No Peas, Please

Please, please Mum

I beg you, please.

Oh, please say you

won’t give me peas.

I’ll even eat a brussel sprout.

I swear I won’t spit any out.

And mushrooms too,

I’ll manage those

If I shut my eyes

and block my nose.

I won’t complain with all of these.

Just pile on heaps of grated cheese

and I’ll eat anything

But PLEASE

No peas!

Food art

This mashed potato sculpture

is a splendid work of art,

the best I’ve ever seen, I’d have to say

and every slice of carrot,

carved to look just like a heart,

you’ve set out in a most creative way.

The broccoli looks pretty

cut in perfect little flowers.

I love the way the peas spell out my name

and I know that you’ve been working

on this masterpiece for hours,

but I’m sorry, every night I feel the same.

It doesn’t really matter

what you do to all this food,

what handiwork you serve me up for tea.

I may seem quite ungrateful

and perhaps a little rude,

but, they still all taste like vegetables to me!

Leaving home

I think I’ll leave home

‘cause just lately I’ve found

that with all that I do

I am never around.

There’s Drama on Mondays

from six until eight

and it’s not long to bed

when I get home so late.

On Tuesdays there’s tennis,

an hour long session

and Wednesdays are saved

for the Yamaha lesson.

Evenings on Thursdays

are always the same.

I train with my team

for the next footy game.

On Fridays it’s swimming,

I’m off to the pool

and for hours in between

I’m just sitting at school.

So, I’m hardly at home,

no, I’m never about.

I may as well pack up my things…

and move out!

First published in “Giggles and Niggles” (Haddington Press, 2007)

Butterfingers

I catch the bus,

I catch the train.

At times I even catch a plane.

I catch a cold,

I catch the flu.

I catch what normal people do.

So, why, I ask you,

one and all –

why can’t I catch a stupid ball?

Food art

This mashed potato sculpture

is a splendid work of art,

the best I’ve ever seen, I’d have to say

and every slice of carrot,

carved to look just like a heart,

you’ve set out in a most creative way.

The broccoli looks pretty

cut in perfect little flowers.

I love the way the peas spell out my name

and I know that you’ve been working

on this masterpiece for hours,

but I’m sorry, every night I feel the same.

It doesn’t really matter

what you do to all this food,

what handiwork you serve me up for tea.

I may seem quite ungrateful

and perhaps a little rude,

but, they still all taste like vegetables to me!

Jenny Erlanger 

Dreams

I wish my warm and cosy dreams

would stay inside my head

Instead of floating off for good

when I get out of bed.

I’d like to put them in a box,

all those I want to keep,

then choose the one I want at night

before I go to sleep.

Jenny Erlanger

Grandpa’s farm

My Grandpa rang this morning.

He’s just bought a farm, he said

and so I’ve started dreaming

of the fun that lies ahead.

I see myself with bottles

helping feed the baby lambs,

I’m saddling up the ponies,

catching yabbies in the dams.

I glimpse a pretty orchard

filled with trees for me to climb –

the apples smell delicious

so it must be picking time.

I hear a rooster crowing

as it struts amongst the chooks

near a cosy little cottage

like the ones in picture books…

But now the vision’s fading

thanks to what I’ve just been told.

My dreams of country living

I may have to put on hold.

I won’t be catching yabbies,

won’t be riding through the scrub.

My Grandpa’s little farm is…

just some worms inside a tub!

Jenny Erlanger 

A wonderful contraption,

it’s the very best of toys,

a funfair installation

but without the added noise.

I grab the bar above me

and I launch straight off the chair.

I sway my legs a little

till I’m whizzing through the air,

I’m gripping really tightly

as I whirl above the ground.

I swing in giant circles,

spinning round and round and round.

I’d love to play for longer

but it’s time to end the fun.

My carousel is needed

now the load of washing’s done.

 At last we’re going to get a dog,

a loving  family pet

but, sadly, we all disagree

on just which dog to get.

Mum who loves her garden beds,

who weeds in them for hours

demands a breed that’s guaranteed

to stay away from flowers.

Liz would like a Pekinese

to put up on her lap

but Mum believes that dogs like these

will only bite and yap.

Dad is sure a boxer dog

would guard the house from robbers

but Liz and I would rather die

than have a dog that slobbers

And I would like a Doberman

but Liz says they’re too scary.

She’s still saying Please, a Pekinese

but I say they’re too hairy.

The more we talk, the more I think

we’ll never get this pet.

The dog we need must be a breed

that hasn’t surfaced yet.