Once upon a time, when my children were very small, I wrote some stories for them. Four were published (by Hambleside) in a series of twelve books of 'original fables'. They were also collected in some handsome library editions and were made into story tapes, read by some famous children's TV presenters of the time. They were -
- The Two Cockerels
- The Man Who Caught Fish
- The Gold-Digger
- The King's Picture
(I think one or two of them are still available as 'collectibles' on Amazon.)
I recently went back to writing for children as a change from some rather sad 'adult' things I was working on - stories and poems nothing whatsoever like those original, rather 'well-intentioned' publications. I had tremendous fun coming up with some animal poems - one for each letter of the alphabet, but using 'off-beat' rather than obvious animals. My working title for the collection is Iguanas in Pyjamas. Here are a few of them.
Bat
Bats are ‘stitched-together’ things
part bird
part furred
big-eared
absurd
with bits of umbrellas for wings.
They squeak and they squeal,
no chirping or song
as they fly
low and high
— featherless! —
swooping by
not knowing quite where they belong.
Caves are where they prefer to reside
where its gloomy
but roomy
and damp
and old-tomby
with other bats close by their side.
For sleeping, bats hang upside-down.
Do they dream
of the gleam
of the moon
in a stream
or a fairy-tale bat in a crown?
What really does go on in their heads
all the day
as they stay
in their cave
far away?
Do they wish they were sleeping in beds?
All bats are acro-bats
megabats
fruit-bats
vampires
or horseshoe-bats —
strange, but as clever as cats!
Dingo
A dingo? It’s a dog — a sort of brownish-yellow,
and something like a wolf: an untrustworthy fellow.
Don’t plan to take a dingo home: as pets they are a failure
(and anyway, most dingos live in faraway Australia).
Never stroke a dingo. They’d rather be quite friendless.
They really are NOT sociable and their appetite is endless.
There’s nothing they like better than meat all redly raw.
Yet their hunger’s never satisfied: they’re always wanting more.
But a dingo just can’t help it: they’re made that way, you see.
Sheep go through life sheepishly, and dingos dingo-ly.
Iguana
Iguanas
in pyjamas
are not a sight you’ll see.
Looking funky,
looking punky
is how they like to be.
Very silent,
can be violent
in that wet-suit chain-mail skin.
Unromantic,
never frantic
and they’re neither fat not thin.
Quite alarming,
rarely charming,
if it hears you it will freeze.
Pretty wizard
as a lizard
and sitting still in trees.
Looking niggly,never giggly,
you won’t ever see them smile,
only stiffenlike a griffen:
that’s the iguana’s style.
Kangaroo
The kangaroo can’t go wrong - go wrong
when it comes to getting along - along.
It does it by bouncing - by bouncing
on legs that are terribly strong - so strong.
It’s the back legs alone that are springy - are springy,
the front ones are tiny and stringy - and stringy
and must be tucked in for the journey - the journey,
as bouncing can make things quite swingy - quite swingy.
The baby must ride in the pouch - the pouch.
It must make tiny tummies feel ouch - feel ouch.
All that bouncing, bouncing - bouncing
makes a baby all grumble and grouch - and grouch.
Though the baby one surely deplores it - deplores it,
the kangaroo mother adores it - adores it,
that bouncing, bouncing - bouncing,
and this fact alone reassures it - assures it …
that once it’s as big as its mummy - its mummy,
and no longer rides in her tummy - her tummy,
and does its own bouncing - own bouncing,
it won’t view the bouncing so glumly - so glumly.
It can bounce along fast and enjoys it - enjoys it;
no grumbles or grouching destroys it - destroys it,
this love of the bouncing - the bouncing.
It’s happy. And nothing annoys it -annoys it.
If you’re feeling grouchy and snappy - and snappy,
but want to be cheerful and zappy -and zappy,
try bouncing, bouncing -bouncing.
It'll help you feel friendly and happy -and happy.