Other works by Barnaby Wilde
Keep on Rolling
Armadillos shouldn’t try,
To emulate the birds and fly.
For, …
… however hard they try to flap ’em,
Without wings, it just won’t happen.
Equally, it would be smart,
To stay away from martial arts,
(a ‘dillo in a judo suit,
Could never be considered cute).
Imagine how extremely silly,
Sumo wrestling armadilli,
Would appear,
In all that jock strap Sumo gear.
So, before they try new sports,
‘dillos (as they’re called for short),
Should take a moment for reflection,
To determine which direction,
Suits their talents best.
Then ditch all notions of the rest.
For example, armadillo golf requires,
Much shorter clubs, or ‘dillos that are higher.
Similarly, cycling would seem,
To be beyond an armadillos wildest dream.
As would cricket, netball, hockey,
Or point to point with teeny, tiny armadillo jockeys.
High jump, long jump, marathon, all out.
Skiing, boxing, javelin, also no no’s without doubt.
Gymnastics, too, would be a step too far.
Can you imagine armadillos on the asymetric bars?
No. What armadillos do the best of all,
Is simply curl up in a perfect armoured ball.
And there is a sport that makes an almost ideal fit,
With no need to purchase any special kit.
Forget those games like billiards, where balls are pushed down holes,
The perfect armadillo sport is, surely, bowls?
And bowls is played by gentlefolk, disciplined and kind.
The sort of folk that mannered armadillos like to find.
All the player armadillo needs to do,
Is curl up in a ball beside the bowling player’s shoe.
And with his head tucked tightly in his back,
Roll gently down the green towards the jack.
This works as well for flat or crown green bowling.
All the ‘dillo needs to do is ‘keep on rolling’,
And when the game is over at the end of play,
The mannered armadillo just uncurls and walks away.
But, listen armadillos. Here’s a warning of a sort.
Ten pin bowling in an alley is quite a different sport.
There is nothing at all genteel about rushing down a track,
And smashing into skittles with your head or wth your back.
And in case you choose to disregard my good advice,
Here’s another thought that might just bring some tears into your eyes.
While you’re waiting to be bowled, with your head tucked in your bum.
Where do you think the bowler plans to stick his finger and his thumb?
(February 2010)
Return to contents page
Touché, or Not Touché
Two beetles disagreed one day and thought they’d have a battle,
But the smaller one was rather scared. In fact, distinctly rattled.
The choice was fight or flight, and so, despite all the upheavals,
He chose to cut and run. It was the lesser of two weevils.
(February 2010)
Return to contents page
Just Hanging On
Life isn’t much fun for a barnacle,
Stuck by his bum to a rock,
Pounded by waves, or baked by the sun,
It’s just a succession of knocks.
But he never gives up,
No, he never gives in, or,
He just might just end up,
As some big fishes dinner.
He just sings a song when he’s feeling unhappy.
You could learn a lot from this jolly wee chappie.
For everyone has a day now and then,
When everything seems to go bad.
But if you remember our barnacle friend,
Maybe you won’t feel so sad.
When the going gets tough,
And everything’s wrong,
Just cheer yourself up,
By singing his song.
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la la…
When the tide comes in,
My tentacles come out.
I open up my lid,
And I wave them all about.
I have a bit of fun,
While I’m sheltered from the sun,
And I pop back in,
When the job is done.
Oh, I pop back in,
When the job is done.
(January 2009)
(Barnacle – a clinging sea organism: a small invertebrate animal with a shell that clings to rocks and ships and draws food to itself by using slender hairs (cirri))
Return to contents page
.
Honey Bees
Honey bees are mostly buzz,
With hairy legs and tummy fuzz.
They flit from flower to flower with ease,
Collecting pollen on their knees.
And when the sun goes down at night,
They pull their little wings in tight,
And tuck their legs beneath their chins,
While smoking pot and sinking gins.
Those fuzzy, muzzy, buzzy bees,
Live stress free lives amongst the trees,
Pausing only to collect a
Few sweet drops of honey nectar.
But while you envy their small idyll,
Ponder on this thought a little,
For just one lucky b** will mate,
As all the rest are celibate.
And despite their seeming freedom,
All’s not perfect there in beedom.
Their lives are short and quickly fail.
Alas… a sting in every tale.
(January 2003)
Return to contents page
Because He’s Worth It
What do you buy a camel for his birthday?
What do you buy a camel for a gift?
You could buy him a camel coat,
Or a muffler for his throat,
But if you get him nothing, he’ll be miffed.
Oh, what do you buy a camel when it’s Xmas?
What do you get that’s bound to be a hit?
For there’s something slightly shocking,
About finding an empty stocking,
That’s enough to make your normal camel spit.
Now, …
… a camel isn’t beautiful,
a camel isn’t cute,
Mostly they’re plug ugly,
With B.O. and quite hirsuite,
But even camels have ambitions,
And it’s time that you took pity,
Buy your camel something nice,
Something that might make him feel pretty.
Some mascara for his eyes,
Might be really rather nice,
Or a lipstick in a somewhat vivid red.
Night cream for skin that’s flaccid,
Made with hyaluronic acid
Or with collagen rich biospheres instead.
You could buy some moisturiser,
But a blusher might be nicer,
And a good concealer could be welcome too.
Eye shadow goes down well,
Along with volumising hair gel,
Or nail varnish in a lurid day-glow hue..
So, what do you buy a camel for a present?
What do you buy to show him that you care?
You’d feel some kind of chump,
If your camel got the hump,
Because you’d bought him slippers,
but you only bought one pair!
So, here’s what to give a camel for a bonus,
Here’s what to buy that’s not co
mpletely pants,
Forget the false eye lashes,
For someone who never washes,
The best gifts would be strong deodorants.
Yes, that’s what to buy a camel for his birthday?
Something that won’t incur a major debt.
Because what everybody knows is,
All of them have halitosis.
So you’d better get him something for bad breath.
Don’t stand so close, please,
You’d better get him something for his breath.
Please move downwind, sir.
Antiseptic mouthwash for his breath.
Because he’s worth it.
Who wouldn’t love a camel with sweet breath?
( May 2009 ).
This poem is better sung than read. Just make up your own tune and you’ll soon get the idea. I didn’t intend it to be so long.
Return to contents page
Ruminations
Mostly cows just stand around on flowery meads and hillocks.
All they do is moo and chew and turn grass into millock.
(October 2010)
Return to contents page
Doggerel (or Catteral?)
Now, fancy that.
I’ve never done a poem about cats.
It’s just a wicked rumour,
That I wrote about a puma.
No, I’ve never written verses about cats.
I might have mentioned dogs,
Chameleons or frogs,
But I’ve never done a poem about cats.
Just because you thinkses,
That I once wrote about lynxes,
Or you swear you saw me try an’,
Write an ode about a lion,
I assure you that I’ve never mentioned cats.
The reason is there’s not a lot,
Of words that rhyme with ocelot,
And if I slip a tiger in,
It just brings on a mig(e)raine,
So, I’ve never written verses about cats.
Perhaps you’ll think me woossie,
For not writing about pussies
Or you’ll say I’m not a man fer,
Shunning words that rhyme with panther,
But I’ll never write a poem about cats.
My mind just goes all foggy,
If I search for rhymes for moggy,
So I’ll never write an ode about a cat.
You won’t find my work peppered,
With caracals or leopards,
And I hope that you’ll forgive it,
If I fail to mention civets,
But I simply won’t write poems about cats.
Oh! But jeepers and doggone it,
Even though it’s not a sonnet,
I think I’ve penned a poem about cats.
But I promise I’ve not written,
About jaguars or kittens,
And I don’t think I’ve gone too far,
Leaving out cervals and cougars,
Even though I think I might have mentioned cats.
Yes, I think that I might just have mentioned cats.
So that’s that.
(March 2010)
Return to contents page
Centipedes rarely play cricket
Centipedes rarely play cricket.
The reason is clear to all.
They’re out leg before leg before wicket,
Every time on the very first ball.
Centipedes rarely play cricket.
It’s not just that they can’t hold the bat,
But they’re leg before leg before wicket,
Every time, every ball, it’s ‘Owzat?’.
No, Centipedes rarely play cricket,
And it’s perfectly obvious why.
They’re out leg before leg before wicket,
No matter how hard they try.
Oh, Centipedes shouldn’t play cricket.
The problem, you see, is their shoes.
By the time that they’ve got all their boots on,
Everyone else has vamoosed.
No, Centipedes ought to do long jump.
They’d win every time with some ease.
Because even the flakiest take off
Clears one hundred feet at the least.
(August 2004)
Return to contents page
Chameleons
Chameleons are mostly there,
And not, as most folk think, quite rare.
Because they change their skins to match,
The colour of the background patch,
It can be difficult to spot ‘em,
When they’re lurking at the bottom,
Of your stairs, or hanging from the picture rail,
By that foot long prehensile tail.
So…
… next time you’re looking at the wall,
And the pattern starts to crawl,
Is it chameleons you’ve missed?
Or is it simply that you’re pissed?
(February 2008)
Return to contents page
Chicken
The chicken is a useful bird which lays eggs for the table.
It also makes a splendid roast when it’s no longer able.
(December 2003)
Return to contents page
Crocodiles
Crocodiles are mostly teeth,
With eyes on top and grins beneath.
They lurk about in murky water,
Eating things they didn’t oughta.
They fix you with a beady stare,
Pretending that they isn’t there,
Then grab you with a sudden chop.
(Except the ones that skip and hop,
And sit around all day on logs.
But, mostly, they is really frogs.)
(August 2003)
Return to contents page
Dodo Time
The Dodo was a don’t do bird,
… (“I don’t do flying!”) …
It preferred,
To stand around discussing evolution,
And the coming revolution.
Denigrating all the lower classes,
Drinking fine champagne from even finer glasses.
The Dodo/don’t do bird,
(It looked like Charles de Gaulle I’ve heard),
Don’t do swimming neither,
Neither did it soar nor glide,
Nor ride the thermals looking for fresh prey.
Instead it stood around all day,
Ignoring those new sailors in the bay,
With just the odd ‘Chin chin’, ‘I say’,
And ‘Bottoms up’ amongst the din.
The Dodo/don’t do bird was rather prone to boast,
But while it stood around proposing toasts,
It overlooked the thing that mattered most,
Which was, … it made a rather splendid roast.
The Dodo don’t do nothing now.
(November 2007)
Return to contents page
Duck Bill
A platypus ain’t fish nor fowl,
Nor, by the way, marsupial.
With horny beak and four webbed feet,
It tends to dribble when it eats.
Those furry little platypi
(that’s plural for two platypussies)
Never, ever learned to fly
The fuzzy, ozzy, pussy, woossies!
(December 2008)
Return to contents page
If elephants were really small
If elephants were really small
We’d scarcely notice them at all,
Unless a flock should run amok
And make a nest amongst our socks
Or else we found one in our bed,
Snoring, fit to wake the dead.
(Or would they trumpet through the night?
Tiny fanfares? Well, they might).
Perhaps if they were middle sized
And blue, they might be highly prized
/> As pets and taken to the coast
To see which one could build the most
Exciting castle in the sand.
Assuming they could understand
The basic concept and their lack of hands
Was not too much to spoil their plans.
But, what if they were really big,
Like, say, an offshore drilling rig.
Or absolutely flippin’ vast
Like some huge iceberg drifting past
With all ten tenths in view
And pink, not blue.
Perhaps it’s time we ceased to speculate.
This thought is just too big to contemplate.
Then again, if they were tall,
But strangely thin, we might not notice them at all
And they could have a lot of laughs
Telling jokes to bored giraffes
While we hung hammocks from their knees
Thinking they were simply trees
And drinking cappuccino from a cup,
Never wondering nor looking up.
(November 2002)
Return to contents page
Elephants
Elephants are mostly grey
And eat in a peculiar way,
By standing on their tippy toeses
Picking branches with their noses.
(October 2002)
Return to contents page
In the Pink
Flamingoes legs are very long.
The reason is quite sound.
‘cos, if they were any shorter,
Then, they wouldn’t reach the ground.
( August 2011)
Return to contents page
A Tall Story
Giraffes are mostly rather tall,
(Although their tails are fairly small).
Mainly they are just long necks,
The rest is chiefly made of legs.
Due to the distance North to South,
To reach their belly from their mouth,
Breakfast fodder that they munch on,
Gets there just in time for luncheon.
(April 2009)
Return to contents page
No Flies on Me
Hoopoes fly like butterflies,
Marge flies like a brick.
Fruit flies like a ripe banana,
Time flies by real quick.
(July 2009)
Return to contents page
Lizard Tails
Lizards happen when it’s hot,
And bask in any sunny spot.
But when they sense you getting near,
The little baskers disappear.
(September 2011)
Return to contents page
Dunroamin
Lobsters mainly live in pots,
Assuming they can find’em.
Mostly they are just big claws,
With lots of legs behind’em.
Usually they’re boring grey,
When first you meet and greet’em.
But they turn a pretty pink,
When cooked, before you eat’em.
(September 2010)
Return to contents page
Let Us Prey
The Praying Mantis is a fraud,
For he does not believe in gaud.
Instead, he strikes a mocking pose,
While waiting to dine out on those
Who come too close.
(June 2009)
Return to contents page
Mosquitoes
Mosquitoes are extremely small,
And mostly have no use at all,
And nothing satisfies them more so,
Than to lunch out on your torso,
Taunting with a high pitched whine,
Before they settle down to dine.
They lack all the social graces,
Biting you in foreign places,
And though they may be tiny things,
With skinny legs and flimsy wings,
Oh, how quickly they can flap ‘em,
Any time you try to zap ‘em.
But should you make a lucky swat,
Please bear in mind that bloody spot,
It’s tiny corpse leaves smeared behind,
May not be yours. It could be mine.
(September 2004)
Return to contents page
Giving the Evil Eye
The ostrich doesn’t run away,
If it hears a scary sound,
But turns it’s back towards the noise,
And sticks it’s head beneath the ground.
At first this odd behaviour,
Doesn’t seem to make much sense,
But in fact it’s most effective,
As a form of self defence.
For the ostrich is a canny bird,
That doesn’t like to fight,
And sadly it has lost the knack,
Of aeronautic flight.
So it fluffs up all it’s feathers,
Turns it’s bum towards the foe,
Puts it’s head beneath the surface,
And just waits for him to show.
And amazingly this tactic,
Turns most bullies strangely shy,
When confronted by a monster
With three legs and one bad eye.
(October 2011)
Return to contents page
Pelicans
Pelicans are mostly beak,
And tend to whistle when they speak,
But as their brains are very small,
Mostly they don’t talk at all,
Preferring to collect small sticks,
And leave all talk of polly ticks
To parrots, who are mostly green,
And en-vi-ron-men-tally keen.
Penguins, on the other hand,
Have a tendency to stand
For hours on floes,
Attempting to ignore their toes
And talk of nothing much but snow,
Or parrots that they used to know.
(The moral of this little story,
Is that birds are mainly boring,
And talk of nothing much at all.
But then their beaks are mostly small).
(October 2002)
Return to contents page
Ask a silly question
A polar bear walked in a bar and sauntered to the counter,
He put one foot up on the rail and watched the other punters,
He whistled softly as he stood, (the overture from Carmen),
And tapped his fingers on the bar while waiting for the barman.
He watched his own reflection in the glass behind the spirits,
While the muzak in the background was so low he couldn’t hear it.
For a moment he was lost in thought and stood there scarcely blinking,
Until the barman came in view and asked what he was drinking.
“I’d like a gin and ……..” (silence), there were no more words forthcoming.
The barman waited calmly through some ‘er’ ing and some ‘um’ ing,
While the moment stretched on endlessly then he began to fidget.
It must be thirty seconds now as near as he could judge it.
But the bear was in no hurry, his behaviour quite laconic.
The silence unabated ‘til at last he added “………. tonic.”
“A gin and tonic, right away,” the barman said relaxing,
“Do you want ice and lemon too, and do you mind me asking,
We don’t get many bears in here, but why the weighty pause?”
The bear considered what he’d said and studied his long claws.
He shrugged his shoulders thoughtfully then stretched out both his arms.
“Don’t know,” he said. “I’ve always had them”.
(November 2001)
Return to contents page
Sharps and flats
Porcupines are mostly quill,
And quiver when they’re stan
ding still.
Hedgehogs have much shorter spines,
But of a far less wobbly kind.
They live life slowly on the verges,
While the roar of traffic surges,
Though they go flat out on roads …
… a practice favoured, too, by toads.
.(July 2003)
Return to contents page
Quagga not Jagger
Q is for Quagga, (an awkward rhyme),
(Though singer Mick Jagger’s name does come to mind).
A Rock and Roll legend, The Rolling Stones band,
(That’s Jagger, not Quagga, you must understand).
A sort of a mixture of zebra and horse,
(That’s Quagga, this time, not Jagger, of course).
With a mouth like a barn door, hips like a snake,
And hide like a rhino ……( that’s Mick, for god’s sake).
The last lonely specimen died in a zoo,
(That’s Quagga I’m talking of, not you know who).
Striped at the front end, plain at the back,
The Quagga’s extinct now, and that is a fact.
( March 2010 )
Quagga … South African zebra that became extinct in the 1880s. It was brown, with a white tail and legs, and unlike surviving zebra species, had stripes only on its head, neck, and forequarters.
Return to contents page
A day in the country. (The rabbit’s tale)
Rabbit sitting on it’s arse,
Eating what it sits on, grass.
Fox is sitting watching rabbit,
Looking for a chance to grabbit.
Hound that’s sniffing roots and rocks is,
Looking for the scent of foxes.
While huntsman sips his stirrup drink,
All ruddy face and hunting pink.
Ploughman sits on broken plough,
With worried frown and furrowed brow.
Poacher’s slinking slyly by,
To eat poached egg and rabbit pie.
Farmer’s wife is working hard,
Making sausage by the yard.
Cattle standing in the yard,
Lowing softly, breathing hard.
Hikers clamber over stiles,
All tiny shorts and cheeky smiles.
While naturists debate the news,
Airing all their points of view.
Shepherd sits with baleful look,
And mourns his stolen shepherd’s crook.
Buzzard swoops to pick up luncheon,
Rabbit for the kids to munch on.
Farmer stands in muddy boots,
Looks at nibbled leaves, and shoots.
Rabbit lying in the crops,
Heartbeat falters, stutters, stops.
(January 2007)
Return to contents page
He Who Has the Last Laugh
Different folks respond to jokes in many different ways,
For every one that cracks a smile, you’ll get some ass that brays.
The same is true I’m telling you, of animals and birds.
Each species has it’s unique style when fed some funny words.
A duck’ll chuckle at a pun,
A yak’ll cackle loudly,
A pig’ll giggle at a riddle,
Cocks will crow out proudly.
A horse guffaws at gags of course,
Where cows are not amoosed.
Nothing laughs like a giraffe,
But sloths just smile and snooze.
Owls will hoot with laughter,
When shown some silly skit.
A dog‘ll double up with mirth,
Then titter for a bit.
A cat’ll chortle at cartoons.
A flea tee hee with glee.
A goat’ll totally crack up,
At such hilarity.
A rook’ll look all innocence,
Then snigger at some smut.
Thrill a g’rilla with your prank,
He’ll almost bust a gut.
But,… don’t ever lark with a great white shark,
For a shark has no sense of humour.
Despite his great big toothy grin,
Don’t try to tickle ‘neath his chin,
For he’ll more than likely invite you in,
Then he’ll probably consume yer.
Yes, sharks aren’t great comedians,
It isn’t just a rumour.
Don’t make jokes about their fins,
Or what nice soup it makes in tins,
Or else he might invite you in,
And then he will consume yer.
(February 2009)
Return to contents page
Mostly Snakes
Snakes are mostly either end.
The rest is mainly middle.
Why they have no arms or legs,
Is more or less a riddle.
They mostly travel forwards,
Following their heads.
But sometimes they do ‘u’ turns,
And go back a bit instead.
Most of them are poisonous,
And hunt in packs like ducks.
But even those that have no fangs,
Can give a nasty suck.
So if by chance you meet a snake,
Whilst walking in long grass.
Be sure you know which end is head,
And which end is it’s arse.
(October 2007)
Return to contents page
Tree Rats
Squirrels mostly live in trees,
And flit from branch to branch with ease.
With bushy tails and hairy arms,
And cutesy faces, full of charm.
But don’t be fooled by big brown eyes or,
Get too close to those incisors.
They hide food in time of gluts,
And be warned ….
…. They’ll bite you if you touch their nuts.
(March 2007)
Return to contents page
Mighty oaks from tiny acorns grow
Stick Insects are not much fun,
They very rarely jump or run,
And tend to stand around all day,
In something of a stick like way.
They scarcely have a brain at all,
Because their heads are very small,
And it’s impossible to teach,
A stick insect the power of speech.
Mostly they just stand and dream,
About the things they might have been,
Or, of the things they could achieve,
Supposing they’d been blessed with leaves.
(March 2008)
Return to contents page
Two Turtle Doves
Two Xmas cards upon the shelf,
(Including one I sent myself).
The second one arrived today,
Inside, it said, ‘with love from May’.
I don’t quite know who she might be,
The card was not addressed to me.
The postman must have got it wrong,
For it said, ‘Happy Xmas John’.
The envelope had my address,
So he was not to blame, I guess.
Beneath the slogan, ‘peace and love’,
The picture on the card was doves.
There wasn’t any ‘from’ address,
And so I thought it would be best,
To put it on the mantel shelf,
Beside the card I sent myself.
Two Xmas cards, that can’t be bad.
That’s one more than I’ve ever had.
At least this year when no one phones,
I’ll know that I’m not on my own.
(January 2009)
Return to contents page
W is for Walrus
Walruses are mostly fat,
(or should that be Walri?),
Mainly they are blubber,
With a pair of big brown eyes.
Their arms and legs are flippers.
>
They have whiskers on their noses.
The other bits are largely tusks.
The rest is halitosis.
(October 2009)
Return to contents page
Yak, Yak, Yak
I’ve never owned a donkey.
I’ve never owned a dog.
I’ve never owned a monkey.
Once, I briefly owned a frog.
I’ve never owned a parrot,
An iguana or a bat.
I’ve never owned a python,
But, I’ve been owned by a cat.
What I’m trying to tell you is,
I’m not a man for pets.
Animals are best left free,
To roam about, and yet ...
I’m not entirely satisfied.
There’s something that I lack.
I’ve always had a hankering,
To have my own pet yak.
I wouldn’t want a big one,
I haven’t got the space.
Inside the house a full sized yak,
Would be too ‘in your face’.
I’d make sure she was house trained,
She’d sleep down on the floor,
And I’d make a little yak flap,
In the bottom of the door.
I’d have to learn Tibetan,
So that we could talk.
We’d yak along together,
When I took her out for walks.
I’ve also heard that yak dung,
Makes a rather splendid fuel.
So I’d burn it in the dog grate,
If the evenings should turn cool.
The horns could be a problem,
But I’ve got a way round that.
Two corks stuck on the ends still leaves,
A place to hang my hat.
I’d milk her in the mornings,
To make yoghurt and yak cheese,
Though, one thing I’m not sure about,
Is whether yaks have fleas?
But, all in all I think a yak,
Would make a lovely pet.
We could watch tv together
With a glass of wine, and yet …
This could be a plan that,
I might just have to abandon.
I’m not sure if a yak could reach,
The pedals on my tandem?
So, if by any mischance,
The relationship went wrong,
For example if her perfume,
Was particularly strong.
I’ve got a little fall back plan,
And I think it’s a winner.
Her hide would make a splendid rug,
And…
… she’d make a roast dinner.
Nothing would be wasted,
That’s the beauty of a yak.
I’d screw the horns up on the wall,
And use them as a rack.
I’d make meat balls with the trimmings,
And eat them with spaghetti.
Yes, perhaps a yak’s a bad idea?.
… Maybe I’ll get a yeti.
( April 2010)
Return to contents page
1,2,3 ….. a lot!
Noah let the zebras out,
Once the floods receded,
And sent them off to multiply.
(Advice they scarcely needed).
It’s difficult to count them now.
Their numbers have exploded.
But luckily it helps a lot,
That they all come bar coded.
(February 2010)
Return to contents page
Other works by Barnaby Wilde
Visit www.barnaby-wilde.co.uk for more information, to view samples or to download the following ebooks by Barnaby Wilde.
Novels by Barnaby Wilde