Clinkety clankety clunk
Kaplunk is made of junk!

This old tin horse is tapping its feet,
it dances along the concrete street,
its iron eye is losing its sight.

Its bolts and screws are working loose,
it's finally running out of juice,
but it dances all day and it dances all night ...

Tippety tippety tap
Kaplunk is built from scrap!

This old tin horse is trotting along,
it's neighing a plinkety plunkety song,
but its rusty riveted joints complain.

It lost its rider long ago, 
a broken-down clown from a travelling show -
still it's galloping, galloping, in the rain ...

Clippety clippety clop
Kaplunk will never stop!

This old tin horse is powered by dreams,
and springs and cogs and welded-on seams.
Kaplunk is a horse automaton.

At night this horse goes cantering by,
it doesn't know where and it doesn't know why,
as its clockwork heart beats on and on ...

Clinkety clankety clunk,
Kaplunk is made of junk,
tippety tippety tap,
Kaplunk is built from scrap,
clippety clippety clop,
Kaplunk will never stop,
Tippety tap.
Scrippety scrap.
Clinkety clunk.
Jinkety junk.

Clop on, Kaplunk -
the steamhorse punk!


Poem: ©Lesley Moss 
Illustration: ©John Shelley

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

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

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