Poem of the Week 27

Spaghetti! Spaghetti!

Jack Prelutsky

 

Spaghetti! Spaghetti!

you’re wonderful stuff,

I love you spaghetti,

I can’t get enough,

You’re covered with sauce

and you’re sprinkled with cheese,

Spaghetti! Spaghetti!

Oh, give me some please.

 

Spaghetti! Spaghetti!

piled high in a mound,

you wiggle, you wriggle,

you squiggle around.

There’s slurpy spaghetti

all over my plate.

Spaghetti! Spaghetti!

I think you are great.

 

Spaghetti! Spaghetti!

I love you a lot,

you’re slishy, you’re sloshy,

delicious and hot,

I gobble you down

oh, I can’t get enough,

Spaghetti! Spaghetti!

you’re wonderful stuff.

Poem of the Week 26

Unfinished Poem

Barrie Wade

 

Here is the tiny seed.

Drop it from your palm.

Cover it with earth.

 

Here is the tender shoot

breaking through warm soil.

Water it with love.

 

Here is the slender stalk

Moist with morning dew.

Shelter it with care.

 

Here is the velvet bud

folded in itself.

See its slow unfurling.
Here is the fragrant flower

Open to the bees.

Watch their happy visiting.

 

Here is the shrivelled pod

rattling in cold wind.

Wait for the shell to split.

 

Here is the tiny seed.

Poem of the Week 25

​Simple Things

Carole King

Simple things mean a lot to me

Some things only children can see

Simple things like horses running free

And easy acceptance of life

Simple things never compromise

All things have a rhythm I can’t realise

I feel content in my freedom

And I feel my freedom is right

I never want to stop being a child

I want to see the flowers growing wild on the hillside

To see the sun rise in the morning

Sunlight growing, filling the skies

Simple things of the earth don’t die

They just grow and change as time goes by

There are no questions without answers

I’ve found my answer to life is living

The secret of living is life

Poem of the Week 24

Matilda Who told Lies, and was Burned to Death

Hilaire Belloc

 

Matilda told such Dreadful Lies,

It made one Gasp and Stretch one’s Eyes;

Her Aunt, who, from her Earliest Youth,

Had kept a Strict Regard for Truth,

Attempted to believe Matilda:

The effort very nearly killed her,

And would have done so, had not she

Discovered this Infirmity.

For once, towards the Close of Day,

Matilda, growing tired of play,

And finding she was left alone,

Went tiptoe to the telephone

And summoned the Immediate Aid

Of London’s Noble Fire Brigade.

Within an hour the Gallant Band

Were pouring in on every hand,

From Putney, Hackney Downs and Bow,

With Courage high and Hearts a-glow.

They galloped, roaring through the Town,

‘Matilda’s House is Burning Down.’

 

Inspired by British Cheers and Loud

Proceeding from the Frenzied Crowd,

They ran their ladders through a score

Of windows on the Ball Room Floor;

And took Peculiar Pains to Souse

The Pictures up and down the House,

Until Matilda’s Aunt succeeded

In showing them they were not needed;

And even then she had to pay

To get the Men to go away!

 

It happened that a few Weeks later

Her Aunt was off to the Theatre

To see that Interesting Play,

The Second Mrs Tanqueray.

She had refused to take her Niece

To hear this Entertaining Piece:

A Deprivation Just and Wise

To Punish her for Telling Lies.

That Night a Fire did break out—

You should have heard Matilda Shout!

You should have heard her Scream and Bawl,

And throw the window up and call

To People passing in the Street—

(The rapidly increasing Heat

Encouraging her to obtain

Their confidence)—but all in vain!

For every time she shouted, ‘Fire!’

They only answered, ‘Little Liar!’

And therefore when her Aunt returned,

Matilda, and the House, were Burned.