Bing bang wallopy boom
The marching band came in my room
Round and round and round my bed
Pounding pounding in my head
Bing bang wallopy boom
The marching band marched out my room
I never heard another peep
I closed my eyes and fell asleep.
Allan Cropper
At Gran’s I have an awesome time
but when it rains and pours
I’d love to go and splash outside
and Gran keeps me indoors
‘Some kinds of rain don’t bother me’
says Grandma when I mope
‘Not every downpour spoils my day
umbrellas help me cope’
‘But there’s one kind of rain I hate
when I’ve forgot my ’brolly
and if get caught out in it
it makes me mad, by golly’
‘Gran, what’s this rain that gets your goat
and makes your humour fail
could it be the driving drops
that come before the hail?’
‘No that’s not it, I don’t mind those’
Gran answers with a frown
‘I don’t mind hail or sleet or snow
they never get me down’
‘So what?’ I ask, ‘What rain is this
that makes your undies twist?’
‘You really want to know?’ asks Gran
‘I’ll tell, since you insist’
‘The rain I hate and deeply loathe
is drizzle, feather-light
It soaks me so, I’ll catch my death
don’t laugh dear, I just might!’
‘But Gran,’ I say, ‘it’s drizzling now
please come outside with me
Put on your gumboots, coat and hat
we’ll have a ball, you’ll see!’
I splished and sploshed and mucked about
Gran laughed and joined in too
Then Gran said, ‘Well, that wasn’t bad’
and I said,
‘AR
-TI
-SHOO!’
Nadine Cranenburgh
Hey you!
Stop staring at me like that!
Yeah, you!
I don’t like the way
You’re looking at me…
With your beady little eyes
And that sad cry of yours.
It doesn’t fool me,
Not one little bit.
Hey! Don’t you come any closer!
No way, pal, you’re just
Asking for trouble.
C’mon, quit your begging.
I know your type.
I’ll give you one,
And then all of your
Mates show up,
Demanding more…
Ah, no, cut with the crying.
Okay, then, maybe just one little…
Hot, salty, crunchy chip.
Aghhhhhh!!!!!
N McMullin
Under a canopy of fig trees
we pass a busker, watch his hands dance
over the surface of the drum and hear
music— soft, warm, bright.
Honey sounds that take us past the
food stalls and hot Afghani bread filled
with leeks and onion. I follow behind a girl
who carries a white Persian cat. Its pampered
face peers over her shoulder at me.
Anna Jacobson
The Terrible Tale of Lazy Fred who Starved to Death.
From Aesop’s Fable: The Grasshopper and the Ants.
Grasshopper Fred.
Dark green
Stripes of yellow
Could be seen.
Fred loved to
Hop!
Hop!
Hop!
In the warm summer sun!
Hopping!
Hopping!
Hopping!
Just so much fun!
Ants!
Ants!
Ants!
Small, busy and black.
Never the ones to slack!
Work!
Work!
Work!
Never the ones to shirk!
Fred said:
Why do you work all day?
I would rather play!
The Ants gave their reply:
We work in the summer heat.
We gather food to eat.
We store our winter Supply.
Without food we will die!
Winter came with frost and snow.
Where will poor Fred go?
The ants have locked their door!
Food?
Food?
Food?
No food anymore!
Poor Fred!
Stone dead!
What a marvelous treat!
Sausage rolls.
With grasshopper meat!
Prudence Marsh*
Providence U3A: March 16th2015
*Prudence Marsh is the nom-de-plume of this U3A Poetry Group
It’s a topsy turvy kind of day
My head is in a spin
What’s down is up, what’s up is down
I’m neither out nor in
I’ll try on lots of outfits
and brush and style my hair
It’s a topsy turvy kind of day
but I don’t really care
It’s a muddily fuddily way I feel
My head is in a fog
I think I’ll put my runners on
and go out for a jog
I’ll race the other joggers
to see if I can win
It’s a muddily fuddily way I feel
but comfy in my skin
It’s a higgledy piggledy afternoon
My head is in a cloud
I think I’ll put my headphones on
Play music way up loud
I’ll dance around my bedroom
where no one else can see
It’s a higgledy piggledy afternoon
and that’s just fine with me
Allan Cropper
We’re sitting on a picnic rug
beside our lemon tree.
We pass around the water jug
then start to eat our tea.
I’m staring at a Brussels sprout
with mounting discontent
When I suggested eating out
this wasn’t what I meant!
Jenny Erlanger
We scrabble over sun
warmed rocks and peer into
rock pools. Small crabs scuttle
sideways, sea anemones wave
and we climb on further- feet slip
in rubber thongs and we glimpse
a squishy sea cucumber, silkworm
soft. In another pool lies a blue starfish.
We race to the ocean to cool our skin,
water so clear we see a large bream flick
its tail and swim off into the depths.
Anna Jacobson
Elephants’ noses just growses and growses
Till they’re trumpy and trunky and long.
They can smell gone off cheese on an African breeze
When it’s left in a fridge in Hong Kong.
They can wash twenty buses without too much fusses
And pick up a forest of trees.
Their trunks are so long, when a cold comes along
Then it takes them an hour to sneeze.
They can tie them in knots – lots of knots, lots and lots.
They can hang from the hills in Burrundi.
They can tell smells apart – if you give them a fart
They will know what you’ve eaten last Monday.
Elephants’ trunks are so useful, me thunks.
Much more useful than our little snozzles.
And when they are dead and we dig up their heads
They make far much more interesting fozzils.
Mike Lucas
On my bike,
I pedal fast.
Building speed,
My heart swells,
The wind whirls,
Tugging at my clothes,
Whipping, snapping,
Ticking spokes,
Quicken down the hill.
I’m racing,
I’m in front.
Wibble, wobble,
I straighten in time.
Wiggle, squiggle,
I keep my line.
Low on the handle-bars.
Hang on,
Hunker down!
Jiggle, joggle,
I’m in the gravel!
Swish swoosh,
Look how fast I travel.
I’m flying,
I’m flying in the sky.
Up on my toes,
Pushing, pulling,
Puffing panting,
Legs burning,
Lungs bursting,
I see it,
I’m so close,
At last, my destination –
The ice-cream shop.
N McMullin
