Witches' Knickers
12 Silly Poems for Children
Paul Whybrow
Copyright 2014 Paul Whybrow
Published by Paul Whybrow
(Originally written and published under the pen-name
Augustus Devilheart)
Cover Art: Ideago at FreeDigitalPhotos.
Witches' Knickers
12 Silly Poems for Children
License Notes
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Witches' Knickers
12 Silly Poems for Children
Disclaimer
This book is a work of fiction. While some of the place names are real, characters are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Witches' Knickers
12 Silly Poems for Children
'Enjoy yourself.
It's later than you think.'
Chinese proverb
Contents
The Poems
At The Witches' Hairdresser
Witches' Knickers
Yippee and Yahoo
Animal Christmas Lists
The World's Gone Mad!
Bonkers and Nutty
Things You Can't Count
The Land of Boing
She's a Nightmare!
My Troublesome Secret Powers
Heeby-Jeeby and Colly-Wobble
My Beard and I
The End
About The Author
Also by Paul Whybrow
Novellas
Short Stories
Song Lyrics
Poetry
Novels
Connect with the author
Witches' Knickers
12 Silly Poems for Children
Paul Whybrow
At The Witches' Hairdresser
Mistress Wanda Willow-Switch,
hairdresser to the Witches,
Has her salon in a Wych Elm,
of course—where else could it be?
This lightning-struck hollow tree
points bare blackened branches up.
It's just big enough for one mirror,
one sink, one seat, one client + Wanda.
Other witchy customers queue outside,
comparing crows, stroking their cats
and picking up juicy slugs and snails.
They'll come in useful later, you know.
For using in potions, boiled up in a cauldron,
to cast spells on those who need sorting out.
How much longer will Wanda be, do you think?
Her latest customer is taking an age.
She's having a proper hair-do, the full works.
Lots of grey ash rubbed into her locks.
Some snail slime to hold her tresses in place.
A few twigs and dried leaves would look good.
A girl likes to look her best, and that includes witches.
Wanda knows what they want and gathers it up
from hedgerows, farm-yards, dustbins and ditches.
I love what she does with bat skeletons, don't you?
They make such elegant hair-slides, clipping fringes
in place, so you can see where to fly your broomstick.
She also has dried worm hair-grips, but my crow
likes the taste of those—stupid bird!
Wanda's hair is purple and straggly.
It's such a perfect look, all braided with moss.
Her complexion's quite horrid, fat warts,
hairy moles and unexplained lumps.
I wish that I had her beauty, but can only afford
some old engine oil rubbed into my hair today.
I've enough for sprinkling toe-nail clippings
on the goo—like crescent moons in the night.
Look, it's your turn—hurry into the chair.
I'm going to rub my teeth with mud—
they're way too bright, and I like the taste.
I'll look better for it, and I hate to see waste.
Witches' Knickers
The witches must be feeling cold.
The wind blowing up their cloaks,
and under their shabby black dresses.
They're feeling chilly, a little bit nippy,
because their knickers have blown off!
Those carrier-bags and bin-liners,
All torn and ragged, caught in branches
Of bare trees and bushes were once
witches' knickers. How low were they flying
to get them caught in that way?
Brrrhhh!
Yippee and Yahoo
(Act the actions out, emphasizing the names)
Yippee and Yahoo,
Happy good friends,
Who like surprises,
Went on a fun trip
To see their chums.
Hurray was cheering.
Fantastic, so ecstatic.
Super-duper, satisfied.
Cool, laid-back impressed.
Brilliant shone brightly.
Fabulous liked lots.
Wonderful, full of awe.
Sensational, so stunned.
Amazing, bowled-over.
Great threw a party.
Awesome's jaw dropped.
Wicked giggled madly.
Magnificent boomed.
Nice simpered sweetly.
Terrific put thumbs up.
Wild growled gleefully.
Outstanding saluted.
Breath-taking puffed.
Crikey whistled.
Lovely liked it all.
Visits over, Yippee and Yahoo
Journeyed home surprised
By all of their friends.
It's good to be delighted.
To be happy at what's new.
Animal Christmas Lists
Weary rabbits want some trainers
to help them run really fast.
Toothache mouse would like a drill
to make some big round holes.
Puzzled cat needs a magic switch
that opens all closed doors.
Begging dog fancies some fresh
new bones, and meaty ones please.
Coo-coo pigeon requires a harmonica
to make some sweet new tunes.
Blue budgerigar likes looking at itself,
a magnifying mirror would be great!
Our garden hedgehog simply needs
a nice long sleep in a pile of cosy leaves.
Old owl hoots out for velvet curtains
to make his tree-hole draught-free.
Goldfish can't remember what they want,
but we'll get them some new wavy weed.
Fox comes and goes, raiding our bin—
could we leave the lid off now and again?
Badger eats our fallen orchard apples,
could we plant some pears and plum trees?
The wallaby (where did he come from?),
wants a new trampoline—he's broken the old one!
The World's Gone Mad!
I like to think I'm sensible,
That I know what's what.
Things kept in the proper place.
A sense of order about life.
But I'm thinking things are not
Quite right, a little bit askew.
I've noticed some irregularities
That shouldn't be at all….
Why is there a giant green frog
Driving our nice red bus?
He halts at all the right stops,
But hops and croaks a lot.
I don't remember school decorated
Flashing brightly on and off,
But I guess it looks quite nice.
Our road-crossing lady is now a hippo,
Happy, grey and fat, which helps to stop
The cars, though she licks the lollipop
Like it's real, with cheerful gusto.
My Mum looks different somehow.
Her hair is strands of toffee now,
Which she chews on greedily.
She's putting on some weight...
My bed's become a spaceship,
Which transports me to dream
Planets when I sleep—good fun,
But I'd rather stay on this world.
My breakfast cereal turned blue,
And the milk was liquid gold.
It tasted quite alright, but stained
The bowl—what about my innards?
I went to write these things down
On my note-pad and computer.
But the letters danced around
And made new words themselves.
Our cat has taken up knitting,
She's made herself a winter coat
Of wool, string and bright beads.
It's sure to keep her snug and warm.
All of this is making me think
That an alien came and took over
The running of things one night.
There's a strange glow from the shed.
But no one there when I go and look,
Though it smells a bit of space-dust.
It's not so bad, not really, it makes sense
In lots of ways, but I can't help but wonder.
Will I fit in with this new way of life?
For I'm sensible, and used to how things
Were before the world went mad.
I'll have to try and see.
I'm going for a ride on my jet-bike now.
I'll stop off at the sweet-shop to have a bite
Of the walls and gargle purple milk-shake.
Do you want to come too?
Bonkers and Nutty
Bonkers and Nutty,
Best friend and best friend,
Took themselves on a trip.
They went round the bend.
Driving their lime-green
Car made of jelly and fruit,
They bounced down the lane.
Gave their cream-horn a toot.
First they met Funny Peculiar.
She lived in a house of porridge.
Grey oat walls dribbling down
Next to a black liquorice bridge.
She sent them on their journey
To Crazy and Crackers, who made
Furniture out of toffee and fudge.
It melted unless stood in the shade.
Feeling sticky and clammy, the friends
Chugged on to see Jumping Jehoshaphat.
He leaped around wearing trousers
Of burgers and bacon, glistening with fat.
Off they pootled down the custard road,
Avoiding the castle of Berserk and Demented.
It's walls spiky with yellow pineapples,
Behind a raspberry sauce moat, sticky and red.
More friendly were Idiotic and Stupid.
In their shack made of crispy pancake.
They had a bite of the chewy walls,
Before their leave they did take.
Back home they considered what fun
It all was to have such strange buddies.
Living on a planet called Mad World
No one was a normal boring fuddy-duddy.
Things You Can't Count
I can count quite high,
But it's boring, after a bit.
A repetitive pattern
That goes on forever.
Counting things is interesting,
But I found out you can't count
Everything—the numbers fly away.
Literally sometimes—what about birds?
Starlings roosting in trees.
A black mass of bird dots.
Too many to number one by one
I made a quick guess.
That's called estimating,
Which is a good trick when stuck.
Like, it's 150 steps to the corner,
And about fifty times that to school.
How many is that on a calculator?
I must walk millions of paces a year!
What about heartbeats in my chest,
Which go on forever without halt?
They're hard to feel, but I'm glad of them.
Then there's dreams every night—
I can't remember all of them to add up,
And it might not matter how many I have.
Breathing just happens, I can't count that.
And I've eaten lots of different things,
Too many to recall, though they tasted nice.
I wonder how much ice-cream I've eaten?
Not enough!
The Land of Boing
I'm bouncing along,
Springs in my heels,
Springs in my toes.
I'm in the land of Boing,
So I want to fit in.
There's a man over there,
And up there, and down there,
With a great coiled spring
Looped around his bottom.
His cheeks are wobbling too….
Two thin girls, twins perhaps,
Have slinky silver springs
Wound up their skinny arms.
They're doing hand-stands,
Leaping over one another.
Look at that family in their car.
It has four squat flat springs
Instead of wheels and tyres.
They're jiggling down the road
In squeaky leaps and bounds.
Spring-motion is easier than walking.
I like it quite a lot, though it felt giddy
At first, my breakfast almost came out.
One warning—beware of the aeroplanes,
They take forever to land—boing, boing, boing!
She's a Nightmare!
I don't know who she is,
But she creeps into my dreams.
And makes them horrid,
Just as I'm enjoying the show.
Laying in my warm bed
Snuggled down nice and cosy,
Watching the dreams in my mind.
Then she crawls right inside.
She's there in my noggin,
Interfering with the scenes.
I didn't have a bear in the fridge,
Why is it chewing on my toes?
There's orange eels in the fireplace
Instead of bright roaring flames.
She put them there to spite me.
I wish that she'd clear off.
Go, muck up someone else's dream.
Leave mine well alone, for me
To direct and star in, then watch.
But no, she's put a spider in the custard.
I'm not eating that—take it out, poor thing.
What's she up to now? I can't see her.
Where's she gone? I'll turn over
And see if I can find her somewhere.
I'm not sure what she looks like,
This girl who trespasses into my sleep.
She's nothing like me whatsoever.
The girl's a nightmare!
My Troublesome Secret Powers
I work rather well as I am.
I'm glad that all is right with me.
I get through life with my senses,
And my limbs help me along.
But a secret power would be great fun,
Best kept quiet to make the most of it.
Not easy to do, when you think about it.
Unless you combined two secret powers.
I'd like to fly, speed across the sky
Like a swallow, swooping up and down.
But everyone would watch and chase me,
So I'd never get any peace from then on.
But if I were invisible too, I'd fly all over,
And no one would be able to see me.
But if I were invisible I might get run over
While standing watching something interesting.
To keep safe as someone who can't be seen
I'd need the power of premonition to predict
What's about to happen next in my life.
I'd jump around nervously like I'm on springs.
If I knew what was going to happen all the time,
Life would become boring and who would like me?
Secret powers can be more like problems than I thought.
I need to reconsider what to equip myself with.
I could be super-strong, able to lift and break things,
But then I'd end up a machine, always doing work.
What about X-ray vision, to see through things?
Fun for a while, I'd become a real nosy-parker.
I'd like to live forever, but then all the people I know
Would die and I'd need to keep making new friends,
Or I'd just end up as the oldest and loneliest person
Alive—full of memories, but nothing to look forward to.
I need to think of something simpler, that won't hurt.