It is national poetry day today so I am going to post a cheesy poem that I wrote when I was a young teenager. It was published in a book of short poems and appeared on Ceefax (remember Ceefax?).
I made my mind to dance and play
People don’t respect the things we say
From the skin of your T-shirt
To the Crown of Thorns
A little boy with crazy dreams
A lot of goals…
I then wrote a second part to it but I can’t remember passed the first 2 lines…
Dreams are written with woven thread
Imprints in a childs head
(blah, blah, blah, something, something)
It’s amazing the things we can remember off by heart. I still remember the song I had to sing when I was a Oompa Loompa in a school play of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. The way my teacher put across how important it was for us to remember lines was by telling us the story of when she was in the second world war and all the children in her class had to remember the serial number of their gas masks and where it was at all times. If they didn’t know, and the bombs fell, they might die! I was five. That story put so much fear into me that I learnt my lines off by heart, just incase the bombs fell and I would need to sing to the enemy…
Augustus Gloop! Augustus Gloop!
That great big greedy nincompoop!
How long could we allow this beast
To gorge and guzzle, feed and feast
On everything he wanted to?
Great Scott! It simply will not do.
So what we do in cases such
As this, we use the gentle touch
And carefully we take the brat
And turn him into something that
Will give great pleasure to us all
A doll, for instance, or a ball.
Or marbles or a rocking horse.
But this revolting boy, of course,
Is so unutteralby vile,
So greedy, foul, and infantile.
“Come on!” We cry. “The time is ripe
To send him shooting up the pipe!”
(please take note that I know that these are not the exact words that Roald Dahl wrote but they were the words that we learnt… Well, I hope they are the words we learnt… If they aren’t and the bombs do fall, I’m in trouble.)