Poem and photo © 2018 Kathryn Evans

Poem © 2015 Kathryn Evans 
Image © 2015 Heather Dickinson   

Poem © 2014 Kathryn Evans
Illustration © Heather Dickinson

From the day that he was born,
Wilson wished he was a lion.
Wilson always was a  roaring,
When the other kits were crying.

None of them would talk to him,
They'd laugh at him and scoff,
Until a hungry fox turned up,
And Wilson scared him off.

If you are born a rabbit,
Then a rabbit you must stay
But who’s to say a rabbit
Cannot roar and win the day?

So please don’t laugh at rabbits,
If they think that they are lions.
They’re smallish on the outside,
But inside… they are GIANTS.

Words: © Kathryn Evans
Illustration: © Sam Zuppardi

Did you hear that Troll, Doris?
Did you hear what he said,
With his, ‘Who’s that trip trapping right over my head?’

Did you hear him Doris?
Shouting out in a mood,
And you and me out walking, how dare he be rude?

I’m going back Doris,
I’ll be sweetness and light,
But if that Troll complains, I shall put up a fight. 

Well come on then Doris,
I’m so cross I could burst,
I’ll watch your back, Doris. You can go first.

Poem ©2014 Kathryn Evans
Illustration © 2014 Loretta Schauer

Come here you little pudding,
My yummy scrummy cake,
Let me dig my spoon in you,
And scoff you off the plate.
Oh let me stuff your spongy fluff
Right in my chubby face.
Oh you little runaway,
You tease of a dessert,
Let me add some jam and cream
A luscious licky squirt,
Then fill my mouth from north to south,
Who’s it going to hurt?

But you’re looking at me oddly,
With your little raison eyes,
And your tiny pearly teeth,
Are somewhat a surprise,
And boy how wide your mouth goes,
I don’t want to fall inSIIIIIIIDE…….

Poem ©2014 Kathryn Evans
Illustration © 2014 Sally Kindberg

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.

Poem ©2014 Kathryn Evans
Illustration © 2014 Amanda Hall

Since eighteen hundred and sixty,
We’ve been cursed by our own good looks,
Since the scientist Charles Robert Darwin
Hunted us  for one of his books.

He’d captured a blue footed booby
And a tortoise of marvellous age.
He’d tracked down a kind of a  dragon,
But he couldn’t get us in a cage.

We hid where he never would find us,
All eight of the family Weird,
While the Beagle sailed over the ocean,
We were on it, in Charles Darwin’s beard.

Poem ©2013 Kathryn Evans
Illustrations ©2013 Paul Morton

No football in the classroom,
No writing on your clothes,
No chocolate in your lunchbox
No pencils up your nose.

No shouting at the table,
No crawling on the floor,
No pulling hair, no pinching,
No sneaking out the door.

Why can't we have some Yes rules?
Some rules to make us smile?
Yes to wearing trainers,
Yes to uniforms with style.

Yes to bouncy castles,
Yes to making dens,
Yes to extra play time,
Yes to keeping hens!

Yes to eating ice cream,
Yes to playing on the grass,
Yes to making pancakes,
Yes to pets in class. 

Yes to playing pirates,
Yes to stealing jewels,
Yes to taking over,
Yes to No School Rules!

Poem ©2013Kathryn Evans
Illustration ©2013Amanda Lillywhite

Goldilocks, the little beast
She didn’t care a jot,
She robbed the rich she robbed the poor
She robbed the blinking lot.

She sneaked into the Bear’s house-
That sweet and happy home-
And broke the chairs and trashed the beds
And stole their mobile phones.

She even ate their porridge,
After pinching all their money
But then…
they caught her at it
And they ate her with some honey.

The moral of this story,
In case you didn’t get it
Is never rob a bear’s house,

They tend not to forget it.

Poem ©2013 Katrhryn Evans
Illustration ©2013 Bridget Strevens-Marzo

The last giraffe at Pembrook Zoo,
Had a case of stomach flu.
When she lay down her tired head,
Keeper Bill was filled with dread.
Bill tried to fix her, called the vet,
Then she died, his favourite pet.
Tears rolled down the keeper's cheek,
As he let out a mournful shriek.
He was summoned one week later,
To see the big boss, Harold Slater.
'Thing is, old chap, a Keeper needs,
An animal to clean and feed.
With no beast it does not pay,
To keep you hanging round all day.'
'Hang on Harold, don't be rash,
Don't throw me out, like smelly trash.'
'Ok Bill, then you must find,
A giraffe, of any sort or kind.'
Getting busy, straight down to work,
He didn't stop, he didn't shirk.
He called up collegues in the know,
And felt his tension start to grow.
'Sorry chum, but they've all gone,
Unless you maybe chance upon,
One hidden in the land of Blong'.
'The land of Blong, I'll go straight there,
I'll find a beastie, this I swear'.
For months Bill searched through distant lands,
Jungles, plains, exotic sands.
Finally Bill could walk no more,
And slowly sank down to the floor.
He banged his head upon the ground.
'There's none left', our poor Bill frowned.
Wearily he turned for home,
With nowhere left to walk and roam.
There must be something I can do,
To keep my job back at the zoo.
Bill scratched his head, began to think.
Got out paper, pen and ink, 
He scribbled madly through the night.
Till suddenly he saw the light.
Vanishing into his shed,
He worked until his fingers bled.
Next morning came a wondrous sight.
Giraffes of metal shining bright!
Now if you visit Pembrook Zoo,
The giraffes are gleaming, made anew.
No cold or flu can harm these creatures,
Now they have metallic features.

Poem ©2013 Katherine Lynas
Illustration ©2013 John Shelly

It seemed such a brilliant idea,
A wing clanking beaky delight,
From a crack pot and crazed hengineer,
Came The Hen-Plane-Chicken Of Flight.

It creaked and it groaned and it heaved,
As it lumbered up into the sky,
And I’m quite sure that no one believed
It would actually stay there and fly.

It was all going really quite well,
Until something appeared by its leg
And out of its bottom there fell,
An enormous and shiny great egg.

It hurtled to earth like a bomb!
On the ground they all scattered and ran,
‘Til the hengineer quickly dashed home
For a giant expandable pan.

She held up the great plate of steel,
And averted a yolk splatted fate,
For instead of an eggy ordeal,
They had breakfast for seventy eight.

Poem ©2013 Kathryn Evans
Illustration ©2013 John Shelley

I’m a fruitivore,
I’m mad for a melon,
I’ll savage a satsuma and suck dry a lemon.

I’m a fruitivore,
Bury me in berries,
Drown me in peaches or a bowl of ripe cherries.

I’m a fruitivore,
I’d cross the Savana,
For a handful of grapes and an over ripe banana.

I’m a fruitivore,
I devour clementines,
I gorge upon coconut and gobble mangosteens.

I’m a fruitivore,
I don’t care about the smell,
Give me a durian, I’ll eat that as well.

I’m a fruitivore,
I can’t help how I feel,
I was bitten by a fruit bat,
And these fruit fangs are for REAL.

(They don’t call them blood oranges for nothing you know.)

Poem © 2013 Kathryn Evans
Illustration © 2013 Mike Brownlow

If you want to look your best,
Try some Monster Mum advice,
Take a daily bath in slime
And dust your fur with tiny lice.

Oh yes, that’s lovely, really nice,
And quite the thing, that touch of lice.

Add just a touch of make up
Crushed beetle to your cheek,
Dustbin dribble on your lashes
And a squirt of  Eau De Reek.

Oh yes, that’s lovely, quite unique,
And just the thing, that whiff of Reek. 

Now come and sit upon my knee,
Let’s have a monster hug,
You scruffy, stinky, lovely beast,
My gorgeous cuddle bug.

Poem ©2013 Kathryn Evans 
Image ©2013 Kate Pankhurst

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