The Show and Tell Surprise May 15, 2008

 

“Please bring your pets” said Miss Mendelle

“Along to next week’s show and tell.”

“But miss!” I cried, “no buts!” she yelled,

“Unless you’d like to be expelled!?”

And so, next week, we brought our pets,

Except for Jimmy, who forgets

His name unless it’s written down,

That’s why he’s known throughout the town

As “he who can’t remember what

It is which he has clean forgot.”

But let’s return to what occurred

When school was filled with dogs and herds

Of cows, for Fred the farmer’s son

called them his pets, yes every one

Was “Daisy” this or “Mooey” that.

He wouldn’t settle for a cat,

But plenty did and brought them all

To leave their mess around the school;

For no-one thought of litter trays.

The horrid smell lingered for days.

And as for all those vicious dogs,

Tarantulas and poison frogs,

They didn’t seem like pets at all

To those who went to hospital

With severed limbs or spider bites;

It’s lucky they survived the night

But worst of all my tiger, “John”

Took just one bite and she was gone.

A nasty end for Miss Mendelle.

Oh what a silly show and tell.

 

 

Paul Hughes 2008

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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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

 

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

 

 

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

Artificial Indolence April 8, 2008

My mum is such a silly moo

she always tells me what to do

I get so bored of having chores

like cleaning rooms and sweeping floors

or making beds and brushing stairs

these are the jobs I just can’t bear

and so, one day, I took some bolts

tin cans and screws, a thousand volts

electric wires and circuitry

I made a metal boy like me

a robot who would do the work

I’d always done my best to shirk

he clunked and clinked and clanked a bit

but housework - he was good at it

my bed was made, my room was clean

he really was a great machine

I slept in late and watched TV

whilst he cooked breakfast, lunch and tea

and in return for all his toil

I fed him high-grade engine oil

But one day I returned from school

to find he’d done no work at all

he’d wasted the entire day

in chatting with the microwave

(whose real name, I’m told, is “Dave”)

in playing Wii with “Tom” TV

and playing cards or climbing trees

I shouted: “get upstairs to bed

I’ll do it all myself instead!”

but then I froze, for I’d become

precisely like my poor old mum!

 

the moral of this verse is plain:

I’ll scrap this ‘bot and try again

 

Paul Hughes 2008