We are Poets!

 Poems for Children by Helên Thomas

 

Rhyming riddles on pushes and pulls

 All aboard and off we go,

Push me through the slush and snow,

Then pull me up an icy hill,

Race back down, it’s such a thrill.

Take care you don’t slide into that hedge!

Of course you’ve guessed it.

  

I’m a sledge.

 

 I’ll carry your things if you push me around,

In Kwiksave or Tesco, it costs you one pound.

Wheel me around; I will carry your shopping,

Past baked beans and tea bags, starting and stopping,

Fill me with cabbages, crisps and ice lollies.

Can you guess what I am?

 

A supermarket trolley!

 

I’m the thing that you must pull

If you have a bath that’s full,

Sometimes I hang on a silvery chain,

I stop the water going down the drain.

Push me into place, nice and snug.

Guess what I am?

 

I’m a bath plug.

 

When all the world was made of sugar

Long, long ago,

Before the time we call ‘primordial’

The world was made of sugar,

And the sea was lime cordial.

The fish were made of jelly,

But they didn’t have a sting,

They were sweet and filled your belly,

With a wobble and a zing.

All the waterfalls were flowing,

With cool fizzy orangeade:

Carrot coloured soda pop,

Dropping a cascade,

Of sparkly, skipping, bubbles,

Spilling down into a lake

Of sherbet, where the lily pads

Were made of jaffa cakes,

Floating on the surface,

Feeding families of frogs,

Watched by friendly crocodiles

Eating chocolate logs.

 

 Everybody every where stomp your feet!

Everybody every where stomp your feet,

Wave your hands in the air if you like sweets,

Flap your wings like a bird that goes tweet tweet,

Everybody everywhere stomp your feet!

 

Everybody everywhere bang a drum,

Everybody everywhere chew some gum,

Everybody everywhere wave to mum,

Everybody everywhere rub your tum.

 

Everybody every where stomp your feet,

Wave your hands in the air if you like sweets,

Flap your wings like a bird that goes tweet tweet,

Everybody everywhere stomp your feet!

 

Everybody everywhere make your arms fold,

Everybody everywhere pretend you're cold,

Everybody everywhere be big and bold,

Everybody everywhere do as you’re told.

 

Everybody every where stomp your feet,

Wave your hands in the air if you like sweets,

Flap your wings like a bird that goes tweet tweet,

Everybody everywhere stomp your feet!

 

Everybody everywhere make eye brows,

Every body everywhere show me how,

Everybody everywhere moo like a cow,

Everybody everywhere take a bow.

 

Everybody every where stomp your feet,

Wave your hands in the air if you like sweets,

Flap your wings like a bird that goes tweet tweet,

Everybody everywhere stomp your feet.

 

Everybody everywhere stomp your feet.

 

Memory Beach

At weekends and holidays, in all sorts of weather,

With swimsuits and wellies we go to the beach;

With buckets of upside-down sand we build castles,

And dig moats around them that fill up with sea.

 

We gather dry starfish as brittle as biscuits;

Driftwood sandpapered and washed by the waves;

Pebbles, glass smooth, shaped by years in the ocean;

We sift through the flotsam for shells in shy coves.

              

We ponder the rock pools and wonder of mermaids;

Tell tall tales of jellyfish stings and jump clear;

Dare to touch seaweed and dead crabs, so stinky,

Jabbing and jousting a snapped craggy claw.

 

As pirates swashbuckling, we plunder dune islands,

Tumbling down gullies of hot windblown sand.

Playing cool cowboys and super red Indians,

We slay mutant monsters until the day’s end.

 

Back by the bay, the tide’s turning, waves breaking,

Invading the shoreline, the swell of the sea 

Floods moats; our fortress defences fall crumbling,

Collapsing sandcastles that sweep clean away.

 

Scabby Knees

Scabby knees! Scabby knees!

Can I pick them, can I please?

They’re so itchy, brown and scratchy,

Crusty, flaky and quite nasty,

Like burnt pastry on a pasty,

If I pick them Mum might catch me.

 

Scabby knees! Scabby knees!

Can I pick them, can I please?

Can I scratch them, can I pick them?

Can I pull bits off and flick them?

 

Scabby knees! Scabby knees!

I got them falling from the trees,

Onto the hard ground with a thud,

Playing games of Robin Hood.

My knees would be scab free they would,

If I’d fallen in the mud!

 

Scabby knees! Scabby knees!

Can I pick them, can I please?

Can I scratch them, can I pick them?

Can I pull bits off and flick them?

 

Scabby knees! Scabby knees!

Look like they’ve got a bad disease,

Crispy coated with dried blood,

Underneath there’s gunky crud,

I would ban them if I could,

Scabby knees are just no good.

 

Scabby knees! Scabby knees!

Can I pick them, can I please?

Can I scratch them, can I pick them?

Can I pull bits off and flick them?

 

 Copyright Helên Thomas 2004