Naiveties and Nursery Rhymes

Words, poems, rhymes and songs

Author: Steve (page 3 of 3)

Ode to the Castle Elizabeth Ferry

Charming Betty

The Charming Betty

A journey most curious

On ferry amphibious

Half boat, half 4-wheeled bus

Carried the five of us.

All hassle oblivious

To Castle Elizabeth.

image courtesy of
Find out more on the website.

There’s a fountain in a park in summertime

Sat by a fountain

Gushing like a geyser

Gushes down a mountain

Avalanche a freezer

Spraying in the sunshine

Refreshment stasis

Drops from a diamond mine

Urban oasis.

George the Gelatinous Jedi

George the Gelatinous Jedi

Had powers that no Jedi had seen:

His olfactory sense was suberb;

His eyesight was extraordinarily keen.

He could leap twenty two metres,

He could lift more than ten times his weight,

He could summon jelly at will,

He could wibble wobble on a plate.

But like many, he was bullied at school.

They called him ‘Blob’, or ‘Jabba’, or worse.

Even his master joined in the teasing

Saying: “Come, my Padawan, ooze the Force.”


But George just shrugged his shoulders

Well… as much as an amorphic mass could.

He knew how to deal with bullies

He knew how to stop it for good.

He’d heard that famous old rhyme

About names, and sticks or stones.

It didn’t really apply to George.

As he was completely devoid of bones.

His plan was slightly different:

He didn’t want to wait and ignore

Being strong and silent didn’t suit him

And so he simply seeped into the floor.

He absorbed each of his bullies.

Dissolving them like they were food.

Maybe that’s what they deserved

After all they had been quite rude.

But George’s Master got it the worst

His vaunted powers couldn’t help.

As his boots sank into the jelly.

The last thing he could do was yelp.

George hadn’t finished there

Even as his Master began to die.

He processed the absorbing cells

Into that jelly found in a pork pie.

George now reformed triumphant.

His bullies vanquished for sure.

He resumed his Jedi training

And had a long and successful career.

I think this poem is still a draft. I originally stopped it after the twelfth line, but then it just kept on growing. I’m not sure if it loses its impact in the whole ‘revenge’ section. Would welcome any editorial feedback!

Death by Beetroot

It was unfortunate:

My last day in the sun.

Not to be beaten

By the unexpected summer rays,

I rushed to the beach

And allowed the sun to gaze

Full in my unprotected face

With only the ozone layer

And ninety three million miles of space

To protect me.

No sun cream here:

I soaked up the photons

On Factor Zero.

No-one would claim they had more time in the sun than me.

But, later, back at the hotel.

Delighted I hadn’t been beaten.

I was mistaken at dinner for beetroot.

And unceremoniously eaten.

Don’t trust BBC Weather when in Jersey

The trees come all the way down to the water

“The trees come all the way down to the water”

The BBC told me

It would only by thirteen in Jersey.

Thirteen Degrees C!

The same as the South Coast across the sea?

But it was warmer there

And emptier

And friendlier

The BBC didn’t tell me that.

I counted the clouds:

On Monday

There weren’t any;

On Tuesday

Clouds I sought ,

But there were naught;

On Wednesday I looked, but no,

Still zero.

So sitting on a beach

Under fierce furnace fire

In April

Where the trees come all the way down to the water

And the super-slow-motion crash of azure waves,

Diamond-tipped on golden sands.

In April

I figure that what the BBC

Told me

About Jersey

Was wrong.

A headteacher’s first mistake

When I first became a headteacher

I knew what I had to do.

I strode purposefully into that staffroom

And said a word or two.

I spoke to all of the teachers

I communicated with all of the staff

Found what had to be changed

Plotted a decisive path.

Went away to carry out actions

Written on triplicate plans

Following the latest SMART targets

I journeyed to far distant lands.

And there on the edge of a canyon

Teetering near lava-filled pools

I captured the magical beast

And hauled it back to my new school.

Back in the staffroom I presented

The fruition of my labours complete

Just what my teachers had asked for

The thing that would make us compete.

I’d accomplished my colleague’s desires:

Nothing had gone awry!

And now with the staff on my side

Our standards were going to fly!

But the silence was truly awkward,

Everyone in there froze.

Some of them shuffled their feet.

The Year 6 teacher wrinkled his nose.

Butterflies flapped in my belly

I felt naked, despite my best suit.

I’d misjudged something badly

But what? I just couldn’t compute…

The Deputy cleared her throat

As if she was going to speak.

I couldn’t let that happen:

This was my moment to peak.

Trying to lighten the moment,

I said, “What? Is it the horn?”

And with a sympathetic grimace.

She said “Uniform, not unicorn.”

Moral Purpose

They told me I needed a Moral Purpose

In education;

To change this nation.

And so I searched for my Moral Purpose

Headed to the coast

Of the Nation of Education

And there in the Sea

Of Consternation

Swimming from the Ocean

Of Despair

Was a single dolphin

And no Purpose

And I realised I’d missed the point.

The poem that started it all

When I was at school I read a poem that started it all. Quite simply, this 6th former had obviously been inspired by the wonder of nature, its bounty and its manifold abundance, in this poem:





Newer posts