The Joy of Socks Nice warm socks, Nice warm socks We should celebrate them. Ask a toe! Toes all know It s hard to overrate them. Toes say, Please Don t let us freeze Till we re numb and white. Summer s gone Put them on! Wear them day and night! Nice warm socks, Nice warm socks Who would dare to mock them? Take good care Of every pair And never, ever knock them. Wendy Cope
A Good Play We built a ship upon the stairs All made of the back-bedroom chairs, And filled it full of sofa pillows To go a sailing on the billows. We took a saw and several nails, And water in the nursery pails; And Tom said, Let us also take An apple and a slice of cake; Which was enough for Tom and me To go a- sailing on, till tea. We sailed along for days and days, And had the very best of plays; But Tom fell out and hurt his knee, So there was no one left but me. Robert Louis Stevenson
The Cave Can you be daring? Can you be brave? Will you come down to explore the cave? The pirates left it and never returned. Their ship caught fire and the map got burned. We ll put on our boots and carefully tramp down through the darkness, all slimy and damp. So I ll take the torch and you take the sack. Let s go down there and bring some back. They say there s a chest a hundred years old. It s spilling over with jewels and gold. But hush! There s a dragon who just might waken, if he hears any of it being taken. Tony Mitton
I wish I was a Pirate I wish I was a pirate With a long beard hanging down, A cutlass dangling from my belt, My teeth all black and brown. A parrot on my shoulder, A patch upon one eye, A pirate ship to sail on, A pirate flag to fly. Yo-ho-ho me hearties! It s a pirate s life for me Pistols in my pockets, Salt-pork for my tea! Tony Bradman The rolling waves would be my home, I d live through many wrecks. I d always have the best of maps The ones marked with an X! Pirates don t have parents, They don t get sent to school. They never have to take a bath, For them there are no rules.
Dad s Hiding in the Shed Dad s hiding in the shed. He s made me swear Not to tell Mum That he s hiding in there. But he missed and the ball Struck him hard on the toe. He cried out in pain And, as he did so, She was having a lie-down With the curtains drawn. We were playing cricket Out on the lawn. He let go of the bat. It flew up in an arc And crashed through the window Where Mum lay in the dark. The scores were level. It was really tense. Dad had just hit a six Right over the fence. Dad s hiding in the shed. He s made me swear Not to tell Mum That he s hiding in there. I bowled the next ball As fast as I could. Dad tried it again As I knew he would. John Foster
The Vikings The Vikings wear their horny hats And sail their beaky boats. They plait their hair in yellow plaits, And stink like billy goats. He drinks a lot of lagers From enormous Viking flagons He sings a lot of sagas And he slays a lot of dragons. A Viking has a bristly beard. He is a bristly feller. His folk beliefs are pretty weird. He carries an umbrella. Consider his behaviour Is it not extremely jolly? He comes from Scandinavia. I lied about the brolly. His moral life, alas, is lax. He plunders and he pillages. He wields a nifty battleaxe And terrorizes villages But hush! There s a dragon who just might waken, if he hears any of it being taken. John Whitworth
Supermarket I m lost among a maze of cans behind a pyramid of jams,quite near asparagus and rice, close to the Oriental spice, and just before sardines. I hear my mother calling, Joe. Where are you, Joe? Where did you Go? And I reply in a voice concealed among the candied orange peel, and packs of chocolate Dreams. I hear you, Mother dear, I m here quite near the ginger ale and beer, and lost among a maze
of cans behind a pyramid of jams quite near asparagus and rice, close to the Oriental spice, and just before sardines. But still my mother calls me, Joe! Where are you, Joe? Where did you go? Somewhere around asparagus that s in a sort of broken glass, beside a kind of m- essy jell that s near a tower of cans that and squashed the Chocolate Dreams. f e l Felice Holman l
Original
Silly Old Baboon There was a Baboon Who, one afternoon, Said, I think I will fly to the sun. So, with two great palms Strapped to his arms, He started his take-off run. Mile after mile He galloped in style But never once left the ground. You re running too slow, Said a passing crow, Try reaching the speed of sound. So he put on a spurt By God how it hurt! The soles of his feet caught fire. There were great clouds of stream As he raced through a stream But he still didn t get any higher.
Racing on through the night, Both his knees caught slight And smoke billowed out from his rear. Quick to his aid Came a fire brigade Who chased him for over a year. Many moons passed by. did Baboon ever fly? Did he ever get to the sun? I ve just heard today That he s well on his way! He ll be passing through Acton at one. P.S. Well, what do you expect from a Baboon? Spike Milligan
The Mystery Space Beasts They live on a planet not far from the Sun. Some fly through the air while others just run. Some have big heads which are hairless as tin while others have hair which sprouts from their skin. They dig food from dirt, and gobble dead meat; the young squeal like pigs if you tickle their feet. They slurp, burp, and grunt; their manners are bad. Their eyes become waterfalls when they feel sad.
They come in most colours, some yellow, some white. Some dye their hair pink and do look a sight. These creatures vary from tiny to tall, and in salty water they ve been known to crawl. Well, who are these space beasts? Can t you guess who? The answer is easy: It s you, you, and YOU! Wes Magee
Todd the Backyard King I m not your fluffy lap-cat Who purrs to hear you sing; Your curl-up-on-the-mat-cat With dainty bell to ring; Your pretty-pounce-and-pat-cat Who chases after string I m Todd, the catch-a-rat-cat, The Mighty Backyard King. I m not your prize-rosette-cat (My whiskers fray and bend); I m not your matching-set-cat (One ear has lost its end); I m not your preen-and-pet-cat (My coat s too torn to mend) But when I m cold-and-wet-cat, I m Todd your fireside friend. I m not your snooze-and-yawn-cat With soft and velvet paw; Your doze-upon-the-lawn-cat With sheathed and secret paw; Your slink-about-and-fawn-cat With meek and milky jaw I m Todd, the blood-at-dawn-cat, Who takes his breakfast RAW. Clare Bevan