80 Poems Read online

  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.

  Mr Pollard

  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