The Yoga Teacher

In the lotus position, the teacher sits,

The students, suffering, all regard her.

She quickly shifts, and does the splits, 

Turns out there’s postures even harder!

The Gandergoose

A rare flightless bird, the Gandergoose

Lives its life on the Island of Muck.

It wanders around feeling free, feeling loose,

Sharing gossip and tidbits with ducks.

A canny old bird, the Gandergoose;

The chicks are watched over by Dad.

He makes the whole nest out of chocolate mousse,

So they never feel hungry, or sad.

The fat flightless bird, the Gandergoose,

His strategy’s really the best,

For when predators come for the little papoose,

They invariably just scoff the nest.

The Treasure Tree

Young Irene had a piggy bank,

She kept her treasure in it.

She got a trinket, coin or gem - 

She hid it in a minute.

She worried lest her treasure trove 

Be lost, or even stolen,

So in the woods she found a tree:

A Yew tree with a hole in. 

She put her treasure in a box,

And hid it in the Yew tree.

That way she could be sure to keep

Quite safe her things of beauty.

She went each day to see the tree,

And check how it was doing.

And went home feeling satisfied;

Much heartened by each viewing.

First once a week, then every month,

Her visits grew less frequent.

But still her heart was warmed anew 

By any Yew-tree weekend.

The Yew became her treasure tree.

In time, as she grew older,

When she felt blue t'was not the box,

It was the tree consoled her.

And so her visits brought her peace,

The Yew tree gave her solace,

Unlike the treasures she'd acquired,

Which once just made her jealous.

And when Irene grew old and frail,

The hot sun left her jaded.

And then her Yew tree sheltered her,

And kept her cool and shaded.

There came a day (there always does),

When, sat beneath her treasure, 

Old Irene drew her final breath.

Upon her face: pure pleasure.

Two crows sat watching from a branch,

Then hopped inside the Yew tree,

And seconds later brought out gifts:

A small girl's things of beauty.

The Speling Test

This morning we’re having a spell-a-thon test,

I’m hopping I’ll do it quite well,

Because righting’s the thing that I like doing best,

Their aren't many words I can’t spel.

But sumtimes the teecher gets me all confuzed

Wen she says that my leters are rong.

I can sea that she dosn’t feel very umuzed

And I feal like I just doant be long,

Coz she maiks me sit rite at the bak of the clas,

With the wons who no nuttin a tall.

So maybee this moning il leve my bus pas

On the taibl owt in the frunt holl.

Then ile have to wark theyre in this swellterring son

And ile get their two lait for the test.

Just in time for P.E. - and a cross country run.

…. So I’d best lose my shorts, and my vest!

Digby Dogbreath and Henrietta Halitosis

Henrietta Halitosis

Suffered a very cruel fate

The thing that you’d find if you got up too close is

Her breath smelt of rotting fish bait.

Digby Dogbreath’s isolation

Began when he was thirteen,

For Digby’s every exhalation

Made all those around him turn green.

But Digby loved Ms Halitosis,

And she to her Dogbreath was true,

They imbibed their environment as through osmosis,

Though the rest of the world just said “Poo!”

Very few people would venture too near,

For the airwaves around them were foul.

But they never felt sad or rejected no fear!

And you’d never see them frown or scowl.

One day Henrietta said, “Digby my love,

I‘ve got the most wonderful news;

We’ve been blessed with a gift from the stork up above;

And in eight months a baby is due”.

Their joy was complete for a couple of days,

As they floated on cloud number nine

But slowly a question formed out of the haze,

At the back of Hen’s practical mind.

Genetical issues worried her slightly,

Her child should be happy and strong,

So she went to her doctor to ask him politely

If afflictions like hers were passed on.

The doctor told her that she mustn’t worry

Her baby was healthy and stout.

And then tried to get her to leave in a hurry

Before all his patients passed out.

On the day of the birth, proud Digby was there

To encourage and help Henrietta,

He told her to breathe, not to gulp in the air,

Though the nurse thought not breathing was better.

When the baby was born, she opened her eyes

And let out her very first shout

And the pong it produced was no great surprise,

Her parentage never in doubt.

So Harriet Dogbreath – Halitosis,

Who’s known to the whole world as Hal,

Is happy and loved, and I don’t think she’s noticed,

She’ll never be no femme fatale.

Montague Marcus McManus and His Special Diet

Montague Marcus McManus of York

Never left home without his own fork,

For Monty was sure that wherever he went,

The cutlery there would surely be bent,

And dirty, and probably rusty to boot,

And Montague Marcus was sharp and astute.

So even if lunch was not on his agenda

Montague took no risks, no matter how slender,

And taking a new plastic fork from the packet

Slipped it in the pocket of his purple jacket.

 

Montague Marcus McManus one day

Set off on a trip, he was going away;

To see his great aunt on the Island of Muck,

Where folk are outnumbered by sheep and by ducks,

By seals and by otters, though not by great auks.

Thus the chances seemed high they‘d be short of new forks.

So Monty packed plenty, and just for good measure

He tucked into his suitcase his one greatest treasure;

A beautiful fork made of silver and gold

With the crest of the Clan of McManus of old.

 

Now Great Auntie Minnie McManus, it’s said

Was losing the marbles she had in her head.

She’d always been quirky, eccentric and rude,

And like her great nephew was strange about food.

But now she would only eat things with a straw,

Such as soup or hot milk, that don’t trouble the jaw.

It could come in a bottle, a can or a packet,

When she had a delivery, the boy had to stack it,

In neat piles of sachets, and mountains of tins

Heaped so high in the larder; you could barely get in.

 On the evening that Montague Marcus arrived,

(He came on the boat at a quarter to five),

She sat him right down to give him his tea,

And set out before him a bowl of green pea.

She didn’t expect him to eat with a straw –

For he’d written to tell her a fortnight before

That he’d bring his own cutlery, so she needn’t worry,

And that he wasn’t faddy, though he didn’t eat curry.

So she was surprised by the look of dismay

That came to his face when he saw his tea tray.

“Oh dear, Auntie Minnie”, poor Monty exclaimed,

“I think that there’s something I should have explained,

I’ve brought my own eating utensils from York,

But the thing is I only can eat with a fork.

This soup looks so nice and delicious it’s true,

But the nearest to soup I can eat is a stew.

Do you think I might have something else for my tea?”

But Great Auntie Millie said, “Oxtail, or pea.

That’s the choice that you have my Sassenach child,

For mulligatawny you said you reviled.”

 So Montague Marcus McManus of York

Spent a week in the Highlands with only a fork,

To scoop up his soup every lunchtime and dinner,

So as you might guess, he’d grown notably thinner

By the time he went home on the Saturday ferry.

(Though it’s true he had managed to pick a few berries).

But the new, svelter Monty who arrived at York Station

Was ready to bring his idea to the nation;

The brilliant McManus diet; eat all you’re able

But eat only soup, with just forks on the table.

 And that is how Monty McManus became

The world famous man, whose world famous name

Was in all the supplements each blinking weekend.

Till all the large people whose figures were sleekened

Revered and cherished the man and his diet,

(Though to others his diet engendered disquiet),

They found they could dine for hours on end

And sit round the table with all of their friends,

And chatter and laugh, or have meaningful talks,

As they slurped on their great bowls of soup with their forks.