The Quest for The Holy Pail May 8, 2008

 

Now lend me your ears and I’ll tell you a tale

of chivalrous beasts from the fields

so listen and learn if our heroes prevail

in searching the world for the one holy pail

equipped with their swords and their shields

their shields

equipped with their swords and their shields

 

 

This pail was the one used by Joseph to feed

the donkey which carried his wife

along into Egypt at such a high speed

away from King Herod, whose anger and greed

endangered Lord Jesus’ life

his life

endangered Lord Jesus’ life

 

 

Awoken one day in their coops, barns and sties

by stomachs which rumbled and moaned

the village resounded with animal cries

“without any breakfast we’ll certainly die!

oh, where is our food-pail?” they groaned

                                               they groaned       

“oh, where is our food pail?” they groaned

 

 

The farmer appeared with a face streaked by tears

and sobbed that the pail had been lost

the animals wept but they all volunteered

to hunt for the pail from Beijing to Tangiers

“we’ll find it no matter the cost

the cost

we’ll find it no matter the cost!”

 

Instructing the blacksmith to fashion their swords

their spears and their armour so bright

they built wooden ships and they clambered aboard

and promising sailors a golden reward

they sailed their ships into the night

the night

they sailed their ships into the night

 

The knights of the animal fleet sailed away

they floated to many a shore

and prayed to Lord God that they might see the day

they’d rest once again in their comfortable hay

and feed from their lost pail once more

once more

and feed from their lost pail once more

 

So listen and hear what took place on their quest

and if they returned safe and sound

be sure that these farmyard braves gave of their best

but was it enough to succeed in their test?

oh, was their dear pail ever found?

ever found

oh, was their dear pail ever found?

 

Sir Graham the Goose landed safely in France

and galloped to Montelimar

when ambushed by bandits he fought with his lance

but could he defeat them? Oh no, not a chance!

so now he is pate foie gras

foie gras

so now he is pate foie gras

 

Sir Bernard the Bull made his way into Spain

but when he arrived in Seville

a wicked man trapped him then wrapped him in chains

and dragged to the bull ring, Sir Bernard was slain

the crowd cheered the matador’s skill

his skill

the crowd cheered the matador’s skill

 

Sir Parsifale Pig sailed away to the East

and ventured through all of Siam

the local folk caught him and had for their feast

his chops, ribs and bacon and last, but not least

they savoured his wonderful ham

his ham

they savoured his wonderful ham

 

The knights of our farmyard tale ended their quest

in bull rings, on menus and plates

we ask you, oh Lord, grant them eternal rest

and treat them with mercy upon their request

to pass through your heavenly gates

your gates

to pass through your heavenly gates

 

You ask of the holy pail: “has it been found?”

why, yes, it was found by the maid

right here on the farm, sitting there on the ground

yes, there, where the chickens are scratching around

my word, what a pointless crusade

crusade

my word, what a pointless crusade!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Paul Hughes 2008

 

 

 

It’s first draft and I intend to leave it a few days before reading it again and making any changes. Let me know if you spot anything glaring.

 

Thirty Five Eyes and Thirty Five Tears May 5, 2008

 

Yes, the scallop has thirty five eyes!

they are coloured a beautiful blue

what a mess it must make when it cries

I’m so glad that I only have two!

 

 

Paul Hughes 2008

The Counterfeit Kid! May 1, 2008

“The very best of students!”

or so I tell my dad

I trade “A” grades for presents

my parents are so glad

to purr: “our lovely daughter

an angel, no mistake!”

but I’m a master-forger

my grades are just a fake!

but now it’s parents’ evening

my teachers are all here

it’s time that I was leaving

it’s time to disappear!

 

Paul Hughes 2008

 

I’ve just returned from a parents’ evening and wrote this inbetween appointments.

 

An Outstanding Elephant April 28, 2008

An outstanding elephant floats to the moon

on packets of Angel Delight

and says to his children “we’ll be there quite soon

you’ll just be amazed at the sight

of the Martians who play in the asteroid crater

Venutian tourists who buy and pay later

when offered a ride to the sun

in an old and decrepit and most unsafe freighter

built back in 2001″

he said

“built back in 2001″

 

Paul Hughes 2008

 

 

Lord knows how this happened. Apparently an “outstanding elephant” is an educational term (probably some primary technique) and this poem was written, upon seeing the term, within thirty seconds. Pure nonsense verse.

The Rudeness of Cats April 28, 2008

 

Go away pussy cat, nose in the air!

I know you don’t love me and know you don’t care

you think that you’re special, I’ve no idea why

is it because you can jump rather high?

is it because you can climb in the trees

or scale up a wall without scraping your knees?

count up to thirty or learn how to write

I think that I’m better at getting that right!

open your own tins, prepare your own food

too late for purring, you’ve been far too rude!

 

Paul Hughes 2008

 

A bit “commercial” this one. I get loads of hits from people searching for poems about cats. If that’s why you’re here, have a look at some of the other ones. I like cats really and grew up with them. I went off them a little when I got a big garden and came to love watching birds. Only, of course, to see them scared away by the neighbours’ cats! Grrrr!

The Ballad of Percival Pig April 28, 2008

 

 

Good Percival pig was both clever and brave

his farmer was wicked and sly

he’d sent many poor pigs along to their graves

a horrid and hateful and terrible knave

as no-one who knows him denies

denies

as no-one who knows him denies

 

Good Percival pig hunted truffles by day

he cared for his piglets at night

his farmer declared “folk in Canada say

their lands grow such truffles as no scales can weigh

you’ll sail by tramp steamer tonight

tonight

you’ll sail by tramp steamer tonight”

 

Good Percival pig said “but why should I roam

so far over oceans and seas?

my kids will be sausages when I come home

and I may well drown in the sea’s salty foam

do answer, dear sir, if you please

you please

do answer, dear sir, if you please!”

 

Good Percival Pig heard his master’s reply

“Dear Percy I make you this vow:

if you should bring home, by the end of July

a truffle of stupendous, outrageous size

I’ll spare you, your kids and your sow

your sow

I’ll spare you, your kids and your sow!”

 

Good Percival pig put to sea that same night

his journey was terribly long

though battered and bruised by the sea’s howling spite

he plucked up his courage and never took fright

our Percival pig was so strong

so strong

our Percival pig was so strong

 

Good Percival pig made his landing at last

and using his nose he soon found

a truffle so wonderfully, awfully vast

it still, to this day, remains quite unsurpassed

it weighed in at over ten pounds

ten pounds

it weighed in at over ten pounds

 

Good Percival pig struggled home with his prize

and rushed with a squeal to his farm

but oh, what a horrid sight greeted his eyes

his kids and his sow had been made into pies

“you promised to save them from harm

from harm

you promised to save them from harm!”

 

Good Percival pig met the very same end

in bangers and pies, sausage meat

the farmer sat down to a meal with his friends

to dine on betrayal (which no-one defends)

“these sausages look such a treat

a treat

these sausages look such a treat!”

 

Good Percival pig was the toast of the night

they drank to his soul through their meal

’til a blood chilling draught blew and put out the light

the revellers shrieked and stampeded with fright

“God save us, it’s Percival’s squeal

his squeal

God save us, it’s Percival’s squeal!”

 

Good Percival pig towered fearsome and brave

his ghostly form shrouded in black

and boomed with a deathly voice “go to your grave!

you horrid and hateful and terrible knave!”

the farmer fell dead on his back

his back

the farmer fell dead on his back

 

Good Percival pig, that’s the end of his tale

a story of goodness and greed

a warning that nothing good comes of betrayal

that virtue and justice will always prevail

we reap what we sow with our deeds

our deeds

we reap what we sow with our deeds!

 

Paul Hughes 2008

 

 

I have just read “Alonzo the Brave”. It’s a tale which mixes the ballad style of poetry with the flavour of the medieval troubadours. I wanted to do write something with a pinch of its style and form. So here it is. I’ve read it to someone and they caused me to remember that Lear’s “The Owl and the Pussycat” used the same repetitive three line end to each stanza. The “theft” of this quirk wasn’t deliberate but pays testament to how that poem is one of the best ever written for children.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Lecture on Thumb-Sucking April 27, 2008

oh, don’t be foolish, don’t be dumb

why must you children suck on thumbs?

it really isn’t very nice

and some have paid a heavy price

poor Abigail, for instance, found

her teeth were being quickly ground

away, for rubbing of the thumb

wore down her teeth right to the gum

she can’t eat solids anymore

but sucks her food up through a straw

which doesn’t matter when she drinks

but every now and then she thinks

it would be nice to have some bread

or other chewy things instead

but this is not the worst of things

which sucking thumbs can sometimes bring

for little Tom once sucked away

all through the night and through the day

he sucked his thumb right to the bone

but didn’t stop at that alone

oh no, he sucked his hand away

and then his arms, until one day

his body was a skeleton

his flesh had just completely gone

and though he couldn’t suck his head

he’d sucked too far and thus dropped dead

 

Moral

 

it’s most unwise, as Tom now knows

to suck on fingers, thumbs or toes

 

 

Paul Hughes 2008

 

 

Consoling Daisy… April 25, 2008

 

Dew drops

from your petals

tears don’t fall from roses

but should, for their beauty is fraud

maintained by dung, pruning and chemicals

soon faded by sun and greenfly

your purer beauty shines

reflected through

dew drops

 

Paul Hughes 2008

 

This rictameter is a little out of the ordinary as far as this blog goes. I’m furiously reading other children’s poems in order to render myself more versatile. I haven’t read a children’s rictameter, yet, but read about the form yesterday and thought I’d give it a try. It’s the kind of thing which seems to fit in a Year 9 English SAT or GCSE anthology. I think the message is straightforward enough. Post a comment if you have any views on its merits. It’s an experiment anyway. Worth a shot!

Trousers are Pants! April 24, 2008

I love my new school uniform

I’ve neatly pressed my shirt

my hair-grips sparkle beautifully

I look great in my skirt

but when I went to school today

my teacher shouted “Oi!

put on some trousers, rightaway

you horrid little boy!”

 

 

Paul Hughes 2008

 

Wings and things. April 23, 2008

Has anyone witnessed a duck on a bike?

they won’t use a skateboard or go on a trike

is working the pedals a chore they dislike?

is this why I’ve not seen a duck ride a bike?

 

Has anyone seen a gazelle in a car?

they won’t fly by airplane or take Eurostar

they migrate each autumn, they travel quite far

so why have I not seen gazelles drive a car?

 

And why will our British slugs not take a train?

they use them in Italy, France and in Spain

much nicer than crawling, they must be insane!

so why have I never seen slugs on a train?

 

mankind has invented a wonderful thing

it’s mechanised transport, so don’t use those wings!

stop all your walking, you don’t need to crawl

with wheels and an engine it’s no work at all!

Paul Hughes 2008

Germ Warfare! April 22, 2008

 

 

Virus, I’ll spray you with poisonous stuff

you’ve driven me crazy, I’ve just had enough

you’ve made me quite ill, you’ve been playing too rough

so leave me alone or you’ll find that I’m tough

 

I’m sick of your nonsense and tired of your game

I’ll coat you in powder and you’ll be to blame

so just leave me be or I’ll load and take aim

it’s not only me, all the kids feel the same

 

You’ve not seen the chemical weapons I found

you’ve pushed me too far so now I’ll stand my ground

so get lost or you’ll need a burial mound

my mother did warn me a bug’s going round!

 

Paul Hughes 2008

The end of the daily poem April 19, 2008

Hello

 

Thanks to those (over 40 people) of you who read this blog every day. I also thank those who visit this site through random hits on google. Thanks, most of all, to those who have chosen to leave comments on a regular basis.

This is a quick post to say that I am finding it impossible to continue writing a new poem everyday and so I will have to stop. I will, of course, continue to write and post but this will be at a slower pace. I think my self-compulsion to churn out verse after verse is beginning to force me to make less of some of these poems than should be the case.

Subscribe to this blog via rss (there is a link at the bottom of this page; affixed to an orange symbol) and you will be informed of when there is a new post.

Thanks for all your feedback. It has been good to hear so much positive feedback from students, teachers and professionally published poets. I will be taking time out to contact publishers over the next few days.

Keep reading!

 

Paul

 

 

Knocking on Heaven’s Door April 18, 2008

 

 

Saint Peter at the pearly gates

sits waiting for the dead

but one thing which he really hates

is being pranked instead

 

The bell rang out! he rushed to see

but found nobody there

“oh who could that prank caller be?

they gave me quite a scare!”

 

it happened once, it happened twice

Saint Peter’s face turned red

it really isn’t very nice

to mess with Peter’s head

 

the third time Peter shouted: “Man!

stop playing with the bell!

Just one more time and you’ll be banned

and sent right down to Hell!”

 

“It’s not my fault!”, a voice replied

“I’m sorry, cant you see?!”

I’m clearly dead, but still they tried

resuscitating me!

 

Paul Hughes 2008

What a Bird, That Water-Bird! April 16, 2008

 

 

do stop a moment, mother duck, I’d really like to know

a little of your language, would you take the time to show

a human how to speak those words which ducks use every day?

so let’s begin this instant, would you tell me how you say:

 

“thank you for the thought, dear girl, I love this wholegrain bread

but sometimes I would love to eat some sausage rolls instead”

 

“QUACK”

 

“the river-water chills my legs, I scrape my toes on rocks

oh how I wish I had a pair of cosy woollen socks”

 

“QUACK”

 

“It’s spring again and I must build my brood a homely nest

a place where they can watch TV and take a well-earned rest”

 

“QUACK”

 

Thank you kindly, mother duck, you’re such a clever bird

how many creatures say so much whilst using just one word?

 

 

Paul Hughes 2008

Secret Agent April 16, 2008

My father was a spider

my mother was a fly

now I’m a secret agent

with wings, eight legs, a SPY!

 

Paul Hughes 2008

 

Sid and Bert April 15, 2008

 

“I wants ‘is ears Sid, and ‘is nose

I ‘ates the fingers, you ‘ave those

I wants ‘is eyes, you get the ‘ead

I takes ‘is arms an’ legs instead!”

 

Sleeping is quite hard to do

when voices speak of eating you

they’re waiting there, beneath the bed

I’m telling you, they want me dead!

But mother didn’t seem to care

insisting there was nothing there

and as she closed the bedroom door

the monsters started up once more

 

“Right you are Bert, you ‘ave that

we’ll crunch ‘is bones and chew ‘the fat

just wait ‘til ‘e gets outta bed

we’ll chomp ‘im, bite ‘im, ‘til e’s dead!”

 

MUUUUUUUUUUUUM!

 

she rushed right in, she looked annoyed

she muttered “such a silly boy

there’s nothing there, listen to me

I’ll look and show you, then you’ll see!”

but as she peered beneath the bed

those wicked monsters grabbed her head

she struggled free and said “it’s clear

you shouldn’t really sleep in here”

a pity that it took so long

for her to see that she was wrong!

 

Paul Hughes 2008

Henry’s Snails April 14, 2008

 

“Begone foul snails and get thee hence!”

King Henry Tudor glowers

“You offer me no recompense

for chewing on my flowers

I’ve watched you munching on my beds

of lupins, herbs, for hours

I warn you, I’ll cut off your heads

just like that Katherine Howard’s!”

 

and even now, or so I’m taught

you’ll find no snails at Hampton Court

King Henry scared them all away

their fear continues to this day

 

 

 

Paul Hughes 2008

 

Headcase! April 12, 2008

 

 

“I’m gonna suck your blood today!”

that’s what I hear the voices say

they buzz inside my head

through every hour of the day

and when I’m in my bed

the doctors said I must be mad

“that crazy boy! It’s just too bad!”

but mum bought pediculicide

so now those nasty nits have died

 

 

Paul Hughes 2008

A Lesson For Luke April 12, 2008

Just listen, Santa, dry your eyes

I see no need for tears

there’s no disaster, no surprise

as bad as it appears

so blow your nose and try to smile

do tell me what’s gone wrong

let’s take a break and sit awhile

you’ve worked for far too long

 

Now, every boy and every girl

not just in Britain, but the world

has gifts on Christmas day

 

and Santa Claus and Santa’s elves

deliver these all by themselves

there can be no delay

 

So, tell me, should we not assist

poor Santa with a little list

of all the gifts we’d like to find

beneath the tree at Christmas time?

I can’t believe this tiny task

is too much for the man to ask

he brings us joy, let’s try to help

but “NO” insists a little whelp

“NO” said Luke “I shall not write

a list, for I can’t bear the sight

of pen and paper, pen and ink!”

He kicked up quite the foulest stink

when asked to do this simple chore

“I find that writing’s such a bore!”

Now, how was Santa Claus to know

just what to give this so and so?

that’s why I found him shedding tears

he’s had this job for many years

and never has he failed to please

with wondrous presents such as……cheese

“cheese?!” you say, well, yes, it’s true

for what was Santa Claus to do?

He hadn’t ordered Luke a gift

the silly boy refused to lift

a pen to tell our Santa what

he really rather would have got

and so dear Luke received a cheese

(along with half a tin of peas)

for that’s all Santa had to hand

so now I hope Luke understands

that writing’s an important skill

we know he should, I think he will

 

Dedicated to Luke, a reluctant writer, aged 7

 

Paul Hughes 2008 

The Tragedy of Truth April 10, 2008

 

I’ve written, several times, of those

who guzzle glue or pick their nose

of kids who are unkind to beasts

or think each snack should be a feast

This blog is a menagerie

of nasty creatures such as these

 

So now I’d like to turn my pen

to nicer folk, but then again

I fear you wouldn’t care to read

a story full of worthy deeds

of kindness and of manners mild

you much prefer the awful child

but just read on and you will see

how such a thing as honesty

can bring you to a horrid end

upon my word you can depend

 

Now, Simon was a lovely boy

he brought his parents so much joy

polite and thoughtful, full of fun

thought highly of by everyone

and that’s the context of this verse

it sounds quite nice, it gets MUCH worse!

one day as Simon sat in church

he saw a plaque carved out of birch

 

“one lie does one more lie beget

we haven’t seen the last one yet”

 

That’s how the plaque’s inscription read

it sank into our Simon’s head

and so he swore “Me, Simon, I

will never, ever, EVER lie

I swear by Jesus in his crib

to never tell another fib”

so, as he walked home after mass

he came upon a little lass

Well, “little’s” not the thing I mean

for “young” is better, as this scene

will show, I’m sure you will agree

What happened next? listen to me:

“Hello Jill” our Simon said

“you’re very fat, for just your head

must weigh about a half a ton

good day!” he said and walked right on

“I didn’t lie, hurrah for me!

I am as honest as can be!”

that’s what that silly Simon thought

but then he met a Mrs Short

“Hello” sang Simon, clear and bright

“you really are a shocking sight

your nose is just a bunch of warts

and why must people put on shorts

when they have dreadful pudgy thighs?

your choice of clothes is most unwise!”

“Good day!” said Simon, on he strolled

all puffed up, proud, for he’d not told

a single fib, the smallest lie

and though he’d made two people cry

he would not stop, he couldn’t see

how hurtful telling truths can be

he told poor Sally that she stank

“your odour and your breath are rank”

and Milly learned her bum was big

dear Mrs Brown looked “like a pig”

the twins were told their ears stuck out

their mother’s lips looked “like a trout’s”

he carried on throughout the town

from half past twelve until sun-down

and nobody escaped the truth

not Billy, Jenny, Fred or Ruth

not Hattie, Kelly, John or Jake

they begged him “please, for pity’s sake

just stop your mouth and save our hurt

you better had, you little squirt!”

‘til finally they’d had enough

and so a local pair of toughs

picked up a cane, a cricket bat

for everyone decided that

they’d have to spank the nasty brat

“We’ll smack that bottom ‘til it’s FLAT!”

We’ll teach the boy that it’s no crime

to hide the truth from time to time!”

So Simon didn’t feel so proud

when cornered by this seething crowd

of red-faced, screeching, fuming folk

who hadn’t liked the truths he spoke

He ran, they chased, he tried to flee

but when they cried out “where is he?”

he shouted back “I’m up this tree!

I’ll always tell the truth you see!”

oh what a stupid so and so

he’d sworn an oath to truth, you know

he couldn’t lie to save his skin

despite the trouble he was in

but, luckily, his mum came by

and made the boy confess and cry:

“I swear, I do, I will refrain

from stating that which causes pain!”

and with this vow the mob concurred

to take our Simon at his word

and since that day he hasn’t said

a nasty word, but knows instead

that truth will never cause offence

when softened with a pinch of sense

 

 

Paul Hughes 2008