Mopping

My nosy neighbours love to mop.

They never, ever, ever stop.

It’s scrub-rub-rub from dawn till night,

Until their floors are gleaming bright.

In the corner house, Miss West

Says her floors are, of course, the best,

While Mr Green says his are clean,

The cleanest that you’ve ever seen.

But Mrs Begum, down the street,

Claims hers are really far more neat,

And Steve and his new husband, Lars,

Say their floors sparkle, just like stars.

Other floors are full of dirt,

Says Sergeant Major Fizzlebert,

While Annie Mae in Number Two

Shouts very loudly ‘That’s not true!’

They mop the lounge, they mop the hall,

They mop the bedroom floors and all.

Their muscles tire, they start to cough,

Eventually their arms drop off,

Their legs seize up, their heartbeat stops,

But still they stand there, with their mops,

And each and every grey old ghost

Will go to meet its friends, and boast

That while it’s true they’re dead, their floors

Are so much cleaner than next door’s.

 

 

 

Gift Wrap

Back then when you loved me, I held each precious gift,

But now I’ve been rejected. I’m feeling somewhat…miffed.

You only pay attention now to presents I had in.

I’m just a piece of gift wrap, sad and lonely gift wrap,

Old, forgotten gift wrap, lying in the bin.

 

You eyed me up so happily, but then, when you had lunched,

I felt you come and tear at me, and now I’m lying…scrunched.

Oh where did this abandonment, this heartlessness begin?

I’m just a piece of gift wrap, poor and friendless gift wrap,

Bitter, broken gift wrap, lying in the bin.

 

But now here comes a baby, with tiny, chubby hands.

She takes me out, she smiles at me. Yes, someone understands!

Her eyes are bright. She hugs me. Just see her happy grin!

Oh I’m a piece of gift wrap, fun and crinkly gift wrap,

Lovely, precious gift wrap, rescued from the bin.

Journey to the ISS

The countdown. Fiery fury-blast,

Then lift-off; roaring, soaring fast,

Across the black, so deep, so vast,

As meteors come spinning past,

Until we reach it, here, at last.

Returned to Sender

I can’t stand big plump partridges,

I’m sick of all those pears.

And as for colly birds and hens,

Well honestly, who cares?

Those rings are wrong, and really, FIVE?
And laying geese? Come ON!

I never, ever want to see

Another flipping swan.

I don’t like milk – it makes me puke.

So why the maids and cows?

Those ladies cannot dance at all;

Please make them buzz off NOW!

I’m bored of lords a-leaping;

Yes, I just wish they all fall SPLAT.

The pipers make a dreadful sound;

It’s like a strangled cat.

Those drummers drive me round the bend,

They make me want to cry.

My ‘true love’? Huh! Don’t make me laugh!

I’m dumping you. Goodbye.

Making Cakes with Children

Stir a bit, stir a bit, whisk it and whirr a bit,

Mix it all up till the spoon starts to blur a bit,

Whish a bit, whish a bit, swirl it and swish a bit,

All round the bowl and then splash it and splish a bit,

Plop a bit, plop a bit, slip it and slop a bit,

Whizz a bit, whirl a bit, drizzle and drop a bit,

Fling a bit, sling a bit, whirling and wheeling,

Then watch as the mixture all goes on the ceiling.

Cat’s Christmas

I’ve got a cat,

His name is Zen.

He likes mince pies

Without the ‘n’.

Empress Cat

Nose in air,

Strolls in,

Goes past chair,

Sits in bin.

Settles down,

Dust on fur.

No greeting.

No purr.

Strokes refused,

Scorning lap.

Lies in bin,

Has a nap.

Curled up tight.

Pure disdain.

Empress cat.

This, her reign.