an ostrich
buried his head
in the sand
and fell asleep
On waking
he couldn’t remember
where he’d buried it.
Beware the Allivator
A Domesticated Donkey
A domesticated donkey from Slough
Wished to knit a new jumper but how?
Attempts with her ears
Resulted in tears
So, instead, she knitted her brow.
The Snowman
Mother, while you were at the shops
and I was snoozing in my chair
I heard a tap at the window
saw a snowman standing there
He looked so cold and miserable
I almost could have cried
so I put the kettle on
and invited him inside
I made him a cup of cocoa
to warm the cockles of his nose
then he snuggled in front of the fire
for a cosy little doze
He lay there warm and smiling
softly counting sheep
I eavesdropped for a little while
then I too fell asleep
Seems he awoke and tiptoed out
exactly when I’m not too sure
it’s a wonder you didn’t see him
as you came in through the door
(oh, and by the way,
the kitten’s made a puddle on the floor)
The Kitten’s First Spring
There’s a robin
There’s a bluebird
Tail a’bobbin
It’s a new bird
There’s a crocus
Puts in focus
My first spring.
There’s a March hare
What a sprinter
Been in training
All through winter
Pussy willow
What a thrill, O
My first spring.
A day-old foal
Legs a jumble
Like he’s on stilts
Takes a tumble
He shakes his mane
Then tries again
His first spring.
See the hedgerow
Smell the blossom
When the wind blows
It’ll toss ’em
While daffodils
Embrace the hills
My first spring.
Count the cowslips
Hear the bluebells
All the colours
All the new smells
Just a daisy
Can amaze me
My first spring.
A Meerkat Lullaby
Hush, pretty meerkitten, don’t you cry
Mummy will sing you a lullaby
Daddy on guard is standing near
Ready to bark should danger appear
His back is straight, his hindlegs long
His hearing acute, his eyesight strong
So go to sleep my little beauty
Safe with Daddy on sentry duty.
Old Hippos
Old hippos
one supposes
have terrible
colds in the noses
Attracted to these
nasal saunas
germs build their nests
in darkest corners
Then hang a sign
that says politely
(streaming, streaming,
day and nightly)
‘Thank you for havin’ us
in your nostrils so cavernous.’
I’ve Got a Cold
I’ve got a cold
And it’s not funny
My throat is numb
My nose is runny
My ears are burning
My fingers are itching
My teeth are wobbly
My eyebrows are twitching
My kneecaps have slipped
My bottom’s like jelly
The button’s come off
My silly old belly
My chin has doubled
My toes are twisted
My ankles have swollen
My elbows are blistered
My back is all spotty
My hair’s turning white
I sneeze through the day
And cough through the night
I’ve got a cold
And I’m going insane
(Apart from all that
I’m as right as rain).
No Room to Swing a Cat
My room is very, very small
The bed is up against the wall
Ceiling too low to toss a ball
Whenever Grandad pays a call
(Although he’s old, he’s very tall)
On bony knees he has to crawl
The smile on the cat says it all:
No room to swing me, room’s too small.
Mafia Cats
We’re the Mafia cats
Bugsy, Franco and Toni
We’re crazy for pizza
With hot pepperoni
We run all the rackets
From gambling to vice
On St Valentine’s Day
We massacre mice
We always wear shades
To show that we’re meanies
Big hats and sharp suits
And drive Lamborghinis
We’re the Mafia cats
Bugsy, Franco and Toni
Love Sicilian wine
And cheese macaroni
But we have a secret
(And if you dare tell
You’ll end up with the kitten
At the bottom of the well
Or covered in concrete
And thrown into the deep
For this is one secret
You really must keep).
We’re the Cosa Nostra
Run the scams and the fiddles
But at home we are
Mopsy, Ginger and Tiddles.
Cool Cat
My cat may look like your cat
With know-it-all eyes like yours
Spreadeagling itself on your tummy
To practise sharpening its claws
My cat may look like your cat
With sticky-out whiskers like yours
And the knack of slipping off branches
To land safely each time on all-paws
My cat may sound like your cat
With a pitiful mew like yours
After scratching the arms of the sofa
Tries to burrow under closed doors
My cat may look like your cat
And my cat may sound like yours
But my cat plays the saxophone
And dances to wild applause.
Cabbage
The cabbage is a funny veg.
All crisp, and green, and brainy.
I sometimes wear one on my head
When it’s cold and rainy.
The Rolling Meatball
I was eating spaghetti
It tasted just great
When one of the meatballs
Jumped off the plate
Before I could ask
My mother for more
It rolled through the kitchen
And out of the door
I tried to catch it
But I tried in vain
It rolled down the road
Fell into a drain
I rang the police
And the fire brigade
Who arrived with a net
A rope and a spade
They scooped it out
(It was covered in slime)
‘Thanks,’ I cried
And without wasting time
Hurried back home
Where the meatball, of course
I ate with a dollop
Of tomato sauce.
Rainbow Menu
(Durban, South Africa)
Overlooking the harbour on the twentieth floor
Breakfasting on
food I’ve never tasted before
The fun is in mixing the exotic and unknown
With stuff that I’m familiar with at home
Streaky back bacon with banana, lightly grilled
Pork sausages with pawpaw and mango, slightly chilled
Smoked salmon slices with sweet pickled figs
Biltong with guava and scrambled eggs
Calamari, pineapple and I suppose a
Strawberry yoghurt goes well with samosa
If the waiters think me mad they don’t let it show
‘Another kipper with your kiwi fruit, sir? Just let me know.’
Biryani, salami and butternut squash
My platter a palette of multicoloured nosh
Lucky the poet composing this oration
On a rainbow menu in a rainbow nation.
Good Enough to Eat
This poem looks scrumptious
This poem looks great
I wish I had a poem like this
Each morning on my plate
This poem looks tasty
This poem looks sweet
And if it’s good enough to read
Then it’s good enough to eat
Just Desserts
Jelly and custard, lemon meringue pie
Sherry trifle with cream piled high
Mincemeat tart and blackberry sponge
Roly-poly with syrupy gunge
Chocolate-coated profiterole
Sugary doughnut (without the hole)
Pineapple fritters and crème brûlée
Treacle toffee straight from the tray
Ice cream with banana split in two
Butterscotch fudge, sticky like glue
Rhubarb crumble and strawberry cheesecake
Brandy snaps that’ll make your teeth ache
Christmas pudding, just one more slice
For goodness’ sake, take my advice:
If all you eat is just desserts
One day you’ll get your just desserts.
A Weak Poem
(To be read lying down)
A Llama
Tick tock, tick tock
The llama farmer
winding his flock
Tick tock, tick tock
Setting his
a llama clock.
Downhill Racer
Uphill Climb
The Midnight Skaters
It is midnight in the ice rink
And all is cool and still.
Darkness seems to hold its breath
Nothing moves, until
Out of the kitchen, one by one,
The cutlery comes creeping,
Quiet as mice to the brink of the ice
While all the world is sleeping.
Then suddenly, a serving spoon
Switches on the light,
And the silver swoops upon the ice
Screaming with delight.
The knives are high-speed skaters
Round and round they race,
Blades hissing, sissing,
Whizzing at a dizzy pace.
Forks twirl like dancers
Pirouetting on the spot.
Teaspoons (who take no chances)
Hold hands and giggle a lot.
All night long the fun goes on
Until the sun, their friend,
Gives the warning signal
That all good things must end.
So they slink back to the darkness
Of the kitchen cutlery drawer
And steel themselves to wait
Until it’s time to skate once more.
At eight the canteen ladies
Breeze in as good as gold
To lay the tables and wonder
Why the cutlery is so cold.
The Nutcracker
I’m a nutcracker
no ifs or buts
My job is simple
I crack nuts
The bigger the better
the longer the fatter
The harder they come
the louder they shatter
Walnuts with attitude
the tightest of fits
I squeeze the trigger
and blow them to bits
Brazils take to the hills
pecans grow pale
Nuts shake in their shells
When I’m on their trail
A faceless gunslinger
I ride into town
Cashew! Cashew!
They all fall down.
In the dead of last night
we had a visit from Mr Pollard.
With his giant scissors
he lopped the branches off the trees in our road.
Today, like teenagers with bad haircuts,
they stand, gawky and embarrassed.
Birds stay clear. The sun bides its time.
Why Trees Have Got It All Wrong
Trees have got it all wrong
because they shed their leaves
as soon as it gets cold.
If they had any sense
they’d take them off in June
and let the scented breezes
whiffle through the branches
cooling the bare torso.
In high summer, more so.
* * *
Come autumn (not the fall)
they’d put on a new coat:
thick leaves, waxed and fur-lined
To keep them warm as toast,
whatever the weather.
Trees, get it together!
Animals with Long Ears
Animals with long ears
Can hear every little sound:
A butterfly on tiptoe
Snow settling on the ground
A rose blinking in the sunlight
The last breath of a bee
The heartbeat of an egg
Leaves taking leave of the tree
The shimmy of a golden carp
The hiatus of a hawk
The wriggle of a baited worm
The bobbing of a cork
The echo in a coral reef
The moon urging the tide
A cloud changing shape
They listen, open-eyed.
Animals with long ears
Hear such sounds every day
And try to recapture
In a melodious way
The music that surrounds them
So isn’t it sad to say
That being tone-deaf their chorus
Is an ear-crunching BRAY.
Joy at the Sound
Joy at the silver birch in the morning sunshine
Joy at the bounce of the squirrel’s tail
Joy at the swirl of cold milk in the blue bowl
Joy at the blink of its bubbles
Joy at the cat revving up on the lawn
Joy at the frogs that leapfrog to freedom
Joy at the screen as it fizzes to life
Joy at The Simpsons, Lisa and Bart
Joy at the dentist: ‘Fine, see you next year’
Joy at the school gates: ‘Closed’
Joy at the silver withholding the chocolate
Joy at the poem, two verses to go
Joy at the zing of the strings of the racquet
Joy at the bounce of the bright yellow ball
Joy at the key unlocking the door
Joy at the sound of your voice in the hall.
The Sound Collector
A stranger called this morning
Dressed all in black and grey
Put every sound into a bag
And carried them away
The whistling of the kettle
The turning of the lock
The purring of the kitten
The ticking of the clock
The popping of the toaster
The crunching of the flakes
When you spread the marmalade
The scraping noise it makes
The hissing of the frying pan
The ticking of the grill
The bubbling of the bathtub
As it starts to fill
The drumming of the raindrops
On the windowpane
When you do the washing-up
The gurgle of the drain
The crying of the baby
The squeaking of the chair
The swishing of the curtain
The creaking on the stair
A stranger called this morning
He didn’t leave his name
Left us only silence
Life will never be the same.
My Brilliant Friend
He’s brilliant at karate
He’s brilliant at darts
He’s brilliant at acting
He gets all the best parts
He’s brilliant at swimming
He’s brilliant at skates
He’s brilliant at juggling