Bippity bip bop bip bop bap –

Scootin’ along to a new jazz scat.

Bippity bop bip bop bip bop,

No more walkin’ to the shop.

Hippity hop hip hip hooray!

I got a scooter for my birthday…

Yeah.

The Story of Donald McDuddle

Have you heard of Donald McDuddle

Who stepped into a deep puddle?

His new shoes — bad luck! —

Were lost in the muck,

So Donald grew feet like a duck!

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.

Rhonda Cotsell 

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?