| Welcome, take a seat, sit down, There's no need to wear a frown. Put this sheet around your neck. My, you look an awful wreck! Be still, don't squirm and move about. Keep quiet please, no need to shout. Your hair has gotten awfully long, It's so spiky, thick and strong. A speedy trim is what you need, To stop you looking like a weed. I'll snip off this bit by your ear. Mmmm that looks a little queer. I'll even out the other side, Open my scissors nice and wide. Chop chop chop, snip snip snip. What's that quivering, is it your lip? Now to cut around your head. Whoops, I think you might have bled. There's no need to make a fuss, It's only blood, there is no pus. There, I've finished, that is that. Can I suggest you wear a hat? Poem ©2013 Katherine Lynas Illustration ©2013 Mike Brownlow |  |
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Ding Dong! Robert darling, come and see, Grandma Ivy’s here for tea. Her lips are pursed expectantly. She won’t think I’m quite so cute Now I’m in my special suit. Ding Dong! Come here Robbie, don’t be shy, Great Aunt Aggie’s just popped by To get her weekly hug supply. She’ll soon forget her hug request When she sees just how I’m dressed. Ding Dong! Now then Rob, don’t be remiss, Come give your Granny Rose a kiss, She’s waited six long weeks for this. She might decide to wait some more When I open up this door. CREEEEEEAK At last, here’s Robert. Where have you been? And what are you doing in that machine? Don’t get too close, you’ll make us scream! Hello grannies, no need to huddle, Come and get a ROBOT cuddle! Poem ©2013 George Kirk 
 I am an inventor of buzzy wuz things:
Flog choppers, space swooshers and all things with wings. There's something inside me that just loves to see, Flip floating, swing swooping ships swirling round me. I make wiberty jubbits and flittery flubes. Lots of puffity tubbits and jittery shloos. Sometimes buggity wugits with prickly stings or a spinnery spugit that plops, pops and pings. And I take them all outside at least once a day And let them buzz round in the sky for a play. Then when winders wind down and puffers loose steam, I tuck them up so they can recharge and dream. Poem ©2013 Mo O'Hara Illustration ©2013 Mike Brownlow  Charles Cornelius Trumpington Pout should never have eaten that leftover sprout. It puffed up his belly with gases most foul, churning and gurgling deep in his bowel. Banished to bed with a rumbling tum, he was kept awake by his grumbling bum. His bulging gut could not be restrained. The vapours within would not be contained. You won't be seeing him anytime soon, his bottom blasted him straight to the moon. So here ends the tale of young Master Pout who should never have eaten that leftover sprout. Poem ©2013 Meagan Munroe Illustration ©2013 Mike Brownlow
(I will never, no, not ever, have another haircut for the rest of my life. So don't even ask.)  Image © Mike Brownlow My hair is too short,
I wanted it long. My hair is too pointy, it's turned out all wrong. Look, here's the place, Mum said, Hair Cut 'N' Slash. I'll be back in five minutes, I really must dash! So Mum went off shopping, it's really unfair, cos when she came back, I had almost no hair... Tangles and top knots, Dare Gel and Flair Spray, It's not looking good. It's a horrible hair day! Now, said the hairdresser, What would suit YOU? Oh, I know! Just the thing! It's a really cool Do! The terrible teeth of the hairdresser's comb pulled my hair - how it hurt - I said: I'm going home. Oh, don't be so whiny, you wild hairy child. See my scissors! So shiny! the hairdresser smiled. Tangles and top knots, Dare Gel and Flair Spray, it's not looking good. It's a hazardous hair day! My poor hair! How she snipped it, she curled it and clipped it, she twisted and twirled it, she furled it and whirled it. She prodded and primped it, creatively crimped it, she washed it and scrubbed it, conditioned and rubbed it. She rinsed it and dried it, with hot tongs she fried it, then spritzed it with spray. All done! said the hairdresser. Now, time to pay! Well, I used to have hair flowing down to my toes, but now that's all gone. Oh, I do hope it grows. Mum said - Take your hat off. I said - Are you mad? Just look at my hair! She said - Mmm, that is bad ... I looked in the mirror and I just had to say: tangles and top knots, Dare Gel and Flair Spray, it's not looking good. It's a ... HAIR SCARE BEWARE day! Poem © 2013 Lesley Moss Image © 2013 Mike Brownlow  Wompoo pigeons coo This is what they do Start up the zoo band When it perches on my hand Trumptey tu tu You can join in too! Sing the wompoo song As the zoo folk march along Ooey Oo Oo Oo Monkeys shout woo hoo! See chimps move their feet To that funky wompoo beat Zabba dabba zoo Zebras boogaloo! Grooving to the tune Of the hippo’s deep bassoon Boppitty boo boo Next come kangaroos! Watch them bounce and drop Getting low, the zoo hip-hop Parp-itty poop poop Warthogs step and toot! Who needs jungle drums? When you’ve got musical bums Shoopy shoop shoo shoo Meerkats hula hu! All the zoo’s alive With the jazzy wompoo jive Doo-wop diddy do ..Wait… Where is that wompoo? What is that you say? Oh, he must have flown away Poem ©2013 Laura Louise Stewart Illustration ©2013 Mike Brownlow  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  It’s time to get my hair cut,
I’m going with my dad, For reasons which I’ll now explain, it could end up all bad. I style my hair all spiky, To hide all of my curls, But Dad says hair with products in, is only meant for girls. He wants my hair cut shorter, I want to keep it long. A style on which we don’t agree is bound to turn out wrong. I wonder if he’s jealous? Of my hair, thick and black, For hair that once grew on his head, instead grows on his back. Dad says, “I am not worried, I’ve still got some up there. It’s just when I was growing up, I grew right through my hair.” Which can’t explain the hair that’s on his bottom, ears, and nose. There’s even weird and straggly hairs that sprout out from his toes! Just now, I found this photo, Of when Dad was my age, His hair was lank and hippy, he says it was, "The rage." A photo taken later, Shows dad wearing a wig, Which looks just like a crazy bush. It’s wild, fuzzy and big. Some people have bad hair days, Hair trouble, and hair strife. With Dad though, days are not enough. He’s in a bad hair life. I told the nice hairdresser, I want a cool hairdo, And not one of my dad’s hair-don’ts, he doesn’t have a clue. She made it look exciting, Cut like a lion’s mane, And best of all, in three months time, my dad won’t come again! Text ©2013 Alex Craggs Illustration ©2013 Mike Brownlow |
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