These words are the property of clever people. I'm just trying to put them in order.


‘I’m falling apart!’

Yelled the castle,

As its bricks went tumbling down,

Then one by one,

With their water guns,

The children shot their sand-based construction right down.

Spelling be. 

Yacht is not yacked,

It’s a word that’s been hacked,

With some letters that just just don’t make sense.

But spelling is crude, which rhymes with food,

Perhaps not us, but the dictionary’s dense. 

Language is great, but it’s easy to hate,

When the rules are so hard to follow,

I feel for those learning,

A language that’s churning, 

Out more words each year to swallow. 

The abundance of words,

Whose spelling’s absurd,

Bizarre when you hear them spoken,

If thought faught what’s brought,

Whilst drinking some port,

It might decide that some words are just broken.

Thought puddle

Every day, the page looks different,

Sometimes ideas swim beneath the page,

I hook them out,

With a pencil, and shout,

‘Run free and be gone from your cage!’

Throat frog.

There’s a frog in my throat,

It’s hopping about,

And making me creak like a door,

But he says that he’s not moving out,

So I’ll have to just eat more.

Fake news.

If the road is fraught with peril,

And most peril is a myth,

The road is really nothing,

But the dust through which we sift.

Late night lullabies

The tune that I hear,

In the middle of the night,

Stuck in my head,

And still playing bright,

Despite the lights off,

And a lack of sight,

Still, the tune plays,

As I lie and delight.

Dream party

In time you learn to see, 

That there’s nothing more fun than your dreams,

They’re so unexpected,

And they’re never reflected,

In mirrors, or teaspoons, or streams.

A bucket of yoghurt.

There’s a bucket full of yoghurt,

It’s filled right to the top,

And if the bucket were a balloon,

Then I’m sure that it would pop.

When it popped, the world around,

Would surely come to a stop,

So if you have a bucket of yoghurt,

That’s filled right to the top,

Stay away from rabbits,

Or they could jump in with a ‘plop’.

There is something to be said

There is something to be said,

Of being young, 

And of writing a song,

That has not yet been sung.
There is something to be said,

Of living a life,

The way that you want,

So that you never die.
There is something to be said,

Of making a smile,

Where no one else saw room,

On lips who just cry.
There is something to be said,

Of dreaming a dream,

And making it happen,

So that you only beam.
There is something to be said,

Of many a thing,

But it always sounds better,

When we choose to sing.

Silence in the kitchen.

There was silence in the kitchen,

As they stood around and ate,

The madness of the restaurant,

Was killed by calmness of the plate.

For that moment in the day,

The colleagues stood together,

It was a moment treasured,

Not lost, but felt,

As it wouldn’t last forever.