Bonfire Night Blues
Remember, remember,
The fifth of November,
Gunpowder, treason and plot.
Well, after last week’s washout,
I would rather not.
My Roman Candle spluttered
And refused to light the sky.
My Sparklers wouldn’t sparkle
And my Rockets wouldn’t fly.
My Bangers, they just would not bang
And my Golden Rain went phutt!
My Whizz-bang blew out clouds of smoke
And covered me in soot.
My Thunderflash just fizzed a bit,
My Crackers wouldn’t light.
My Silver Fountain whimpered –
It was such a sorry sight.
My Jumping Jacks declined to jump
And my Catherine Wheels to turn.
Not a single flipping firework worked,
Then the bonfire wouldn’t burn.
I was feeling really cold and wet,
But when I began to groan,
My dad got really angry,
And he told me not to moan.
He said I was like a big damp squib
And then he sent me home.
So I don’t want to remember Bonfire Night this year!
The Lucky Horseshoe
Dad found a rusty horseshoe in the garage
on the floor,He said that it would bring
us luck if placed above the door.
So he climbed high up the ladder to
nail the horseshoe in,
But, dropped the heavy hammer, which
cracked him on the chin.
It clattered down towards the ground, but when it
reached the floor
It bounced back like a boomerang and
smacked him on the jaw.
Down it went a second time, rebounding
off his shin,
Then bounced back up, and once again it
cracked him on the chin.
Down came the nail and iron shoe,
rebounding off his head
Then Dad fell off the ladder and
bruised his arms and leg.
Such was his fate, he lay prostrate, I thought
that he was dead.
Then came a moan and then a groan.
‘What rotten luck!’ he said.
Epitaph
Underneath this mound of clay
There lies a teacher (some might say).
Her name was Miss Euphemia Grey,
Who to her class had much to say
And beat her pupils every day.
She ruled them with an iron fist –
Now sadly gone but gladly missed.
Out Fishing
A heron,
Needle-beaked,
Bright-eyed,
Barrel-chested,
Silver-feathered,
Stands in the river,
Spiking fish,
Then swallowing them whole –
Effortlessly.
A boy
Sits on the bank,
Holding his rod
Above the weedy water,
Watching the float,
Waiting for a bite –
Patiently.
A Parent’s Prayer
Always believe in yourself.
Promise always to be compassionate.
Appreciate that you make mistakes,
Recognize that I do too.
Entrust me with your worries.
Never doubt that I will support you when you need me.
Talk to me about the things you find difficult.
Share your dreams.
Please understand that I can have moods just like you.
Receive a little advice now and again.
Accept that I sometimes get things wrong.
You need to help me to get things right.
Enjoy your life.
Realize that I love you without reservation.
Rhyme-time
Our teacher, Mrs Paradigm,
To teach us children how to rhyme,
Has asked us all to take our name
And find a word that sounds the same.
And so we did.
Andy is dandy,
Bhupa is super,
Kitty is pretty and
Clare is fair.
Mable is able,
Scott is hot,
Luke is cute but
Danuta is cuter.
Dwight is bright,
Trevor is clever,
Terry is merry and
Jim is slim.
Brenda is tender,
Cecil is special,
Dean is keen but
Rowena is keener.
Liz is a whizz,
Danny is canny,
Pip is hip and
Gill is brill,
Holly is jolly,
Grace is ace,
Pete is sweet but
Nita is sweeter.
Kate is great,
Mick is quick,
Nancy is fancy and
Paul is tall.
Sally is pally,
Wendy is trendy,
Dave is brave but
Fraser is braver.
The trouble is my name is Matt,
And I can’t think of a rhyme for that.
Well, not a nice one anyway!
Pageboy
At my sister’s wedding
I was a pageboy dressed in blue,
With little velvet trousers
And a buckle on each shoe.
I had to wear white stockings
And a massive pink bow tie,
And a really silly frilly shirt.
I thought that I would die.
With everybody watching,
I shuffled down the aisle,
With a silver horseshoe in my hands,
And a really stupid smile.
‘You do look very handsome,’
My doting mother said.
I looked at her and then replied,
‘I wish that I were dead!’
‘Well, I think you look nice,’ she sighed,
‘And very, very cute,
In your pink bow tie and buckled shoes
And your little pageboy suit.’
‘Well, thank you very much,’ I said,
Glaring at my mother,
‘But I am twenty-one years old,
And my sister’s elder brother!’
The Parent’s Warning
If you clamber on that frame,
And bang your head just once again…
Don’t say I didn’t warn you!
If you tumble from that tree,
Scrape your elbow, graze a knee…
Don’t say I never told you so!
If you stumble on that ledge,
And fall and break both your legs…
Don’t come running to me.
Signs of the Times
I sometimes stop and stand and stare
In silent incredulity,
At signs and labels everywhere
Which show Man’s blind stupidity.
In a newspaper: ‘Man battered in fish shop!’
On a can of paint: ‘For indoor and outdoor use only’
By a motorway: ‘Attention! All cats’ eyes have
been removed!’
On a hairdryer: ‘Do not use while sleeping.’
In a shop: ‘Bargain basement upstairs.’
On a packet of peanuts: ‘Warning! This product
contains nuts.’
At a station: ‘Beware of moving trains.’
At the fair: ‘Ears pierced while you wait.’
On a bottle of sleeping pills: ‘Warning:
May cause drowsiness.’
In a supermarket: ‘Our staff are here to
serve you.’ On an examination paper:
‘This option is compulsory’
In a gym: ‘If you cannot read these
instructi
ons, ask for help.’
On a child’s toy: ‘Please note, this gun
does not fire real bullets.’
In a public toilet: ‘Wet floor!
This is not an instruction.’
Dominic
Of all the children I have known,
There’s none who is so accident prone
As Dominic, who, it’s fair to say,
Has accidents nearly every day.
He’s trapped his fingers in the door,
Trod on crabs near the salt sea shore,
Dived like Tarzan from a tree,
Cut his head and grazed a knee.
Poked a pencil up his nose,
Dropped an iron on his toes.
He spilt a scalding cup of coffee,
Choked on a slab of sticky toffee.
He’s tumbled, sleeping, from his bed,
Broke an arm and bruised a leg.
Doctors and nurses all agree
There’s none so accident prone as he.
Yet, when from hospital he comes home,
Dominic doesn’t cry and moan
He says, ‘How boring life would be
If you didn’t have an interesting son like me!’
Accident
When I knocked a plate off the table
And it shattered on the floor,
And the food spattered across the wall,
Dad raised the roof with a roar.
‘For goodness sake, be careful!
I’ve told you so before!’
When Dad knocked a mug off the table
And tipped it over the chair,
And the coffee spattered across the wall,
Dad growled like a grizzly bear.
‘For goodness sake,’ he shook his head,
‘Who left the coffee there?’
The Inspector Calls
The room was cold and dingy
And the windows far from clean.
No sand or clay, no wall display,
Not a book was to be seen.
‘I am sure you have a lot of fun,’
The school inspector said,
To the rows of nervous children
Who sat in silent dread.
‘I am sure you have a lot of fun,’
The visitor repeated,
And the children nodded obediently,
‘Oh yes sir,’ they all bleated.
But at the back sat David,
And he shook his little head.
‘Well, I don’t have a lot of fun,’
The little infant said.
‘Of course you do!’ the teacher snapped,
And fixed him with a glare.
‘We’re always having lots of fun!’
In a voice that said: ‘Beware!’
But David shook his head again,
And they heard the infant say:
‘Well, I do not remember it –
I must have been away that day!’
Will You Come to My Party?
Will you come to my party?
Oh please say that you will come.
There’ll be lots to eat and lots to drink
It really will be fun.
The philosopher observed: ‘I’ll think about it.’
The musician trilled: ‘Sounds good to me.’
The psychologist thought it a mad idea.
The butler said: ‘I’ll wait and see.’
The psychologist replied that she’d bear it in mind.
The meteorologist said, ‘Fine.’
The greengrocer remarked that he’d weigh things up.
The horologist would ‘if I have the time.’
The insomniac sighed she’d sleep on it.
‘I’m sorry,’ the penitent said.
The optician concluded: ‘It looks all right.’
The librarian said: ‘Take it as read.’
The cardiologist hadn’t the heart to refuse.
The wrangler whooped: ‘Yippee!’
The inventor declared: ‘I can make it, all right.’
The escapologist said: ‘If I’m free.’
The fisherman told me he’d drop me a line.
The rugby player promised he’d try.
The campanologist said: ‘I’ll give you a ring.’
The examiner asked me: ‘Why?’
The parachutist said that he might drop in.
The informer that he’d let me know.
‘I’d love to come!’ the fiancée cried.
The killjoy answered, ‘No!’
The wrestler growled he would put it on hold.
The rambler said: ‘I’m on the way.’
‘Oh, I’ll be there,’ the naturist said,
I’ve nothing on that day’
Conversation with the Infant
‘You look so deep in thought,’
The school inspector said.
‘Now tell me please, my little man,
What is going through your head?’
‘Well, have you ever stopped to think,’
The little infant said,
‘That when I’m twenty-one years old,
You’ll probably be dead!’
What’s What?
Watch it!
Watch what?
Just watch it, see!
See what?
You know what!
What?
You’re asking for it!
Asking for what?
That does it!
Does what?
You’re in for it now!
In for what?
What’s what, that’s what!
Oh.
Do I make myself clear?
Perfectly.
I Would Sooner
I would sooner:
Kiss a witch with a wart on her chin,
Live for a week in a smelly dustbin,
Wrestle an octopus underwater,
Play Postman’s Knock with Dracula’s daughter,
Stand in a cellar in the cold and dark,
Swim in the sea with a great white shark,
Eat a plate of worms on toast,
Spend all night with a headless ghost,
Tickle a tarantula’s hairy leg,
Sleep with a slug in a slimy bed,
Walk in a wood when the moon shines bright,
Go through the graveyard at dead of night,
Dance with a dragon in his dusty lair,
Play blind man’s buff with a grizzly bear.
Than:
Get on the wrong side of my teacher
when she’s in a bad mood!
Conversation with the Teacher
Richard!
Yes, Miss?
I think I can see a coat on the floor
Getting dusty and dirty and trampled upon.
Yes, Miss, so can I!
Conversation with the School Inspector
Would you read to me?
Why?
Because I would like you to.
Why?
Because I would like to hear how well you read.
Is it your hobby?
No, it’s my job.
Funny sort of job!
Bonfire Night
I remember my first Bonfire Night.
It was cold and clear and the air smelled of smoke
My father sat me high on his shoulders to see
the dancing flames
And the red sparks spitting in the air.
My face burned with the heat.
And then I saw him –
The figure sitting on the wigwam of wood.
I screamed and screamed and screamed.
‘There’s a man on top,’ I cried, ‘a man in the fire!
Oh help him, Daddy, please!’
And everyone laughed.
‘It’s just the guy,’ my father said.
‘He’s made of rags and paper.
He’s not real.’
But I was sad and scared to see
Those clinging fingers of fire
&n
bsp; Scorch the stuffed body, crackling the arms,
Those searing tongues of flame lick round
the bloated legs,
And swallow up the wide-eyed, smiling face.
Now, as I stand around the bonfire,
My own child perched high on my shoulders,
I recall my father’s words:
‘He’s just a guy. He’s made of rags and paper.
He’s not real.’
Yet, still I shudder at the sight of the blazing figure
Burning in the night.
The Day Our Teacher Went Batty
On April Fool’s Day
Miss Stanley emerged from the storeroom
And, between finger and thumb,
She held something black and rubbery
with two small gleaming eyes.
‘Very funny,’ she said, smiling and holding up
the creature for us all to see.
‘And who,’ asked our teacher, ‘is the prankster?
Who put this plastic toy bat in my cupboard?’
When no one answered, Miss Stanley asked again:
‘The April Fool is over now, so come along,
so we can start our writing.’
Still no one said a word.
‘Jason Thompson, was it you?
I see you smirking at the back.
If you expect me to scream, you will be disappointed.’
And then the creature turned its black and furry head,
And flapped its rubbery wings,
And showed a set of sharp and shiny teeth.
It was no toy the teacher held.
The bat had fluttered in through the skylight
And slept in the storeroom in the dusty dark,
Until disturbed by the teacher.
The corridors echoed with Miss Stanley’s screams
That April Fool’s Day.
Love Poem
The big black bull called to the cow
As she happily munched on the hay:
‘O beautiful bovine,’ he bellowed out loud,
‘I love you, my dear Charolais.
Come into my field and how happy we’ll be
Together, oh what do you say?’
The cow, she looked up and replied with a smile,
‘I’m not in the mooo-d today.’
The Day Our Teacher Went Batty Page 2
