A doodle a day…

There’s a new doodley thing going on. It’s on Twitter, and goes by the cunning name of Daily Doodle. Every day a theme is tweeted, and folk submit a doodle. It’s great fun!

This week, the themes are all related to classic children’s books, and yesterday’s was “Room on the Broom”, written by Julia Donaldson and illustrated by Axel Scheffler.

I managed to grab a few minutes to submit a wee doodle, then later in bed was kept awake by a rhyme to go with it. So here it is, along with the offending doodle:

Room on the Broom

Megan was a witch
She wore a witchy hat
She ran a taxi service
But found business rather flat.

The reason for her troubles
Was her mouldy, ancient broom
It only went ‘phut-phut-phut-phut’
Whilst modern ones went ‘ZOOOOOOM!’

Poor Megan felt so very sad
As by her broom she sat,
If no-one used her service soon
She’d have to sell the cat.

So if you need a taxi
And have some time to spare
Please take a trip with Megan –
She’s slow, but gets you there.

On frosty starts and birdie-socks

Wotcha!

Oooooh, wasn’t it chilly this morning? A frost-scraper of a morning for those of you that drive, and a finger-freezer of a morning for those that travel by other means and forgot their gloves.

A little frosty-morning rhyme snuck into my head as I was walking to the station:

It’s frosty out this morning
I feel my fingers freeze
The birds are going bonkers
As they flit about the trees.

A little later, after a particularly violent sneeze, I amended it:

It’s frosty out this morning
So cold it makes me sneeze
The noisy nose explosion
Scares the birdies from the trees.

Or maybe it was a second verse?

Anyway, I was delighted when my pals on Facebook replied to my efforts with little rhymes of their own – isn’t it lovely how the Rhyming Bug can wiggle its way into other people heads, and make them rhyme too?

I had to share this one with you, penned by my friend Jon – it’s soooo sweet, and really made me smile!

The frost is on the branches,
The snowdrops and the rose,
We need to knit some tiny socks
To warm the birdies’ toes.

How cute is that?! So cute it prompted a wobbly little finger-doodle on my phone on the train once my fingers had thawed out:

Cheers for planting the image in my head Mr Jordan!

Happy World Poetry Day 2014!

Happy World Poetry Day one and all!

Blimey, it’s been a while since I posted – doesn’t time fly?!

In honour of World Poetry Day I decided to do one of my Crazy Rhymey Challenges. I was given a veritable feast of words from the good folks of Twitter:

@M_Z_Harrison Crepuscular
@modflowers Plinth
@Mr_Pie Meander
@Mr_Pie Slither (rather weirdly, two people sent in “meander” so one sent another word, then t’other sent another too which fitted in with the emerging theme so I just had to use it!)
@mooseandmouse Excruciating
@ADsaxist Harpsichord
@kaye_sedgwick Soporific
@cathy_maclennan Sliver
@PermaPaula Discombobulated

And this is the resulting rhyme. Oh, if you’d like to know where the lizard’s name came from, have a read of this – What else could I have possibly called him?! 🙂

Graham Steals The Show

The sun was slowly setting
As the moon began to rise,
And in the jungle, on a leaf
A lizard yawned and sighed.

The lizard’s name was Graham,
And you’d see him every eve
Doing push-ups and contortions
That were quite hard to believe.

This wasn’t out of choice –
You see, poor Graham was crepuscular
(And ‘though he hated excercise
It made him very muscular.)

But in his heart of hearts
He felt so lonely and ignored –
For no-one new his talent
On the humble harpsichord.

At twilight every evening
In the jungle concert hall,
All kinds of creatures gathered
To perform and give their all.

And poor old Graham, on his twig
A-stretching and vibrating,
Had to miss the concerts –
Which he found excruciating.

One evening as he exercised
Upon his leafy plinth,
A monkey, swinging from a branch,
Fell off dropped his synth.

It crashed upon the ground
With a distressing little clatter,
And monkey howled in sorrow
As he watched his keyboard shatter.

“Oh woe is me!” poor monkey cried,
“Oh most unhappy day!
My instrument’s quite ruined,
Now I have nothing to play!”

Then Graham had a massive thought
That set him all a-quiver
Dare he? Should he? Would it work?
There was a chance – a sliver!

He cleared his throat politely
And addressed the monkey thus:
“Dear monkey, I can help you out –
But only after dusk,”

“I have a lovely harpischord
And borrow it you may,
And in return, I wondered
If you’d kindly let me play?”

The monkey leapt for joy
And cried “Oh, wond’rous salamander*!
I’ll wait until you’re finished,
Then we’ll to the show meander!”

So monkey watched in awe
As Graham twisted and gyrated –
The lizard’s dextrous antics
Left him discombobulated.

And as the twilight ended
Graham off his leaf did slither,
And hand in hand they set off
To the concert, with his zither.**

The monkey’s band had gone down well,
The concert hall was packed;
Then Graham stepped up to the stage –
He was the final act.

He felt a little nervous
But as soon as he began
He lost himself in music
As along the keys he ran.

And after he had finished
Came a stunned and silent pause –
Then the concert hall exploded
With loud cheering and applause!

Some thought those dulcit tones
Would prove a little soporific
But Graham made the harpsichord
Sound totally terrific!

These days in the jungle
It’s a very well known fact
That Graham and his harpsichord
Is THE BEST final act!

Ta daaaaa! Hope you liked it, and big thanks to everyone that joined in the challenge by tweeting me random words!

Oh, and if you’d like to read the rhyme I wrote for last year’s World Poetry Day, it’s here… 🙂

* Graham was a little hurt at being called a salamander when he was quite obviously a lizard, but he decided to let it pass.

** I know. I know, okay? Yes, I know there’s a big difference between a harpsichord and a zither, but I liked the rhyme. So there. 🙂

Millie and the bird…

What-ho readers!

It’s the first Crazy Rhymey Challenge of 2014, hurrah!

Well, sort of…

A couple of weeks back my good friend Cat posted a picture of her lovely Bedlington terrior Millie with her new toy box, which rather resembles a piratey treasure chest. We bantered a bit about doggy-piratical things and she suggested I pen a rhyme on the subject…

Cut to today, and I had a little train commute so decided to do a Rhymey Challenge. After receiving only one word (thank you Susan Sharpe for supplying “bird”!), I thought “Hmmmm… Millie… Pirates…” and this is what popped out…

Millie and the bird…

Millie was a pirate,
She had a wooden paw;
But every time she tried to run
It skidded on the floor.

One day out on the foredeck
Millie sat alone and sighed;
Pirating was difficult
When all you did was slide.

She gave a mournful woof
And looked down sadly at her feet,
Then heard a little flutter
And a tiny cheerful tweet.

Something flew right past her nose
So quickly that it blurred;
Then there upon the rigging
Sat a tiny bright green bird.

“Hello!” it said, and fluttered down
To perch upon the floor,
“I have to say, I love the carving
On your wooden paw.”

Millie smiled quite sadly
And her big eyes went all drippy,
“Thank you bird,” she said,
“It’s just a shame that it’s so slippy.”

“Slippy?” said the little bird,
“Well maybe I can help,”
And Millie looked down at the bird
And gave a hopeful yelp.

The bird produced a rucksack
And pulled out a shiny box,
And after a short rummage
It held up a pair of socks.

“They’re made from special wool,” it said,
“It’s guaranteed to grip –
With one of these upon your paw
You’ll never, ever slip!”

Millie took the proffered sock
And put it on her paw,
Then stood up and began to run
Around the wooden floor.

Back and forth she scampered
And the bird looked on with pride –
No matter how fast Millie ran
Her paw refused to slide!

Millie is a pirate
And when her ship doth dock
People come from miles around
To see her non-slip sock.

And here’s the picture of Millie, in her posh socks, with her pirate’s trunk (no, she doesn’t really have a wooden paw!) – ain’t she cute?!

Thanks to Susan for joining in, to Cat for the idea and for letting me use her photo here, and to Millie for being Millie!

Edwin the Zombie

BOO!!!

Did I scare you? No? Oh.

Well maybe this will – brace yourselves, it’s the truly terrifying tale of Edwin the Zombie…

Edwin the Zombie

Edwin was a zombie,
He had been all his life.
He lived deep in the forest
With his zombie dog named Strife.

He wasn’t very scarey,
Although sometime’s when he’d cough
His head would wobble weirdly
And occassionally fall off.

One gloomy night in winter
A knock came on his door.
“That’s very odd,” he muttered
As he shuffled ‘cross the floor.

He opened his front door a crack
And peered into the dark,
He couldn’t see a single thing –
Then Strife began to bark.

“What is it?” Edwin asked of Strife
“Does doggie smell a bone?”
Then from the dingy darkness
Came a horrid muffled moan.

He opened the door wider
And it gave an eerie creak,
Then suddenly he saw something
That made his knees go weak.

A ghostly figure loomed out
From betwixt the murky trees!
Poor Edwin was so frightened
That he very nearly sneezed.

Strife and Edwin howled in fright
And out the door they fled,
Pausing only briefly
To pick up poor Edwin’s head.

And from the dingy forest
Came the sound of frightened feet;
‘Twas the children from the village
Who’d been playing Trick or Treat.

Happy Hallowe’en one and all!

Update 12/05/14: Here’s a little doodle of Edwin and Strife out for an evening lurch…

Hallowe’en and rhymelessness…

Wotcha!

I spent a rather pleasant afternoon this weekend rootling through a box of my old school books we heaved down from the loft.

After chortling my way through numerous weird, wonderful and often just plain odd stories and poems, sighing nostalgically over little glimpses back into my childhood when we were asked to write about what we’d done at the weekend, or on holiday, and going extremely gooey over a letter to Father Christmas asking very politely for a blue Grecian Flyer bicycle* which ended with the words “My daddy would like a model train set”, I realised something rather sad.

All through primary and junior school, the books are full of stories, poems and rhymes. Learning to write and handwriting practice involved copying out little four-line rhymes; for each year there’s an excercise book called “Stories” or “News and Story“, and many of the entries are poems on a given subject; even History excerise books have stories in them, where we were tasked with writing a historical event from the point of view of the famous person concerned.

Then I start secondary school.

And in all my English books, there’s not a jot of rhyme.

Not a single poem.

There are occassional stories, but nothing rhymily creative from my own imagination.

I was rather shocked when I realised this. Writing – and in particular, writing poems and rhymes – was obviously something I’d loved at primary school, and something my teachers encouraged – but then when I got to Big School, the rhyming stopped.

Very, very sad.

So to cheer things up after that distressing bombshell, here’s a poem I wrote aged 9 for Hallowe’en, seeing as that time is upon us! In fact it was written on this very day, 29th October – exactly xx** years ago today!

Hallowe’en

This is the night of Hallowe’en,
When demons and witches can seen,
I’m in my room
I’m all alone
When from downstairs I hear a groan!

A tapping on the window pane,
And the moan, it comes again,
I close my eyes,
I fall asleep,
And the boys got tired doing trick or treat.

*I got the Grecian Flyer. And it was blue. It was the only brand new bike I ever had, and it was ace.

**I’m not telling you! 🙂

Happy Children’s Book Week!

Hello hello hello!

It was Children’s Book Week this week, and I’ve been posting recommendations of some of my favourites on Facebook. So I’d intended to do a blog post about the books I’d chosen to plug, but then I got distracted by a tweet from @QuercusKids asking what children’s book you’d take to a desert island…

Which got me thinking.

And I decided, “Peter Pan”.

Specifically, an old, battered edition of “Peter Pan & Wendy”, retold for little people by May Byron, with illustrations by Mabel Lucie Attwell.

And then the start of a rhyme popped into my head.

And here’s the finished thing…

Reading is such awful fun…

Once upon a tiny time
Books became good friends of mine;
I think the friendship first began
When daddy read me Peter Pan.

Every night he’d read some more,
Then place the book upon the floor;
And when he’d gone I’d take a peek
And try to make the letters speak.

Then (with a little help from mum,
Which was the most tremendous fun)
I learnt to read all by myself
And soon I’d read the whole bookshelf.

Encouraged by my mum and dad
(Who saw this was no passing fad)
I read whenever I was able
(But not when eating at the table).

I read and read, and read some more,
Read on the sofa, on the floor,
Reading curled up, snug in bed,
Reading standing on my head.

Books from libraries, old and new,
Books for Christmas, birthdays too
Bought with tokens from the shop,
I read them all, I couldn’t stop!

And now I’m all grown up (I’m told)
But not yet really, really old,
It’s still my very favourite thing
To grab a book and dive right in.

So calling readers, big and small –
Buy more books, and read them all!
Or join your local library
Then you can read more books for free!

Join a book club – start your own!
Or just read by yourself at home.
Read in bed, read on the train
Read in sunshine, read in rain!

In the bath, or by the sea,
Read on a bus, or up a tree!
And if your bag is full, don’t moan –
Download an eBook to your phone!

So really what I’m trying to say
(I tend to get carried away)
Is reading is such awful fun,
It should be done by everyone!

Rhyme and reading…

What better way to start National Poetry Day than with a watery-themed Crazy Rhymey Challenge on the train to London!

Later, after dumping my bag at my friend’s house, us girls headed back into town to see Pam Ayres at Cadogan Hall with the free tickets I’d won for being shortlisted in the top ten in her recent competition.

We had a slightly tense moment when we got to Sloane Square and tried to find a pub that sold real ale rather than fizzy lager and overpriced cocktails. The clock was ticking, but thankfully we eventually stumbled upon a good old Rose and Crown tucked away in a backstreet. Then we headed for Cadogan Hall.

It’s a lovely old place, quite small and intimate. And our seats were perfect – slap bang in the middle five rows from the front.

I have lovely fond memories of watching Pam Ayres on telly with mum as a youngster and both of us laughing our socks off, so I’m not quite sure how I managed to forget about her for all these years – I found her again fairly recently on Twitter, and must admit that as I rediscovered her work I couldn’t help but wonder if those rhymes of hers I heard when I was wee have had some bearing on the rhymes I’ve penned since I got bigger…

Bang on time the lights dimmed, and out skipped Pam and proceeded to make our bellies and faces ache for a good hour with rhymes old and new, and tales from her memoirs.

Pam’s delightfully energetic on stage, and her delivery – be it a rhyme or a story – is spot on. Perfectly timed pauses, often with that cheeky, dimpley grin slowly spreading across her face, and hilarious actions. On the subject of those pauses, they were often punctuated by chortles of anticipation from the audience, and the faint murmer of folk filling in the next line under their breath.

After a short interval (during which I discovered the lady sitting next to me was the competition winner, and my friend nearly had a heart attack when a wall-mounted telly outside the loos suddenly came on very loudly as she walked past it – in her words, it was a good job she was on her way out the loos, and not in!), out skipped Pam again and made us ache some more. The occassional rhyme brought that other sort of tear to the eye – she’s a cheeky one is Pam, and sometimes drops a delightfully sad one on you.

Seeing her on live on stage is like shuffling into your living room in your favourite pyjamas and slippers, with the lights dimmed and a toasty fire burning merrily in the grate, settling cosily on the sofa, putting your feet up, then laughing so uproarously that you spill your cocoa and nearly choke on your After Eights.

Afterwards, we joined a little queue, picked up a copy of her new book each, and soon were standing in front of her doing the signing thing.

You’ve read here before my previous experiences at signing events, so I won’t go into detail. Now I don’t know if it was the real ale beforehand, or the after effects of all that laughing, but I managed to blurt out, “You were ace!” to which she gave such a lovely reply that my Fear subsided and we had a nice little chat about the competition and my rhyme (which she remembered!).

After my friend had got her books signed and had a natter with Pam about growing up in similar necks of the wood, off we skipped to catch our train home, feeling much lighter than when we’d arrived (despite carrying the extra weight of books) as I think we’d each laughed off a good few pounds during the course of the evening.

But that wasn’t quite the end of National Poetry Day. I had a few lines buzzing around my head as I went to sleep, and they turned into this:

I went to see Pam Ayres last night,
She really was quite ace;
Her rhymes and ramblings made me laugh
‘Til tears rolled down me face

Did I say I saw Pam Ayres?
She really was fantastic;
She spoke of snoring, cows and teeth
And white knicker elastic.

I went to see Pam Ayres last night,
She really was quite ace;
And afterwards I met her
And I told her to her face.

The following day I discovered that The British Library had opened an exhibition of children’s illustrated classics that very morning, so I headed off early and spent a lovely couple of hours soaking it up. Do go if you get the chance, it’s well worth a visit!

Then I had an accident in the gift shop and bought Neil Gaiman’s Fortunately, the milk… to read on the train home. Unfortunately, the large sandwich I bought at the station nearly resulted in a choking incident on the train as I gaffawed my way through Mr Gaiman’s most excellent story.

All in all I had a most excellent couple of days, full of rhyme and reading. I’m hugely grateful to Pam Ayres and the competition organisers for giving me the opportunity to go and see her perform – I’d highly recommend to anyone to go see her live, you’ll be smiling for days afterwards!

Water, water everywhere…

Wotcha!

In honour of National Poetry Day 2013, I decided to do another Crazy Rhymey Challenge. Twitter provided a record-breaking 20 (mainly) watery words, which I’ve built into a rather dubious rhyme…! You can find out more about National Poetry Day here – take a look, maybe there’s something in your area you could go along to! The theme this year is “water, water everywhere” in homage to… well, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you!

Here are the words the lovely folk of Twitter sent me to include:

@LimeyLimericks: cheese
@LewBearMusic: jirble
@moggyminor: ripple
@mooseandmouse: hydrant, gush (or gushing), cistern
@KeninSpoons: droplet, rain, drain fountain
@shaggydogyarns: piscean, water wings, submariner, lavatorial, Thomas Crapper
@Giddyasfuck: trickle
@ofTheTimesShop: aqueduct
@ThisIsBinghamUK: splish splash splosh

Oh, a final thing before launching into today’s rhyme – this Crazy Rhymey Challenge often throws up some interesting words, or sends me off on a quest and I end up learning a new one. Today I discovered the word “chagul“. Look it up if you don’t know it!

Right, now hang on to your hats, here we go!

Graham’s watery wanderings…

Graham sighed aloud
And gave his chagul one more squeeze
He hadn’t anything to drink –
He only had some cheese.

He’d wandered day and night
Of his location not a clue
And just to make things worse
He had a big hole in one shoe.

The sun beat down upon his head
As he longed for a tipple
Then squinting hard he gave a yell –
He thought he’d seen a ripple!

He stared again, and yes!
There in the distance was a hydrant
Surrounded by a pool and trees
In colours bright and vibrant.

As Graham ran towards it
He could hear the water gushing
He very nearly tripped
What with the speed of all his rushing.

But just as he approached it –
As he reached out with his hand,
The pool and hydrant disappeared
And all there was was sand.

Graham started howling
Why were deserts all so fickle?
Then suddenly he paused –
And thought “I’m sure I heard a trickle!”

He turned his head and listened hard
And then said “Oh my gosh!
That ain’t no aural mirage
That’s a real-life proper splosh!”

And turning round again
He saw a humble wooden hut
Looking lavatorial
And with door firmly shut.

Then with a noisy rattle
Said shut door was flung a-wide
And out came a submariner,
A seagull by his side.

“Hello!” said he, and doffed his cap
(He really looked quite dapper)
“Are you another tourist
Here to see the Thomas Crapper?”

“Or are you with that other group?
If so you’ve sadly missed ’em –
But step inside, I’ll demonstrate
Our famous antique cistern.”

“Water!” Graham croaked
“Oh please sir, say you have a drink!
I’ve gone so long without it now
That I can hardly think!”

The sailor took his flask and cup
And jirbled out a dram
Then passing it to Graham he asked
“Have you walked, or swam?”

“Walked,” said Graham, all refreshed,
“There is no other way!”
The seagull flapped its water-wings
And squawked out “Oh, I say!”

“You mean you didn’t notice
Our stupendous aqueduct?
It’s right behind you, look –
It took us ages to construct.”

Graham turned around
And then he turned around again,
And noticed to his great surprise
The elevated drain.

The submariner proudly glowed
And flourished a large goblet
Then taking out his flask again
He shook out the last droplet.

“Ain’t it fine?” he said,
“And in the words of Brendan Behan,
‘It wouldn’t have been possible
If I were not Piscean’!”

“He never said that!” Graham cried
“That quote is utter trash!”
Before the sailor could reply
They heard a mighty splash.

And from the graceful aqueduct
There rose a mighty mountain
And from its back there spurted
A humongous water fountain.

“It’s Moby Dick!” The seagull said
“Wow, that’s one massive fish!”
Moby frowned and twitched his tail
Which made an angry splish.

“I say, that’s rather harsh,” he said
And eyed them with disdain,
The suddenly to their surprise
Down came the pouring rain.

Graham looked up dismally
Then heard a voice decree,
“Get out that sand-pit, come inside!
It’s nearly time for tea!”

Thank you to everyone who joined in with this Crazy Rhymey Challenge. And now I’m off to go and get ready to head to Cadogan Hall to see Pam Ayres, hurrah!

S’raining. S’wet.

This started as a one-verse tweet, then grew to three verses, and has finally ended up with six – it felt like it needed to end on a river/sea-ish theme, sort of like how it started…

It’s raining…

Today I’ve got me brolly
It’s wet as wet can be
The road’s become a river
And the carpark is the sea.

I can’t avoid that puddle
And I step right in it, ‘splot!’
It’s deeper than I thought
And water soaks right through my sock.

Damp-footed I trudge onwards
As the rain pours off my coat
I’ve only walked for fifty yards
And I’m completely soaked.

The train is damp and fuggy
As the passengers all drip;
And arriving at the station
We’re all cautioned not to slip.

I pass a herd of brollies
All stampeding for a train
And cower beneath the canopies
To keep out of the rain.

I ponder on the weather
As the train creaks into motion
And wonder if my little town
Will soon become an ocean.