Cautiously, creeping down the stairs,
carefully avoiding the creaks,
we stop
and take each other’s hand.
At the bottom we tiptoe,
trembling,
towards the door.
Almost afraid to breathe
we slowly, gently, push it open.
Beneath the twinkling lights
sit the gifts.
‘He’s been,’ we whisper
‘He’s been.’
Published 2014 by Celapene Press, Short and Twisted and Thynks Publications Bards at Blidworth and Beyond Anthology
A scorpion christened Cruella, left home to search for a fella.
She sifted through sand and she searched under slate.
She peered under pebbles to look for a mate.
She reached under rocks and she gazed at the ground
but a masculine mini beast couldn’t be found.
Cruella, poor creature, was filled with despair.
There had to be someone who loved her out there.
But wait! She heard rustling and spotted the cause.
From a burrow appeared some spectacular claws.
They belonged to a sumptuous scorpion male.
What glorious eyes, and that sting in his tail!
It was love at first sight for Cruella and friend,
Which is how satisfactory quests all should end.
A clown with a cauliflower ear
Decided that he would appear
In a colander hat
With a cute climbing cat.
But the cat said
‘Not likely my dear.’
At Mr Pickle’s pet shop the choice is quite extensive.
It’s mystical and magical and not at all expensive.
Meet hairy dogs and scary dogs and one that yawns and yawns.
And playing in a nearby cage meet baby unicorns.
Meet fluffy cats and scruffy cats and one that’s always smiling.
Descended from a Cheshire cat, she really is beguiling.
At Mr Pickle’s pet shop the choice is quite extensive.
It’s wacky, weird and wonderful and not at all expensive.
Sitting in a large top hat, magicians’ rabbits wait.
One elegant white rabbit keeps insisting that he’s late.
Meet brown rats, black rats and some you can’t approach.
One claims a distant relative pulled Cinderella’s coach.
At Mr Pickle’s pet shop the choice is quite extensive.
It’s awesome and amazing and it’s not at all expensive.
Meet scowling owls and sleeping owls perched in a plastic tree.
There’s one that winks at pussy cats. He’d like to go to sea.
Meet blind mice, Miami mice and mice who have no tails.
They run and squeak, play hide and seek and terrify the quails.
At Mr Pickle’s pet shop the choice is quite extensive.
It’s curious, chaotic and it’s not at all expensive.
Meet rare, red romping dragons. No one’s quite sure of their ages.
But Mr Pickle says they MUST be kept in fireproof cages.
Meet fruit bats, cute bats, a vampire bat called Guzzle.
And just in case he misbehaves, he has to wear a muzzle.
At Mr Pickle’s pet shop the choice is quite extensive.
It’s bold, bizarre and beautiful and not at all expensive.
Meet frogs who change to princes if they receive a kiss.
Meet friendly bugs who give you hugs and snakes who simply hiss.
If you deserve a special pet to tell your troubles to,
Please visit Mr Pickle’s shop and tell him I sent you.
At Mr Pickle’s pet shop the choice is quite extensive.
It’s fabulous and fanciful and not at all expensive.
A basin of broccoli served up for tea
Is not what a young buccaneer wants to see.
His diet should be balanced when pillaging ships,
But he’d much prefer ice cream and lots of hot chips.
Humungous Fungus is among us
And it’s rather smelly.
It slowly creeps between your toes
Then right up to your belly.
It can be blue but when it’s pink
It gives off such an awful stink.
Sometimes it floats down in the breeze
And leaves great blobs on both your knees.
When it sparkles like a fairy
Then you must be very wary.
If it waves its magic wand
You’ll smell like slime from next door’s pond.
Beware if Fungus goes to school
It doesn’t care who looks a fool.
Your teacher might get quite a shock
If Fungus hides inside his sock.
If poor Grandma while she’s sitting
Concentrating on her knitting
Notices a sudden pull
It’s Fungus climbing up her wool.
Even Mum must be quite careful
She might cop a blobby hair full
If she happens to be shopping
Right where Fungus slime is dropping.
Family pets should run and hide
‘Cos Fungus loves to slip and slide
Into kennels, baskets, cages
Sending critters into rages.
But Fungus loathes a water spray
So get yourself one right away
And squirt that fiend with all your might
You’ll be a hero overnight.
In the land of Catazmia felines abound.
Cats of all colours,
Some skinny, some round.
Some are quite fancy spectacular breeds.
Some used to be Ships’ Cats performing brave deeds.
Some once lived with witches (Familiars by name).
And some, well, they’re ferals – but we cannot blame
Them, it isn’t their fault, they are misunderstood.
As I dream by the window I wish that I could,
Visit Catazmia, just for a day.
To experience fantasy, magic and play.
Pat Simmons
A pearly cluster of
tiny jewels,
part buried,
unhurried,
waiting
for your armour
to form.
Be cautious tiny spirals,
your eyes on stalks.
Stay in the low light
and be nervous of the night.
Listen for the ripple of rats
who may see your silver trail
and lick their lips.
Stay safe in the leaf litter
little ones,
small saviours of our ecosystems.
Your ancestors shared their world
with dinosaurs.
Please show us how to share.
Pat says: I’m fascinated by snails and sad to discover that more species of snail have become extinct in recent years than any other animal.
This is where we used to walk
On the beach
I collect driftwood
All different shapes and sizes
Jimmy would fetch the small pieces
I smash them against the rock
I pick up some pumice stone
It’s light and scrunchy, like a macaroon
Jimmy was so heavy
Especially when he got wet
I scrunch the pumice stone
It crumbles to dust
I see a rat
It scuttles behind a rock, sinister and sneaky
Jimmy chased rats and barked at them
I touch and tickle the sand with my toes
There are millions of grains – too many to count
Jimmy liked to dig in the sand
I sort some shells
No-one’s living in them now
They’re empty and quiet
Like my place
Coloured glass glitters
Smoothed by the sea water
Mum calls it treasure
She says Jimmy was a treasure
Near the waves seaweed settles
Someone told me you can eat it
Jimmy used to chew it and spit it out
That made me laugh
I discover a dead seagull
Was it old when it died?
I bet Jimmy would roll on it
And come home smelly
A plastic bag floats in front of me
It shouldn’t be here
But I wish Jimmy was
I watch an old man and his dog
Looking out at the blueness
His dog barks at the seagulls
Just like Jimmy
I grin, remembering.
I think I spy sea monsters hiding in the waves
But I am alone.
Or am I?
I’m sure Jimmy’s watching me.
Pat Simmons
In my head
Words are running around
Pushing and shoving
Trying to get out
Use me first
No, use me first.
That’s
Enough
I
Say
Please
Form
A
Nice
Orderly
Queue
Thank
You
Very
Much
Pat Simmons
