I warned you what would happen
If you swallowed all those pips,
And now you’ve sprouted arm leaves
And those branches from your hips.

I suppose we should be grateful
That it wasn’t bubble gum,
Or when ever you bent over
You’d blow bubbles out your bum.



Image ©Sam Zuppardi 2012
Poem ©Kathryn Evans 2012

“Sweet Isabel, it’s time to eat.
Come sit upon your royal seat.
The chef has made a tasty treat.”

The princess rushed to take her place,
Then saw the food and pulled a face.
“That’s gross!” she said, to her disgrace.

“But Isabel, it’s Princess Stew.
Try it, please. It’s good for you--
Nutritious and delicious, too!”

“It’s pig pen slop. It looks a fright!
You won’t get me to eat a bite.
Remove this rubbish from my sight!”

"Now Isabel, we must insist,
You eat your meal and don’t resist.
When it’s gone, you’ll be dismissed.”

She wouldn’t do as she was told.
She sat and watched her stew grow cold. 
She sat for days as it grew mould. 

Her parents weren’t completely mean,
Each day they scraped off all the green.
“Now tell us when your plate is clean.”

Not wanting to admit defeat, 
She gave it to her dog to eat.
He gulped it like it was a treat!

“Look at you! It must be true!
Stop right now! I want some too!
It tastes like fudge. Whoever knew?”

The princess ate and ate and ate,
And said, “This stew is really great!
May I have another plate?”

Her parents beamed, “See, Isabel.
You never know, you just can’t tell,
If food tastes good by look or smell.”

“You’re right,” she said. “Here’s what I’ll do:
I won’t say ‘gross’ or ‘blah’ or ‘poo,’ 
Or make a face at Princess Stew, 
…until my dog has tried it too!”

Image ©2012 Sam Zuppardi 
Poem ©2012 Rebecca Colby

A fuzzy caterpillar
stopped to have a chat,
with an ancient wizard
in a big magic hat.

The wizard bent down
to better hear his mate,
but when he went to stand up
his legs would not go straight.

Stories say he's still there
squatting on the rocks,
wishing he had asked his friend
to stand upon a box.



Image ©2012 Sam Zuppardi 
Poem ©2012 Meagan Munroe

Syllabub,
oysters,
yellow jelly,
yuck!
Quail’s eggs,
caviar,
royal food
sucks!

Royal food, royal food, 
puts me in an awful mood.
It’s all too posh, this sickly nosh,
it’s just a plate of gourmet tosh.
I really don’t mean to be rude,
but please give me some PROPER food!

Just look at this! A frightful dish
of seaweed, snails and Snapper fish.
I’d rather chew a sausage or two,
a pile of pasta, bowls of stew,
and don’t forget my egg and chips,
and five or six kebabs on sticks,

but all I get is ..

Syllabub,
oysters,
yellow jelly,
yuck!
Quail’s eggs,
caviar,
royal food
sucks!

This royal menu I decline,
I won’t sit on my throne and whine,
to eat this tripe I will refuse,
I’ll chuck it in the palace loos!
and then I’ll drop my sparkly crown,
and ride the bus down into town ...

... I’ll feast on jellied eels and pies,
with gravy, beans and chunky fries,
hunky hot dogs filled with mustard,
bowls of sponge with steaming custard,
all washed down with thick milkshake ..
My dream ends. Now I am awake,

and it’s 

Syllabub,
oysters,
yellow jelly,
yuck!
Quail’s eggs,
caviar,
royal food
sucks!


Image ©2012 Sam Zuppardi 
Poem ©2012 Lesley Moss

Would you fly off a cliff if I let you jump first
With a palm leaf strapped to each arm?

But I’d flop and I’d  flap,
Before going slap
Causing birds to fly up in alarm.

Would you juggle with fire if I said you’d look cool
With the flames flying over your head?

But I’d quickly ignite
And light up the night
Leaving scorch marks wherever I tread

Would you go to the circus and wrestle with lions
If I hand you the whip and the chair?

BUT they’d roar and they’d rage
With me centre stage
And pull out great clumps of my hair.

Would you jump on the back of a charging white rhino
‘Cos I said it’s a great thing to do?

BUT I’d soon be unseated,
Trampled, defeated,
And left in rhinoceros poo.

Would you go head to head with a Japanese sumo
If I say he insulted your mum?

BUT  I’d struggle and fight,
With all of my might
Then get stuck in crack of his bum.

Would YOU just for a moment shut up your great trap
And contain these preposterous ideas?

Well I would if I could,
But it’d do you no good,
‘Cos they’d just start to leak out my ears.

Image ©2012 Sam Zuppardi 
Poem ©2012 George Kirk

When I am Queen,
I’m making a rule,
That no-one shall eat stringy beans.
And doctors will say,
Ice-cream’s a health food,
And shut up about stupid greens!

Whenever it snows, 
All work will be banned,
So kids can go sledging outside.
And I will make sure,
Long walks are extinct,
By giving out scooters to ride.

It won’t be allowed
For grown-ups to ask,
‘Has all of your homework been done?’
And teachers will get,
Detention from me,
If their lessons aren't enough fun.

I shall do away, 
With uncomfy thrones,
We’ll have royal hot tubs instead.
The long palace halls,
I’ll replace with flumes,
And slide to court straight out of bed.

But biggest of laws,
Which I shall enforce,
(And punish those who disagree)
Is no child shall be, 
Made to clean their plate,
Of bad-smelling-bleugh-broccoli. 


Image ©2012 Sam Zuppardi 
Poem ©2012 Laura Lou Stewart

You can’t.
I can.
You can’t!
I can!
You’ll fall and end up
smooshed like spam!
Oh no I won’t.
 I have a plan.
Look, you can’t fly.
Those aren’t real wings,
They’re just some frondy
Branchlike things.
I know. They’re just there
for the look.
I thought I’d do it
by the book,
And have some wings
At least for show.
Great you’ve got wings,
Now can we go?
This flying thing is so absurd.
You’re just a kid,
You’re not a bird!
Yes I’m a kid
But I can fly.
I don’t know how.
I don’t know why.
I just know that
I have to t
                  r
                      y...
Oh, I can’t look.
Open your eyes!
You’re  flying?! Wow,
That’s a surprise.
Nah I knew
I’d fly you see.
But there is one thing
That’s bugging me.
I might need you
To lend a hand?
I’m really not sure
How to land.

Image ©2012 Sam Zuppardi 
Poem ©2012 Mo O'Hara

Since the day that I was born. I’ve been a sweet princess.
But why can’t I wear baggy clothes and not this stupid dress?
And why must I eat fancy food on fancy royal trips?
I don’t want stuff I can’t pronounce, I just want chips!

Pierre my French chef’s favourite dish is slimy,“Snail Surprise.”
The French surprises that I need are greasy yellow fries. 
“But that's not really princess food. N'est pas?” he always quips.
I don’t want snails upon my plate, I just want chips!

Last night my parents entertained a foreign King and Queen,
For which I pulled the sweetest face the world had ever seen,
Until I ate Gazpacho soup with silly little sips,
I don’t want soup served freezing cold, I just want chips!

All I ever want to do is stuff my freckly face,
Instead of counting calories in Slow Grilled Lemon Plaice.
With every single bite I take, my bad mood drops and dips,
I don’t want fish served on its own, I just want chips!
 
I must go to a chippie where real people stop and eat,
Pile on the salt and vinegar, add ketchup for a treat.
I’d pick my little chip fork up and start to lick my lips,
I don’t want dreams that won’t come true. I just want chips!

What is this paper bundle that is stained in yellow grease?
My butler’s smuggled golden treasure past the food police.
I won’t care when I’m older and have wibbly wobbly hips,
I’ve got the food that I desire, I’m eating chips!
 
And they’re lovely!

Poem ©2012 Alex Craggs
Image ©2012 Sam Zuppardi