Amusing Music

If you want amusing music,

Then come and see my Mum,

Who’s learned to play the flugelhorn

With bubbles from her bum.

My Dad can burp the bagpipes,

While my sister snores sonatas

On a plastic school recorder

That she keeps beneath her garters.

Unexpected Items

Unexpected items!

Can you spot ‘em? Can you sight em?

Do they stalk you when you walk around the store?

Are they vicious or malicious?

Are they fearsome? Do you fight ‘em

When there might be one or two or even more?

Can you frighten all those items?

Can you bosh and bash and bite ‘em,

As they slobber their saliva on the till?

Are they happy? Are they snappy?

And so do you just delight ‘em

As they gobble gulp and guzzle all their fill?

Are they ogres? Are they trolls?

Or maybe mammoths out for strolls?

Or are they tigers (sabre-toothed) or even hags?

But now let’s look – oh deary me!

It’s obvious, it’s clear to see,

The unexpected items are just bags!

(Unexpected items!

If you spot them, if you sight them,

Then I’m sure that you will not believe your eyes!

But given all the warnings that I’ve had of them this morning

Then I guess they’re all T-rexes in disguise.)

 

 

 

Endless Summer

Six o’clock

Sun comes up

Noise downstairs

(Child breaks cup)

Footsteps thump on creaking stair

Are we nearly, nearly, there?

 

Eight o’clock

Breakfast time

Table filthy

(Last night’s grime)

Children fight for favourite chair

Are we nearly, nearly, there?

 

Ten o’clock

Still not dressed

No clean socks

Can’t find vest

Not a thing they want to wear

Are we nearly, nearly, there?

 

Twelve o’clock

Tummies rumbling

WE’RE ALL STARVING!

Shouts and grumbling

Fed on toast as cupboards bare

Are we nearly, nearly, there?

 

Two o’clock

Want ice cream

Go to park

Children scream

Other parents stop and stare

Are we nearly, nearly, there?

 

Four o’clock

Patience gone

Children squabbling

TV on

Hate that programme! IT’S NOT FAIR!

Are we nearly, nearly, there?

 

Six o’clock

Time for tea

Won’t eat pasta

(Touching pea)

SHE’S A COW SHE PULLED MY HAIR

Are we nearly, nearly, there?

 

Eight o’clock

Not asleep

Trampolining

Watch me leap!

Go on hunt for long-lost bear

Are we nearly, nearly, there?

 

Ten o’clock

Take off shoes

Open fridge

Find the booze

Slump at last in comfy chair

Are we nearly, nearly…zzz.

 

 

Gnatty Knitters

 

If you net a gnat, you should not be too surprised

If your gnat has natty knitwear (though of course it’s tiny-sized).

Oh yes gnats are crafty critters

And they say it doesn’t matter

(As they’re very nifty knitters)

If they stop and have a natter

When they sit and do their knitting

As although their knits are knotty

And they’re frequently ill-fitting

They can make them striped or spotty

They can knit with polyester

They can make them tiny-titchy

Though they seem to like to pester

And they tend to be quite itchy.

But though gnats are good at knits, it’s true, a nit can never gnat,

So if a gnat is niggling you, just sit and think of that.

 

 

 

 

 

The Seven Ages of the Goldfish

In a clear glass tank, lived Alexander goldfish;

A flippy fish, a slippy fish, a big, brave, boldfish.

Somebody bought him, so then he was a soldfish.

He swam around and round and round, until he was an oldfish.

But then he died (the people cried) and soon he was a coldfish.

He decomposed (or that’s supposed) and so he was a mouldfish.

So that’s the sad and sorry end of Alexander goldfish.

I’ve had some fun, but now I’m done; my story is all toldfish.

Didgeridon’t Do This at Home

Diggory Drew on his didgeridoo

Blew

 

And blew

 

And blew

 

And blew

 

His cheeks

And blew

Puffed out

And blew

His face

And blew

Grew red

And blew

His eyes

And blew

Both flew

And blew

Right out

And blew

His head

And blew

Until

And blew

He died

And blew

He’s now

And blew

Just bones

And blew

But from

And blew

His grave

And blew

He drones

And blew

And drones

And blew

And drones

And blew

And drones

And blew

And drones

And blew

And drones.

 

 

 

 

Silly Nursery Rhymes: Little Bo Peep

Little Bo’s sheep are finding Bo Peep

Who always seems happy to lose them.

And then when they do, they’ll bite her in two;

I do hope you’ll kindly excuse them.

Regeneration (Elephant & Castle)

One of my rare serious poems, this was inspired (and largely written in) the Elephant and Castle area of south London, just down the road from where I’ve lived for most of my life. Elephant is the victim of constant (and constantly stalled) attempts at urban regeneration, and is now a curious mix of shiny new tower blocks, a 1960s shopping centre and wasteland. Peer through the hoardings of these vacant sites, and you can see how in only a few years the weeds have taken over.

 

Where once were weeds,

Concrete crawls,

Billboards blossom. Sprouting walls

Now scrape the dull polluted sky,

As tendrilled cranes climb stiffly by.

Where once were weeds.

 

Where once were weeds

There breed and bloom,

(In breezeless air-conditioned rooms)

Blue-sky thoughts, outside the box,

As carefully pruned as hedged-in blocks.

Where once were weeds.

 

Where once were weeds,

Seed-heads burst,

And winds of whim soon do their worst

As heated summer leads to fall;

The dynamite, the wrecking ball.

Till rubble rests like dormant seeds.

Where once, again, are weeds.

 

Silly Nursery Rhymes: Nut Tree

I have a little pear tree;

It’s gone completely nuts.

I want to chop it down,

But then I don’t quite have the guts.

 

The King of Spain’s daughter

Said ‘A lovely pear!’

It simply bit her head off,

And ate her then and there.

 

 

 

 

There’s a Troll in my Bucket

There’s a troll in my bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza,

There’s a troll in my bucket, dear Liza, a troll.

 

Then why not befriend it, dear Henry, dear Henry,

Then why not befriend it, dear Henry, why not?

 

Well, the troll might be hungry, dear Liza, dear Liza,

Well the troll might be hungry, dear Liza, it might.

 

No, I think it looks friendly, dear Henry, dear Henry,

No, I think it looks friendly, dear Henry, it does.

 

Oh all right then, I’ll hug it, I’ll h…AAARGH!

 

CRUNCH! Munch! Spit.

 

Thanks Troll – I thought this boring song was never going to end.