Archive for October, 2012

October 31, 2012

Pumpkin Song

Wishy-washy ghost, I don’t mean to boast

But I’m going to scare you off with my flickering light

Wishy-washy ghost, I don’t meant to boast

But my teeth are really sharp and my fangs are going to bite

Wishy-washy ghost, I don’t meant to boast

But ner ner ner ner ner, I’m scarier than you!

But wishy-washy ghost, the thing I hate the most

(So don’t even think of it) is someone shouting ‘Boo!’


October 31, 2012

Zombie Halloween

Midnight chimes.

And out of the slime and the grisly grime

There comes a breath of deathly air,

And a horrible howl of dark despair.

Gravestones crack.

And there in the air, so breathlessly black,

Pairs of dark unseeing eyes

Shake the dust, and start to rise –

Out of the soil and the oil and the mud

And the depths of decay. Then comes a thud

As feet, with bits of flesh and blood

Still strung on brittle bones, long dead,

Embrace the earth and start to tread.

The moon comes out.

And all around, from round about

The shredded sky resounds with screech

As severed fingers clutch and reach

Like roots through window panes and doors

And clasp with knuckles, clamped like claws

Around their limp and lifeless prize.

But what is this – oh what surprise!

A soft and fluffy teddy bear!

But then again, it’s only fair

That zombies cuddle something hairy.

After all, the dark is scary.












October 30, 2012

The Witch’s Feast

A pot of hot snot is what I like,

And a plate of flame-grilled fleas.

And a lurgy burger, nice and rare,

Topped with some melted sneeze.

Then virus pie (do have a try)

Come on now – eat it quickly.

A dollop of scream? But I don’t know why

You look so incredibly sickly.



October 29, 2012


If you’re a witch a plain black cat

Is now old-fashioned, it’s just old hat.

Depending on what kind of hag you are

You might have a puma or jaguar,

Or you might fly round on a broomstick of iron

And keep on the end a fearsome lion.

A witch who’s mean and cross a lot

Might keep a tiger or ocelot,

While a witch who studies a lot and thinks

Favours a panther or wildcat or lynx.

A witch who’s cold and needs a heater

Snuggles up warm with a big spotty cheetah,

And older witches, with hair white and peppered,

Might keep a serval or bobcat or leopard.

In fact, if you keep a plain old tabby

It shows you’re dowdy and frumpy and shabby.

But what kinds of things do all fashionable witches

Keep to show off all their wealth and their riches?

The Queen of the Witches (you might have seen her)

Now goes around on a vacuum cleaner,

And directs it right to the door of her house

With a flick of her wand and the click of a mouse.


October 26, 2012

The Witch’s Nose

Nobody knows what grows up my nose;

The worms that squirm as they dangle and dose,

The lurgies that loathsomely lurk in their lairs

And burrow through bogies and harvest the hairs,

The fleas at ease as they squash and they squeeze

Making mucousy music from slobbery sleaze,

The trolls that roll in the slime and the snot,

The goblins that gobble the grime and the grot,

The cave dwelling critters that creepety-crawl.

No, nobody knows – no, no-one at all.

No-one that is, but me and but you,

So come over here, my dear…


October 22, 2012


Spindly spider, speck of black,

Creepy-crawling up my back.

Knitting, knotting, silky mesh,

Inching slowly up my flesh.

Weaving, winding, dingle dangle,

Tip-toe treading, threading, tangle.

Scuttle, scurry, scamper, skitter –

Where’s it gone, that creepy critter?

Spindly spider can’t be far.

Where’s that spider hiding?


October 19, 2012


Why doesn’t a stick,

Why doesn’t a stick,

Why doesn’t a stick

When the wind blows quick

Just stick on the tree

Like it’s meant to be?

Why does a stick come unstuck?

Is it bad luck that it drops to the ground

With a







Why doesn’t a stick

Stay on like glue,

Just like a stick

Should be meant to do?

Why, on a wuthering windy day

Does it whish and whoosh and swish and sway

And then





Yes, why doesn’t a stick

Just stick?


October 15, 2012

Something to Chew Over

My parents are both very different,

They always have quarrels and bicker;

My father’s a celery seller,

My mother’s a liquorice licker.

She always says ‘Celery? Healthy and icky!’

My father says ‘Liquorice? Yucky and sticky!’

But eating them both is tremendously tricky

So when they’re not arguing, guess what they’re doing?

That’s right, you’ve guessed it! They’re sitting there chewing.

I know it’s quite funny, but please do not snicker;

They’re chewing to see who will finish the quicker –

My father the celery seller,

Or my mother the liquorice licker.






October 12, 2012

Coo Love

A Cockatoo with two tattoos

Met a Toucan in Toulouse,

Who, tooty-tootling through the zoo,

Espied the bird and cried ‘Yoo hoo!

You two-tattooed young bird, now do

You wish to do a third tattoo?’

The Cockatoo said ‘Oo, but who’d

Agree to be thus three-tattooed?’

The Toucan cooed: ‘Do view the news!

All beauty-conscious cockatoos

Have many more than two tattoos!

So do not snooze! No time to lose!’

The Cockatoo said ‘Who would woo

A bird who had a third tattoo?’

‘Who would want to marry you?’

The Toucan cried. ‘For one, I do!’

‘I will not get a new tattoo’,

The Cockatoo said, ‘just for you.

You brutish bird! But I’m too shrewd

To go with you and get tattooed’.

And then she saw a cockatoo

Who had but two tattoos on too.

They fell in love, those cockatoos,

And through the zoo they took a cruise,

Canoodling on their two canoes

To the sound of loud ‘boo hoos!’

From that Toucan from Toulouse

Whose love for that young Cockatoo

Was not, perhaps, exactly true.

(Or that is what I think occurred,

But then again, I don’t speak Bird.

And maybe all that tooting talk

Was only ‘squawk, squawk, squawk, squawk, squawk’.)









October 8, 2012


I caught the fly and now it’s dead.

The fly is dead, it’s dead, I said.

And now I don’t know what to do,

Because I must have caught the flew.