Can’tbebothereditis

Can’tbebothereditis:

A really distressing disease.

The docs are quite sure that they won’t find a cure

For such tragic conditions as these.

Can’tbebothereditis:

The symptoms are plain as can be.

You spend all your days in a strange sort of haze

Watching endless repeats on TV.

Can’tbebothereditis:

It seems that I’m now feeling worse.

So try as I might that is all I can write,

No, I’m not going to finish this     .

 

 

Very Bad Hair Day

Snipetty, clipetty, clicketty clack,

Gripetty, nipetty, front and back.

Chop a bit, drop a bit. There, how’s that?

Somebody, please, just FETCH ME A HAT!

Quick! Sir’s Coming!

Can you sit, for a bit, with your bottom on your chair?

On your rump! Don’t slump! Keep your hands over there.

Don’t you fiddle fidget wriggle, don’t you wiggle, don’t you jiggle,

And don’t smile for while, try your hardest not to giggle.

Stop your twitching! Stop your itching! Sit still! Straight backs!

Phew – the teacher’s left the room, you can all relax!

 

 

 

Building Site Nights

When the city’s asleep, the dark is deep, and the people have gone to their beds,

Look at the cranes on the vast city plains, extending their saurian heads.

See how they stomp through the skyscraper swamp, scoffing the scaffolding trees,

And watch as they flex all the steel in their necks, in wait for a scent on the breeze.

Then hear their dread tread on the dead cold stone,

As they prowl down the pavements, proud and alone,

And they moan at the moon as they mourn the land’s past,

Till back to their sites they come stamping at last,

With only their prints in the puddle-pocked ground

To show that the cranes have been walking around.

When the city’s asleep, the dark is deep, and the people have gone to their beds,

Look at the cranes on the vast city plains, extending their saurian heads.

Number Ten Bus

Up to the top of the road we strode

To find that we’d just missed our bus,

So we waited for hours in the shivery showers

But there wasn’t a bus for us.

First came a One, but that wouldn’t have done,

And there wasn’t a bus for us.

Then came a Two (quite a bit overdue)

But as it was full it just whooshed right on through,

And it wasn’t a bus for us.

The next we could see up the road was a Three,

But it wasn’t a bus for us.

So we waited some more and along came a Four

Full of people who’d shopped till they dropped at the store

And we watched as a buggy got stuck in the door,

But it wasn’t a bus for us.

Then heaven’s alive! Along came a Five

But we think that the driver was learning to drive,

And it wasn’t a bus for us.

Next came a Six going out to the sticks,

But it wasn’t a bus for us.

Then after a wait came a Seven and Eight

But there wasn’t a bus for us.

And then came a nine, which would have been fine,

But so many people were waiting in line

That although we tried hard we all failed to get on,

The doors clanged shut, and the bus was gone.

And there wasn’t a bus for us.

So after a talk we said ‘Might as well walk’,

As there wasn’t a bus for us.

So back up the rode we strode, and then

What should come whizzing right past but a Ten!

And say that we’re crazy, yes, say that we’re daft,

But really, we’re certain that Number Ten laughed,

As we stood on the pavement, all puddle-soaked sopping!

(We stuck out our thumbs but the bus wasn’t stopping)

We’re still

trudging on

although now

we are flopping.

There wasn’t

a bus,

There wasn’t

a bus,

There wasn’t

a bus

for us.

 

 

 

Toddler Bike Race

If Ed’ll just pedal he might get a medal;

Instead he is wailing for mum.

And Michael won’t cycle; he says that his bike’ll

Just give him a lump on his bum.

Maybe young Brad’ll get up in the saddle?

But no – not one child on this ride’ll.

Instead they just slouch on the sitting room couch

Being perfectly, horribly idle.

 

Metamorphosis of Evening

 

The day has crawled to a conclusion.

But now, in the cocooning half-light,

The still, grey, silk of evening,

Surprised street lamps blink

As the night’s possibilities unfurl.

On Finishing a Good Book

Have you seen my heart?

I left it, I think,

In some squiggles and scribbles of dried-up old ink,

Where entranced (or entrapped), for ages and ages

It beat to the breath of the thoughts on the pages,

Pulsed with each paragraph, thrummed to the hum

Of the music of words, like the throb of a drum.

Have you seen my heart?

It may be mislaid.

Or rather; I finished the book, but it stayed.

I tried to remove it, but now there’s a tear

Where the book rent my heart right in two.

Just there.

 

 

Take One Cardboard Box

We’re racing through space in our rickety rocket;

I reckon we’ll get to the moon.

We’re breezing ahead past the boundaries of bedtime;

We’ll stare at some stars very soon.

No, we won’t go to sleep! We’re exploring the deep.

We’ll watch how the universe rocks.

It’s amazing the places in space you can go

When you’re thinking inside a big box.

 

 

 

 

The Pest Control Cafe

A smidgen of pigeon, a ration of rat, or maybe a forkful of fox?

And do eat a beetle! It’s battered and buttered; just bite it straight out of the box.

You can slurp up the slime from a slug for a dime. A centipede costs just a cent.

Or a chocolate-poached cockroach with wisps of fresh wasps is certainly money well spent.

Mice are quite nice served with lashings of lice, especially when hairy and moulting.

Yes, cooking up pests is the thing we do best! It’s a pity they all taste revolting.