Poems To Ponder, Page 2

Climbing Trees

   

  I'm a bit afraid of heights,

  such as standing on a cliff,

  or on the top of a tall building.

  But I'm quite alright in an aeroplane,

  though that's really high up—

  having a comfy seat and a window helps.

   

  I'm not that keen on ladders,

  as they wobble and creak too much.

  But I'm better with going up a hill

  and looking down at a toy-world.

  I don't see the point of climbing rope,

  for there's nothing at the top.

   

  What I really like is climbing trees.

  Shinning up the trunk, be it shiny

  and smooth, or rough and furrowed.

  Reaching for the next branch,

  straddling the big ones, dangling

  my legs at the ground below.

   

  It's like hugging a friend, clutching

  onto a tree, as it holds my weight

  safely, so strong and secure.

  It's a different world up there,

  a whole planet of greenery,

  private, yet open to guests.

   

  Birds, insects and animals all live there,

  and other plants too—ferns and lichens,

  mosses, ivy and creepers cling to their host.

  While this little monkey-boy clambers

  about, happy and thrilled just to be part

  of something so big, secret, perfect and whole.

   

   

  What's So Funny About That?

   

  I'm just learning to tell jokes.

  Remembering how they go is hard,

  as they have to be in the right order,

  and the punchline is important.

  It's all about timing, my Dad says,

  so I'm finding ways to pace myself,

  watching people listening to me

  as I tease the joke out, making them

  think I'm going one way, concealing

  the surprise at the end that leads to laughs.

  This is called misdirection, my Dad says.

  Magicians do it too, but in a different way.

   

  It's nice to make people happy,

  and they like you more afterwards,

  which might help me quite a bit.

  I'm not that popular, you see, a bit shy

  and quiet, unless I pretend to be a joker.

  Then they listen to me, are eager to hear

  what I'll say next, hanging on my words.

  But the joke has to be good, or they groan

  in disappointment and turn away.

  At least the bully's stopped hitting me,

  as I make him laugh, so humour has its uses.

   

  Children find different things funny to grown-ups.

  We giggle at naughty things, and I suppose they do too.

  I listen to their jokes when they drink at parties,

  but I don't get what they're amused by.

  "You'll understand when you're older",

  my Dad says, and "you're not big enough yet."

  It's something called 'Adult Humour',

  so I guess I'll have to wait a while.

  I'm busy enough now anyway.

  I need to find some new jokes,

  my old ones are worn-out from the telling.

  Do you know any? I'm desperate….

   

  Hiccups

   

  My tummy is getting quite sore.

  I've been hiccupping all morning.

  Something 'went down the wrong way',

  which is making my throat jump about.

   

  I'm squeezing out silly noises,

  that I really don't mean to make.

  It makes people laugh—me too, a bit.

  But I'm tired of jerking like a clot.

   

  Is it my stomach that's wobbling,

  or something rubbery in my middle?

  It feels like I've got a trampoline

  inside me, bouncing air up and out.

   

  I've tried lots of cures that people

  suggested, like they know what's what.

  I've stood on my head, held my breath,

  drunk a glass of water upside-down.

   

  Recited the alphabet back-to-front,

  been frightened by Mum going "boo!"

  But I'm still doing frog-burps

  and shaking like a jelly in a bowl.

   

  Nothing works, I'll be like this forever.

  Become famous for hiccuping the longest.

  A silly freak who can't control themselves.

  A hiccuping machine who can't turn themselves off.

   

  What's that you say—I've got a big spot!?

  Have I? Let me see—where's the mirror?

  I'm miserable enough as it is….

  I can't see anything—there's nothing there.

   

  But look, I've stopped hiccuping!

  My belly is quite still and I'm all calm.

  You scared them away using embarrassment.

  How clever of you—how did you know to do that?

   

  Fibs & Lies

   

  'The truth will protect you.'

  Is what I was advised.

  But it didn't protect me,

  when I told my brother he was smelly!

   

  I know not to tell lies,

  for I'll get into trouble

  when I'm found out.

  I'm rubbish at it, anyway.

   

  But there must be some way

  of getting through life unhurt

  from simply telling the truth.

  Some people get upset by it.

   

  I'm told to be more diplomatic,

  to use a bit more tact with people.

  Not just say the first thing which

  comes into my mind, even if true.

   

  Does everyone do this?

  What's the difference between lies and fibs?

  And what are 'white lies'?

  Are there any other colours?

   

  Is paying someone a compliment a way of lying,

  especially if they don't deserve it?

  Being polite is one thing,

  but that might mean biting my tongue.

   

  Advertising's confusing me,

  for they sell things that don't work

  as they promised on the commercial.

  I feel like I've been fooled.

   

  Actors are just pretending to be someone.

  So, are they telling lies to everyone?

  If I did that, I'd be in for a telling-off,

  but they're famous, rich and well-liked.

   

  I'm getting more and more confused.

  Fibs and Lies are the way some things work.

  What do you think about this sorry situation?

  Go on, tell me the truth…. 

  Big Black Birds

   

  Ravens are the biggest,

  huge, jet-black and historic.

  They live at the Tower of London,

  keeping our nation safe.

  A pair live at my grandfather's farm.

  Bosses of the coniferous wood,

   flying out to chase trespassers off

  from their air-space with loud 'kronks'.

   

  Rooks build stick-nests high in trees,

  named after themselves—rookeries.

  They look like they're holding the tops

  of the trees together, a part of the avenue.

  Baggy pants around their legs and a bald

  face that looks a bit pale and sad.

&nb
sp; Bluey-black rooks follow the red tractor,

  hopping through furrows chasing the worms.

  .

  Crows are all over,ragged wings scraping

  the sky here and there, from graveyards

  to shopping centres, the clever crow

  watches for chances to find food.

  So bright and observant, black crow

  remembers faces of people it hates.

  Bossy, protective crow chases hawks

  across the clouds, cawing and nagging.

   

  Jackdaws are cheeky,keeping us company,

  living on houses and hanging around.

  Some live in our chimney, dropping

  twigs in the fireplace. Chacking and chinking,

   wheeling in squadrons to grassy places.

  Hunting together, finding grubs in the soil.

  Co-operative, coordinated teams of friends.

  Pretty grey eyes watch us and themselves.

   

  That's Rather Grim

   

  That's rather grim,

  What she did to 'im.

  With an axe and knife,

  She took 'is dear life.

  Cut 'is head orf 'is neck,

  Threw the rest orf the deck.

  Stuck 'is bonce on the bow,

  Her crew they went "Wow!"

   

  Shaky Sally the Pirate Queen,

  She's cruel, vicious and mean.

  You'd better do what she orders,

  You hairy unwashed marauders.

  She'll make you walk the plank.

  You'll be forever in the drink.

  Food for the fishes, as your ship

  Sails away to the sound of 'er whip.

   

  Captain Sal, she's in charge of 'er men—

  Bloater Bill, Dagger Dan, Salty Sven,

  Rummy Reg, Flintlock Fred, Pepper Phil,

  Knotty Ken, Tinpot Tim, Windy Will,

  Cutlass Clive, Eye-Patch Edgar, Roper Ron,

  Grogger Gary, Scrubby Sam, Jolly John,

  Musket Mike, Netter Nick & Limpet Laurie—

  She's 1st mate, do as she says or be sorry.

   

  Pilchard Paul,'e's the one who lost 'is head.

  Which is stuck on the prow, salt-splashed and dead.

  'E shouldn't have been so naughty and cheeky,

  For 'is noddle's now wrinkled and leaky.

  Shaky Sal shouts a course, full of fierce hope

  Edgar scans the horizon with brass telescope.

  They're thieves on the sea, searching for plunder.

  Clouds dark overhead, sailing ahead of the thunder.

   

  Being Little Is Useful

   

  I may be small,

  but I have my uses.

  Mum lifted me up to look

  on top of the wardrobe

  for something she'd lost.

   

  My Dad's car keys fell down

  the back of the sofa,

  right under the cushions.

  My flexible little arms

  wriggled them out.

   

  Big brother mocks me,

  but needed my titchiness

  to sneak into the school-office

  to get his smart phone back,

  while he distracted teacher.

   

  I crept into the cinema,

  ducking beneath the ticket-office

  window, into the lobby,

  on through to the show.

  But I paid for an ice-cream.

   

  Being young and petite

  makes me a 'half'.

  Cheaper to get into places,

  as I don't take up much room.

  Which makes me good value.

   

  I don't really mind being

  so dainty, though I try not

   to look up people's nostrils

  or under tables and work-tops.

  Who wants to see what's stuck there?

   

  Yeuk!

   

  Something In The Dark

   

  It's all black outside.

  A completely dark night.

  I can feel a breeze blowing,

  Hear the leaves rattle above.

  I don't want to move,

  So stand stock-still,

  For I know that I heard

  Something BIG move nearby.

  It must have heard me too,

  For it's not moving either.

  I wonder what it is?

  Does it know what I am?

  Which one of us will move first?

  It won't be me, I know that.

  But could it be sneaking

  Closer and closer to me?

  My torch batteries are quite flat,

  I wish that I'd changed them—

  I'm such a big twit.

  So, I stand here and shiver

  And strain to hear what's

  Trying to hear me.

  Perhaps I could run.

  But in which direction?

  I might run into a tree,

  Fall off a steep cliff.

  It would be on me

  In a moment, and

  Tear me apart.

  At least I can't smell it.

  Can it scent me though?

  Animals can sense things

  Humans cannot.

  How long should I stand here?

  Not until first light,

  For then it would see me,

  Ensuring my doom.

  Perhaps I'll just sneak off.

  Crawl quietly to freedom.

  Back to my safe house,

  Into my warm bed.

  Oh, why did I come out

  To wander so foolishly

  Through places unseen?

  Hang on, what's that?

  Something's touching my foot.

   I think I might scream.

  It feels warm and rubbery.

  It can't be….

  It's my hot-water bottle.

  This was all just a dream!

   

   

  The End

  About The Author

   

  Paul Whybrow has a young head on old shoulders.

  Ex many things, including being a teacher, counsellor,

  librarian, dispatch-rider, milk-man, postman, bar man,

  house renovator, classic vehicle restorer, courier,

  van driver, factory worker, project manager,

  live-in carer for the elderly, editor, photographer,

  volunteer at a community centre, play-schemes,

  homeless campaigns and nature conservation projects.

  I wrote non-fiction magazine articles for ages,

  but turned to creative writing in the summer of

  2013. I've been my own boss for a long time,

  which means I'm working for an idiot and the

  pay is lousy—but the holidays are great.

  Paul Whybrow has a good heart inside a battered chest.

   

  * * *

   

  Also by Paul Whybrow

   

  Novellas

   

  * A Man Out Walking His Dog—A tale of mistaken identity.

  * Burpwallow Holler—Loyalty in post Civil War America.

  * Quarry—A gangster becomes prey in a lethal reality TV show.

  * Ghosting—How a lonely biologist finds peace with the ghosts of her life.

  * Is It Her?—A new start is offered to a grieving widower.

  * A Blue Tomorrow—Temptation and new beginnings on a farm.

  * Hearts On Tour—Small town friends support one another.

  * What Would I Do Without You?—A newly-single wife begins life again.

   

  Short Stories

   

  * The Moon Is Out Tonight—Two soul-mates separated by circums
tance.

  * Due-Date—A soul in limbo is given a new job.

  * Jacqui In Space—A 20th century explorer on 22nd century Mars.

  * Over And Out—Things come to a head on a 50th wedding anniversary.

  * In The Graveyard At Dawn—A boy and his dog among the graves.

  * Soul-Swapping—Moving souls, a demon tries to get back to hell.

  Song Lyrics

  * 12 Country & Western Lyrics—hope, regret and seeing things as they are.

  * 13 Kinds of Blue—trouble's your only friend, ain't it?

  * A Dozen Pops—love in a bubble always goes pop.

  * A Dozen Rocks—head down boogie along the highway.

  * Box of Love—songs of love and hope.

  * Howling For You—the sadness goes on and on.

   

  Poetry

   

  * Love Stages—Love affairs seen at different phases.

  * Love Begins—The thrill of the new, the nervousness and delight.

  * Love Ends—What do you do when things go wrong?

  * Love Hopes—How would you like love to happen?

  * Love Wishes—In an ideal world your affair would be like this...

  * Nature's Ways—Aspects of the natural world, happy and sad.

  * Modern Times—What it means to live in the 21st century.

  * Old Age Navigation—Ageing stinks, but it beats the alternative.

  * Darkness—Written from the endless night of the soul.

  * Darkness Darkness—We all have our dark side—how's yours?

  * Loneliness—The poverty of the soul, when you're alone.

  * Solitariness—The richness of the soul, when you go solo.

  * Poems To Ponder—Thoughtful and amusing poems for children.

  * Witches' Knickers—Silly and nonsense poems for young readers.

  * Hold Onto Yourself—Funny and warm poems for youngsters.

  * What Do You Like?—9 Erotic Poems

  * Building Story House—10 Poems on creating stories

  * Lost Among The Words—10 Poems about Writing

  * Friends And Other Confusions—10 Poems on liking others and yourself.

  * Chasing Big 'O'—9 Erotic Poems

  * Squeeze It—10 Poems on Creativity and Setbacks

  * We Stop Ourselves—10 Poems on Creativity, Doubt and Self-Belief

  * Love Scenes—10 Poems about love

  * Free To Fly—10 poems on getting through

   

  Novels 

  Coming soon:

  * The Perfect Murderer—a novel about a serial killer, who makes no mistakes.

   

  .

   * * *

   

  Connect with the author

   

  https://paulwhybrowblog.wordpress.com