Spring

Can’t you wear something decent, the winter said to the spring?

The last lone leaves that clutch and cling

All sneer from high in brown disdain,

As in the racing rhythmic rain

The flirty flowers, on fumbling feet,

Begin to feel the springtime beat.

They slough their bud-green coats, unfurl.

They nod, they twitch, they twist, they twirl,

Then swing and swish and swoosh and sway

In gaudy giggling dance display.

The earth warms up. The world is theirs.

They haven’t any thoughts or cares

Of winter wind or swirling snow

Or all the time they’ve left to go.

And so the sun bends down to kiss

Each flower, in all its fragile bliss.

 

No Jumping on the Bed

No jumping on the bed, you said.

But what about diving and dancing and hopping

And jigging and jiving and leaping and flopping

And vaulting and bolting? Come on, there’s no stopping!

Bopping and bouncing and bounding and bumping

And springing and soaring and thudding and thumping.

All that you said, on the bed, was no jumping!

Yes those are the words, I am sure, that were spoken.

So don’t you blame us that the bed’s somehow broken.

 

 

Hunting for Marshmallows

I’ve stomped through swamps

Where oozepimples grow

And everything reeks of cheese.

I’ve jumped through jungles

Where jellybirds jive

And I’ve climbed up the whiffypong trees.

Conditions are harsh, but I’ve reached the wide marsh

And waded through depths and through shallows.

I’ve searched high and low, but I still do not know

Where I can find some marshmallows.

 

 

 

 

Eating Up and Eating Down

Once there was an alligator

Skulking by an escalator.

‘Lunch!’ he thought, ‘I’ll snip, snap, snup,

And gobble all these people up!’

And then he added, with a frown:

‘I’ll also eat the people down’.

The (very) Young Lovers, or Valentine’s Activities for Year 2

My love for you is always true.

You’re boring, but I guess you’ll do.

 

Well, thank you for your card. I think

It’s time you knew; I can’t stand pink.

 

But do you love me? I’ll confess

I’m hoping that you won’t say ‘yes’.

 

You could be worse, it’s just that, well…

You’re nasty and you really smell.

 

Well thanks a bunch! I worked so hard

To make that soppy little card!

 

Think I care? You’re out of luck.

I don’t like boys, they’re really yuck.

 

I only made it as Miss said

We had to make one – Pumpkin Head!

 

Don’t call me names! You stinky rat!

Here – take that! and that! and that!

 

Oi! Don’t hit me, silly cow!

 

CHILDREN, STOP THAT FIGHTING NOW!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Zombie Dad

When I wake up my Dad in the morning

Everyone thinks he’s alive,

But he’s really quite dead when he gets out of bed

As it’s only a quarter to five.

He’s a zombie, a zombie with strange red-rimmed eyes,

And he groans and he moans and he shrieks and he sighs.

He howls and he yowls as the clock starts to chime.

‘Have you any idea’, he screams, ‘of the time?’

Then he stomps down the stairs in his jim jams

Like he’s some kind of grumpy old ghost,

And he turns on the oven for coffee

And turns on the kettle for toast.

He’s a zombie, a zombie emerged from the rubble

His face is all smeary and covered in stubble

His eyes are all bleary and smeary with ooze

As he slumps up the stairs for another small snooze.

 

 

 

A Beef About Beef

‘Is this steak a mistake? Is it beef?’

‘What a question? Why yes ma’am, of course!’

‘I only eat pony, this beef isn’t phoney!

So take it away – I want horse!

I wouldn’t complain if you gave me a mane

Or a tail that’s all twisty and twirly.

I wouldn’t be bitter with sparkles and glitter

And one that’s all pinky and girly.

A horse that was saddled would not make me addled,

But what is beyond all belief:

When I ask for some horse with some fresh tartare sauce,

My meal’s made entirely from beef!’

 

Sum (a poem for National Libraries Day 2013)

What do you get if you add:

Some paper and glue and some dried-up ink too,

That’s all sorted by name in big stacks,

Some desktop computers, a space for kids’ scooters,

Some shelves and some cabinets and racks,

Some tables and chairs and some current affairs,

And some artwork displayed in glass cases,

Some beeping machines and some new magazines

And some staff with big smiles on their faces?

What do you get if you match them and mix them,

You get out your wand and you magically fix them,

Then add several readers, some young and some old,

Some wealthy and healthy, some hungry and cold?

Ideas given freedom and thoughts set to roam

In faraway places and closer to home.

Minds that are nourished and futures transformed,

Hope, and adventure, and hearts that are warmed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Early Readers

This is John.

This is a ball.

And there isn’t a story,

No, not one at all

The ball is red.

The ball is round.

Well balls can’t be square

Or that’s what I’ve found

John likes the ball

Does he? Oh yeah?

John kicks the ball

Do I look like I care?

John likes to play.

Well so what! Don’t we all?

John plays all day.

With that stupid old ball?

John goes home.

It’s the end now – whoopee!

I just hope there’s a monster

Who eats John for tea.

 

 

 

 

 

Tomatoes

I’ve got these funny toes that are big and red and round,

And when I try to walk they make a squishing squelching sound.

They look all yummy scrummy. Yes, they’re good enough to eat.

And so I must wear shoecumbers to keep them on my feet.