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
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.
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
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!
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
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
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
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
“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
Our Harry is a halibut
so curious is he
he spends his time in pondering
the questions of the sea
of how the dogfish lost his bark
and why the oyster sings
of how the lobster grew his claws
and flying fish their wings
he wonders why the seahorse neighs
yet never wins a race
he wants to know if catfish miaow
and how to talk with plaice
he asked his mum if he could pose
a question, she did nod
“it’s this which bothers me the most:
should fish believe in Cod?”
Paul Hughes 2008
I have a swallow for a friend
I call this bird “Jacinta”
she’s very lazy, so I tend
to drive her south for winter
Paul Hughes 2008
I’ve been sailing with a yeti
and I’ve drunk an oyster’s cocoa
I have eaten blue spaghetti
and danced salsa with a do-do
Perhaps you think this mad or weird, peculiar or strange
Or maybe you’ve decided that I must be quite deranged
but listen to me now and I will tell you such a tale
to terrify and horrify and leave you looking pale
and if, today, your mum has made you sandwiches for tea
you will refuse to eat them. Don’t believe me? We will see!
This morning I made sandwiches but when I took a bite
the sandwich screamed, I kid you not, it gave me quite a fright
it leapt for freedom, called for help and cried big salty tears
and wailed with a piercing scream which rather hurt my ears
I couldn’t speak, quite lost for words, for what was I to do?
I bet that if you had been there you’d feel the same way too
I wouldn’t say that self defence could ever be called rude
but I really don’t expect it from a simple piece of food
Already tense, I had a sense
that we were not alone
and as I turned to face the fridge
I uttered such a groan
as never had been heard before
for with a terrifying roar
My food attacked me armed with sticks and stones
My eggs were cruelly beating me
It was a horrid scene
My cream then started whipping me
How could it be so mean?
onions jabbed me in the eye
how dare my onions make me cry?
My head was bruised by flying tins of beans
I tried my best to save my skull from being battered in
I closed my eyes and said my prayers, I knew I couldn’t win
Everything fell silent so I opened up my eyes
I wasn’t dead, but living, and to my extreme surprise
I later learned the reason why my battering had stopped
My food had gone to free its friends from superstores and shops
moral
when eating foodstuffs made of cheese, tomatoes, lettuce, bread
you’d better do your utmost to make sure that it’s all dead
Paul Hughes, 2008
Have you ever eaten wood or munched a traffic cone?
Or chomped on nails and paperclips while sucking lumps of stone?
Perhaps you eat remote controls or chew on metal foil
And wash it down with axle grease or dirty engine oil?
By now you’re thinking: “what a fool to ask such silly questions
Why is this man so stupid? That would give me indigestion!”
But listen up, I speak the truth, my brother eats this stuff
He hates his food all soft and smooth, he likes it to be tough
Now, yesterday he ate a lamp and mother’s coffee table
Before he was electrocuted, chewing through a cable
So now he lies in hospital, we don’t know if he’ll make it
They try to give him medicine, if only he would take it
He’s eaten his heart monitor and swallowed nurse’s sandals
He even ate a wooden door, complete with both its handles
Lying on the floor he has no pillow for his head
He ate it for his breakfast and for lunch he ate his bed
I daren’t visit anymore, it’s nearly time for tea
There’s nothing left for him to eat except, that is, for me!
Paul Hughes 2008
Recent Comments