“R is for… Rude!” (poem)

The rudest word of all has never yet been said.
I’ve only just thought of it. It’s running round my head!

Even at this stage, I’m blushing, feeling flustered
If I unleash this now, it’d take the skin off custard,

Folks at the retirement home would gasp, recoil in shock,
Hardened criminals break down in tears in the dock,

Taxi drivers in town all slam on their brakes,
Dusty bakers panic, fill up their ears with cakes,

Tweed-clad professors tut into their tea,
Salty sailors be aghast and spring into the sea,

Bestselling authors completely lose the plot,
Surly, serious scouts tie each other in a knot,

Bullish bus drivers, baffled, barrel past their stop,
Startled rabbits forget how to snuffle and to hop,

Preening politicians be stunned into the truth,
Sermonising vicars say some words uncouth,

Emotional teenagers weep and wail in the streets,
Minimalist drummers miss the sparsest of their beats,

Tree surgeons abruptly lose their head for heights,
Monsters under the bed misplace their love of frights,

Birds fall from the sky, now afraid to fly,
As four and twenty blackbirds bake themselves into a pie,

Fluorescent street-sweepers lean hard upon their brushes,
While the Queen herself stands and shakes her head and blushes …

I know you want to ask me, but I’m too afraid to say…
So please let me lie down, until it goes away!

shock

“O is for… Other People’s Children” (poem)

Other people’s children,
Sleep right through the night,
Other people’s children,
Never scratch or bite

Other people’s children,
Can read before they’re four,
Other people’s children,
Don’t drop food on the floor

They don’t paint things on the wall,
Tape things to the cat,
Play ball in the hall,
Or smear their hair in… that

Other people’s children,
Do exactly what they’re told,
Other people’s children,
Rarely get a cold

Other people’s children,
Never shout or curse,
Other people’s children…
I can’t think of anything worse!

boy

Friday Favourites – Giraffes Can’t Dance

I am taking part in Rhyming Picture Book Month, aka RhyPiBoMo (https://angiekarcher.wordpress.com/), and as part of this we are asked to share our favourite rhyming picture books every Friday. This week’s choice is very special one to me – Giraffes Can’t Dance, by Giles Andreae and Guy Parker-Rees. http://www.guyparkerrees.com/picture.html  

Gerald was a tall giraffe

Whose neck was long and slim,

But his knees were awfully bandy

And his legs were rather thin…

Every year Gerald dreads the great Jungle Dance, and feels ashamed that he cannot tango and two-step with the rest of the jungle animals. But then one day he realises that it doesn’t matter that he is different from everyone else–its just that he needs a different tune to dance to… “We all can dance, When we find music that we love”

This is a great picture book – it has a heart, great rhythm, warmth and humour. It will leave you feeling uplifted; possibly with a tear in your eye…

It is one of the few books that I can actually tell you exactly where I first read it too. When my (now 5 years old… wow, how did that happen!) son was 9 months old, we went on our first “family” holiday down to Cornwall. We stayed in a beautiful converted barn, that my son would crawl up and down endlessly, testing every door handle and cupboard within reach, rearranging the pots and pans, emptying the washing machine…!

Giraffes Can’t Dance was one of the books left for families to borrow during their visit. I remember lying on the bed, with my son lying perfectly still next to, as I held the book above us and read that story, over and over. As soon as we got home, I ordered our own copy. Wonderful memories, wonderful book.

 

gir

 

“K is for… Kick-about” (poem)

Lined up straight outside the gym
Just one thought – pick me, not him!

(School’s okay, but without a doubt
I live to have a kick-about!)

Steve and Ed take their places
Staring hard at our faces

Don’t pick Pete! He’s two left feet!
(Though in goal he’s tough to beat)

Not Raj Brown! He’s such a clown!
Always fooling all around.

Jamie ‘Jamus’! His dad’s famous…
Pity he’s an ignoramus

(I’m not that big and not that fast
Please don’t tell me I’ll be last)

Big Bosh Brendan tackles hard
Leaves limbs strewn across the yard

Next picked out is Billy the Boot –
He’s a brute of ill repute

Anthony Rose, bogey nose!
But he’s missing two left toes!

Smelly Si and Limpy Lee.
What about me? What about me!

Evan Bevan? Willy Nilly?
This is all just getting silly!

Come on Steve! And c’mon Ed!
Time for you to use your head!

Pavel’s next… Just one to go…
Eeny. Meeny. Miney. Moe

Yes! It’s me. I won’t let you down!
I’ll give this lot the runaround.

I get the ball and dribble away…
Till Brendan hacks my legs astray

He passes right, to Billy’s Boot
It’s only going down one route

He blasts it high, he blasts it hard
It flies at speed across the yard

It keeps on speeding to the net
Before my team can break a sweat.

All eyes turn to me, in blame.
I hang my head.

I hate this game.

foot

“I is for… Ignatius Imp” (poem)

Ignatius the Imp
(Or Iggy for short)
Is a mischievous rascal
Who’s never been caught

He spends all his days
Imagining schemes
For pranking his way
Deep into your dreams!

He’ll steal your socks
(Just one at a time)
And leave your toothbrush
All covered in slime

He dials your phone
Right when you’re asleep
He makes your nice shirt
Look crumpled and cheap

He’ll hide in a box
And jump out at you
Then sprinkle some glue
Inside of your shoe

Ignatius the Imp
(Or Iggy for short)
Is a mischievous rascal.
The very worst sort!

imp