Category: Heather Dickinson

Lucinda Belinda and Harriet Hog by Kathryn Evans

3/3/2015

Lucinda Belinda and Harriet Hog,
Were two foolish friends on a walk in the fog.
Lucinda Belinda and Harriet Hog,
Took their walk in the wood with a poorly trained dog.
Lucinda Belinda and Harriet Hog,
While walking that dog through the wood in the fog,
Failed to observe several signs for a bog.
Lucinda Belinda and Harriet Hog,
Lost control of the dog who took off at a jog.
Lucinda Belinda and Harriet Hog,
While chasing their poorly trained dog through the bog,
Were observed by an odd looking toothy mouthed frog,
That lay still in the sog, looking just like a log.
What disaster lurked there in that bog in the fog,
For Lucinda Belinda and Harriet Hog?!
They lurched through the sog, calling out for the dog,
All the while being watched by that froggy-ish log,
But then they got stuck in that foul smelling bog
And down they were sucked, right into the sog.
Poor Lucinda Belinda and Harriet Hog,
They should never have ventured about in the fog,
They should have held onto that poorly trained dog,
And properly read all those signs for the bog.
And if only they’d known that a toothy mouthed frog
That lies fairly still and looks just like a log,
And turns with a gleam of its wide toothy smile,
Is more likely to be…

A bog crocodile.

Poem © 2015 Kathryn Evans
Image © 2015 Heather Dickinson

A dog in the fog poem from the funeverse

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The Land of Mushy Fluff by Kathryn Evans

4/2/2015

9 Comments

I try to pay attention,
When we’re learning something tough,
But my brain just goes all dreamy,
Like it’s made of mushy fluff.

I stare out of the window,
And I think of what it’s like,
To be a bird or rabbit,
Or a bumble bee in flight.

Across our chalky hopscotch,
And out of the school gate,
I watch the wind a-blowing,
And a leafy army skate.

My mind takes off behind them,
Blown swift along the lane,
It cartwheels down the pavement,
Dancing lightly over drains.

It tumbles down the hedge line,
Then falls into a hole,
And my mind is in a burrow
With a very learned mole.

He teaches me addition,
And some easy ways to times.
We even do division,
And some super, simple, rhymes.

It’s strange to be so leafy,
When once I was a child,
But the oddest of things happen,
When you let your mind run wild.

I try to pay attention,
When we’re learning something tough,
But my mind will go off wondering
To that land of mushy fluff.

9 Comments

The Longer Conga by George Kirk

31/10/2014

1 Comment

Now Daisy danced a conga
But it all went quite wronga.
It’s not much fun
With only one.

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The Witch's Cats by Mo O'Hara

27/10/2014

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The witch's cat, the one that's black,
slinked and slunk around the vat.
She glided sleekly on the broom
in loop de loops around the room.

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RoboNanny by Laura Louise Stewart

24/10/2014

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Mum flipped one day and shouted
That she’d had about enough.
She’s sick of changing nappies and of picking up our stuff.

She went online and ordered,
From a space-age superstore,
A high-tech Robo-Nanny, for delivery at four!

It came inside a brown box,
That said ‘Poppins 6.5’.
Mum took it out and charged it, and our nanny came alive!

But then we heard it buzzing,
On its tummy flashed a light,
And something told us then our Poppins wasn’t programmed right.

Mum told it, “Here’s my four kids,
“And you’ll help me round the home….”
Instead, Miss Poppins started popping kids out of her own!

Not just one robot baby,
No, twelve tot-sized bots had come,
Before Mum found an off-switch hidden on the robot’s bum.

Now besides us kids there's
Mini-bots to feed and clean
Mum’s hired two more nannies (this time human, not machine).

We never have enough plugs,
Our electric bills are mad...
I bet Mum thinks our old mess wasn't really all that bad!

Poem © 2014 Laura Louise Stewart
Illustration © Heather Dickinson

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Into the Cauldron by Katherine Lynas

20/10/2014

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Into the cauldron, bits of bat,
I'll brew me up a witch’s cat.

No lazy barking dog for me,
A cat will fill this witch with glee!
A cat that catches tasty frogs,
That hop and splash around in bogs.

Into the cauldron little gnat,
I'll brew me up a witch’s cat.

On my broomstick, he will lie,
As we go flying through the sky.
Holding tight with sharpened claws,
He'll snap at insects with his jaws

Into the cauldron, tail of rat,
I'll brew me up a witch’s cat.

We'll stay up late into the night,
Casting spells that cause a fright.
And when you've tired of all of that,
You can sleep in my old hat.

In the cauldron, something's funny,
Should my potion be this runny?

Forgot to add a mongoose hair,
Thick green smoke now fills the air.
It’s a cat-astrophic flop,
I’ve created gooey slop!

Poem © 2014 Katherine Lynas
Illustration © Heather Dickinson

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The Unexpected Fate Of Parker MacBarker, Who Knew Best - by Lesley Moss

17/10/2014

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Image: Heather Dickinson (adapted from original colour illustration)

Parker MacBarker, Private Eye
And his sidekick, Smithson Yap,
Went out on a case one dark, dark night,
Trailing a bony old chap.

Creaky jaw and a rattling walk:
Bones was quite easy to track.
I know best, growled MacBarker, I'll lead.
Yap, you just stay at the back.

With spy camera ready to shoot,
Smithson Yap, in cool tartan cap,
Tiptoed behind, as soft as can be,
Tail wagging, all ready to snap.

Bones led them a merry old dance,
To a scrap yard where large dumpsters loomed:
MacBarker went in with a snarl and a grin -
Stop! barked Yap, lest ye be doomed!

But MacBarker ALWAYS knew best:
That was indisputable fact.
Smithson Yap just adjusted his cap,
And stayed back so he wouldn’t be sacked.

A skeleton leapt from a bin:
Twas Bones! – and frightened to death,
MacBarker fell senseless and limp
As he drew his last gasping breath.

So stepped to the fore Smithson Yap,
His tartan cap still on his head.
Old Bones held no terror for him!
He crunched 'em with biscuits and bread!

As he gnawed on Bones’s old bones,
The moral, said Smithson, is plain,
Knowing Best leads to false calculations
And MacBarker will not sleuth again.

Poem © Lesley Moss
Image © Heather Dickinson

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Juggling Tips by Rebecca Colby

13/10/2014

3 Comments

JUGGLING TIPS

Don’t try to juggle bouncy balls,
for balls are small, they slide and fall.
They spring across the floors and walls.
It’s much too hard to juggle balls.

And best beware of juggling plates,
for plates aren’t great—they oscillate.
They spin. They drop. They always break!
You’ll soon crack up when juggling plates.

And never try to juggle bags,
for beanie bags are soft; they sag.
They slip. They drag. They’re hard to snag.
You’ll tire and flag while juggling bags.

If you must juggle, take my tip:
the object that is best to grip,
oozes slime too thick to slip.
Just grab some FROGS and watch them flip!

Poem © 2014 Rebecca Colby
Illustration © Heather Dickinson

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