On Tidiness

I’m a very tidy person, and I like to keep things clean.

In fact, I think my living room’s the best you’ve ever seen.

You won’t believe the time I’ve spent! To make it look this neat

I’ve been scrubbing all the grime and grub, and now I feel dead beat.

There were biscuit crumbs

And mouldy plums

And icky sticky chewing gums

And Lego blocks

And stinky socks

And shells and stones and sand and rocks

And balls of dust

And toasted crust

And pins all furred with bits of rust

And fairy wings

And plastic rings

And other bits of toys and things

All twisted up and bust and bent

You won’t believe the time I spent!

I’m such a tidy person, as tidy as could be,

But don’t you dare to look or stare beneath my old settee.

Party Food

The food was piled in paper bowls;

Some sandwiches, some sausage rolls,

Some biscuits iced a lurid pink,

And in the cups some fizzy drink.

Some chocolate cakes, some crisps, some chips,

And all the children licked their lips

As Lulu’s Dad, with one huge grin,

Said ‘Come on quickly kids, tuck in!

Then someone at the party spoke:

‘He’d rather have an artichoke’.

 

A dozen heads all whipped around

To see who’d made that fateful sound,

And saw one mum, devoid of fun,

Stand jabbing at her infant son,

And yelling (as her teeth went gnash)

‘NO CHILD OF MINE WILL EAT THIS TRASH!

He’s keen on quinoa, grown by hand

In some exotic foreign land,

And fertilized, I’m almost sure,

By fresh organic yak manure.

His rice must all be Nepalese.

He won’t agree to eat his cheese

Unless it comes from buffaloes

Who win in agricultural shows.

His vegetables must all be raw

(He’s fond of mayonnaise-less slaw)

And only sourdough bread will do,

The kind that takes ten years to chew.

He’s most polite of course, although,

If faced with trash, he will say no.

 

 

 

He will not eat this junk, so there!’

And then she looked; his plate was bare,

And all he did was stare awhile,

His mouth curled up in sated smile,

Then said, with one enormous burp:

‘Oh shut up Mum, you great big twerp’.

 

 

 

 

 

Writing for Children

(To be sung to the tune of ‘My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean’.  If you’re not familiar with the tune, simply leave out the optional chorus. And in case this isn’t blindingly obvious, this poem is written with tongue so firmly in cheek that the tip of it can probably be seen poking out of my ear).

 

Writing for children’s a doddle,

Celebrities do it a lot.

They’re just little kiddies who toddle,

So no need for story or plot.

 

Authors! Authors!

Writing for kids is a joke, a joke!

Authors! Authors!

Writing for kids is a joke.

 

It has to be cute; not too gritty,

And here, let me tell you a trick:

If you spend too much time it’s a pity,

As kiddies are all a bit thick.

 

Forget about thoughts or emotions,

Bunnies are all that they need.

Forget those ideas and those notions,

As kiddies, they can’t even read!

 

Yes, writing for children’s a racket!

In fact it’s an old piece of cake!

And once you’ve your name on the jacket

Just think of the millions you’ll make.

 

 

 

Little Man (or why this isn’t the best name to call your baby)

Lady Grady had a baby,

Soft and plump and pinky sweet,

And we might have loved him, maybe,

Had he not had stinky feet.

 

Lady Grady had a baby,

Full of charm, undoubted airs,

And we might have loved him, maybe,

Had his nose not sprouted hairs.

 

Lady Grady had a baby,

Only one, her longed for dear.

And we might have loved him, maybe,

Had his breath not ponged of beer.

 

Lady Grady had a baby,

What a darling clever man!

Do you think we’ll love him, maybe?

Do you think we ever can?

+

Lucky Dip Squid

I went to the fair and I took one quid,

So I did the lucky dip and I won one squid.

It was slippy it was slidy and I squealed ‘It’s still alive!’

Then I found another fiver and I got another five.

So I’d spent six quid and I’d got six squid.

But what do you think that those six squid did?

The six squid skidded and they landed in a heap

At the bottom of the bucket for the dip (it was deep),

And they writhed and they wriggled and they jiggled and they slid

And they waved ten tentacles then slunk away and hid.

‘What should we do?’ said a kid, ‘This is odd!’

So he dialled up the number for the top Squid Squad.

The Squid Squad came and they shouted ‘Oh my gosh!

Why, this bucket’s far too narrow; it’s a six squid squash!

No room to wibble, and no room to wobble,

It’s a six quid six squid squish squash squabble!

So of course the squid are hiding when you’re really not providing

Them a bucket that’s quite big enough for slipping or for sliding!’

‘But I paid six quid, so the squid’, I said, ‘are mine!

I’ve got the very home for them that’s sure to be just fine!’

So I picked up that bucket and I took it down the path,

I raised the lid and got the squid and tipped them in the bath.

Now sometimes when I feel like it I put them in the sink,

Where they squiggle and they wriggle and they squirt their squidy ink.

So there ends the story of my six pet squid

That I won from the fair when I took one quid.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Eel

How I’d love to be an eel,

To sashay through the sea, to feel

(While gliding, sliding, slippery-slinky)

Velvet water, smooth and inky,

Tangoing in tangled beds

Of seaweeds singed with sunset reds,

Then shimmy through the silver light

To greet the soft Sargasso night.

Yes, how I’d love to be an eel.

Lemon Drizzle

Pitter patter bits of batter

Squeezy sprinkle sugar splatter

Falling fast in floury flakes;

It’s raining lemon drizzle cakes!

Mess

If there’s one thing I love then it’s mess. Oh yes! If there’s one thing I love then it’s mess.

Some very strange people might well, I suppose,

Like everything ordered in straight little rows,

With things all so scheduled and so squeaky clean

Not a speck or a spark of a life can be seen.

Everything perfect, denatured, just so.

And all of it making me want to scream

NO!

If there’s one thing I love then it’s mess. Oh yes! It is higgedly piggedly, jumbly scrumbly, topsy turvy,

utterly cluttery, slapdash and slovenly

MESS!

Yes.