| Why should a tiger be orange? Why should the sky be blue? Why should the grass be pastel green? Is there a rule? For who? |  |
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 Image: Amanda Hall The morning that Mum called a taxi,
she made a humongous mistake. For instead of a black shiny smart London cab, a tiger turned up at our gate. Mum was too busy to notice that the taxi was covered in stripes. When we climbed on board, it raced and it roared down the road with the buses and bikes. When the tiger turned right at the station, the town clock was just striking noon. The tiger's tail flicked as the meter tick-ticked then it vroom-vroomed right over The Moon. The road seemed to vanish beneath us, the scenery turned to a blur. The fare kept on rising, which wasn’t surprising for a taxi all covered in fur. We screeched to a halt in The Jungle, there were parrots and monkeys and all. 'Drive back up to town,' Mum snapped with a frown, 'This is a WILD shopping mall.' The tiger did NOT take this kindly. ‘That will cost you an arm and a leg!’ So we made no more fuss but just flagged down a bus, and chugged home on four wheels instead. Words © Lesley Moss 2014 Illustration © Amanda Hall This morning I woke to a sunrise so bright, Mum told me the sky painters came in the night. She said while we slept they were loading their brushes, With pigments as pink as a thousand girls’ blushes, And sweeping across the horizon they made, The world a huge canvas in this cheery shade. I looked at the colours high over the trees, I wondered, just what kind of painters are these? They must have long arms for strokes so big and wide, Or have some fantastic winged creatures to ride? With a smile she said, seeing these artists is rare, But often there are clues that they've been up there. A smudged circle round the medallion sun, A criss-cross of lines that no plane could have done. Or when there’s a cloud, she said, shaped like a heart- All might be original works of sky art. That’s nice mum, I said, It’s a pretty thought but… Don’t tell anyone else or they’ll think you’re a nut.  Mind Map I went for a walk, Inside my own brain, A short little trot, Down my own neural lanes. There were some surprises, I will not deny, I was taken aback, By the pig in peach pie, By the pink stumpy bushes And trees that could flower, With five different colours In each passing hour. A tiger surprised me, Who ever could guess, That his striped orange fur, Was long pants and a vest? But mostly what shocked me, What made me feel crackers, Was that driving my brain Were four monkey hijackers.  There's a tiger in the jungle, I'd better take care. There's a tiger in the jungle, I've seen him in there. There's a tiger in the jungle, Who wants to eat me up. There's a tiger in the jungle, That's out of luck! 
I know a chimpanzee who plays the violin, the tuba, the accordion, the flute and mandolin. He plays the clarinet and he plays the saxophone, the drums and the cello and the slide trombone. But he won’t be happy ‘til he masters the bassoon, So he’s taking lessons soon from his cousin—a baboon.  |
KIDS!
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