These poems are all about bits of the body
And the horrible things that they do,
Like losing a head and like losing a leg,
And like picking, and poking and poo.
It’s ‘bring your brain to the library’ day
It’s ‘bring your brain to the library’ day.
You can carry it there in your head,
Or a bus, or a car or a marmalade jar,
Or between two thick slices of bread.
You don’t need to bring any stuff, anything –
Don’t bring fingernails, bogies or hair.
But please bring your brain, we shan’t tell you again,
For we don’t have a brain going spare.
It’s ‘bring your brain to the library’ day,
For you need it to write out some rhymes.
Your kidney or spleen aren’t required to be seen
As I’ve said to you several times.
Make sure that you’ve washed any gunky stuff off
For we don’t want it dripping on books,
And writing a rhyme when you’re covered in slime
Is much harder to do than it looks.
It’s ‘bring your brain to the library’ day
To have some poetic tuition.
For even more fun, bring the brain of your mum
Or your dad, but please ask their permission.
With a brain you’ve enough to write poems and stuff.
Don’t bring freckles or spots on your bum.
And have a good time with your brain, writing rhymes,
But please take it back home when you’re done.
A lost leg
I didn’t even notice I’d chopped off my leg
Till I went out to buy me some shoes.
The saleslady asked if I needed some help,
Then she gave me some very bad news.
She said it appeared that the leg on my left
Had more length than the one on the right.
And then I remembered I must have dismembered
My leg on the previous night.
It was while I was chopping a tree in my garden
That I’d noticed my lace was undone.
So I’d bent down to tie it, my axe in my hand,
When across me a squirrel had run.
Well, it frightened me so and I jumped from my skin
And I fell headfirst into the tree.
Now I had to face facts - it was then that the axe
Must have chopped off my leg at the knee.
An arm and a leg
Gregory Peg lost an arm and a leg,
But he found them the very next day.
They were easy to find ‘cause he’d left them behind
In a shop when they’d asked him to pay.
Nobody knows and nobody sees
What happens at night to your nobbly knees.
Nobody sees and nobody knows
What happens at night to your ten tiny toes.
But when you wake up in the dark night to see
That your toes have appeared where your two knees should be,
And your knees have appeared at the end of your feet,
I suggest that you just go on right back to sleep.
And when you wake up in the morning, then pray
That your nobbly knees and your toes are okay,
And the bits of your body have swapped themselves back
Because nobody knows what occurs with your crack,
And nobody knows what occurs with your face
But I hope, when you wake, that they’re in the right place.
How embarrassing it would be to wake up to find
That your bum is on top and your face is behind.
Bubbles are fantastic.
They are squishy and elastic
And they float through air and water, sky and sea.
They bounce into each other
And join into one another,
And then smash apart and float off separately.
There are many types of bubbles
And not one will have a double –
They’re all different sizes, different colours too.
Some will last a long, long time
And others pop whilst in their prime,
And some explode at birth – so sad, but true.
There are bubbles in my brainbox.
There are bubbles up my nostrils.
There are bubbles in the soup inside my tum.
But I cannot help but laugh
When I am sitting in the bath
And I see the bubbles coming from my bum.
All I can say is, ‘Thank goodness for skin!’
It helps to keep all of the icky stuff in.
Without skin your liver and heart would fall out
And go PLOP! on the floor and then wriggle about.
Without skin the blood in your legs would all leak,
And then all of the people you passed would go, ‘Eek!’
Without skin your nails would drop off of your toes,
And all of your bogies would fall out your nose.
Without skin your brain would get ever so cold,
And all your intestines would slowly unfold.
Without skin your muscles would flop and would flap,
And between all your fingers you’d just have a gap.
Without skin you wouldn’t be able to blink
And, out in the sun, there’s a good chance you’d stink.
Without skin your kidneys and spleen would dry up,
And you’d have to keep wiping the floor with a mop.
Without skin you wouldn’t be able to kiss,
(With reference your gran, that’s a thing you wouldn’t miss).
Without skin your poor bones would chitter and chatter.
You wouldn’t have freckles (but that wouldn’t matter).
You wouldn’t have hair and you wouldn’t have moles
And, where there were soft bits, you’d probably have holes.
Oh, the skin is important - just look at the signs.
But when you got older you wouldn’t have lines.
My Great Uncle Tommy
My Great Uncle Tommy lost a leg in the war
And nobody handed it in.
Lost Property said, “Leave your details with us,
And we’ll check every now and again.”
Now, sixty years later, his leg has turned up
In a box at the back of the store.
We’re so grateful the leg is alive and back home,
But Great Uncle Tom is no more.
A lost head
Sir Frances McGough had his head chopped clean off
And it rolled away into the dirt.
He forgot he was shorter and, when he drank water,
It dribbled all over his shirt.
I taiks me branes owt
Evry nite at ten o’clox
I puts me branes into a bocks.
You sea, me branes keaps me awaik
With verry stupids thawt he maik.
He maik me thinks of thing so badd.
He maik me worry’s - I gose madd.
He maik me cries - me mind go sadd.
But when he owt - he maik me glad.
It wurk it good just likes it shood
I sleepy likes a logg of wood.
But tooday me sillee billie thing
Forgets too putt me branes bak inn!
© Copyright Mike Lucas