Original poems for the young at heart
I didn’t see a thing but if you ask my Mum what she saw
She says she saw a fire engine sitting on a seesaw
It was balanced by a donkey, though it might have suited me more
What a noise! Can you join in (the fire engine will begin)
This raucous rowdy racket din
This nee naw seesaw hee haw?
My little sister’s trying to insist,
She’s trying to insist she can whistle.
But the noise somehow is more like an ‘ow’
As if someone just sat on a thistle,
She knows that noise has lots of power.
She’s been doing it now for over an hour,
And the more we say it has to end,
The more she drives us round the bend.
She can’t do it properly – it’s just pretend!
But if anything bad could drive us mad,
We’re fairly certain this’ll:
wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesh
There isn’t a hope of soap
And where there should be toilet roll
There’s only a gaping sniggering hole
The toilet won’t flush (it’s not got a handle)
And as for the dryer – my goodness it’s dire
It wouldn’t blow out a birthday cake candle!
Half the sea is all over the floor
The light’s not lighting (or not any more)
It’s drenched in stench and stinky stuff and
The toilet seat is all covered in sand
How on earth can anyone cope
When there isn’t a hope of soap?
Have you heard the news? I’ve got a bruise!
I’ve got a bruise, I said.
Here, let me show you – it’s under my shoes.
It’s going to take simply ages to lose.
It very enormous and hurty and red.
I’ve got a bruise, a bruise, I said!
Have you looked at it properly – have you seen?
It might turn yellow, or turquoise or green!
I’m incredibly brave and pretending it’s fine,
But nobody ever gets bruises like mine.
And I can’t see the doctor or even the nurse,
As walking will make the bruise terribly worse.
And my foot my fall off (you never know).
Here – let me give you one more show.
Have you heard the news? I’ve got a bruise
On my smallest toe, under my shoes.
That’s way more special by far than my sister,
Who’s boasting about a pathetic old blister,
But my bruise will be in a medical book.
Here – let me give you one last look.
Have you heard the news? I’ve got a bruise
I’ve got a bruise, I said.
I’m gliding down the aisles in a trolley that’s so fast
You can listen to the whish of the air as I go past.
I go whooshing with Mum pushing as I shoot past the fruit
Old ladies turn their heads and say ‘Isn’t he cute?’
I stop at near the honey
‘Hey sugar, take a ride
You’re a sweet treat for eating, so hop on right inside’
I breeze past the freezers and I say to a pea:
‘You think you’re cool? Well darling, look at me!’
I whizz and I whirr with my wheels just a blur
Past the flour and the cake mix where I cause quite a stir.
I fill up the trolley, and then with a shout
I crash into the cashiers: ‘Hey, come and check me out!’
Then I smile for a while as I glide back down the aisle
I’m the supermarket baby and I’m shopping in style.
Dear old Yeti, we feel your pain
At having to eat that spaghetti again,
As all that our owner will feed us is noodles.
Yours sincerely,
The Poet’s Pet Poodles
What’s your name? Bill? Ah, that’s nice
Now sit over here – we’ll be done in a trice
Just say cheese, please
Don’t fidget or frown, don’t sulk or look down
Just say cheese, please
Don’t pick your nose or wipe snot on your clothes
Don’t fidget or frown, don’t sulk or look down
Just say cheese, please
Don’t scratch your chin, and do keep that tongue in
Don’t pick your nose or wipe snot on your clothes
Don’t fidget or frown, don’t sulk or look down
Just say cheese, please
Don’t grimace or stare, make a mess of your hair
Don’t scratch your chin, and do keep that tongue in
Don’t pick your nose or wipe snot on your clothes
Don’t fidget or frown, don’t sulk or look down
Just say cheese, please
Don’t shut your eyes, and please – do up those flies!
Don’t grimace or stare, make a mess of your hair
Don’t scratch your chin, and do keep that tongue in
Don’t pick your nose or wipe snot on your clothes
Don’t fidget or frown, don’t sulk or look down
Just say cheese, please
Don’t eat your shirt – can you brush off that dirt?
Don’t shut your eyes, and please – do up those flies!
Don’t grimace or stare, make a mess of your hair
Don’t scratch your chin, and do keep that tongue in
Don’t pick your nose or wipe snot on your clothes
Don’t fidget or frown, don’t sulk or look down
Just say cheese, please
Don’t stick out your tum – is it itching, your bum?
Don’t eat your shirt – can you brush off that dirt?
Don’t shut your eyes, and please – do up those flies!
Don’t grimace or stare, make a mess of your hair
Don’t scratch your chin, and do keep that tongue in
Don’t pick your nose or wipe snot on your clothes
Don’t fidget or frown, don’t sulk or look down
Just say cheese, please
That’s it!
That’s brill, Bill
Hold it
Hold it
Hold it
Bill!
JUST SAY CHEESE!
Please
We’re going to stay with our Great Aunty Laura.
She lovely! She’s brilliant! She’s cool! We adore her!
There’s only one problem…
The hour is getting incredibly late
And our stomachs are rumbling – it’s time that we ate
The midnight feast that we’ve carefully prepared,
And which, to be honest, we don’t want shared
With our Great Aunty Laura (although we adore her).
But Laura’s rabbiting on and on
About the days that have now long gone,
And when she talks of the time she was young
We can’t do a thing to stop her tongue.
She claims she was once a wild jungle explorer,
A dancer, a chancer, a top football scorer,
And all we can do is sit there and listen
(Or at least pretend) as her eyes glow and glisten.
She’s never going to stop.
And so I turn to my sister and whisper:
‘If we want her to sleep, our Great Aunty Laura,
What we must do is sit tight here and bore her’.
So we yawn and stare, and slump in the chair
(While thinking, of course, all this waiting’s not fair),
And talk about stuff that is boring enough
To have an insomniac nodding right off.
And then my sister, stifling a cough,
Says ‘Shhhhh, I think we’ve done it’.
And she points with her thumb straight at Great Aunty Laura,
And blimey – good heavens! – that lady’s a snorer!
It makes the whole house seem to tremble and shake.
So surely Aunt Laura is not still awake?
I mouth at my sister: ‘She’s fast asleep’,
So we crawl, we skitter, we slink, we creep,
We slither, we sidle, we tiptoe, we skulk
Past the chair where she’s lying, that great snoring hulk.
But then one of her eyes seems to open and wink,
As if to say ‘Children, just where do you think
You are going, at this time of night?’
She’s fast asleep though – so that can’t be right!
So my sister (who’s nearest our Great Aunty Laura)
Says: ‘Sleeptalking. Come on, just try to ignore her’.
‘But she winked!’ I say, ‘She winked – I saw her!’
But my sister says ‘Sssshh’ and she gives me a push
Through the door, down the hall, and then to the table
From where, as fast as we’re possibly able,
We take all the food that we’d hidden at tea
And pretty much everything else we can see –
The biscuits, the cheese, the juice, the jam,
The slices of sausage, salami and ham –
And we cram it all in, this midnight snack,
To a small and holey plastic sack.
It’s all we could find
But we don’t mind.
All we care about now
Is getting upstairs.
Somehow.
We need to get back past Great Aunty Laura,
Who’s sleeping (and that’s how we really adore her),
That jungle explorer,
That top football scorer,
That champion snorer.
And yes – she’s still making that thunderous rumble.
And so through the darkness we creep and we fumble.
We don’t say a word, we don’t whisper or speak,
And then
We hear
A floorboard
Creak.
And before we know it, there in the door,
Is our Great Aunty Laura, who lets out a
ROAR!
Er…
What can we do? What can we do?
Pretend we were up just to go to the loo?
My sister tries to hide the sack
(All bulging with food) behind her back,
But then the sack splits, and – Thump! Bang! Crash!
The food all falls out.
We try to dash,
But Laura has grabbed us, she grips at our collars,
And then with her jaws opened wide, Laura hollers
(You wouldn’t believe quite how loud she can shout):
‘WHY DID YOU TWO LEAVE ME OUT!’
And so we share our midnight feast
With our Great Aunty Laura, who is, at least,
A pretty cool aunt,
But we can’t
Keep our eyes
Open
For long
With Great Aunty Laura
Rabbiting on,
And on,
And on,
And on.
And in the morning,
The food
Is gone.
Taking Words for a Stroll 