Archive for February, 2014

February 28, 2014

Three Poems for World Book Day 2014

As World Book Day is nearly upon us, here are a few poems in advance. The third one is about me as a child – I often couldn’t bear to put books down, so I’d walk down the road reading, sometimes with interesting results.

Writing a Book is Easy















No –



Word Birds

Words in a book are like birds in a cage:

Leave them unread and they’re dead on the page,

But free them and see them fly off, and then soar

Into heads, into hearts, into dreams, and much more.

So find a good book, start reading it, do!

And the words, like birds, will start singing for you.


Watch Where You’re Reading

Leonora read a book, everywhere she went.

But, because she didn’t look, each lamppost got a dent.

She grew up to be erudite, astoundingly well-read.

It’s just a shame she sported quite a lump upon her head.

February 24, 2014

Mood Spoiler

Sun, don’t shine! I just want to sulk

And I’m trying to do it in style.

So tell me please; why are you there in the sky

Insisting on making me smile?

You dare sit up there with your good-humoured glare?

This could be subtitled ‘Rejection on a Sunny Day’

Oh annoy someone else, go away!

I don’t want to have fun, you horrible sun,

Can’t you see that I’m feeling all grey?

You’ve shone far too long! Buzz off! Be gone!

Your beaming is making me fearful

That soon I’ll give in and admit, with a grin,

That you’ve done it – you’ve made me quite cheerful.


February 21, 2014

The New Blue Train

Choo choo choo choo, whatever you do, choo,

Don’t you take that new blue train.

It’s all very fun when you’re travelling in the sun,

You go whish, swish, swoosh, and your trip will soon be done,

But choo choo choo choo, whatever you do choo,

Don’t you ever travel in the rain.

With a clackety-clack all the wheels soon go slack,

As they slip,

as they slide,

as they back down the track,

Then a chucka-chuck-chuck,

you’ll be stuck

in the muck,

With the showers lasting hours

(don’t complain; it’s your luck)

Then a thud



in the mud

and the flood

As the engine dies

And you know that it’s a dud


Choo choo choo choo, whatever you do, choo,

Don’t you take that new blue train.



February 17, 2014

Dawdling Maud

Change the name ‘Maud’ to something else, and this could be about one of my children.


Wherever we go, whatever we do,

Maud’ll always dawdle.

It takes three hours to get her shoes,

She can’t decide which top to choose.

Doesn’t she care? No time to lose!

But Maud’ll always dawdle.


Each step for Maud is snail-slow paced.

She drags each foot. Come on! Make haste!

Oh Maud, do you think we’ve time to waste?

But Maud’ll always dawdle.


She looks for ants in pavement cracks,

She scours the hedge for blackberry snacks,

Oh please hurry up! Be quick! Make tracks!

But Maud’ll always dawdle.


And so we just trudge on, resigned.

The slower we go, we’ll always find,

That Maud is still far, far behind,

As Maud’ll always

Maud’ll always

Maud’ll always

Maud’ll always

Maud’ll always

Maud’ll always

(See what I mean?)








February 14, 2014

Song of the Real Man

No, I don’t know why I’ve taken to writing what are essentially song lyrics either. It could be something to do with my sons wanting Supercalifragilistic on more or less permanent loop. This one is a sort of sequel to the previous song, inspired by my oldest son, whose ambition aged 5 was to be a pink fairy.

Should I dare to be a fairy wearing airy-fairy pink?

For someone who’s like me, you see, it’s harder than you think.

I’d love to flitter-flutter, fly; I am, however, coy,

As fairy wings are not the thing when you’re a little boy.


The grown-ups say ‘Go out to play! An Action Man! A Gun!’

Though I’d not thought mass slaughter was a sort of sport or fun.

A ball is not for me at all, and nor a thing that kills.

I’d rather care, be nice, and share, and do it wearing frills.


Now who’s to say that boys can’t play with toys that have a heart?

Like sewing, knowing how to cook, like books and craft and art?

And if they yell ‘Oh we can tell, you’ll never be a man!’

I’ll turn around and stand my ground and shout ‘OH YES I CAN!’




February 10, 2014

Song of the Frustrated Girl Scientist

This poem stems from my frustration at all the pink tat marketed to girls. Like a few of my poems, this one should really be set to music. And I do of course realise that you can’t actually watch Higg bosons do anything. That’s what’s called poetic licence, and is probably why I’m not a scientist.


I don’t want pink dresses for little princesses

Or dollies with curls I can comb,

And don’t give me make-up; I’m not going to take up

The habit of lipstick at home.

Sparkles and glitter will make me quite bitter.

A pony? I won’t be a rider.

But please I’ll be good, and I’ll do as I should,

If you get me a Hadron Collider.


It could be a small one, a sit-by-my-wall one,

That fits near my bed in my room,

I could sit there all day if you let the thing stay

And I’d watch the Higgs Boson go zoom.

I’d write up my theories, and maybe some queries,

My knowledge would quickly grow wider,

So please could you buy one, I would love to try one,

Yes, get me a Hadron Collider.




February 7, 2014

The Tea-Rex

The Tea-Rex takes tea at a quarter past three

When she raises a cup to her lips.

Her china is finer than even the queen’s

And she drinks it with delicate sips.

There are clotted cream scones, there are smoked salmon rolls,

Cakes and small biscuits in elegant bowls,

Meringues and profiteroles, coffee éclairs,

And cucumber sandwiches cut in small squares.

The Tea-Rex eats up – she’s delighted to sup!

And then, when she’s finally through,

She smiles very brightly, says ‘thank you’ politely

And then for her next course eats




February 3, 2014

When the Polar Bear Got Bored of its Diet

A seal, I feel, does not appeal

If served for every single meal,

And while I often sit and dream

Of chocolate cake and pink ice cream,

And sandwiches with strawberry jam,

Of custard, mustard, cheese and ham,

Because I’m stuck in pesky snow

I’ll have to eat an Eskimo.