There was a little girl,
Who had a little curl
She also dressed in the height of fashion
In fact they say this was her passion.
Every morning she would pose
By the mirror in her brand new clothes
Tossing her tresses in the air
Preening herself without a care.
She would skip down to the breakfast table
To eat an egg if she was able.
Her vanity meant she hardly ate
“They cause a wrinkle!” she would berate
Her mother worried about this girl
Who was so cute with her little curl
But fretted that she would become
No wider than her mother’s thumb.
Hide and Seek
Grandpa and I were hiding
From my little brother Jim,
We were playing hide and seek,
Running away from him.
We ran around the corner,
As he counted up to ten,
Found a place behind the fence,
Crouched and waited then,
Nothing seemed to happen,
So we both stood up to see,
Looking at us through the fence,
Was Jim full of glee.
Why I Hate Beetroot
Beetroot’s colour hurts my eyes
That garish red I just despise
When forced to breach my reluctant lips
My stomach churns and burps and dips
It slithers and slides in a manner most foul
My body shudders – it reaches my bowel
A vegetable most surely cursed-
I have to stop, I fear the worst.
They think that we’re too old
To dance or play or run
That we only moan and grumble
Or daydream in the sun
But us oldies have a secret
A thing that we don’t tell
The little child inside us
Is still alive and well
And when we get the chance
Away from prying eyes
We sneak away unnoticed
To find wings we can use to fly
So if your scooter’s muddy
Or your bike is is no longer nearby
Look around for a nearby oldie
With stardust in their eyes.
What’s this old gal up to?
I think she stole her grandchild’s scooter.
She’s not wearing a helmet either!
Please send in your poem to
Mrs McDilly’s Bed
Mrs McDilly looked under her bed
And discovered some terrible things.
A very old potty,
A dead mouse that was spotty,
And a box that was full of brass rings.
Mrs McDilly crawled under her bed
And there, in the big swirls of dust,
She had more adventures
And located her dentures
Hiding under an old piece of crust.
Che sara sara.
When I was young – from the age of three,
People asked what would I be.
What did they mean what would I be?
Was I not already me?
HEROES AND VILLAINS
When I reach the end of an enjoyable story
It’s like saying goodbye to a cherished old friend
The tapestry woven of the hero and villain
Has me enthralled right to the end
An accomplished author will draw you right in
So you follow the exploits with fast beating heart
As you turn the pages you wonder anew
Will the villain become the hero,
Or will he remain true to the part
You know in your heart of hearts
That the hero will vanquish his foe
But for a few heart stopping moments
It isn’t always so
In these days of global unrest
It helps to escape for a while
It doesn’t help to always hear
Doom and gloom on the breakfast file
Anton van Leeuwenhoek (1632-1723)
A Dutchman named Anton
was someone you’d count on
to tell you precisely
the things he could see.
A microscope maker
and shopkeeping draper
discovering life that’s
as small as can be.
He magnified beasts that
he scraped from his teeth
and watched as they swam
like some creatures in seas.
Learning there’s animals
formed from just single-cells.
Seeing that even a
flea can have fleas!
in our interior.
Sending this news
across the sea.
Anton astounded us.
What he had found in us
started the science