Slugs and snails
2 Comments
Here are Dom's three winning poems. We love a gruesome poem on the funeverse so Dom's witchy mum preparing her son for the pot is perfect.Good Enough To Eat
 “Go on, eat up all your people."
"But I really don't feel well. Maybe I could skip my dinner?" "You're just faking. I can tell." "But I HATE people for dinner! Can't I just have beans on toast?" "You need to eat good monster food. Shall I do them as a roast?" "Look how your sister cleaned her plate. She’s only left one shoe. Just a spoon for Mummy now. Let's just start with one or two..." "Open your mouth!" "Nmmm, mmm, mmm, mmm," "Don't you shake your head at me!" “Ah mum, people make me queasy. Maybe I should set them free?" "I am done. I'm through with talking. Eat your dinner in one bite!" "But Mum, I just can't swallow people!" "Why?" "It's gross and it's not right!" "Oh, I GIVE up little monster! Off to bed or you'll be late. Dump the people out the back door, But at least PLEASE eat your plate!" Poem © 2014 Mo O'Hara Illustration © Loretta Schauer  MONSTER STEW Mother Monster made a stew with all your favourite things, some earwax balls and eyeball goo, and slimy, bogey strings. She stirred in mould and toenail rot, then served with maggot rolls. You licked your lips and scoffed the lot, but why’d you eat her bowls?! Poem © 2014 Rebecca Colby Illustration © Loretta Schauer  Yes, the ogre captured us But don't be too alarmed He's not as scary as he seems and we have not been harmed You see, he's vegetarian! Whoever would have thought? He’s put us straight to work with all the other kids he's caught Behind his castle walls he has Kids keeping his house clean And kids to tend his veggie patch, the biggest ever seen We're both in the kitchen Where we cook the ogre's meal (That's why this SOS is on a scrap of onion peel) And herein lies our problem, see The ogre's diet's strange He only wants his onions and his tastes they never change His breakfast’s onion porridge, then there’s onion cake at ten If we get out we hope to never see onions again! The onion soup is okay And onion stew is fine... But onion ice-cream pudding? That is where we draw the line The castle's good in other ways It's warm and keeps us dry But all this chopping onions, could make a grown man cry Our fingers smell, our hair does too The stench clings to our clothes It’s like we’re walking round with sweaty socks shoved up our nose We long to slice some aubergines! Or bake some mushroom pies We'd gladly peel some sprouts to have a break from weeping eyes So know that we're alive and well We hope this calms your fears But please come get us soon because we're running out of tears! Poem ©2014 Laura Louise Stewart Illustration © 2014 Loretta Schauer This month I decided to write some Haikus. Haikus are based on a Japanese form of poetry that doesn't rhyme and follows a pattern of syllables usually; Line 1: 5 syllables Line 2: 7 syllables Line 3: 5 syllables They are usually about nature and are not normally funny...
I was quite peckish, So I ate up all my tea. Then burped a human.   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
The Witches’ Cookbook, out today, Is causing quite a stir, Among the witchy cooks and chefs, Who all at once concur, That spellbound recipes like these Not seen by human eyes Will make these books fly off the shelves. Because this cookbook flies! Delia Dastardly is quoted, “Love those witchy spells!” Nigella Nevermore said how Enchantingly it smells. Hugh Furnace Whitingtoad wrote, “Glad the potions are organic.” And Jamie All-Over declared, “The puddings are titanic!” But he witchy supreme challenge For a chef of magic arts, Is the Cauldron Blue of cooking Tangy Tarantula Tarts They’re delicious and they’re deadly As they crawl across the cover. A combination bound to interest Any witch food lover. The Hairy Wizard Bikers Stroked their beards and said together “They are Arachnid heaven. Pastry’s lighter than a feather.” “But there’s quite a risk to eating them. You really need the knack. The reason they’re so good is They’re a pudding that bites back.” Poem ©2013 Mo O'Hara Illustrations ©2013 Paul Morton
 Have you tried our Octo Pie? I'm warning you. It's rather sly. Its eight, long tentacles lie in wait. As you dig in, it moves your plate. It tickles you, then wraps you tight. You're lucky if you get a bite. It suckers you--makes you a fool. You won't believe the ridicule! With Octo Pie, you must act quick, Or you won’t even get a lick. No, Octo Pie's not easy to eat. May I suggest a Tarantula Treat? Poem ©2013 Rebecca Colby Illustrations ©2013 Paul Morton   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 “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  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  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
 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 |
KIDS!
|
RSS Feed