by Paul Whybrow
Poems To Ponder
12 Thoughtful and Fun Poems for Children
Paul Whybrow
Copyright 2014 Paul Whybrow
Published by Paul Whybrow
(Originally written and published under the pen-name
Augustus Devilheart)
Cover Art: Public Domain
Poems To Ponder
12 Thoughtful and Fun Poems for Children
License Notes
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Poems To Ponder
12 Thoughtful and Fun Poems for Children
Disclaimer
This book is a work of fiction. While some of the place names are real, characters are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Poems To Ponder
12 Thoughtful and Fun Poems for Children
'To be unsure is uncomfortable.
To be certain is ridiculous.'
Chinese proverb.
Table Of Contents
The Poems
I Hate Laces!
My Cat Licks Things
Monsters Hate My Mum
My Imaginary Friend
Climbing Trees
What's So Funny About That?
Hiccups
Fibs and Lies
Big Black Birds
That's Rather Grim
Being Little Is Useful
Something In The Dark
The End
About The Author
Also by Paul Whybrow
Novellas
Short Stories
Song Lyrics
Poetry
Novels
Connect with the author
Poems To Ponder
12 Thoughtful and Fun Poems for Children
Paul Whybrow
I Hate Laces!
Who invented laces?
Some great twit!
What's the point of floppy string
that goes through tiny holes?
Isn't there an easier way
to tighten-up my shoes?
Haven't they heard of buttons?
Zips are easy peasy!
Velcro is a breeeeeeze!
But no, I'm expected to tie a knot,
that looks like a tired butterfly!
An acrobatic twirling of flat thread,
which muddles up my poor young head!
I really, really, really hate laces!
My Cat Licks Things
My cat licks everything!
It licks the milk from its saucer,
Squidgy tinned food from a bowl.
Dirty rainwater from puddles,
my strawberry Angel-Delight!
It licks its fur clean,
and its dirty paws.
My cat, it licks my fingers,
just to say hello.
It licks my nose
after a friendly head butt,
then flicks its tail at me.
That silly cat licks blades of grass,
but catmint drives it nutty!
It quite likes chicken gravy,
though custard is the best.
Its tongue has lots of prickles,
which must mean lots of tickles….
Perhaps that's why it licks so much.
But even so, I'm shocked to say,
It even licks its you-know-what
and right up that place too!
That's really rather yeucky!
My cat licks everything!
Monsters Hate My Mum
There's Squeaky Furry Monster
that lives beneath my bed.
I think it's hiding from my Mum
who could hoover up a storm.
Spiders and dust bunnies flee
fearfully—her nozzle probes away.
She sucks the very life from them
and they end up in her bag.
The monster's hiding behind
the bed leg until she goes away.
There used to be Creak-Monster
who lived beneath the stairs.
It whined as we climbed up and down,
a-treading on its sore and aching head.
But Mum, she flicked her duster round,
squirting air-freshener here and there,
choking the poor creature,
as it's quietened down a lot.
It must still be holding its breath,
waiting for the air to clear.
Our garden-shed once housed Mildew Monster,
till Mum splashed bleach and varnish around.
I quite liked its stinky pong of damp and rot,
the way it felt so old, worn-out and friendless.
Mould meant character, but Mum chased that away.
It's spick and span there now, smells brand-new,
enough to turn that monster's face quite blue.
It must be hiding under the garden path,
on some green and wormy paving slab.
Who knows if it will venture back?
I could tell you what my Mum did to Oven Monster,
which honked a bit of thick brown grease,
but that might scare you quite a lot.
For hot-water, stiff brushes and acid-foam
are all involved—she doesn't muck about!
With rubber gloves and safety glasses,
she could tackle the fiercest mucky fiend.
What chance did it stand, scoured to nothingness?
It lives down the dark plug-hole now,
in the safety of some dank plumbing pipe.
My Mum, she busts Monsters for a living,
and for fun too—she's a real expert, that's true.
There's none of them can resist her cunning,
bravery and cleaning tools—she's got the lot!
I wonder what they say, when she's not around?
They probably quake, tremble, sweat and plot
of ways to hide to escape her eagle-eye.
But that will never happen, she's much too sharp.
Mum's giving me a bath tonight—she calls me
"Her Little Monster"—help me please!
My Imaginary Friend
I didn't do it—it was him!
I'm a good boy, really,
It's him does bad things.
I was tidying up my room,
while he picked the petals
off all of your prize tulips,
and laid them on the path.
But I'm the one you punished,
while he stood in the garden
laughing at us both.
He's not always a naughty boy.
We play Cowboys and Indians
together, taking turns to win.
We race cars around the floor,
and sometimes Smarties too,
flicking them with our fingers—
we eat the loser each time.
His paper aeroplanes fly
further than mine, but that's
alright, for he's my best friend.
I think that he's good company,
for I don't have any brothers,
and friends are hard to make.
And what with having twin sisters,
I need all of the help I can get.
I'm rather outnumbered by females
and Dad's away at work a lot.
I make do with what I've got, explore
the world with my invisible friend.
I know that he'll always be there.
