February 23, 2015

Fruit DNA

‘It’s a hard idea to grapple’, said the elongated apple,

‘And it sometimes makes me crumble in a heap of bleak despair,

But I guess I’m not surprised, as I do appear mis-sized;

Yes, I’ve just been told my parent is apparently a pear’.

 

February 20, 2015

Sicker

An alligator, feeling sick,

Croaked ‘Get me to the doctor, quick!’

He felt a chill, and not much later

Really was an illergator.

February 13, 2015

Roses Aren’t Red

Sugar is sweet – that much is true

But who ever said that violets are blue?

Violets are violet, the clue’s in the name!

And what about roses? They’re not all the same!

Roses are pink, and yellow and white,

They’re all sorts of colours, so please, get it right!

And yes, sugar’s sweet, but it makes me feel sick.

Me, love you? No way – you’re too thick!

February 12, 2015

The Benefits of Victorian Dress

Ann never met a chap alone;

She always had a chaperone

To keep her prim and proper

And a model of decorum.

Though what Ann’s minder had not seen;

Beneath her roomy crinoline

Ann hid a dozen boyfriends

(Such a handy place to store ‘em).

February 10, 2015

Cucumber Jam

We’re the Cucumber Crew

Quite the coolest guys you’ve seen.

We play drums in The Salad Bowl;

Our beats are really mean.

We’re so slim and so stylish

That the lettuce wilts in awe,

Yes, we’re fresh in the flesh

And our talent’s really raw.

There’s no messing with our dressing;

We’re the smartest of the bunch.

Yeah, we’re strong and we’re long

And we really pack a punch.

We may just be veggies

But we don’t give a damn!

So come along and listen

To our cucumber jam.

 

February 9, 2015

Flexibility

When the yogi got a bogey

Quite a long way up his nose,

He chanted for an hour or so,

And then struck up a pose.

He stretched his leg around his head

(His movements nice and slow),

And then removed the bogey

With his very smallest toe.

February 6, 2015

The Last Biscuit

I sit at the side of the barrel,

And nobody ever picks me.

I’m the very last biscuit, the very last biscuit,

The very last biscuit, you see.

I’ve not got a smooth chocolate coating,

Or cherries, or currants or jam,

So people complain that I’m boring and plain.

I guess it’s quite true that I am.

I watch as the others get chosen

Until I am left by myself.

And people forget that the barrel is there,

Pushed to the back of the shelf.

Then one day a child’s feeling hungry

And cries ‘All the biscuits are gone!’

Then she finds the old barrel and gives it a shake

And she says to herself ‘Oh, hang on…’

Then she opens the lid and she finds me!

It’s true I’m a tiny bit stale.

And compared to the chocolately curranty ones

I’m really quite ugly and pale.

But the child feels so lucky to see me,

And thinks I’m delightful to eat.

Yes, sometimes to be the last biscuit

Can mean you seem so much more sweet.

 

 

 

February 3, 2015

Storm Pigs

When the wind was a whistle of wolf-breath,

Whispering under the door,

And each gust was the tearing of claws at the air,

Each squall was a deep-throated roar,

Three little pigs sat huddled inside,

Their nerves like straw – wispy thin.

And their hearts beat as quick as the rattle of sticks

As the storm bellowed out ‘Let me in!’

 

January 30, 2015

A Correction

Never go into the home of a bear.

As do you know what? They don’t EVER share.

Yes, bears are all really revoltingly rude;

They don’t share their chairs, or their beds or their food.

And the thing that most gets me, that makes me quite mad,

Is their stuff is all rubbish! The quality’s BAD.

It’s mostly too hot and or too hard or too cold,

Too lumpy, too bumpy, too soft or too old.

In fact, it’s so trashy it all tends to break!

But then, if you make just a tiny mistake

And their stuff sort of rips with a snap! crack! smash!

And you land on your sore poorly bum with a crash,

The bears won’t say sorry, they won’t say ‘oh dear!’

They just give a glare and yell ‘GET OUT OF HERE!’

You try to explain that the fault is all theirs,

But they never once listen, those bad-mannered bears!

Instead they accuse you of trying to steal,

Like one bowl of porridge is such a big deal!

Bears never share, and they’re NEVER polite.

No doubt they’ll tell you that their version’s right,

But don’t you believe even ONE word they say.

I’m perfectly innocent really. OK?

 

 

 

 

January 26, 2015

Behind Bars

We don’t do much. Just sit in our hutch,

And think about quantum mechanics and such.

And when we get bored, as we do on occasions,

We ponder quite complex quadratic equations,

And talk of great art and of post-modern theory,

And how being a guinea pig is rather dreary

Just stuck in our hutch

And not doing much.

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