May 28, 2015


Butterflies are in my belly,

Both my legs have turned to jelly,

Think I’ll hide behind the telly:


Heart is thudding, thump-thump-thumping,

Little noises set me jumping,

Round my head my thoughts are pumping:


Cold and clammy hands are shaking,

Fingers quiver, feet are quaking,

Really now, there’s no mistaking:


All a-jitter, voice is squeaking,

Flutter, flitter, hardly speaking,

Can’t you see, I’m really freaking!


May 22, 2015

From My Point of View

I may just be small but I’ve great expertise;

I’m a real connoisseur on the subject of knees:


The browny ones, the pinky ones,

The stained with mud and inky ones,

The gnarly ones, the knobbly ones,

The crooked ones, the wobbly ones.


Knees wearing trousers, knees wearing tights,

Knees where mosquitoes have taken big bites.


The washed ones and the shabby ones,

The hard and scarred and scabby ones.

The graceful ones, the dainty ones,

The splittered splattered painty ones.


Knees sat in wheelchairs and knees that are leaping,

Knees made for cunning – for crawling and creeping.


The skinny ones, the puffy ones,

The ‘who’s the beastie?’ fluffy ones,

The racing ones, the running ones,

The lounging round and sunning ones.


Yes, that’s all a person like me ever sees.

I may just be small, but I know about knees!









May 15, 2015

Little Green Men

What’s this funny BEEP of ship? It’s laughably low-tech!

Where’s it from? Whose can it be? Let’s BEEP at once and check!

But wait a bit! What’s BEEP inside! It’s coming up on deck!

They’re moving round! They look alive! They’re BEEPING BEEP! Oh heck!


Their skins are different colours, but not BEEP of them is green!

Are they freaky animals or maybe BEEP machine?

On their heads is fluffy BEEP – it can’t be very clean.

They’re quite the strangest creatures that we’ve BEEPING ever seen!


They’ve only BEEP one pair of eyes, which aren’t upon a stalk.

Their legs go strange and bendy every time they BEEP and walk.

And when their mouths all start to move they BEEP a funny squawk.

Do these things communicate? BEEP, do they try to talk?


Maybe they are aliens who want to BEEP on Mars.

Have they trashed their planet with their BEEPING fuel and cars?

Do they think they own this BEEP – the sun and moon and stars?

Well, go back and home and clean your place, as this BEEP home is ours!





May 8, 2015


Far from the noise and the rush-dash-haste,

And the suits, and the boots, and the greyness and waste,

Far from the concrete, the right-angled walls,

The slickness, the brickness, as hope fades and falls,

Far from the hollow of thrusting ambition,

Far from the rubble of lost opposition,

Far from exhaust, and from smog-clogged-up sorrow,

There stands a small place that is known as tomorrow;

A very small place where the wind is still blowing,

And there, in the air, a flower is growing.

May 8, 2015


After the dust, after the dust, everything looked so clean!

The motes spun around and confettied the air; the ground seemed to have a new sheen.

But after a while the sun went in, and the wind came along in a  gust,

And everything settled, as it had been,

After the dust

The dust.

May 4, 2015


My mum is a spectre inspector;

She checks all the ghastliest ghouls.

And if they’re not dead then one clonk on the head

Will make sure they comply with the rules.


May 1, 2015


I am scratching my head as I wonder:

Why have a hole in each ear?

I’m sure I’ve got wonderful thoughts in my brain,

But those holes let them all disappear.

April 29, 2015

Looking Out of the Window

One day, I will climb the sky

And catch a cloud, as it sails on by,

Past roofs, and spires, and tops of trees,

Blown by breath of billowing breeze,

Till far out to sky, my home will seem

A glimpse of long-forgotten dream.

And as my sail-cloud turns and twists,

I’ll watch new cities rise in mists

As far behind me old ones fall,

Though from up here they’ll look so small.

And then, as I’m blown through blackest night,

I will snuggle myself in the pillowy white

Of the cloud’s soft deck. And there I’ll sleep

All through the dark, so silent, deep,

Where lonely stars still sing the birth

Of moons and suns and each new earth.

Then in the morning’s first pink blush

I’ll hoist my cloud-sails up and rush

Through fire-tinged waves of new-dawned air,

Then steer my cloud-ship on to where

I’ll land on the sands of an unmapped shore

And join with the song of the wild world’s roar.

One day.



April 27, 2015


Why do they call them tentacles?

It’s true that it makes us sounds great.

The word, though, is wrong; our tickles are long

But we normally only have eight.

April 24, 2015

Cat Song

Let me get this right.

Does your bed move round at night?

Yes, I wonder – does it wander? Does it walk?

When you’re settling for a snooze, does you bed put on its shoes?

Does it stutter utter mutter – does it talk?

Will it shake and shuffle-shift? Will it wiggle jiggle lift?

Might it seem like there’s an earthquake in your naps?

Yes, it’s really quite traumatic when your bed is not so static,

Which is why we all meow ‘DON’T MOVE YOUR LAPS!’


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