn’t pleased
and went red in the face
and shouted sure he didn’t need
“no moggie ’round the place!”
For pirates should be fierce and strong
and cats made Black Jake sneeze —
they made him gasp and wipe his eyes
his voice became a wheeze.
He didn’t trust those wide green eyes
he hated such soft fur
he shook and coughed and thought of ways
he could be rid of her.
For Jake was hard and cruel and mean
his heart was black with spite
he planned to toss her overboard
one dark and stormy night.
But Bill, the first mate, fed her fish
and played with Pretty Peg
he made a bed for her inside
an empty powder keg.
And all the time Bill was about
he thwarted Jake’s cruel plan
until a sudden accident
killed off the kind old man.
He had a pirate’s funeral —
they buried him at sea
and fired the cannon overhead
while Jake smiled secretly...
That night he took the powder keg
with Peg inside asleep
and hurled it hard with all his might
far out into the deep.
With no remorse, not one regret
the wicked deed was done
and battered by the stormy seas
the Gypsy Queen sailed on.
The powder keg bobbed like a cork
it floated through the waves
at last it washed upon a beach
so Pretty Peg was saved!
The journey home was very long —
a year passed, maybe more
it was a thin, bedraggled Peg
who found the wizard’s door.
And when he heard the tale she told
(he knew cat language well)
he threatened he would send Black Jake
and all his crew to Hell!
But then he thought a plague of boils
or a really vile disease
might be a better punishment —
’til Peg suggested fleas!
The wizard searched through all his spells —
the nastiest he had —
until he found the very one
to make Jake hopping mad!
He conjured up an insect curse
and sent it wrapped in fog
addressed to Black Jake and his crew —
the murderous sea-dog!
Like drops of rain the fleas fell down
and hopped around the ship
they found the pirates — one by one
the crew began to twitch
but most of them were drawn to Jake
where he was tucked in bed
hundreds jumped into his bunk
and on his blood they fed.
The more he scratched, the more he itched
he couldn’t sleep or rest
they burrowed underneath his wig
they gathered in his vest.
His breeches were a breeding ground
fleas hatched out in his hat
and miserably he rubbed his bites
while blaming Peg the cat.
At last it got too much for him —
he threw the porthole wide
and swearing loudly at the sky
he took a desperate dive.
And as he sank the crew on deck
gawped and then they cheered
as all the pesky fleas hopped off
and like magic, disappeared.
Down on the seabed cold and dark
Jake’s rotting bones prove that
however proud a pirate is
he can’t out-smart a cat!
ALWAYS READ THE INSTRUCTIONS
A cautionary tale is one
that warns — ’though it may sound like fun
to launch a rocket by the shed
there’s every chance you’ll end up dead’.
*
Example: There was once a boy
whose aunt bought him the latest toy —
a rocket kit like on TV —
she’d wrapped the present carefully
but forgotten as she tied
to put the ‘how to’ notes inside.
Now Colin was the careless sort —
he ripped the paper off she’d bought
and scattered rocket on the floor
(just guessing what each bit was for)
and started building, glued it tight
quite sure he’d worked it out all right.
But when he’d finished there remained
a final piece, so Colin blamed
the manufacturer and grinned
and tossed the odd bit in the bin
without a second thought or doubt
it might be wise to check it out.
He planned to launch the rocket soon —
precisely on the next full moon
when he would wait ’til after school
to fill the tanks with rocket fuel
in preparation for the flight
and start the countdown late at night.
The great day came and Colin ran
as fast as any plump boy can
home from school, skipped most of tea
and waited dead impatiently.
His aunt with friends was playing bridge
and left a note pinned on the fridge
with clear instructions biroed blue —
what Colin could and couldn’t do
while she was out — But oh guess what?
Her nephew just ignored the lot!
And when he should have been in bed
was sneaking round the yard instead!
He found a can of paraffin
and topped it up with Auntie’s gin
and filled the rocket’s tanks right up
adding slowly, cup by cup,
old paint remover and for luck
some liquid fertilizer muck.
The moon rose up. The count began...
4 3 2 1 — a muffled bang
a blinding spark, a rush, a roar
the bolt flew off the coal shed door
ignition on, all systems go
the rocket wobbled to and fro
and then the sections, one by one
exploded like a firing gun.
Someone screamed and in the din
Colin realized it was him
as up he flew, caught by the blast
and saw the whole world flashing past.
It must have been an awesome view
but where he landed no one knew.
He left behind two well-scorched socks
and a battered empty rocket box.
Much later when his aunt got home
and saw the signs, she telephoned
all those she knew with telescopes
her rapidly decreasingly hopes
of finding Colin safe and well
were due to the odd burning smell
that lingered near the ruined shed —
her nephew was most likely dead.
The skies were searched to no avail
for no one saw his vapour trail —
a tiny UFO, Colin raced —
half boy, half rocket, into space.
Since then, his aunt’s felt really bad
knowing, carelessly, she had
left out the leaflet that showed how
the rocket should be made, and now
she’d found a piece to her dismay
that Colin must have thrown away!
A safety switch that, wired in tight,
should guarantee a smoother flight.
No going back — what’s done is done
she lectures all the kids who come
to see where Colin vanished from
on dangerous toys. She is quite glum —
insists instructions must be read
or else they, too, will end up dead!
LOW CALORIE BLUES
Mum’s put us on a diet
she says we’re overweight —
we can’t have sweets or chocolate
doughnuts, crisps or cake.
We’re not allowed spaghetti
burgers or baked beans
and pizza’s off the menu
and so are chips, it seems.
Real butter is a no-no —
it’s low-fat from now on
and no fry-ups for breakfast
Dad’s will to live’s near-gone.
A working man like him, he says
needs plates of proper grub
the moment Mum has turned her back
he sneaks off down the pub.
So it’s muesli or bran flakes
orange juice or nought —
and given such a boring choice
we’d rather go without.
School dinners smell delicious
now my lunchbox really sucks —
the crackers taste like cardboard —
wouldn’t feed it to the ducks!
And I’m sick to death of salad
steamed vegetables and fish
I hate the sight of lentils
Oh I wish, I wish, I wish...
there was some way of going back
to three square meals a day
I dream of battered cod and chips
TV meals on a tray
ice cream and jelly, apple pie
jam roly poly pudding
and all the things that Mum forbids
and fails to see the good in.
We sat up really late one night —
me and my brother, Dan
we’re both as desperate as can be
so we thought up a plan...
This Mother’s Day we bought our Mum
an artificial plant
not fondant creams like last year —
it’s her fault that we can’t.
She looked quite disappointed
when she undid the box
and found a potted pansy
and not her favourite chocs.
We noticed then at dinner
she left her brussel sprouts
and hardly touched the carrot soup —
we’re sure she’s having doubts.
The low-cal blues have got her —
she’s slowly giving in
we caught her gazing sadly
at the empty biscuit tin.
Not long now ’til it’s over
and we can shout hooray!
when Dad rings up to order us
a chinese take-away!
HOW TO CHOOSE A PET
Come in the pet shop, look around
see what the critters do —
stand and watch them through the bars
while some of them watch you.
Remember the small furry ones
are often keen to bite —
their teeth are sharp, their brains are small
they’re really not too bright
and mostly they just eat and sleep
run round in wheels and chew
keep everyone awake all night —
and then they’ll all blame you.
Reptiles are quite interesting
but lizards cost a packet
parrots squawk and parakeets
kick up an awful racket.
Puppies need a daily walk —
that’s no good if you’re lazy
a chipmunk loose around the house
would drive your mother crazy
and a spider’s bound to spook her
so is any kind of snake —
it’s best not to upset her with
the final choice you make.
You’re pretty safe with goldfish —
you’d hardly know they’re there
but they’re not much fun to talk to —
they just mouth at you and stare.
I could suggest the perfect pet —
it’s rare and rather shy —
invisible to all except
its keeper’s watchful eye.
It never bites, it’s cheap to feed
not troublesome to own —
it’s everything that you could want
and free to a good home.
JEFFREY-JOHN AND THE JOKE THAT BACKFIRED
Jeffrey-John Nathaniel Stokes
was fond of playing unkind jokes.
In fact he was a tiresome boy
who schemed and plotted to annoy
his family, and at weekends
he’d target visitors and friends.
His mother told him “Jeffrey-John
you’re just upsetting everyone —
poor Aunt Joanna’s still in bed
a dampened towel wrapped round her head.
Her screams were heard throughout the house
now take away that rubber mouse
and go and throw it in the bin.
It’s horrid! — Oh, and wipe that grin
off your smug, uncaring face —
I’m furious! You’re in disgrace!
So Jeffrey-John said “Please, Mama
I’m quite aware how cross you are —
I promise I’ll apologize
to Auntie Jo.” He blinked his eyes
and squeezed a tear with all his might —
he looked so solemn and contrite —
an act that fooled her. Thus deceived
her heart relented and believed.
Then JJ through the garden strolled
and picked a posy — red and gold —
of flowers for his ailing aunt.
He chose the finest from each plant
and tied them with a ribbon bow
done thoughtfully as if to show
how sorry he was for the trick
that scared her so and made her sick.
She’d never guess there lurked beneath
one lush and rather splendid leaf
and camouflaged amongst the green —
the biggest bug he’d ever seen.
She was asleep when he went in —
the sheets pulled tight up to her chin.
“Oh, Auntie, dear,” he whispered, then
“Wake up, old thing!” he said again.
She slowly opened one pale eye
and gave a deep and painful sigh
“What do you want?” Her voice was harsh
but Jeffrey-John just let that pass —
“I’ve brought you these!” He laid them down
beside her Chinese dressing gown
and ’though she’d judged him mean and vile
she gave the boy a toothy smile.
“Oh, aren’t they glorious!” she cried —
grabbed them up and then untied
the clever bow. The bug fell out —
she shrieked at once — a feeble shout
wavering and rather hoarse —
“You wicked boy! You’ve no remorse!”
The bug amidst such great alarm
now scuttled sharply up her arm
and sprang into her nest of hair
to disappear completely there.
Aunt Joanna clutched her head
rolled her eyes — and fell back dead!
JJ’s mother heard the fuss
and hurried in — she was nonplussed
to find such a bizarre tableau —
her aunt deceased and Jeffrey so
distraught — insanely babbling
the bug’s to blame — it wasn’t him!
How he changed from that day on —
the urge to play cruel pranks was gone —
he spent his time up in his room
a different child — a listless gloom
hung above him like a cloud
his posture poor, his shoulders bowed
from suffering a frightful curse —
recurring nightmares — but far worse —
nocturnal visits. Aunt Jo’s ghost
popped in to plague him, and to boast
that there was nothing he could do
to counter her heart-stopping “Boo!”
His family sent him away
to hospital — a good long stay —
some measure of the hopes they had
he might be cured and not go mad —
an institution grey and grim
where Aunt Jo’s ghost could lodge with him.
Thus sharing one depressing cell
they got to know each other well.
So spook and boy agreed at last
their differences were in the past —
for each had learned, when scaring folk —
enough’s enough — a joke’s a joke!
TWINKLE TWINKLE
Twinkle twinkle little star
our teacher told us what you are
and now your magic has all gone
what are we s’posed to wish upon?
Up above the world so high
a lump of rock that’s cold and dry —
all burnt out — a long-dead spark
that twinkles on across the dark.
CHASING DRAGONS
First off, Jack caught a glimpse of tail —
curled underneath a chair
but when he got down on his knees
to look — it wasn’t there.
Then across the room he saw
two nervous coal-black eyes
glinting as they peered at him
Jack thought it might be wise
to try and coax it in a box —
avoid small snapping teeth —
piled toys and clothes upon his bed
and slowly crawled beneath
and there it sat — all hunched up small
cleaning its red scales —
a baby dragon like they sell
as souvenirs from Wales.
It blinked at Jack and snorted twice
puffed a tiny flame
made a kind of warning growl
and disappeared again.
Then up beside the ceiling light
it fluttered round and round
wings flapping like a dizzy moth
it spiralled back to ground
and lay in an exhausted heap
mewing like a kitten
so Jack was brave and picked it up
and prayed not to be bitten.
At that moment, right outside
there was a dreadful roaring
as overhead a dragon pack
came swooping, gliding, soaring
and searching for an infant son
who’d recently gone missing —
the air grew dark and overcast
and full of anxious hissing.
Jack opened up the window and
as soon as one flew near,
he shouted ‘Hey! He isn’t lost —
your baby’s over here!’
The mother dragon paused mid-flight
and turned her massive head
stared at Jack with tearful eyes
sniffed a bit and said
‘You really are so very kind
and all of us are grateful —
the thought we’d never find our son
was absolutely hateful!”
‘Well, here he is!’ Jack held him up
the mother dragon took him
licked him with her long green tongue
then none-too-gently shook him
and scolded him in angry tones
tucked him in her pocket
then giving Jack a toothy grin
she shot off like a rocket.
And so the story ended well
but Jack has one regret —
no one believes he almost had
a dragon for a pet.
MARTIN THE MARTIAN
Mum says my brother is a little monster
and I’ve often thought that in a certain light
he looks a bit peculiar and scary
so it seems there is a chance she could be right.
He’s not like other babies — pink and noisy
he barely cries at all — just sleeps and stares
his eyes like inky saucers, seldom blinking
while he chews the heads off countless teddy bears.
Mum says he’s only teething, so it’s natural
but I have seen the gleam deep in his eyes
he’s practising for when he gets much bigger
and is busting out his baby-gro disguise.
In a few weeks, I doubt he’ll fit his buggy —
already he has one foot on the floor
has spooked the dog and frightened off our moggie
the local cats don’t come round any more.
And yesterday I watched him have his breakfast
and noticed two bumps poking through his hair —
I’m guessing that they’re horns — a subtle warning
he’s different and we should all beware.
I used to ask my mum where babies came from
but brother Martin’s given me a clue —
he’s from another planet — just mail order
and you can have a little monster, too!
BILLIE'S PETS
School 'Bring Your Pets' day recently gave cause for much concern
Some kids took hamsters, mice and snakes, our Billie just took germs
Which soon escaped, for no one saw the way they crept and crawled
On crayons and on pencils, along widowsills and walls...
At break, nobody had a clue how sneakily they slid
In lunchboxes and lingered there beneath each plastic lid
Spread round from grubby hand to hand, those bad bugs ran amok
Until a teacher, white as chalk, cried 'Quick - fetch Mrs. Mop!'
The Supercleaner flew in with her trusty bleach spray cocked
Zapped all around the classroom and had soon wiped out the lot
Then reminded all quite firmly, in hope no one forgets
Bacteria are nasty things and never make good pets!
FINISHING SCHOOL
Oh, you must be the new girl —
I’d welcome you but, hey!
I’m betting you won’t stick around —
the smart ones get away.
The teachers are all vampires
and Matron’s a right ghoul
so none of them are human
and lessons here are cruel.
The janitor’s a zombie —
he’s got this graveyard smell
doesn’t speak but stares a lot
he’s kind of slow as well.
It’s strictly orphans only —
we don’t have Open Day
there is no board of governors
no ‘friends’ or PTA.
The dormitories are dungeons —
they lock us in at night
the staff room’s like a blood bank
if rumour has it right.
But you look strong and healthy
with roses in your cheeks
if you can outrun Matron
you may survive for weeks.
Life here is kind of draining
if you know what I mean
the timetable’s unusual
and most of us aren’t keen
to learn about dissection
and ritual sacrifice —
for cutting up your classmates
just doesn’s seem quite nice!
And cookery is gruesome —
take stake and kidney pud —
the donor’s dead unhappy
and the stake’s a stick of wood!
Well, I guess you get the picture —
the school’s under a curse
for the site was once a plague pit
so the ghosts had got here first
and they sit around like squatters
with their crazy hollow eyes
so we put up with their wailing
and repeated dying sighs.
It all takes some getting used to —
just be sure to keep your head
and avoid all close encounters
with the resident undead.
You’re looking rather nervous
and maybe you suspect
what ‘finishing’ is all about —
we get it in the neck!
The evening sun is going down —
there goes the dinner bell —
who’s on the menu, Heaven knows —
so best you run like Hell!
SHADOW FOLK
Can I ask a question, Miss? —
I need to get this right —
Where do shadows go to when
you switch off the light?
Do they hide in cupboards
or do they skulk instead —
slip as quick as anything
beneath the chest or bed?
Maybe they freeze and stay where
they were when there was light —
perhaps they can’t move on their own
and have to wait all night
‘til someone wakes, gets out of bed
and turns the light back on —
for it would seem peculiar
to find they’d up and gone.
Or, do they rush back suddenly —
too quick for us to spot
they’ve been off doing other things —
some other life they’ve got.
I sometimes think I hear them run
(or maybe it’s a mouse)
for something makes the floorboards creak
when darkness fills the house.
And sometimes, when the moonlight
shines through the curtain’s chink
I catch a grey shape moving —
dissolving in a blink.
Yes, I know I could be dreaming
but my question’s really this —
have you seen the shadow folk ? —
So, what’s the answer, Miss?
CUCKOO
I’m not a bit like Mummy
or Daddy (can’t they guess?)
but growing up quite different —
I’m a cuckoo in their nest.
And I’m nothing like my brothers —
I’m such a greedy brat
I gobble all their dinner
so they starve while I get fat.
It’s just my basic nature —
I feel hungry all the time
and so I push and shove them out —
claim every scrap as mine.
I know that I’m adopted —
beneath my downy vest
I’m not a proper robin
but a cuckoo in their nest.
IN THE DARK
Mum! There’s something near my bed —
I’m sure I heard it breathing.
Mum! I think I felt it move —
I know I wasn’t dreaming.
Mum! There is a funny smell —
like something old and rotten.
Mum! You said you’d tuck me in —
I guess you’ve just forgotten.
Mum! I think I saw its tail —
I’m getting really frightened.
Mum! Could you just come and see
and put the landing light on?
Mum! My throat is really sore —
I need some water please.
Mum! My rash is coming back
and I’ve got itchy knees.
Mum! The window’s rattling now —
the curtain’s started twitching.
Mum! There’s burglars breaking in —
that’s why I’m only whispering.
Mum! I’ve pulled the covers up
and made myself real tiny.
Mum! I’m hardly breathing now
I’m so afraid they’ll find me.
Mum, is that you? I’m shivering —
so tired I can’t stop yawning.
Oh Mum! Your hands are freezing cold.
How long is it ’til morning?
PICNIC GUIDE
If you go down to the woods today
you’d better not go alone
but take your mother, your older brother
remember your mobile phone
for Jeremy Cole went on his own
and met a bear who ate him whole
and all his clothes except the sole
of one of his new school shoes.
So, if you go down to the woods today
take all of your friends along —
when that bear comes out, scream loud and shout
that eating people is wrong!
Most bears who picnic in the wood
take honey sandwiches, sticky but good
and know all boys are full of bones — too chewy!
Beware the bear who ate Jeremy —
he’s hungry still and wants his tea —
the boy was small so there’s lots more room
in his great big hairy tum.
If you must go down to the woods today
take somebody else along —
maybe your sister — he couldn’t miss her—
a bear’s sense of smell is strong!
He’ll think she’s good enough to eat —
for girls are tender and taste sweet
he’ll never guess he’s in for a big surprise!
MOON FACES
Is there a man in the moon? —
I’ve looked and tried to find
a face — an eye, a nose or chin
of any human kind.
The moon’s so far away
it’s hard to recognize
any person peering through
miles and miles of skies
his pumpkin head death-pale
and full of yellow light
floating up in space above
a blank face in the night
riding on the wind
skimming tree and roof
curious to see the world
but silent and aloof...
On clear nights I have searched
the shadows on his skin
while he just stares on back at me
coldly wondering.
HERE LIES...
Here lies the body of Mildred Butts
who died from fatal paper cuts.
She never spoke, relied on notes —
the more replied, the more she wrote.
At last, to all her friends she sent
news from everywhere she went.
She’d heaps of envelopes to lick
with glue so foul it made her sick
but worse, the edges cut her tongue
and blood and ink began to run
and smudged her lines so no one read
her final words — and now she’s dead.
HOMELESS
There’s an old man in the park, Mum
he watches while we play
he’s still there after dark, Mum
he’s never far away.
He’s lonely, I can tell, Mum
and it really bothers me
I don’t think he is well, Mum
he’s thin as thin can be.
They say he is a tramp, Mum
with nowhere else to go
and the days are cold and damp, Mum
so somebody should know.
He’ll catch his death out there, Mum
and Christmas will be soon
he’s nothing warm to wear, Mum
could he stay in our spare room?
I guess the answer’s no, Mum
I’d hoped you wouldn’t mind
the weather forecast’s snow, Mum
so couldn’t you be kind —
and let him have the shed, Mum?
Or I’m afraid he’ll freeze
I’d help him make a bed, Mum
so think about it — please!
Is that too much to ask, Mum?
So what is it you fear?
Why can’t I take a flask, Mum?
Why shouldn’t I get near?
Well, I don’t understand, Mum
the world is so unfair
he’s just a homeless man, Mum
and somebody should care.
RECIPE FOR INSECT STEW
Earwig eyebrows
spiders’ ears
greenfly elbows
woodlouse tears
fresh stings from bees
stag beetle legs
grasshopper knees
and glow worm eggs
chopped millipede
dried ladybugs
some peppered fleas
the slime of slugs
mosquitos make
a crunchy broth
just add a shake
of midge and moth
pickled weevils
give it ‘zing’ —
a really evil
flavouring
let it fester
stir the pot
serve with ants’nest
on the top.
CREATIVITY
In Art Class:
I don’t want to draw a bowl of fruit
a flower or a fairy —
I want to paint an alien
all green and hugely hairy
with seven eyes — four pink, three black
six arms like metal flippers
a dozen legs in leather socks
his toes in Martian slippers.
In English Class:
I don’t want to write a poem, Miss
I’d rather write a story
about a vampire in the woods
all monsterful and gory —
how he could turn into a bat
with an awesome set of choppers
until a slayer came along
and staked him good and proper.
In Geography Class:
I don’t want to learn about Brazil
Australia or France
what crops are grown in India
or how the Turkish dance
I want to draw another map
of somewhere else instead —
a really wild exciting place
I pictured in my head.
In Drama Class:
I don’t want to stand here and pretend
that I’m some kind of tree
I told my teacher that I can’t —
she shook her head at me
and later, in my school report
revealed her irritation —
“Sam is capable but slow
and lacks imagination.”
BARNEY AND MISTER SCRATCHIT
My brother Barney bought a mouse
and named it Mister Scratchit,
the mouse escaped — got clean away
and nobody could catch it.
The rodent rampaged through the house,
it nibbled, gnawed and worried
holes in almost everything —
it shredded, chewed and scurried
from room to room and left a trail
of damage and destruction
until our dad decided he’d
invest in pest reduction.
Not Rentakill but Dialadope —
the bait was cheddar, nobbled
so mouse would snack then fall asleep
once the first chunk was gobbled.
But Mister Scratchit sniffed the cheese,
suspicious and unsure,
then flicked his tail and darted off
to go and live next door.
Now Barney has another pet —
a goldfish known as Bubble —
who’s not quite so much fun as mouse
but has been far less trouble.
ZACHARIAH
My name is Zak —
a witch’s cat —
I’m lean and mean and shifty
I’m fond of mice
they’re small but nice
I wish they weren’t so nifty.
I’ve sampled toad
squashed on the road
I’ve nibbled newts and lizards
and once a bat —
I hated that —
it stuck right in my gizzard.
My witch believes
all felines need
a truly balanced diet —
she boils up slugs
assorted bugs
and thinks I ought to try it.
But would you
eat insect stew ?
I never touch her cooking
I tip the lot
back in the pot
the instant she’s not looking.
That’s why I’m thin —
all bones and skin —
my purr a hollow rumble
I hunt all night
but mice take fright —
they hear my stomach grumble.
I sometimes wish
for bowls of fish —
I dream of ratatouille
with juicy rat
all plump and black
their tails all long and chewy!
Frustrating how
my loud miaow
when I jump up beside her
provokes a grin —
she’ll find a tin
and toss me a fresh spider!
I really fear
I’ll disappear —
completely fade away
unless she gets
some tasty pets
and puts them in my way!
I’d love a mole —
I’d eat him whole —
a hamster or canary —
just anything
with goodness in —
all tender, warm and hairy.
She calls me Zak
a nickname that
is easier for yelling
the witch can’t cook
or read a book —
she’s terrible at spelling.
I’m Zachariah —
brain on fire
from hunger, and I’m growling
’cos I just heard
a little bird...
excuse me, I’m off prowling!
BIG BOYS
I don’t want to play with the big boys any more —
I’m bashed about — my hands and knees are sore
my t-shirt’s torn and if that’s not enough
they don’t play fair — they’re really mean and rough.
They pick on me just because I’m young
and call me names — it’s really not much fun
because they kick and shove me when they find
I’ve got the ball — they’re stupid and unkind.
Okay, I’m short and skinny but so what?
I’m quicker than the other kids they’ve got —
and given half a chance I’d show them all
the way to tackle, pass and aim that ball.
But they won’t listen — typical of boys
who won’t let other people share their toys
they know it all — they think they own the world
and what could I know? — I am just a girl!
WITCH-SILVER
A stray cat came to my front door
miaowing — so I let her in
she left wet footprints on my floor
then sat and washed from tail to chin.
Her eyes were green, her tongue was pink
her coat was thick and soft like silk —
the same all over — black as ink
I poured her a small dish of milk.
She chose a cushion for her bed
and went to sleep beside the fire
I talked to her and stroked her head
and told her all my heart’s desire.
Next morning, early, as dawn broke
someone knocked upon my door —
a figure bent beneath a cloak
a voice I’d dreamed the night before
who called the cat by some strange name
and puss ran out to greet the crone
then they both turned, their look the same
next moment I was on my own...
I’d pondered on it all that week
but told no one, when a grey bird
with something hanging from its beak
flew through my window and I heard
the witch’s voice purr in my ear
“these seven silver coins can buy
those secret things your heart holds dear...”
her breath a ragged, haunting sigh.
I hid the pouch of silver coins
safe out of sight, without delay —
stashed them where the cross beam joins
the bird croaked thrice and flapped away.
Dark magic seeped — bewitched my house
my mind grew weak with dread that soon
the witch would come — play cat and mouse —
but most I feared the next full moon.
When it was due I locked the door
shut fast the windows streaming rain
I sprinkled herbs across the floor
the wind died down, blew hard again...
I heard a mew, I heard a laugh
the coins fell from their hiding place —
a sudden bang, an icy draft
and at the window pressed a face.
The hag stared in, the coins had rolled
around my feet — I grabbed them up
in panic — for my blood ran cold —
and hurled them out as midnight struck.
There was a screech — a howl of pain
a blinding flash of purple light
the witch rose with her clothes aflame
I trembled and felt sick with fright.
She hurtled, burning through the air
her broomstick like a comet’s trail
growing fainter as I stared
an echo lingered of her wail.
And where the coins had struck the soil
seven silver serpents sprang —
glittering, each scaly coil
sharp as steel, each curving fang.
They reared and hissed and spat their hate
then out of nowhere courage came
so I attacked them, didn’t wait
but ended that nightmarish game
with neon swords of light that flashed
and thunder roaring overhead
the serpents lunged, the storm-blades slashed
until all seven snakes lay dead.
As I watched, their skins grew dull —
withered as the flesh decayed
then their bones, and last each skull
crumbled, melted clean away...
The spell was broken, furthermore
since that strange night I never let
an unknown cat inside my door
in case it is some witch’s pet.
It was a trick — I should have known
that kindness is its own reward
nor taken silver from that crone
for freely-given bed and board.
NO ADDITIVES
My mum’s a witch, I’m sure she is —
I know it from her cooking —
she adds bizarre ingredients
when no one else is looking.
Every mealtime’s a surprise —
we’re not sure what we’re eating —
I bet her steak and kidney pies
have more than normal meat in.
I thought I saw a bat wing once —
a small grey web of gristle —
it really put me off my tea
I also found a bristle —
a springy hair all thick and long
floating in my porridge
and it was black and we’re all blonde
so what that proves is horrid.
One day Mum said ‘just for a change
we’ll have a finger buffet’ —
that sounded way too weird and strange
I sneaked off to the café.
But on the menu, plain as plain
it said Toad-in-the-Hole
and I thought here we go again
and ordered a cheese roll.
Mum wants to try Hungarian
(that goulash stuff is lumpy)
so I’ve gone vegetarian
and even Dad’s turned grumpy.
She thinks it’s just a passing fad —
my fruit and salad diet —
but its the best defence I have
and other kids should try it
if they suspect their mum’s like mine —
too fond of kitchen magic —
try take-aways — phone Pizza line —
or dinner could turn tragic!
PET SHOP
How much is that spider in the window —
the one with the web full of flies?
How much is that spider in the window?
I do like its eight beady eyes.
I don’t want a gerbil or a hamster
or a budgie all feathered and green.
I don’t want a cute fluffy bunny
but a spider all hairy and mean.
So how much is that spider in the window?
It must be the biggest I’ve seen.
I just want that spider in the window
to scare people at Halloween.
PARTY TRICK
On Barney Summer’s birthday
he invited all his mates
but Barney hasn’t many friends —
just me and Robbie Bates
and Robbie’s sister Sarah
who took her cousin Joan
plus the boy who lives next door
who didn’t come alone
but brought along his favourite pet —
a lizard called Amanda
which magically had learned to talk
though few could understand her.
So Barney, Robbie Bates and me,
Joan, Sarah and Amanda
sat and had some birthday cake
on Barney’s back verandah
while James, the boy who lives next door
drew smoke rings with the candles
then we all passed the lizard round
and stroked her scaly handles.
Amanda blinked and gazed at us
she flicked her purple tongue
and concentrated all the while
on cleaning up the crumbs
then in a croaky voice she said
‘shall we play in the garden?’
I was dumbstruck, Robbie gasped
and Sarah answered ‘Pardon?’
Barney almost choked himself
and Joan went white as chalk
James looked smug and quietly said
‘I told you lizards talk!’
For no one saw his lips move
so the clever trick we missed —
he’s either a real wizard
or a great ventriloquist.
CHOCOLATES
Our great-granddad has a sweet tooth —
he has to have his chocs —
he hides them in the greenhouse
and scoffs them by the box.
Mum says he shouldn’t have them —
he’ll put on too much weight —
but great-granddad doesn’t listen
and says it’s far too late
to worry about diets
at his age — so why stop?
He taps his nose and whispers
and sends me down the shop.
We have this understanding
and it works perfectly —
I never spill the beans on him —
he never tells on me.
I sit and share his chocolates
most afternoons at four
he potters round his greenhouse
remembering the war
I’m the only one he talks to
I think he likes me best
for I’m allowed the orange creams —
great-granddad eats the rest.
GONE MISSING
Charlie’s not at school today
it feels strange and I miss him
although he’s not my boyfriend now
since I saw Alice kiss him.
For something happened yesterday
while playing in the park
and Charlie stayed out way too late —
’til it was nearly dark
and all the other kids had gone —
they left him on the swings
and we all know the park at night
is full of creepy things.
At first his mum and dad got cross
and then they called the police
who searched the park and found one shoe
and Charlie’s bright red fleece.
And now it’s in the newspapers
and on the tele live —
Charlie Miller’s not been seen
since yesterday at five.
No one knows for sure, of course
but some of us are guessing
what could have happened to our friend
’cos Charlie never listened
to warnings that he shouldn’t trust
or even speak to strangers —
they could be aliens or worse
and that’s the biggest danger.
I think a spaceship picked him up
for it seems really weird
one minute he was there and then
he went and disappeared.
We all hope soon they’ll bring him home —
back to his family
then he can tell us where he’s been
and solve the mystery.
MY POEM
I have a poem in me
and it’s trying to break out —
sometimes I feel it wriggle —
it moves and rolls about.
It pokes me and provokes me,
it mutters and it sighs,
it scratches with impatient feet
and makes appealing cries.
But when I picked my pencil up
quite ready to begin —
offered it a clean white page,
gave it an opening —
it got all shy and wouldn’t come,
it scuttled back inside —
I couldn’t pull the poem out
however hard I tried!
So I didn’t do my homework —
too bad, my teacher said,
that she couldn’t read my poem
when it’s still inside my head!
THE TALE OF ELIZA AND CLAUDE
Eliza-Jayne Myfanwy Letts
was fond of creepy crawly pets
although forbidden by her mother
and warned she shouldn’t by her brother
she kept a multi-legged collection
and tended them with true affection.
In pickle jars of graded size
she housed in rows her moths and flies
beetles, spiders and odd things
that hopped and wriggled, flapped their wings —
her natural fascination grew
for all that buzzed and hummed and flew.
Her favourite bug above all else
took pride of place upon her shelf —
a ‘hairy worm’ she just adored —
a caterpillar known as Claude
who munched through leaves and fattened quick —
his bristles shiny, long and thick.
Eliza watched with glowing pride
as Claude climbed up the jar’s smooth side
and wandered round its glassy rim
and listened as she spoke to him
then on her finger took a crawl
as though he didn’t mind at all.
But some weren’t happy in her zoo —
some barely thrived and quite a few
(however hard Eliza tried)
curled up their toes and quietly died
and nothing she could do or say
made much difference. Every day
she’d find to her intense despair
a casualty — legs in the air
and stiff to every poke and prod —
no sign of life — they’d gone to God
without a word — no fond farewell —
no cause — as far as she could tell.
It was a puzzle why they died —
Eliza worried, frowned and sighed
and made especial fuss of Claude
afraid he might get sick or bored
with life alone in his round jar —
feel stressed at where his family are...
She felt quite quite anxious as she checked
how many leaves were holey — wrecked
and chewed right down to their tough veins
while Claude — curled round their stalk remains —
seemed well content and fit enough
packed full of healthy veggie stuff.
But then it came about one day
that on the bottom poor Claude lay
and twitching gently while Eliza
tearful, wishing she was wiser
watched the skin peel from his back
revealing something brownish-black.
It gleamed — peculiar and shiny —
bullet-shaped — its pulse a tiny
heartbeat flickered ’neath the skin
where Claude was hidden — trapped within
and past all remedy or cure —
Eliza feared him dead for sure.
What fever caused his sense to float
and shrug off his long hairy coat
she could not fathom — even guess
why Claude would leave her so — unless
he had a need of a disguise...
so she’d be patient — dry her eyes.
The days passed by — with Winter gone
still Claude slept on — and on — and on.
Eliza fretted while fresh slugs
garden snails, assorted bugs
all shared the tense, nail-biting wait
and prayed Claude’s trance-like spell would break.
Spring sunlight found Claude’s dusty jar —
a nerve was triggered from afar —
the brittle skin cracked like an egg
as Claude pushed through one slender leg
and pulled his crinkled body free
of everything he used to be.
You should have heard Eliza shout —
she danced for joy — she skipped about —
amazed to see such awesome things
as Claude’s unfolding peacock wings —
the chubby brown-furred grub was gone —
his colours now like stained glass shone.
She ran to tell her mother — found
her brother, too, who at the sound
of the commotion dropped his book
and jumped right up to take a look
demanding what had made her so
excited (like he didn’t know!)
Transformed, Claude pumped his wings and stared
right through the glass — got all prepared
for his first flight into the blue.
Eliza knew she must unscrew
the lid and let her pet fly free
and found his insect dynasty.
They stood aside — Eliza’s mother
and her know-it-all big brother —
watched how carefully she set
Claude — her best and favourite pet
fluttering free — up through the sky —
no looking back — not one goodbye.
Afterwards she felt quite sad —
missing Claude — on balance glad
she’d let him go — had done what’s right
it being an uplifting sight
to witness his return to wild —
in fact it so impressed the child
she promised (as she wiped her eyes)
she’d take her spiders, bugs and flies
back to the field where they belonged
despite the fact she was so fond
of Earl the earwig and his wife —
they so deserved a better life!
Eliza grew up wise and good
and studied like a smart girl should
until she’d earned a top degree —
a first in entomology
for all the knowledge she had learned
began with Claude — a ‘hairy worm.’
WHEN TWO BUGS HAVE A HUG
When two bugs have a hug
it’s a complicated affair —
all those legs and long thin bits
waving around in the air.
It’s something of a tangle —
an intricate muddle
when two insects in love
have a kiss and a cuddle.
Twelve arms/legs — whatever —
four antennae plus mouth parts
locked in confusion
while fast-beating bug-hearts
are caught up in the moment —
they wrestle insanely —
their courtship impetuous
rough and ungainly.
Which one lets go first
and breaks off the embrace
when they’re so tightly glued
is a problem they face ...
Sometimes one will take off
while the other still clings —
a clear demonstration
that true love has wings.
POPULARITY STAKES
Nobody loves poor Mary-Jane —
her hair is lank — her face is plain —
just nobody loves Mary-Jane.
She had a party — nobody came
and no one really was to blame
when nobody cares for Mary-Jane.
She went to the beach — it poured with rain —
bad luck follows Mary-Jane —
but nobody’s sorry all the same.
Nobody notices Lindy-Lou —
she doesn’t ask why — hasn’t a clue —
what nobody does, or doesn’t, do.
Nobody knows what Lindy-Lou
says about them — if it’s true
she won’t tell me — or even you.
Nobody misses Lindy-Lou —
she’s shy — like nobody through and through —
Nobody questions — wonders — who?
Nobody cares for Sally-Ann —
not one single friend or fan —
most avoid her — if they can.
Nobody sides with Sally-Ann
when debating should they ban
bossy brothers — to a man.
Nobody votes for Sally-Ann
in any poll that ever ran —
no secret ‘kiss’ for Sally-Ann.
Everybody* likes Billie-Jo —
she’s cute and really nice to know —
her friendships don’t swing to and fro —
she’s loyal and kind — sweet Billie-Jo —
her prettiness not all for show —
she’s good all through — from head to toe.
*All except for Mary-Jane
and Lindy-Lou finds her a pain
while it drives Sally-Ann insane
for deep inside they each know
they’ve got a million miles to go —
Nobody’s as perfect as Billie-Jo.
TELL ME
Mother, why do you hold your head —
what news has made you cry?
What did that policeman have to say —
tell me — did someone die?
I know a little about death —
I found a mouse today
frozen on the garden path
and touched it where it lay
eyes shut and tiny paws clenched tight
its tail a question mark
curling as it left this world
went off into the dark...
So tell me, Mother — I’ll be brave
what’s happened? — Is it bad?
Although he left us years ago
I’m half-afraid it’s Dad...
It isn’t fair to shut me out
it’s written on your face
something hurts inside of you —
your grief chokes up the place.
So tell me, tell me, tell me please —
the truth and nothing less —
why do you weep — what is the cause
of such intense distress?
HOW BIG?
How big is big?
How small is small?
And who’s to judge?
We think it’s all
just up to us —
how we compare
to harvest mice
or polar bears.
Yet to a beetle
mice are giants
and bears have no
idea of science —
the only measurement
they know
is footprints marking
miles of snow.
The whale is huge —
gargantuan —
when fully grown
dwarfs a man
who seems a monster
to the gnat
and other bugs
we squirt stuff at.
And elephants
are quite a size
and heavy, too —
it’s no surprise
they’re dangerous
but have no claws
unlike the died-out
dinosaurs...
who would have made
us all look small —
however wide
or long, or tall —
we’ve learnt from fossils
that occur
what size of big
the biggest were.
No zoo for them
but a museum
where people go
and pay to see ’em —
stand and stare
get quite reflective
and put this size thing
in perspective.
COMEUPPANCE
I wasn’t nice to Henry —
I tied him to a tree
because he played with Tom and Ben
and everyone but me.
He said I was a bully
and when I set him free
he threatened to tell teacher
but that didn’t worry me.
I boasted — said I didn’t care —
I wasn’t scared one bit —
I laughed and pushed him in the mud
I tore his football kit.
He didn’t tell our teacher
but by the school’s main gate
I saw our sisters talking —
I guess that sealed my fate.
Now Henry’s big sis Sarah
is not a girl to cross —
she’s got a reputation —
she’s kind of like the boss.
And she explained in detail
as she rolled me in the dirt
that this was called ‘comeuppance’
then she ripped my new school shirt.
I sort of got her meaning
she made her point so well
I promised I’d apologise
and that I wouldn’t tell.
These days I’m nice to Henry
and quite like Sam and Ben
and sometimes I join in their game
I think we’re nearly friends.
DOING NOTHING
When they ask me what I’m doing
and I just answer “nothing”
they don’t believe me — get annoyed —
start frowning, sighing, tutting
like I must be doing something
and they’re absolutely sure
whatever I’ve been doing’s bad —
I should be punished for
not owning up, admitting what
I’m hiding with that word —
“nothing” is ridiculous —
“nothing” is absurd!
For nobody does nothing
quite so frequently as me —
nothing before breakfast,
nothing after tea.
I haven’t got a hobby,
I never watch TV,
instead, I sit and wonder —
why do they pick on me?
Perhaps, next time they ask me,
I’ll tell them something new
because they’ll never understand
that nothing’s what I do!
BAT CHAT
I’m a barbastelle bat
I flutter and flap
and spend most of my time in the dark
I hunt the night skies
catch midges and flies
and I sleep in a tree in the park.
’Though I’m only a bat
it’s unfortunate that
some people are scared I might bite ’em
I look creepy and black
and in films I attack
so everyone screams and gets frightened.
But I’m just a shy bat —
a real quiet sort of chap —
imagine a mouse with big wings on
and my appetite’s small
I don’t drink blood at all
and I’m not made of rubber with strings on.
I am simply a bat
and I promise you that
I’ve no horribly gruesome intentions
so unless you’re a moth
it is quite safe to scoff
for the vampire is mostly invention.
I’m a rare kind of bat
so don’t hassle or trap —
all you humans should try to protect me
if you see me flit by
please don’t shriek, yell or cry
for it’s sure to freak out and upset me.
I’m a sensitive bat
and I’m hoping this chat
will help get these fears off my chest
a quick word in your ear
might make it all clear
us bats are endangered unless
you understand that
horror movies aren’t fact
and people are way too suspicious
I get quite perplexed
when they cover their necks
a fresh insect is much more delicious!
PLAYING PIRATES
We’ve been playing Spanish pirates —
we’re rough and tough and mean
I’m one-eyed Jack the Fearless
my old parrot’s blue and green
he’s been perching on my shoulder
so my t-shirt’s far from clean.
For hours we have sailed due east
with Mad Thomas at the wheel
on the look out for adventure
and some bags of gold to steal
(and some food — for hungry pirates
need to snatch a tasty meal.)
Our boat’s really a cardboard box
we got from Mad Tom’s Mum
we made a wicked paper flag
with skull and crossbones on
and pretended that our lemonade
was really pirate rum.
Tom suddenly cried “Ship Ahoy!” —
his sister had come home
and didn’t know it’s dangerous
to sail strange seas alone —
we stole her sweets and tied her up
then rolled her in the foam!
But Tom’s Mum came and rescued her
and said “That’s quite enough! —
Even pirates have their rules,
so don’t play quite so rough!”
We had to hand back all the sweets
(except the ones we’d sucked.)
So now we’re starving and fed up —
we’ve sailed the ocean wide
and found no treasure — not one jewel
nor ounce of gold we’ve spied
maybe the time has come when we
should give up and decide...
tomorrow we’ll play something else!
SEA DREAMS
I wish I was a mermaid
with a super swishy tail —
then I’d swim the seven oceans
with the singing humpback whale.
I would make a starfish garden
build a little coral house
keep a pair of clever catfish
and a deep sea diving mouse.
I’d plant cockle shells and mussels
rows of limpets by the score
have a nesting box for oysters
strings of pearls around my door.
I’d have lots of friendly neighbours
who I’d chat to every day
I’d be kind to lonely lobsters
but keep nosy sharks at bay.
I’d hold parties for the turtles
teach the spider crabs to knit
help the octopus make doilies
with a seaweed crochet kit.
We’d have fern arranging sessions
and the squids could use their ink
for seahorse drawing classes —
it’s amazing when I think
of that world under the water —
all those possibilities —
Oh I wish I was a mermaid
so I could explore the sea!
LABELS
Gary’s got new trainers,
Tommy’s got some, too —
they’re really cool, with silver stripes
on bright metallic blue.
I’d kind of like a new pair —
my ones are old and not
half so neat as Charlie’s,
whose Nike shoes are hot.
And even Sam has Reeboks,
although they’re second hand
and not as flash as Barney’s —
his dad’s quite rich and grand
and drives a posh Mercedes,
and smokes a big cigar,
so Barney gets the very best
and thinks he is a star.
Poor Benny wears black plimsolls —
at home the money’s tight —
says labels aren’t important.
I think maybe he’s right.
LEOPARD CAKE
If leopards ever sampled cake
they would never find the crumbs
that dropped — lost among
their camouflaging spots...
and they would likely itch
more than a little bit —
these morsels caught
between their furry folds
might tickle and infuriate
so for their uncertain temper’s sake
hungry leopards in the wild
avoid eating cake.
SING A SONG
Sing a song of starlight
a pocketful of dreams
the sky is full of angels
how bright the magic seems
the roofs with snow all glisten
the moon’s so clear and high
like a shiny silver button
or a pale and spooky eye.
Hum a tune to shadows
when night is cold and dark
and fog hangs by the river
fills the playground in the park
where ghouls and ghosties listen
hog the dampness as they lurk
music interrupts their haunting
and most other creepy work.
So whistle when you’re nervous
but carol when you’re glad
especially at Christmas
or the birthday you’ve just had
and when it comes to bedtime
go sing yourself to sleep
like the birds lulled in the treetops
or the fish who bubble deep.
GOOD COMPANIONS
Said the bunny to the kitten —
“I’m a bunny — how d’you do?”
The kitten, playful, answered “I’m
a bunny rabbit, too!”
The bunny looked her up and down
he thought her face was sweet
but kindly pointed out she lacked
a bunny rabbit’s feet.
Perplexed, the pretty kitten sat
and washed her dainty paws
while bunny groomed his fluffy coat
and licked between his claws.
At last the bunny spoke again
“I’m guessing you’re a kitten —
my theory’s quite a simple one
if you’ve an ear to listen...
You don’t eat dandelions or hay
but dine on meat or fish
and there’s another giveaway —
see — ‘Pussy’ on your dish!”
Kitten blinked her big blue eyes
and agreed he must be right
for ’though they both looked small and cute
they weren’t that much alike.
So, while Kitten pounced and chased about
Bunny sniffed and pondered —
chewing on a carrot top
long and hard he wondered...
There was no reason he could see —
all differences apart —
they shouldn’t mix — at least be pals —
this seemed a hopeful start.
“Hey, Kitty!” Bunny hopped across
and nuzzled at her ear.
She stopped her playing while he told
the jist of his idea...
Inseparable, the two became
and bucking Nature’s trends
bonded and from that day on
were loyal and lifelong friends.
MY ROOM — A WARNING
No one comes in my room —
it’s private — so keep out —
and don’t think you can just sneak in
when nobody’s about!
Mum does a bit of cleaning
but doesn’t touch my stuff,
she hoovers round and dusts a bit,
collects odd socks and fluff,
but never opens cupboards
or pokes or prods or pries —
she knows what I have hidden’s
not fit for grown-up eyes...
Now I don’t want to scare you,
but things can get grotesque,
so curb your curiosity —
it’s really for the best,
and heed the sign pinned on my door —
I wrote it very clear:
NO ENTRY — WIZARD TRAINING ZONE:
DARK FORCES LURK IN HERE.
A SECRET PLACE
I’ve just come back from being gone
and when they ask me where
I scratch my head and vaguely point
to some place over there.
And when they question what it’s called —
this land so far away —
I rack my brain and shrug because
I really cannot say.
There are no sign posts where I go
there are few stars to guide me
I wander down the nearest path
and trust the map inside me.
And every minute that I spend
can seem more like an hour
for magic grows in every tree
and shines from every flower.
It is forever summer there
beneath those cloudless skies
and nothing nasty happens there
and no one ever dies.
No grown-ups come to spoil my fun
no big kids bully me
it’s never bedtime, there’s no school —
I’m absolutely free!
So I won’t say just where it is —
not the exact location —
but keep the secret safely locked
in my imagination.
GREEN MAN
There is a Green Man in the wood
his hair is full of leaves
his fingers are long skinny twigs
he hides inside the trees
but I have seen him once or twice —
glimpsed his berry eyes
peering at me through the bark
and guess that his disguise
is just so he can guard the oaks,
the elms and silver birches,
watch out for those who cut and burn
Mother Nature’s churches
and he protects the sapling beech,
the hazel and the holly —
I’ve seen his face in picture books
and he looks kind of jolly
for he’s the spirit of the wood —
he’s very old and wise
and he knows every bird and bush
he has a thousand eyes
and he will feel the branch go crack
and sense the tree’s in pain
he’ll curse such vandals with one stare
and send them all insane.
So when you’re playing in the wood
be careful what you do
don’t ever think you are alone —
the Green Man’s watching you!
SEA STORIES
The sea’s cold lips
curl white with pain
they suck on rocks
draw back again
its quick wet tongue
flicks sand and spray
just listen close —
you’ll hear it say...
I crunch the bones
of sailors drowned
I chew on stones
and lick them round
I spit them out
or swallow whole
to feed dark hungers
soothe my soul.
The sea’s thin voice
whines all night long —
it’s part lament
part victory song —
it tells old secrets
whispers, cries
howls its madness
sobs and sighs...
I sink your ships
rip up their sails
I whip up storms
blow salt-breath gales
I wield great power
and my rule
is often fickle
sometimes cruel...
The sea’s high tides
reach up the wall
erode the cliff —
waves bite and gnaw
and inch by inch
it eats away
each stubborn edge
grown soft as clay...
I hiss my stories
taunt the moon
my rising flood
will cover soon
the fields and cities
’til men wish
they could go back
to being fish.
FRIENDLESS
I haven’t got a lot of friends —
in fact I haven’t any
except for bats who share my cave
though lately there’s not many
and they don’t really count because
I’ve noticed them avoid me
and even when I say hello
they flap past and ignore me.
There’s spiders but they’re really quiet —
I’ve never heard them speak.
They hang around all dangly-legged
but utter not one squeak.
Last week a rat came visiting
but once he’d sniffed the air
decided that he wouldn’t stop
inside a dragon’s lair
even though there’s loads of room —
I’d welcome company —
I’m guesing he just didn’t like
the awful smell of me.
It’s not as if I never wash
or polish my red scales
and I am most particular
at cleaning teeth and nails
and yet no matter what I do
my cave smells strange and sickly —
in fact there is a dreadful pong
so passers-by leave quickly.
They glimpse a pile of mouldy bones
and even though I smile
they can’t see I’m a friendly chap
and always run a mile!
THE CAT, THE WIZARD AND THE WICKED PIRATE
Black Jake he was a pirate proud —
the scourge of seven seas
his ship was called the Gyspy Queen
and all her crew got fleas.
They made Jake itch, they made him scratch
and bang his wooden leg
he swore the vessel had been cursed
by a cat called Pretty Peg.
Now Peg was once a wizard’s cat
who got the urge to roam
she stowed away one moonlit night
and made Jake’s ship her home.
The first mate, Bill, discovered her
and said “What ’ave we ’ere? —
A lucky cat!” He let her lap
the last drops of his beer.
But when Jake heard he wasn’t pleased
and went red in the face
and shouted sure he didn’t need
“no moggie ’round the place!”
For pirates should be fierce and strong
and cats made Black Jake sneeze —
they made him gasp and wipe his eyes
his voice became a wheeze.
He didn’t trust those wide green eyes
he hated such soft fur
he shook and coughed and thought of ways
he could be rid of her.
For Jake was hard and cruel and mean
his heart was black with spite
he planned to toss her overboard
one dark and stormy night.
But Bill, the first mate, fed her fish
and played with Pretty Peg
he made a bed for her inside
an empty powder keg.
And all the time Bill was about
he thwarted Jake’s cruel plan
until a sudden accident
killed off the kind old man.
He had a pirate’s funeral —
they buried him at sea
and fired the cannon overhead
while Jake smiled secretly...
That night he took the powder keg
with Peg inside asleep
and hurled it hard with all his might
far out into the deep.
With no remorse, not one regret
the wicked deed was done
and battered by the stormy seas
the Gypsy Queen sailed on.
The powder keg bobbed like a cork
it floated through the waves
at last it washed upon a beach
so Pretty Peg was saved!
The journey home was very long —
a year passed, maybe more
it was a thin, bedraggled Peg
who found the wizard’s door.
And when he heard the tale she told
(he knew cat language well)
he threatened he would send Black Jake
and all his crew to Hell!
But then he thought a plague of boils
or a really vile disease
might be a better punishment —
’til Peg suggested fleas!
The wizard searched through all his spells —
the nastiest he had —
until he found the very one
to make Jake hopping mad!
He conjured up an insect curse
and sent it wrapped in fog
addressed to Black Jake and his crew —
the murderous sea-dog!
Like drops of rain the fleas fell down
and hopped around the ship
they found the pirates — one by one
the crew began to twitch
but most of them were drawn to Jake
where he was tucked in bed
hundreds jumped into his bunk
and on his blood they fed.
The more he scratched, the more he itched
he couldn’t sleep or rest
they burrowed underneath his wig
they gathered in his vest.
His breeches were a breeding ground
fleas hatched out in his hat
and miserably he rubbed his bites
while blaming Peg the cat.
At last it got too much for him —
he threw the porthole wide
and swearing loudly at the sky
he took a desperate dive.
And as he sank the crew on deck
gawped and then they cheered
as all the pesky fleas hopped off
and like magic, disappeared.
Down on the seabed cold and dark
Jake’s rotting bones prove that
however proud a pirate is
he can’t out-smart a cat!
ALWAYS READ THE INSTRUCTIONS
A cautionary tale is one
that warns — ’though it may sound like fun
to launch a rocket by the shed
there’s every chance you’ll end up dead’.
*
Example: There was once a boy
whose aunt bought him the latest toy —
a rocket kit like on TV —
she’d wrapped the present carefully
but forgotten as she tied
to put the ‘how to’ notes inside.
Now Colin was the careless sort —
he ripped the paper off she’d bought
and scattered rocket on the floor
(just guessing what each bit was for)
and started building, glued it tight
quite sure he’d worked it out all right.
But when he’d finished there remained
a final piece, so Colin blamed
the manufacturer and grinned
and tossed the odd bit in the bin
without a second thought or doubt
it might be wise to check it out.
He planned to launch the rocket soon —
precisely on the next full moon
when he would wait ’til after school
to fill the tanks with rocket fuel
in preparation for the flight
and start the countdown late at night.
The great day came and Colin ran
as fast as any plump boy can
home from school, skipped most of tea
and waited dead impatiently.
His aunt with friends was playing bridge
and left a note pinned on the fridge
with clear instructions biroed blue —
what Colin could and couldn’t do
while she was out — But oh guess what?
Her nephew just ignored the lot!
And when he should have been in bed
was sneaking round the yard instead!
He found a can of paraffin
and topped it up with Auntie’s gin
and filled the rocket’s tanks right up
adding slowly, cup by cup,
old paint remover and for luck
some liquid fertilizer muck.
The moon rose up. The count began...
4 3 2 1 — a muffled bang
a blinding spark, a rush, a roar
the bolt flew off the coal shed door
ignition on, all systems go
the rocket wobbled to and fro
and then the sections, one by one
exploded like a firing gun.
Someone screamed and in the din
Colin realized it was him
as up he flew, caught by the blast
and saw the whole world flashing past.
It must have been an awesome view
but where he landed no one knew.
He left behind two well-scorched socks
and a battered empty rocket box.
Much later when his aunt got home
and saw the signs, she telephoned
all those she knew with telescopes
her rapidly decreasingly hopes
of finding Colin safe and well
were due to the odd burning smell
that lingered near the ruined shed —
her nephew was most likely dead.
The skies were searched to no avail
for no one saw his vapour trail —
a tiny UFO, Colin raced —
half boy, half rocket, into space.
Since then, his aunt’s felt really bad
knowing, carelessly, she had
left out the leaflet that showed how
the rocket should be made, and now
she’d found a piece to her dismay
that Colin must have thrown away!
A safety switch that, wired in tight,
should guarantee a smoother flight.
No going back — what’s done is done
she lectures all the kids who come
to see where Colin vanished from
on dangerous toys. She is quite glum —
insists instructions must be read
or else they, too, will end up dead!
LOW CALORIE BLUES
Mum’s put us on a diet
she says we’re overweight —
we can’t have sweets or chocolate
doughnuts, crisps or cake.
We’re not allowed spaghetti
burgers or baked beans
and pizza’s off the menu
and so are chips, it seems.
Real butter is a no-no —
it’s low-fat from now on
and no fry-ups for breakfast
Dad’s will to live’s near-gone.
A working man like him, he says
needs plates of proper grub
the moment Mum has turned her back
he sneaks off down the pub.
So it’s muesli or bran flakes
orange juice or nought —
and given such a boring choice
we’d rather go without.
School dinners smell delicious
now my lunchbox really sucks —
the crackers taste like cardboard —
wouldn’t feed it to the ducks!
And I’m sick to death of salad
steamed vegetables and fish
I hate the sight of lentils
Oh I wish, I wish, I wish...
there was some way of going back
to three square meals a day
I dream of battered cod and chips
TV meals on a tray
ice cream and jelly, apple pie
jam roly poly pudding
and all the things that Mum forbids
and fails to see the good in.
We sat up really late one night —
me and my brother, Dan
we’re both as desperate as can be
so we thought up a plan...
This Mother’s Day we bought our Mum
an artificial plant
not fondant creams like last year —
it’s her fault that we can’t.
She looked quite disappointed
when she undid the box
and found a potted pansy
and not her favourite chocs.
We noticed then at dinner
she left her brussel sprouts
and hardly touched the carrot soup —
we’re sure she’s having doubts.
The low-cal blues have got her —
she’s slowly giving in
we caught her gazing sadly
at the empty biscuit tin.
Not long now ’til it’s over
and we can shout hooray!
when Dad rings up to order us
a chinese take-away!
HOW TO CHOOSE A PET
Come in the pet shop, look around
see what the critters do —
stand and watch them through the bars
while some of them watch you.
Remember the small furry ones
are often keen to bite —
their teeth are sharp, their brains are small
they’re really not too bright
and mostly they just eat and sleep
run round in wheels and chew
keep everyone awake all night —
and then they’ll all blame you.
Reptiles are quite interesting
but lizards cost a packet
parrots squawk and parakeets
kick up an awful racket.
Puppies need a daily walk —
that’s no good if you’re lazy
a chipmunk loose around the house
would drive your mother crazy
and a spider’s bound to spook her
so is any kind of snake —
it’s best not to upset her with
the final choice you make.
You’re pretty safe with goldfish —
you’d hardly know they’re there
but they’re not much fun to talk to —
they just mouth at you and stare.
I could suggest the perfect pet —
it’s rare and rather shy —
invisible to all except
its keeper’s watchful eye.
It never bites, it’s cheap to feed
not troublesome to own —
it’s everything that you could want
and free to a good home.
JEFFREY-JOHN AND THE JOKE THAT BACKFIRED
Jeffrey-John Nathaniel Stokes
was fond of playing unkind jokes.
In fact he was a tiresome boy
who schemed and plotted to annoy
his family, and at weekends
he’d target visitors and friends.
His mother told him “Jeffrey-John
you’re just upsetting everyone —
poor Aunt Joanna’s still in bed
a dampened towel wrapped round her head.
Her screams were heard throughout the house
now take away that rubber mouse
and go and throw it in the bin.
It’s horrid! — Oh, and wipe that grin
off your smug, uncaring face —
I’m furious! You’re in disgrace!
So Jeffrey-John said “Please, Mama
I’m quite aware how cross you are —
I promise I’ll apologize
to Auntie Jo.” He blinked his eyes
and squeezed a tear with all his might —
he looked so solemn and contrite —
an act that fooled her. Thus deceived
her heart relented and believed.
Then JJ through the garden strolled
and picked a posy — red and gold —
of flowers for his ailing aunt.
He chose the finest from each plant
and tied them with a ribbon bow
done thoughtfully as if to show
how sorry he was for the trick
that scared her so and made her sick.
She’d never guess there lurked beneath
one lush and rather splendid leaf
and camouflaged amongst the green —
the biggest bug he’d ever seen.
She was asleep when he went in —
the sheets pulled tight up to her chin.
“Oh, Auntie, dear,” he whispered, then
“Wake up, old thing!” he said again.
She slowly opened one pale eye
and gave a deep and painful sigh
“What do you want?” Her voice was harsh
but Jeffrey-John just let that pass —
“I’ve brought you these!” He laid them down
beside her Chinese dressing gown
and ’though she’d judged him mean and vile
she gave the boy a toothy smile.
“Oh, aren’t they glorious!” she cried —
grabbed them up and then untied
the clever bow. The bug fell out —
she shrieked at once — a feeble shout
wavering and rather hoarse —
“You wicked boy! You’ve no remorse!”
The bug amidst such great alarm
now scuttled sharply up her arm
and sprang into her nest of hair
to disappear completely there.
Aunt Joanna clutched her head
rolled her eyes — and fell back dead!
JJ’s mother heard the fuss
and hurried in — she was nonplussed
to find such a bizarre tableau —
her aunt deceased and Jeffrey so
distraught — insanely babbling
the bug’s to blame — it wasn’t him!
How he changed from that day on —
the urge to play cruel pranks was gone —
he spent his time up in his room
a different child — a listless gloom
hung above him like a cloud
his posture poor, his shoulders bowed
from suffering a frightful curse —
recurring nightmares — but far worse —
nocturnal visits. Aunt Jo’s ghost
popped in to plague him, and to boast
that there was nothing he could do
to counter her heart-stopping “Boo!”
His family sent him away
to hospital — a good long stay —
some measure of the hopes they had
he might be cured and not go mad —
an institution grey and grim
where Aunt Jo’s ghost could lodge with him.
Thus sharing one depressing cell
they got to know each other well.
So spook and boy agreed at last
their differences were in the past —
for each had learned, when scaring folk —
enough’s enough — a joke’s a joke!
TWINKLE TWINKLE
Twinkle twinkle little star
our teacher told us what you are
and now your magic has all gone
what are we s’posed to wish upon?
Up above the world so high
a lump of rock that’s cold and dry —
all burnt out — a long-dead spark
that twinkles on across the dark.
CHASING DRAGONS
First off, Jack caught a glimpse of tail —
curled underneath a chair
but when he got down on his knees
to look — it wasn’t there.
Then across the room he saw
two nervous coal-black eyes
glinting as they peered at him
Jack thought it might be wise
to try and coax it in a box —
avoid small snapping teeth —
piled toys and clothes upon his bed
and slowly crawled beneath
and there it sat — all hunched up small
cleaning its red scales —
a baby dragon like they sell
as souvenirs from Wales.
It blinked at Jack and snorted twice
puffed a tiny flame
made a kind of warning growl
and disappeared again.
Then up beside the ceiling light
it fluttered round and round
wings flapping like a dizzy moth
it spiralled back to ground
and lay in an exhausted heap
mewing like a kitten
so Jack was brave and picked it up
and prayed not to be bitten.
At that moment, right outside
there was a dreadful roaring
as overhead a dragon pack
came swooping, gliding, soaring
and searching for an infant son
who’d recently gone missing —
the air grew dark and overcast
and full of anxious hissing.
Jack opened up the window and
as soon as one flew near,
he shouted ‘Hey! He isn’t lost —
your baby’s over here!’
The mother dragon paused mid-flight
and turned her massive head
stared at Jack with tearful eyes
sniffed a bit and said
‘You really are so very kind
and all of us are grateful —
the thought we’d never find our son
was absolutely hateful!”
‘Well, here he is!’ Jack held him up
the mother dragon took him
licked him with her long green tongue
then none-too-gently shook him
and scolded him in angry tones
tucked him in her pocket
then giving Jack a toothy grin
she shot off like a rocket.
And so the story ended well
but Jack has one regret —
no one believes he almost had
a dragon for a pet.
MARTIN THE MARTIAN
Mum says my brother is a little monster
and I’ve often thought that in a certain light
he looks a bit peculiar and scary
so it seems there is a chance she could be right.
He’s not like other babies — pink and noisy
he barely cries at all — just sleeps and stares
his eyes like inky saucers, seldom blinking
while he chews the heads off countless teddy bears.
Mum says he’s only teething, so it’s natural
but I have seen the gleam deep in his eyes
he’s practising for when he gets much bigger
and is busting out his baby-gro disguise.
In a few weeks, I doubt he’ll fit his buggy —
already he has one foot on the floor
has spooked the dog and frightened off our moggie
the local cats don’t come round any more.
And yesterday I watched him have his breakfast
and noticed two bumps poking through his hair —
I’m guessing that they’re horns — a subtle warning
he’s different and we should all beware.
I used to ask my mum where babies came from
but brother Martin’s given me a clue —
he’s from another planet — just mail order
and you can have a little monster, too!
BILLIE'S PETS
School 'Bring Your Pets' day recently gave cause for much concern
Some kids took hamsters, mice and snakes, our Billie just took germs
Which soon escaped, for no one saw the way they crept and crawled
On crayons and on pencils, along widowsills and walls...
At break, nobody had a clue how sneakily they slid
In lunchboxes and lingered there beneath each plastic lid
Spread round from grubby hand to hand, those bad bugs ran amok
Until a teacher, white as chalk, cried 'Quick - fetch Mrs. Mop!'
The Supercleaner flew in with her trusty bleach spray cocked
Zapped all around the classroom and had soon wiped out the lot
Then reminded all quite firmly, in hope no one forgets
Bacteria are nasty things and never make good pets!
FINISHING SCHOOL
Oh, you must be the new girl —
I’d welcome you but, hey!
I’m betting you won’t stick around —
the smart ones get away.
The teachers are all vampires
and Matron’s a right ghoul
so none of them are human
and lessons here are cruel.
The janitor’s a zombie —
he’s got this graveyard smell
doesn’t speak but stares a lot
he’s kind of slow as well.
It’s strictly orphans only —
we don’t have Open Day
there is no board of governors
no ‘friends’ or PTA.
The dormitories are dungeons —
they lock us in at night
the staff room’s like a blood bank
if rumour has it right.
But you look strong and healthy
with roses in your cheeks
if you can outrun Matron
you may survive for weeks.
Life here is kind of draining
if you know what I mean
the timetable’s unusual
and most of us aren’t keen
to learn about dissection
and ritual sacrifice —
for cutting up your classmates
just doesn’s seem quite nice!
And cookery is gruesome —
take stake and kidney pud —
the donor’s dead unhappy
and the stake’s a stick of wood!
Well, I guess you get the picture —
the school’s under a curse
for the site was once a plague pit
so the ghosts had got here first
and they sit around like squatters
with their crazy hollow eyes
so we put up with their wailing
and repeated dying sighs.
It all takes some getting used to —
just be sure to keep your head
and avoid all close encounters
with the resident undead.
You’re looking rather nervous
and maybe you suspect
what ‘finishing’ is all about —
we get it in the neck!
The evening sun is going down —
there goes the dinner bell —
who’s on the menu, Heaven knows —
so best you run like Hell!
SHADOW FOLK
Can I ask a question, Miss? —
I need to get this right —
Where do shadows go to when
you switch off the light?
Do they hide in cupboards
or do they skulk instead —
slip as quick as anything
beneath the chest or bed?
Maybe they freeze and stay where
they were when there was light —
perhaps they can’t move on their own
and have to wait all night
‘til someone wakes, gets out of bed
and turns the light back on —
for it would seem peculiar
to find they’d up and gone.
Or, do they rush back suddenly —
too quick for us to spot
they’ve been off doing other things —
some other life they’ve got.
I sometimes think I hear them run
(or maybe it’s a mouse)
for something makes the floorboards creak
when darkness fills the house.
And sometimes, when the moonlight
shines through the curtain’s chink
I catch a grey shape moving —
dissolving in a blink.
Yes, I know I could be dreaming
but my question’s really this —
have you seen the shadow folk ? —
So, what’s the answer, Miss?
CUCKOO
I’m not a bit like Mummy
or Daddy (can’t they guess?)
but growing up quite different —
I’m a cuckoo in their nest.
And I’m nothing like my brothers —
I’m such a greedy brat
I gobble all their dinner
so they starve while I get fat.
It’s just my basic nature —
I feel hungry all the time
and so I push and shove them out —
claim every scrap as mine.
I know that I’m adopted —
beneath my downy vest
I’m not a proper robin
but a cuckoo in their nest.
IN THE DARK
Mum! There’s something near my bed —
I’m sure I heard it breathing.
Mum! I think I felt it move —
I know I wasn’t dreaming.
Mum! There is a funny smell —
like something old and rotten.
Mum! You said you’d tuck me in —
I guess you’ve just forgotten.
Mum! I think I saw its tail —
I’m getting really frightened.
Mum! Could you just come and see
and put the landing light on?
Mum! My throat is really sore —
I need some water please.
Mum! My rash is coming back
and I’ve got itchy knees.
Mum! The window’s rattling now —
the curtain’s started twitching.
Mum! There’s burglars breaking in —
that’s why I’m only whispering.
Mum! I’ve pulled the covers up
and made myself real tiny.
Mum! I’m hardly breathing now
I’m so afraid they’ll find me.
Mum, is that you? I’m shivering —
so tired I can’t stop yawning.
Oh Mum! Your hands are freezing cold.
How long is it ’til morning?
PICNIC GUIDE
If you go down to the woods today
you’d better not go alone
but take your mother, your older brother
remember your mobile phone
for Jeremy Cole went on his own
and met a bear who ate him whole
and all his clothes except the sole
of one of his new school shoes.
So, if you go down to the woods today
take all of your friends along —
when that bear comes out, scream loud and shout
that eating people is wrong!
Most bears who picnic in the wood
take honey sandwiches, sticky but good
and know all boys are full of bones — too chewy!
Beware the bear who ate Jeremy —
he’s hungry still and wants his tea —
the boy was small so there’s lots more room
in his great big hairy tum.
If you must go down to the woods today
take somebody else along —
maybe your sister — he couldn’t miss her—
a bear’s sense of smell is strong!
He’ll think she’s good enough to eat —
for girls are tender and taste sweet
he’ll never guess he’s in for a big surprise!
MOON FACES
Is there a man in the moon? —
I’ve looked and tried to find
a face — an eye, a nose or chin
of any human kind.
The moon’s so far away
it’s hard to recognize
any person peering through
miles and miles of skies
his pumpkin head death-pale
and full of yellow light
floating up in space above
a blank face in the night
riding on the wind
skimming tree and roof
curious to see the world
but silent and aloof...
On clear nights I have searched
the shadows on his skin
while he just stares on back at me
coldly wondering.
HERE LIES...
Here lies the body of Mildred Butts
who died from fatal paper cuts.
She never spoke, relied on notes —
the more replied, the more she wrote.
At last, to all her friends she sent
news from everywhere she went.
She’d heaps of envelopes to lick
with glue so foul it made her sick
but worse, the edges cut her tongue
and blood and ink began to run
and smudged her lines so no one read
her final words — and now she’s dead.
HOMELESS
There’s an old man in the park, Mum
he watches while we play
he’s still there after dark, Mum
he’s never far away.
He’s lonely, I can tell, Mum
and it really bothers me
I don’t think he is well, Mum
he’s thin as thin can be.
They say he is a tramp, Mum
with nowhere else to go
and the days are cold and damp, Mum
so somebody should know.
He’ll catch his death out there, Mum
and Christmas will be soon
he’s nothing warm to wear, Mum
could he stay in our spare room?
I guess the answer’s no, Mum
I’d hoped you wouldn’t mind
the weather forecast’s snow, Mum
so couldn’t you be kind —
and let him have the shed, Mum?
Or I’m afraid he’ll freeze
I’d help him make a bed, Mum
so think about it — please!
Is that too much to ask, Mum?
So what is it you fear?
Why can’t I take a flask, Mum?
Why shouldn’t I get near?
Well, I don’t understand, Mum
the world is so unfair
he’s just a homeless man, Mum
and somebody should care.
RECIPE FOR INSECT STEW
Earwig eyebrows
spiders’ ears
greenfly elbows
woodlouse tears
fresh stings from bees
stag beetle legs
grasshopper knees
and glow worm eggs
chopped millipede
dried ladybugs
some peppered fleas
the slime of slugs
mosquitos make
a crunchy broth
just add a shake
of midge and moth
pickled weevils
give it ‘zing’ —
a really evil
flavouring
let it fester
stir the pot
serve with ants’nest
on the top.
CREATIVITY
In Art Class:
I don’t want to draw a bowl of fruit
a flower or a fairy —
I want to paint an alien
all green and hugely hairy
with seven eyes — four pink, three black
six arms like metal flippers
a dozen legs in leather socks
his toes in Martian slippers.
In English Class:
I don’t want to write a poem, Miss
I’d rather write a story
about a vampire in the woods
all monsterful and gory —
how he could turn into a bat
with an awesome set of choppers
until a slayer came along
and staked him good and proper.
In Geography Class:
I don’t want to learn about Brazil
Australia or France
what crops are grown in India
or how the Turkish dance
I want to draw another map
of somewhere else instead —
a really wild exciting place
I pictured in my head.
In Drama Class:
I don’t want to stand here and pretend
that I’m some kind of tree
I told my teacher that I can’t —
she shook her head at me
and later, in my school report
revealed her irritation —
“Sam is capable but slow
and lacks imagination.”
BARNEY AND MISTER SCRATCHIT
My brother Barney bought a mouse
and named it Mister Scratchit,
the mouse escaped — got clean away
and nobody could catch it.
The rodent rampaged through the house,
it nibbled, gnawed and worried
holes in almost everything —
it shredded, chewed and scurried
from room to room and left a trail
of damage and destruction
until our dad decided he’d
invest in pest reduction.
Not Rentakill but Dialadope —
the bait was cheddar, nobbled
so mouse would snack then fall asleep
once the first chunk was gobbled.
But Mister Scratchit sniffed the cheese,
suspicious and unsure,
then flicked his tail and darted off
to go and live next door.
Now Barney has another pet —
a goldfish known as Bubble —
who’s not quite so much fun as mouse
but has been far less trouble.
ZACHARIAH
My name is Zak —
a witch’s cat —
I’m lean and mean and shifty
I’m fond of mice
they’re small but nice
I wish they weren’t so nifty.
I’ve sampled toad
squashed on the road
I’ve nibbled newts and lizards
and once a bat —
I hated that —
it stuck right in my gizzard.
My witch believes
all felines need
a truly balanced diet —
she boils up slugs
assorted bugs
and thinks I ought to try it.
But would you
eat insect stew ?
I never touch her cooking
I tip the lot
back in the pot
the instant she’s not looking.
That’s why I’m thin —
all bones and skin —
my purr a hollow rumble
I hunt all night
but mice take fright —
they hear my stomach grumble.
I sometimes wish
for bowls of fish —
I dream of ratatouille
with juicy rat
all plump and black
their tails all long and chewy!
Frustrating how
my loud miaow
when I jump up beside her
provokes a grin —
she’ll find a tin
and toss me a fresh spider!
I really fear
I’ll disappear —
completely fade away
unless she gets
some tasty pets
and puts them in my way!
I’d love a mole —
I’d eat him whole —
a hamster or canary —
just anything
with goodness in —
all tender, warm and hairy.
She calls me Zak
a nickname that
is easier for yelling
the witch can’t cook
or read a book —
she’s terrible at spelling.
I’m Zachariah —
brain on fire
from hunger, and I’m growling
’cos I just heard
a little bird...
excuse me, I’m off prowling!
BIG BOYS
I don’t want to play with the big boys any more —
I’m bashed about — my hands and knees are sore
my t-shirt’s torn and if that’s not enough
they don’t play fair — they’re really mean and rough.
They pick on me just because I’m young
and call me names — it’s really not much fun
because they kick and shove me when they find
I’ve got the ball — they’re stupid and unkind.
Okay, I’m short and skinny but so what?
I’m quicker than the other kids they’ve got —
and given half a chance I’d show them all
the way to tackle, pass and aim that ball.
But they won’t listen — typical of boys
who won’t let other people share their toys
they know it all — they think they own the world
and what could I know? — I am just a girl!
WITCH-SILVER
A stray cat came to my front door
miaowing — so I let her in
she left wet footprints on my floor
then sat and washed from tail to chin.
Her eyes were green, her tongue was pink
her coat was thick and soft like silk —
the same all over — black as ink
I poured her a small dish of milk.
She chose a cushion for her bed
and went to sleep beside the fire
I talked to her and stroked her head
and told her all my heart’s desire.
Next morning, early, as dawn broke
someone knocked upon my door —
a figure bent beneath a cloak
a voice I’d dreamed the night before
who called the cat by some strange name
and puss ran out to greet the crone
then they both turned, their look the same
next moment I was on my own...
I’d pondered on it all that week
but told no one, when a grey bird
with something hanging from its beak
flew through my window and I heard
the witch’s voice purr in my ear
“these seven silver coins can buy
those secret things your heart holds dear...”
her breath a ragged, haunting sigh.
I hid the pouch of silver coins
safe out of sight, without delay —
stashed them where the cross beam joins
the bird croaked thrice and flapped away.
Dark magic seeped — bewitched my house
my mind grew weak with dread that soon
the witch would come — play cat and mouse —
but most I feared the next full moon.
When it was due I locked the door
shut fast the windows streaming rain
I sprinkled herbs across the floor
the wind died down, blew hard again...
I heard a mew, I heard a laugh
the coins fell from their hiding place —
a sudden bang, an icy draft
and at the window pressed a face.
The hag stared in, the coins had rolled
around my feet — I grabbed them up
in panic — for my blood ran cold —
and hurled them out as midnight struck.
There was a screech — a howl of pain
a blinding flash of purple light
the witch rose with her clothes aflame
I trembled and felt sick with fright.
She hurtled, burning through the air
her broomstick like a comet’s trail
growing fainter as I stared
an echo lingered of her wail.
And where the coins had struck the soil
seven silver serpents sprang —
glittering, each scaly coil
sharp as steel, each curving fang.
They reared and hissed and spat their hate
then out of nowhere courage came
so I attacked them, didn’t wait
but ended that nightmarish game
with neon swords of light that flashed
and thunder roaring overhead
the serpents lunged, the storm-blades slashed
until all seven snakes lay dead.
As I watched, their skins grew dull —
withered as the flesh decayed
then their bones, and last each skull
crumbled, melted clean away...
The spell was broken, furthermore
since that strange night I never let
an unknown cat inside my door
in case it is some witch’s pet.
It was a trick — I should have known
that kindness is its own reward
nor taken silver from that crone
for freely-given bed and board.
NO ADDITIVES
My mum’s a witch, I’m sure she is —
I know it from her cooking —
she adds bizarre ingredients
when no one else is looking.
Every mealtime’s a surprise —
we’re not sure what we’re eating —
I bet her steak and kidney pies
have more than normal meat in.
I thought I saw a bat wing once —
a small grey web of gristle —
it really put me off my tea
I also found a bristle —
a springy hair all thick and long
floating in my porridge
and it was black and we’re all blonde
so what that proves is horrid.
One day Mum said ‘just for a change
we’ll have a finger buffet’ —
that sounded way too weird and strange
I sneaked off to the café.
But on the menu, plain as plain
it said Toad-in-the-Hole
and I thought here we go again
and ordered a cheese roll.
Mum wants to try Hungarian
(that goulash stuff is lumpy)
so I’ve gone vegetarian
and even Dad’s turned grumpy.
She thinks it’s just a passing fad —
my fruit and salad diet —
but its the best defence I have
and other kids should try it
if they suspect their mum’s like mine —
too fond of kitchen magic —
try take-aways — phone Pizza line —
or dinner could turn tragic!
PET SHOP
How much is that spider in the window —
the one with the web full of flies?
How much is that spider in the window?
I do like its eight beady eyes.
I don’t want a gerbil or a hamster
or a budgie all feathered and green.
I don’t want a cute fluffy bunny
but a spider all hairy and mean.
So how much is that spider in the window?
It must be the biggest I’ve seen.
I just want that spider in the window
to scare people at Halloween.
PARTY TRICK
On Barney Summer’s birthday
he invited all his mates
but Barney hasn’t many friends —
just me and Robbie Bates
and Robbie’s sister Sarah
who took her cousin Joan
plus the boy who lives next door
who didn’t come alone
but brought along his favourite pet —
a lizard called Amanda
which magically had learned to talk
though few could understand her.
So Barney, Robbie Bates and me,
Joan, Sarah and Amanda
sat and had some birthday cake
on Barney’s back verandah
while James, the boy who lives next door
drew smoke rings with the candles
then we all passed the lizard round
and stroked her scaly handles.
Amanda blinked and gazed at us
she flicked her purple tongue
and concentrated all the while
on cleaning up the crumbs
then in a croaky voice she said
‘shall we play in the garden?’
I was dumbstruck, Robbie gasped
and Sarah answered ‘Pardon?’
Barney almost choked himself
and Joan went white as chalk
James looked smug and quietly said
‘I told you lizards talk!’
For no one saw his lips move
so the clever trick we missed —
he’s either a real wizard
or a great ventriloquist.
CHOCOLATES
Our great-granddad has a sweet tooth —
he has to have his chocs —
he hides them in the greenhouse
and scoffs them by the box.
Mum says he shouldn’t have them —
he’ll put on too much weight —
but great-granddad doesn’t listen
and says it’s far too late
to worry about diets
at his age — so why stop?
He taps his nose and whispers
and sends me down the shop.
We have this understanding
and it works perfectly —
I never spill the beans on him —
he never tells on me.
I sit and share his chocolates
most afternoons at four
he potters round his greenhouse
remembering the war
I’m the only one he talks to
I think he likes me best
for I’m allowed the orange creams —
great-granddad eats the rest.
GONE MISSING
Charlie’s not at school today
it feels strange and I miss him
although he’s not my boyfriend now
since I saw Alice kiss him.
For something happened yesterday
while playing in the park
and Charlie stayed out way too late —
’til it was nearly dark
and all the other kids had gone —
they left him on the swings
and we all know the park at night
is full of creepy things.
At first his mum and dad got cross
and then they called the police
who searched the park and found one shoe
and Charlie’s bright red fleece.
And now it’s in the newspapers
and on the tele live —
Charlie Miller’s not been seen
since yesterday at five.
No one knows for sure, of course
but some of us are guessing
what could have happened to our friend
’cos Charlie never listened
to warnings that he shouldn’t trust
or even speak to strangers —
they could be aliens or worse
and that’s the biggest danger.
I think a spaceship picked him up
for it seems really weird
one minute he was there and then
he went and disappeared.
We all hope soon they’ll bring him home —
back to his family
then he can tell us where he’s been
and solve the mystery.
MY POEM
I have a poem in me
and it’s trying to break out —
sometimes I feel it wriggle —
it moves and rolls about.
It pokes me and provokes me,
it mutters and it sighs,
it scratches with impatient feet
and makes appealing cries.
But when I picked my pencil up
quite ready to begin —
offered it a clean white page,
gave it an opening —
it got all shy and wouldn’t come,
it scuttled back inside —
I couldn’t pull the poem out
however hard I tried!
So I didn’t do my homework —
too bad, my teacher said,
that she couldn’t read my poem
when it’s still inside my head!
