Grass

There once was a girl in my class
Who loved rolling ’round in the grass.
With leaves in her hair
She would crawl here and there
Her life was a whimsical farce.

The teacher would holler and flail.
“It’s silly! It’s nuts!” he would rail.
“Why do you revert
To wriggling in dirt?”
“Because,” said the girl, “I’m a snail.”

Depositphotos_112312176_original.jpg

Image from Deposit Photos © avemario 2016

Canoe

Canoe.png

There once was a hedgehog called Stu
Who lived in a plastic canoe.
I asked, “Is it tough
When the waters are rough?”
He said, “If my spines don’t poke through!”

Image altered from Deposit Photos. Original Image insima © 2014

Rain boots

Rain boots.jpg

It’s rare to see unbridled glee but there’s a special time
That children’s faces sparkle, full of joy
It’s all the rage for every age, it doesn’t cost a dime,
Absurdly fun for every girl and boy.

It happens when it rains and then on pavers, paths and tiles
Sit puddles, cold and wet, their beckon wry.
With rainboots on they yell, “come on!” and jump with cheers and smiles
The splashes barely missing passersby.

Now humans all, both big and small, will find it quite a treat
To jump and splash and play a little more.
Don’t fear the crud, the cold and mud, or getting soggy feet
Because that, my friend, is what rainboots are for!

The Bird Pooplympics

Bird Pooping

If you’re like me and sometimes you have quite unlucky days,
You may have been bombarded by a bird.
It may have been quite sticky, and dribbled down your front:
It’s often an extraordinary turd.

It may have been bad luck, and you may be simply cursed,
It may have had no reason and no rhyme.
But I think that your doo-dooing was part of an event.
I think that it was Bird Pooplympics time.

The Annual Bird Pooplympics are quite a fun affair.
They start with Bird Poo races (always fun).
The next event’s my favourite—the Synchronised Release
Where poops land in a pattern, one-by-one.

Of course there’s Bird Poop Hurdles—where birds must duck and weave,
Leaving little turds along the way.
However, it’s the Archery where all the birds take aim
At you and me, to decimate our day.

So when the next white dribble falls upon your lap,
Don’t shake your head, complain, or start to cry!
Yell at the offender. Shake your angry fists.
Shout “Do Pooplympics elsewhere!!” at the sky.

 

Very Hot Days

When it’s very very hot, not simply warm or fine,
When leaves are dry and roads could fry an egg,
When everyone gets pink or red, even in the shade,
And drips of sweat all trickle down your leg,

When it’s so very very hot that everyone is quiet,
And it’s too hot to put it into words,
Have you ever stopped to wonder, when looking at the sky,
Have you ever asked, “My gosh! Where are the birds?”

You’ll notice when it’s sweltering, the air is lacking songs
As much as it lacks breeze or drops of rain.
It’s cos the birds are smart – they make a plan for days like this
So they don’t have to whinge and sweat in pain.

The birds, you see, they organize. They make a cunning scheme.
They all fly out to sea and sit on boats.
They dip and dive to cool their beaks, they splash among the waves,
They gently land on water and they float.

So next time it is stifling, the next time it is fierce,
The next time that you’re baking to the core,
Just think of all the seagulls, the sparrows and the doves,
Sitting, sipping sodas, on the shore.

 Very Hot Days.jpg

The Worst Bag Ever

I had a nasty habit, my teacher always said,
Of losing notes and books and hats and snacks.
She’d pass us out permission forms when it was half past three,
And tell us, “Put them straight into your packs”.

But by the time my Mum and Dad were asking ‘bout my day,
My notes and books were nearly always gone,
The next day, I’d ask sheepishly to have the note again,
My teacher would just stare at me in scorn.

“Why Billy Jones, you’ll lose your very head, one day,” she’d say.
I simply nodded, staring at my shoes.
I felt so bad. I tried so hard, but things just disappeared!
The missing things brought on a case of blues.

Then one day, Thomas Mitchell handed me an envelope.
“An invite to my party!” he said, glad.
I placed it, oh so carefully, inside my backpack then,
Cos if I lost it, that would make me sad.

Lo and behold, just thirty minutes later, at my house,
I could not find the invite. Not at all!
I rummaged, looked and fossicked, I leaned into my bag,
And soon I felt myself begin to fall.

The world went dark. It all went quiet. I landed with a Plonk!
I opened up my eyes. And all around,
Were notes and books and crackers, old bananas and a shoe,
In piles and piles and piles upon the ground.

the-worst-bag-ever.jpg

“My goodness!” I exclaimed. “Where am I? What are all these things?”
“Oh Billy,” said a voice, “I’m glad you’re here.
You see, your backpack’s magic, that’s why your notes and snacks
And toys and old bananas disappear.”

“What do I do?” I asked the voice. “I hate when all my stuff
Goes missing. And my parents hate it too!”
“That’s easy,” said the voice. “Your backpack’s magic—that is clear.
So all you need’s another one. Brand new.”

So shortly after, I got all my pocket money out.
I bought a brand new bag for school and sports.
My magic backpack never held another note or book.
From now on? It was just for bad reports.

Super Eraser

One boring Christmas morning, I opened up my gift.
With just one present left under the tree,
I once again grew solemn, and sad that we were poor.
Why were there never lovely gifts for me?

My gift was just a ruler, two pencils and two pens,
A small eraser and a pencil case.
My mom, who worked long hours, wrapped me in her arms,
When she saw disappointment on my face.

“I’m sorry, Spud, I know it’s hard, I wish we could have more,
But things have been a little tight this year.”
She held my arms and leant right back, a twinkle in her eye,
Then leaned back in and whispered in my ear:

“I think that the eraser, while looking simply plain,
Is quite a bit more special than you think.
I won it in a raffle. It’s cutting-edge and smart.
It rubs out more than pencil lines and ink.”

super-eraser.jpg
I tested what Mum said then. I went in to my room.
It rubbed out pencil, pen, and even more.
You see, I tried it out in a corner of the room…
It rubbed the very carpet off the floor!

I moved up to the window. Outside there was some trash.
Some broken chairs and boxes – a whole load.
I rubbed it on the glass and opened up my eyes in shock.
Now no more junk was piled up on the road!

The next hour was a whirlwind of laughs and smiles and fun
As I found all the things I could erase.
The rubbish – gone! The dishes – clean! The weeds all disappeared!
I cleared them all in an eraser craze!

Then suddenly, I stopped, breathed in, and found a secret place
To keep my new eraser safe and sound.
I didn’t want to run it out. I’d use it wisely now.
I’d save it for Mum’s stressed-out worried frown.

I’d keep it for my sister’s tears, for when she scraped her knees,
Or when she felt upset or sick or sad.
I sidled up to Mum and hugged her tight and long and warm.
“Thanks Mum. It’s the best gift I’ve ever had.”