Never Put Your Hand in a Crocodile's
Jaws (and Other Useful Advice)
an anthology of daft poems
is now out at Smashwords.com, iTunes, Nook, Kobo & Amazon
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Also available as a paperback from Amazon.
Never
Put
Your
Hand
Crocodile's
Jaws
(and
Other Useful Advice)
by
Tracey
Meredith
(an
anthology of daft poems)
Published
by Tracey Meredith at
Smashwords
Copyright
Tracey Meredith 2016
Contents
Why
the Camel is a Grump
Said
the Spider to the Fly
Jonathan
Wriggley
Budgie
The
Shark
Max's
Cake
Rosemary
and the Querulous Cat
Never Put Your Hand in a Crocodile's Jaws
The
Crab
The
Crocodile
Polly
Cox
The
Octopus's Plea
Red
Riding Hood & the Wolf
The
Elephant
The
Giraffe
Who's
That Tapping?
The
Hedgehog
The
Woebegone Hare
The
Tortoise
The
Yak
The
Yeti's Dream
The
Dragon
The
Koala Bear
The
Tale of Bronwen Pryce
Edgar
the Eagle
The
Sourdough Monster
Pirates
Peas
Mister
Know-it-all
The
Avaricious Aardvark
The
Belligerent Baboon
The
Pretentious Peacock
To
My Son
Why
the Camel is a Grump
The Bactrian camel has two humps
And really is an awful grump.
He bites, he swears, he sometimes
spits,
And has enormous hissy-fits.
Those who meet him never ponder,
Reason why, or even wonder,
Why this creature with two humps
Is always right down in the dumps.
Is it just because the land
He walks upon is rather bland?
Is it just because (or not)
The land is sometimes very hot?
Maybe it's because the snows
Sometimes burn his tender toes.
Perhaps the load he bears is stacked
So high, it hurts his camel back.
Not one of these, my friends, I
know,
Is the cause of Camel's woe.
The reason why he's such a grump,
Is because he cannot jump.
Not for him the Fosbury Flop
Or standing on one leg to hop.
And, for him, there is no hope
Of mastering a skipping rope.
The skipping songs he learned by
heart
Will never, ever be a part
Of any kind of skipping game—
And Camel knows this, to his shame.
When Camel bites, or swears, or
spits,
Or has another hissy-fit,
Try your hardest to be kind,
Now you know what's on his mind.
The Bactrian camel has two humps.
He also is the biggest grump—
Not because he's just a chump—
It is
because he cannot jump.
Said
the Spider to the Fly
"Well, hello," said the
spider as he eyed a juicy fly.
"It was really very nice of you
to stop as you went by.
It's obviously occurred to you that
I'd enjoy a lunch,
That has a lot of flavour, and a
very special crunch."
"Not really," said the housefly, as she struggled to get free,
"I haven't got the time for
lunch, I have a date, you see.
My husband's found a lovely pile a
horse has left behind.
To stand him up to stay with you is
rather too unkind."
"I really do not think so," said the spider, drawing near.
"I don't think you've got time
for him, you've really not, my dear.
Do I detect a shiver? Are you cold
or have a chill?
Let me wrap you up all snug, and
stop you feeling ill."
"Oh, no, you shouldn't bother. I'm quite well," said the fly.
" I am very, very busy and I
haven't time to die.
I haven't time to stay for lunch,
not even for a snack,
But later on, when I have time, I
promise I'll come back."
The spider laughed and shook his head, oblivious to fate,
Not realising both of them would
soon be very
late.
A sudden swing of newspaper, rolled
up very tight,
Came down, and sent the pair of them
on to endless night.
Upon a pile of horse dung, Mr Fly does wait,
Wondering, as a fly does, why his
date is late.
All that marks the place where his
wife and spider sat,
Is a black and sticky smear where
the pair of them went SPLAT!
Jonathan
Wriggley
Jonathan Wriggley
Got quite niggly
When he had a cold.
His nose would block,
And what a shock
He gave to those poor souls
Who stood too near,
At risk, I fear,
Of being blown away,
Or drenched in snot,
And who knows what
Else might come their way.
A handkerchief
Was beneath
His dignity to use.
He'd pinch his nose,
And you'd suppose
His sneeze would then defuse.
Alas, at last,
It came to pass,
While on the beach one day,
His sneeze blew lots
Of sailing yachts
As far as Casco Bay.
They weren't too pleased
To be in seas
They'd never seen before,
And so saw fit
To issue writs
When they got back to shore.
The judge agreed
There was a need
To offer recompense,
And John lost everything he had
To pay for his offence.
So if you sneeze,
Remember please,
It needn't be an issue.
Don't be a clot
And lose the lot—
Just employ a tissue.
Budgie
(an
old joke revisited)
Once there was a bright blue bird
(A budgerigar, in other words),
Who moaned about his way of life,
And that he hadn't got a wife.
His married status was his shame―
He only had himself to blame;
For he dropped food upon the floor,
And really was a frightful bore.
He tried and tried to find true
love,
And settled on a Collard dove,
But she, I think we can surmise,
Was scornful of his lack of size.
The budgie put his suit on hold,
Perceiving her response was cold
For him, despite his obvious love
And passion for the Collard dove.
At last he asked her, what was
wrong.
She said he had a raucous song,
Nothing like her gentle coo.
It really, really wouldn't do.
His table manners were quite grim,
But that was not the worst of him.
No, what repelled her, so to speak
Was his rather ugly beak.
Her suitor didn't stay around
To listen to another sound,
But fled off to a local vet,
The darling of the dog show set.
The budgie told him how it was
He'd lost his true love, just
because
There was a large, unsightly place
Right in the middle of his face.
The vet had nodded and agreed,
Removed the thing with lightning
speed,
And sent our hero on his way,
Refusing all attempts to pay.
The budgie flew back to his love,
And married with the Collard dove,
As she prefers him with no beak.
And here's the wisdom that you seek—
If you think your love's worthwhile,
You have to go that extra mile.
Budgies of the world take heed—
A budgie with no beak succeeds.
The
Shark
The Shark has many teeth, you'll
see,
Far, far more than you and me.
He puts them in a glass at night,
To keep them sharp and pearly white.
When he awakes and puts them in,
He has the most ferocious grin,
And if he smiles at you, then he
Probably wants you for his tea.
He takes a tooth pick everywhere
To carry on his dental care.
His fellows think him very rude
To swim by picking out old food,
But Shark, he doesn't give a fig,
For they are small and he is big,
And if they don't remain polite,
He'll eat them up with one BIG BITE!
Max's
Cake
Max's exploding currant cake—
A nasty mess, a big mistake!
In Thailand, China and Peru,
From Naples and to Timbuktu,
Currants flying through the sky,
Whizzing past like great fat flies.
In Taiwan, Mr Chang, the draper,
Had one go through his morning
paper.
It landed in his breakfast bowl,
And left him with a great big hole
That went right through the table
top,
Then through the floor and didn't
stop.
It smashed through to the flat
below,
And where it went to, no one knows.
In London, cake crumbs caused a fuss,
By holding up a busy bus
Taking children off to school.
The clever driver kept his cool.
“Cake!” he cried with urgent
voice.
“We'll have to eat it. There's no
choice.”
He opened up the doors and out
The children flooded with a shout.
“What a treat! It's true, you see,
There's cake for breakfast, lunch
and tea!”
In Africa, some Wildebeests
Had a quite substantial feast.
A giant currant landed near
And kept them fed throughout the
year.
As for Max, he's quite surprised
That all his cake went far and wide.
He didn't have the slightest hunch,
When he saw it in his lunch.
Perhaps next time, he'll have a
biscuit—
But, then again, he might not risk
it.
Rosemary
and the Querulous Cat
Oh where, oh where has Rosemary
gone?
Nobody knows where she is.
Her concerned little brother is now
all alone—
Oh, where is that sister of his?
She's packed up her bag and taken her coat,
Her bucket, her spade and her hat.
Neighbours hear rumours she left on
a boat,
In search of the Querulous Cat.
“The Querulous Cat?” her poor mother groaned.
“Pray tell, what on earth could
that be?”
“The Querulous Cat,” the
neighbours intoned,
“Is pink and it rides on a flea.”
“Rides on a flea?” her mother replied.
“Surely the flea's on the cat!”
“The cat's on the flea,” the
neighbours all lied,
“And the flea is on top of a hat.”
“On a hat,” said her father, very surprised.
“Why would a flea be on that?”
“It's hitching a ride,” the
neighbours replied,
“For the hat's on the head of a
bat.”
“A bat that can fly,” the neighbours advised,
“Not a bat you would take to the
crease*.”
“It's a big pack of lies,” her
mother surmised,
“Now, stop it and go get the
police!”
Rosemary, meantime, was stowing away,
Hidden below and at sea,
On a boat that was sailing off
Redcliff Bay,
As she searched for the cat and the
flea.
On a ship full of pirates, she sailed away,
Wondering what land they would
reach,
And, when they did—
the very next day—
She jumped off and swam to the
beach.
With her bucket and spade, her coat and her hat
All packed with some this and some
that,
She searched and she searched for
the Querulous Cat
On the flea, on the hat, on the bat.
Then, when she felt too tired to walk,
She sat with her feet in the sea,
And, quite unexpectedly, heard
someone talk,
And wondered, Now,
who could that be?
She crept up on tiptoes so no one could hear,
Crept up so no one would see.
And there was a sight that caused
her to cheer-
The Querulous Cat on a flea.
“Hello,” said Rosemary. “How do you do?”
“Hello!” said the Querulous Cat.
“I have to confess, I am so glad
to see you.
Have you by chance seen a bat?”
“Oh no! You've not lost him?” Rosemary cried.
“No, no. Well, sort of,” said
Cat.
“We played hide and seek. It was
his turn to hide,
And, yes—I suppose—we've lost
Bat.”
“He's gone and forgot,” muttered the flea.
“I bet he's gone home and forgot.
I bet he is sat there having his
tea!”
The pink cat replied “Surely not!”
“Oh, let's all go home,” grumbled the flea.
“Of course,” said the Querulous
Cat.
“Come on, young lady, hold on to
me.
Bring your bag and your coat and
your hat.”
With the biggest of leaps, they soared through the air
And landed by Rosemary's house.
It was dark. It was late. There was
nobody there.
Not a frog, not a rat, not a mouse.
“Pray tell, what does querulous mean, Mr Cat?”
Asked Rosemary, jumping off Flea.
“It means that you moan about
this, about that—
Not something you'd say about me.
“But the Querulous Flea's not quite the same—
It doesn't have quite the allure.
A cat's rather better to carry the
name,
As I'm pink and I'm covered in fur.
“A cat's so much sweeter, so fluffy and cute,
While a flea can do nothing but
bite.
The Querulous Cat, you cannot
refute,
Is nicer. Now Rosemary, goodnight!”
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