Magpie

I saw a friendly magpie and she twoodled out a song.
It made me feel like all was right and nothing could go wrong.
I dropped a bit of sandwich and she pecked and picked it up,
And now she hops behind me like a tiny spotted pup.

She doesn’t seem to realise but the silly girl can’t bark.
She does, however, like it when I take her to the park.
And though I do not keep her in a cage or on a lead,
She hops along behind me, quite obedient indeed.

She wakes me up with warbles and she sings me lullabies.
And just this morning, on my stoop, I got a grand surprise.
‘Cos though she has no fingers, sporting just a beak so small—
My smart and loyal magpie friend has learned to fetch a ball!

Cartoon magpie sign

Image from Deposit Photos © radar43 2016

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No, Wait!

“No, wait!” she shouted anxiously while tugging at my sleeve.
“You can’t go now!” she whimpered. “I do not want you to leave!”

“I’ve got to go,” I told her. “But quite soon I will be back.
See—if I do not go to work I’ll surely get the sack!”

I knew that it was hard for kids to bid their Dads goodbye.
I knew that it was normal that they’d whinge and whine and cry.

But Nancy was their teacher. “Get a grip, you’re sixty-four.”
“But sir—your kids are monsters! I can’t take it anymore!”

kids-1099709_1920 - Copy

Image from Pixabay © CC0 Creative Commons 2015

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From The Archives: Mess Fairies

Mess Fairies

Now something kids like you and I are told when we are young
Is that after we have lost one of our teeth,
We put it in our bed, we put our pillow down on top,
And a Fairy takes it out from underneath.

Because we know the Tooth Fairy is nice (she leaves us cash),
We come to think that all Fairies are kind,
But Mums and Dads don’t let us know that some of them are bad:
They leave a mess—not shiny coins—behind.

We’ve all collapsed in bed and left our bedrooms spick and span
But woken up with toys all strewn about.
We’ve put our clothes away and tucked our socks and shirts in drawers,
But when we wake up, all of them are out!

At first, I thought perhaps I had just dreamed I’d tidied up.
I sighed but once more cleaned and swept and packed.
But then, I got suspicious! I got a camera,
And set it up to catch them in the act!

The cheeky little Sprites had had a party in my shelves,
They’d thrown my toys and teddies from their box.
They’d tipped my jars of pencils, they’d opened every drawer,
Unrolled and mismatched all my pairs of socks.

So late that night I waited, in the dark, a torch in reach
I held the proof—a photo—in my hand.
And when once more the naughty Fairies came in through the door,
My torch came on. Their jaws dropped. It was grand.

“Now listen!” I said forcefully. “This mess has got to stop.
I’m sick of cleaning up. I’ve had enough.
From now on,” I said, holding up the photo, “You’ll come back,
And every night you will clean up my stuff!”

And that, my friends, is how I went from tidying non-stop
To never cleaning up a drawer or shelf.
So if you think your Mess Fairies are messing up your room,
Perhaps it’s time to catch them out yourself.

Original Illustration © Robbie Yates 2017

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From The Archives: Allergies to Chores

Dear Mom, I have some information that is rather grave.
I got it in a very urgent call.
The hospital laboratory said I must be brave,
In order to avoid demise and pall.

The doctor on the line said, “I have never seen a list
Of symptoms and of woes as bad as yours.”
I’ll save you all the details Mom, I’ll tell you just the gist:
He said that I’ve got allergies. To chores.

“No dishes,” he commanded. “And no laundry,” he prescribed.
I’m sure you’ll see that this affliction stinks.
“No vacuuming,” I promised. “And no mops,” I sadly sighed.
“No cleaning up of toilets or of sinks.”

I know the outlook’s dreadful, now whatever shall we do?
I’ll miss the mowing; polishing; the broom.
I ‘spose that’s it for me, Mom. Since I’m feeling extra blue,
You’ll find me watching TV in my room.

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Original Illustration © Robbie Yates 2018

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From The Archives: 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!


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From The Archives: 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.


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