Last night, the full moon
hung like a papery lamp
over my quiet road.
I savoured the chilly sky –
the moon tagging my shadow.
(first published in The Unidentified Flying Omelette, ed. Andrew Fusek Peters, Hodder & Stoughton)
Wheels Song
I don’t know why I’ve got feet
when I could have had wheels,
for wheels go so much faster.
Imagine me flying down our street
not in my trainers or boots
but on wheels, with my ghetto-blaster.
Imagine people turning to stare
and all telling me to slow down
before I caused a disaster.
Imagine me gliding off into space
with a quick little nod to the Moon,
then simply going straight past her. . .
(Published in Through a Window, Longman, 1995)
Mal Kennington Malone
wasn’t good at games.
His classmates always laughed
and called him names:
dumb-chum, drophead,
you silly billy shark –
biggest flapfingers
in Bladestone Park.
I think I’ll try running –
I know I’m not bad.
I could really show ’em,
he told his Dad.
He trained and trained
around an old dirt track;
he trained every day,
ran to school and back.
He trained and trained
and ran like a hare,
even trained when it rained,
racing everywhere.
When sportsday came,
he was first off the mark,
became the fastest winner
in Bladestone Park.
We’re studying the moon –
drawing it, remembering all the moons
we’ve ever seen.
Just now, through the window,
there’s a daylight-moon looking fragile,
egg-shell soft, pale white.
I’ve no plans to go up there
whizzing through the blue,
landing on the pearly moon.
But I can’t stop thinking
about a blood-orange full moon
I saw inching up
into the summery sky.
It moved so slowly,
became a golden balloon
that never hurried.
I wanted to follow it,
catch it. But I never did.
(Published in Read Me, (Macmillan, 2009, ed. Gaby Morgan)
All traffic jams jump questions.
No one can lose a dog in a hurry.
Therefore every day has a shape.
All fires have a starting-point.
There is only one sky.
Therefore clouds like to move a lot.
All squares have four corners.
Fish rarely swim in circles.
Therefore the ocean may look flat.
Katherine said: Silly Shifts is a response to randomness – good old fun.
Bluster . . .
(after Charles Causley)
I am the song that lifts the sky
I am the earth that flames the fire
I am the cloud that calls the flood
I am the stream that draws the sun
I am the tide that drinks the moon
I am the air that sings the leaf
I am the bird that stirs the branch
I am the tale that flies the word
I am the note that spreads the song
Katherine said: Charles Causley, the Cornish poet, was a wonderful children’s poet. His poem (that inspired my poem) is full of music.
Percy Possum
swings his brush-tail,
leaps from roof to roof
on a goodnight-trail.
He hunts for insects,
a midnight feast –
if he finds some eggs,
he’ll really be pleased.
The night is quiet,
the stars are dim.
He wishes they’d shine
a bit brighter for him.
