The Day Our Teacher Went Batty Read online

  Bonfire Night Blues

  Remember, remember,

  The fifth of November,

  Gunpowder, treason and plot.

  Well, after last week’s washout,

  I would rather not.

  My Roman Candle spluttered

  And refused to light the sky.

  My Sparklers wouldn’t sparkle

  And my Rockets wouldn’t fly.

  My Bangers, they just would not bang

  And my Golden Rain went phutt!

  My Whizz-bang blew out clouds of smoke

  And covered me in soot.

  My Thunderflash just fizzed a bit,

  My Crackers wouldn’t light.

  My Silver Fountain whimpered –

  It was such a sorry sight.

  My Jumping Jacks declined to jump

  And my Catherine Wheels to turn.

  Not a single flipping firework worked,

  Then the bonfire wouldn’t burn.

  I was feeling really cold and wet,

  But when I began to groan,

  My dad got really angry,

  And he told me not to moan.

  He said I was like a big damp squib

  And then he sent me home.

  So I don’t want to remember Bonfire Night this year!

  The Lucky Horseshoe

  Dad found a rusty horseshoe in the garage

  on the floor,He said that it would bring

  us luck if placed above the door.

  So he climbed high up the ladder to

  nail the horseshoe in,

  But, dropped the heavy hammer, which

  cracked him on the chin.

  It clattered down towards the ground, but when it

  reached the floor

  It bounced back like a boomerang and

  smacked him on the jaw.

  Down it went a second time, rebounding

  off his shin,

  Then bounced back up, and once again it

  cracked him on the chin.

  Down came the nail and iron shoe,

  rebounding off his head

  Then Dad fell off the ladder and

  bruised his arms and leg.

  Such was his fate, he lay prostrate, I thought

  that he was dead.

  Then came a moan and then a groan.

  ‘What rotten luck!’ he said.

  Epitaph

  Underneath this mound of clay

  There lies a teacher (some might say).

  Her name was Miss Euphemia Grey,

  Who to her class had much to say

  And beat her pupils every day.

  She ruled them with an iron fist –

  Now sadly gone but gladly missed.

  Out Fishing

  A heron,

  Needle-beaked,

  Bright-eyed,

  Barrel-chested,

  Silver-feathered,

  Stands in the river,

  Spiking fish,

  Then swallowing them whole –

  Effortlessly.

  A boy

  Sits on the bank,

  Holding his rod

  Above the weedy water,

  Watching the float,

  Waiting for a bite –

  Patiently.

  A Parent’s Prayer

  Always believe in yourself.

  Promise always to be compassionate.

  Appreciate that you make mistakes,

  Recognize that I do too.

  Entrust me with your worries.

  Never doubt that I will support you when you need me.

  Talk to me about the things you find difficult.

  Share your dreams.

  Please understand that I can have moods just like you.

  Receive a little advice now and again.

  Accept that I sometimes get things wrong.

  You need to help me to get things right.

  Enjoy your life.

  Realize that I love you without reservation.

  Rhyme-time

  Our teacher, Mrs Paradigm,

  To teach us children how to rhyme,

  Has asked us all to take our name

  And find a word that sounds the same.

  And so we did.

  Andy is dandy,

  Bhupa is super,

  Kitty is pretty and

  Clare is fair.

  Mable is able,

  Scott is hot,

  Luke is cute but

  Danuta is cuter.

  Dwight is bright,

  Trevor is clever,

  Terry is merry and

  Jim is slim.

  Brenda is tender,

  Cecil is special,

  Dean is keen but

  Rowena is keener.

  Liz is a whizz,

  Danny is canny,

  Pip is hip and

  Gill is brill,

  Holly is jolly,

  Grace is ace,

  Pete is sweet but

  Nita is sweeter.

  Kate is great,

  Mick is quick,

  Nancy is fancy and

  Paul is tall.

  Sally is pally,

  Wendy is trendy,

  Dave is brave but

  Fraser is braver.

  The trouble is my name is Matt,

  And I can’t think of a rhyme for that.

  Well, not a nice one anyway!

  Pageboy

  At my sister’s wedding

  I was a pageboy dressed in blue,

  With little velvet trousers

  And a buckle on each shoe.

  I had to wear white stockings

  And a massive pink bow tie,

  And a really silly frilly shirt.

  I thought that I would die.

  With everybody watching,

  I shuffled down the aisle,

  With a silver horseshoe in my hands,

  And a really stupid smile.

  ‘You do look very handsome,’

  My doting mother said.

  I looked at her and then replied,

  ‘I wish that I were dead!’

  ‘Well, I think you look nice,’ she sighed,

  ‘And very, very cute,

  In your pink bow tie and buckled shoes

  And your little pageboy suit.’

  ‘Well, thank you very much,’ I said,

  Glaring at my mother,

  ‘But I am twenty-one years old,

  And my sister’s elder brother!’

  The Parent’s Warning

  If you clamber on that frame,

  And bang your head just once again…

  Don’t say I didn’t warn you!

  If you tumble from that tree,

  Scrape your elbow, graze a knee…

  Don’t say I never told you so!

  If you stumble on that ledge,

  And fall and break both your legs…

  Don’t come running to me.

  Signs of the Times

  I sometimes stop and stand and stare

  In silent incredulity,

  At signs and labels everywhere

  Which show Man’s blind stupidity.

  In a newspaper: ‘Man battered in fish shop!’

  On a can of paint: ‘For indoor and outdoor use only’

  By a motorway: ‘Attention! All cats’ eyes have

  been removed!’

  On a hairdryer: ‘Do not use while sleeping.’

  In a shop: ‘Bargain basement upstairs.’

  On a packet of peanuts: ‘Warning! This product

  contains nuts.’

  At a station: ‘Beware of moving trains.’

  At the fair: ‘Ears pierced while you wait.’

  On a bottle of sleeping pills: ‘Warning:

  May cause drowsiness.’

  In a supermarket: ‘Our staff are here to

  serve you.’ On an examination paper:

  ‘This option is compulsory’

  In a gym: ‘If you cannot read these

  instructi
ons, ask for help.’

  On a child’s toy: ‘Please note, this gun

  does not fire real bullets.’

  In a public toilet: ‘Wet floor!

  This is not an instruction.’

  Dominic

  Of all the children I have known,

  There’s none who is so accident prone

  As Dominic, who, it’s fair to say,

  Has accidents nearly every day.

  He’s trapped his fingers in the door,

  Trod on crabs near the salt sea shore,

  Dived like Tarzan from a tree,

  Cut his head and grazed a knee.

  Poked a pencil up his nose,

  Dropped an iron on his toes.

  He spilt a scalding cup of coffee,

  Choked on a slab of sticky toffee.

  He’s tumbled, sleeping, from his bed,

  Broke an arm and bruised a leg.

  Doctors and nurses all agree

  There’s none so accident prone as he.

  Yet, when from hospital he comes home,

  Dominic doesn’t cry and moan

  He says, ‘How boring life would be

  If you didn’t have an interesting son like me!’

  Accident

  When I knocked a plate off the table

  And it shattered on the floor,

  And the food spattered across the wall,

  Dad raised the roof with a roar.

  ‘For goodness sake, be careful!

  I’ve told you so before!’

  When Dad knocked a mug off the table

  And tipped it over the chair,

  And the coffee spattered across the wall,

  Dad growled like a grizzly bear.

  ‘For goodness sake,’ he shook his head,

  ‘Who left the coffee there?’

  The Inspector Calls

  The room was cold and dingy

  And the windows far from clean.

  No sand or clay, no wall display,

  Not a book was to be seen.

  ‘I am sure you have a lot of fun,’

  The school inspector said,

  To the rows of nervous children

  Who sat in silent dread.

  ‘I am sure you have a lot of fun,’

  The visitor repeated,

  And the children nodded obediently,

  ‘Oh yes sir,’ they all bleated.

  But at the back sat David,

  And he shook his little head.

  ‘Well, I don’t have a lot of fun,’

  The little infant said.

  ‘Of course you do!’ the teacher snapped,

  And fixed him with a glare.

  ‘We’re always having lots of fun!’

  In a voice that said: ‘Beware!’

  But David shook his head again,

  And they heard the infant say:

  ‘Well, I do not remember it –

  I must have been away that day!’

  Will You Come to My Party?

  Will you come to my party?

  Oh please say that you will come.

  There’ll be lots to eat and lots to drink

  It really will be fun.

  The philosopher observed: ‘I’ll think about it.’

  The musician trilled: ‘Sounds good to me.’

  The psychologist thought it a mad idea.

  The butler said: ‘I’ll wait and see.’

  The psychologist replied that she’d bear it in mind.

  The meteorologist said, ‘Fine.’

  The greengrocer remarked that he’d weigh things up.

  The horologist would ‘if I have the time.’

  The insomniac sighed she’d sleep on it.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ the penitent said.

  The optician concluded: ‘It looks all right.’

  The librarian said: ‘Take it as read.’

  The cardiologist hadn’t the heart to refuse.

  The wrangler whooped: ‘Yippee!’

  The inventor declared: ‘I can make it, all right.’

  The escapologist said: ‘If I’m free.’

  The fisherman told me he’d drop me a line.

  The rugby player promised he’d try.

  The campanologist said: ‘I’ll give you a ring.’

  The examiner asked me: ‘Why?’

  The parachutist said that he might drop in.

  The informer that he’d let me know.

  ‘I’d love to come!’ the fiancée cried.

  The killjoy answered, ‘No!’

  The wrestler growled he would put it on hold.

  The rambler said: ‘I’m on the way.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll be there,’ the naturist said,

  I’ve nothing on that day’

  Conversation with the Infant

  ‘You look so deep in thought,’

  The school inspector said.

  ‘Now tell me please, my little man,

  What is going through your head?’

  ‘Well, have you ever stopped to think,’

  The little infant said,

  ‘That when I’m twenty-one years old,

  You’ll probably be dead!’

  What’s What?

  Watch it!

  Watch what?

  Just watch it, see!

  See what?

  You know what!

  What?

  You’re asking for it!

  Asking for what?

  That does it!

  Does what?

  You’re in for it now!

  In for what?

  What’s what, that’s what!

  Oh.

  Do I make myself clear?

  Perfectly.

  I Would Sooner

  I would sooner:

  Kiss a witch with a wart on her chin,

  Live for a week in a smelly dustbin,

  Wrestle an octopus underwater,

  Play Postman’s Knock with Dracula’s daughter,

  Stand in a cellar in the cold and dark,

  Swim in the sea with a great white shark,

  Eat a plate of worms on toast,

  Spend all night with a headless ghost,

  Tickle a tarantula’s hairy leg,

  Sleep with a slug in a slimy bed,

  Walk in a wood when the moon shines bright,

  Go through the graveyard at dead of night,

  Dance with a dragon in his dusty lair,

  Play blind man’s buff with a grizzly bear.

  Than:

  Get on the wrong side of my teacher

  when she’s in a bad mood!

  Conversation with the Teacher

  Richard!

  Yes, Miss?

  I think I can see a coat on the floor

  Getting dusty and dirty and trampled upon.

  Yes, Miss, so can I!

  Conversation with the School Inspector

  Would you read to me?

  Why?

  Because I would like you to.

  Why?

  Because I would like to hear how well you read.

  Is it your hobby?

  No, it’s my job.

  Funny sort of job!

  Bonfire Night

  I remember my first Bonfire Night.

  It was cold and clear and the air smelled of smoke

  My father sat me high on his shoulders to see

  the dancing flames

  And the red sparks spitting in the air.

  My face burned with the heat.

  And then I saw him –

  The figure sitting on the wigwam of wood.

  I screamed and screamed and screamed.

  ‘There’s a man on top,’ I cried, ‘a man in the fire!

  Oh help him, Daddy, please!’

  And everyone laughed.

  ‘It’s just the guy,’ my father said.

  ‘He’s made of rags and paper.

  He’s not real.’

  But I was sad and scared to see

  Those clinging fingers of fire

&n
bsp; Scorch the stuffed body, crackling the arms,

  Those searing tongues of flame lick round

  the bloated legs,

  And swallow up the wide-eyed, smiling face.

  Now, as I stand around the bonfire,

  My own child perched high on my shoulders,

  I recall my father’s words:

  ‘He’s just a guy. He’s made of rags and paper.

  He’s not real.’

  Yet, still I shudder at the sight of the blazing figure

  Burning in the night.

  The Day Our Teacher Went Batty

  On April Fool’s Day

  Miss Stanley emerged from the storeroom

  And, between finger and thumb,

  She held something black and rubbery

  with two small gleaming eyes.

  ‘Very funny,’ she said, smiling and holding up

  the creature for us all to see.

  ‘And who,’ asked our teacher, ‘is the prankster?

  Who put this plastic toy bat in my cupboard?’

  When no one answered, Miss Stanley asked again:

  ‘The April Fool is over now, so come along,

  so we can start our writing.’

  Still no one said a word.

  ‘Jason Thompson, was it you?

  I see you smirking at the back.

  If you expect me to scream, you will be disappointed.’

  And then the creature turned its black and furry head,

  And flapped its rubbery wings,

  And showed a set of sharp and shiny teeth.

  It was no toy the teacher held.

  The bat had fluttered in through the skylight

  And slept in the storeroom in the dusty dark,

  Until disturbed by the teacher.

  The corridors echoed with Miss Stanley’s screams

  That April Fool’s Day.

  Love Poem

  The big black bull called to the cow

  As she happily munched on the hay:

  ‘O beautiful bovine,’ he bellowed out loud,

  ‘I love you, my dear Charolais.

  Come into my field and how happy we’ll be

  Together, oh what do you say?’

  The cow, she looked up and replied with a smile,

  ‘I’m not in the mooo-d today.’