recommendations

Fantastic poem - and we may need help here as I can't remember who wrote it (perhaps Spike Milligan) called there was a baboon. Goes like this: There was a baboon Who one afternoon Said I think I will fly to the sun So with two great palms Strapped to his arms He started his take off run Goes on and on and is completely hilarious. Otherwise what about something like one of Roald Dahl's revolting Rhymes? Cinderella is always a good one and very funny, lots of characters. Good luck to your friend.

Could go for a bit of Stevie Smith - The Jungle Husband maybe? Dearest Evelyn, I often think of you Out with the guns in the jungle stew Yesterday I hittapotamus I put the measurements down for you but they got lost in the fuss It's not a good thing to drink out here You know, I've practically given it up dear. Tomorrow I am going alone a long way Into the jungle. It is all grey But green on top Only sometimes when a tree has fallen The sun comes down plop, it is quite appalling. You never want to go in a jungle pool In the hot sun, it would be the act of a fool Because it's always full of anacondas, Evelyn, not looking ill-fed I'll say. So no more now, from your loving husband Wilfred.

Anything by Ogden Nash...but 'Children's party' springs to mind: May I join you in the doghouse, Rover? I wish to retire till the party's over. Since three o'clock I've done my best To entertain each tiny guest. My conscience now I've left behind me, And if they want me, let them find me. I blew their bubbles, I sailed their boats, I kept them from each other's throats. I told them tales of magic lands, I took them out to wash their hands. I sorted their rubbers and tied their laces, I wiped their noses and dried their faces. Of similarities there's lots Twixt tiny tots and Hottentots. I've earned repose to heal the ravages Of these angelic-looking savages. Oh, progeny playing by itself Is a lonely little elf, But progeny in roistering batches Would drive St. francis from here to Natchez. Shunned are the games a parent proposes, They prefer to squirt each other with hoses, Their playmates are their natural foemen And they like to poke each other's abdomen. Their joy needs another woe's to cushion it, Say a puddle, and someone littler to push in it. They observe with glee the ballistic results Of ice cream with spoons for catapults, And inform the assembly with tears and glares That everyone's presents are better than theirs. Oh, little women and little men, Someday I hope to love you again, But not till after the party's over, So give me the key to the doghouse, Rover

By an unknown genius. The Sad and lonely tale of the “Grand Barbu” Today I have an epic tale; alas a sad and lonely tale, one where the hero does not prevail, our champion a one very sad hairy arsed whale. The fellows name was the “Grand Barbu” his father a giant sapphire blue. An underwater streamline locomotion, can you imagine the commotion when Mother produced a Son with a mass of hair upon an ample derriere. “My dear,” he said, “what have you done have you mated with a red arsed Gibbon?” At this affront her anger could not be sated, his behaviour could not be tolerated. “Be gone buffoon, or you will not like what I do, I and I alone will bring up Bu.” But after father aired his views, the Great Blue’s council had to issue her with sombre news. Although maternally a wrench, the “Grand Barbu” was banished to the Mariana Trench. So abandoned as a freak, the “Grand Barbu” wondered if he reeked, of this he asked the other whales, but they just sniffed and off they sailed.. But live he did on absent-minded squid, from which he pounced on from where he hid. But to catch fish they’d have to be unaware, he’d snare them in his rectums hair. One day just off the coast of Rangoon, when danger loomed, some Japanese appeared with harpoons. Barbu’s fate was heading for a Kyoto Fishmonger’s plate, so there was no time to hesitate. With lifted tail and Sphincter thrust he produced an almighty anal gust. These men were soon on bended knee’s but not because he cut the cheese. For when he farted no wind departed, for he went and followed through and sprayed the crew with squidgy poo. But heroic tales and legends count for nowt, his score with the birds was as promising as rain in a Saharan drought. “There is no future in your jet propelled slop,” they’d say “Your blasted excrement has had its day.” So that’s the sad and lonely tale of the “Grand Barbu,” who one day was found marooned pining like a love sick loon, heartbroken, stranded on a desolate beach spurned one time too many by a streamlined blue aquatic peach.

cheers everyone... keep 'em coming :-)

McCavity's (sp?) cat?

There's loads of gems in Verse and Worse - if you can still get it. Or the great McGonagall's Tay Bridge Disaster: The Tay Bridge Disaster Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay! Alas! I am very sorry to say That ninety lives have been taken away On the last Sabbath day of 1879, Which will be remember'd for a very long time. 'Twas about seven o'clock at night, And the wind it blew with all its might, And the rain came pouring down, And the dark clouds seem'd to frown, And the Demon of the air seem'd to say- "I'll blow down the Bridge of Tay." When the train left Edinburgh The passengers' hearts were light and felt no sorrow, But Boreas blew a terrific gale, Which made their hearts for to quail, And many of the passengers with fear did say- "I hope God will send us safe across the Bridge of Tay." But when the train came near to Wormit Bay, Boreas he did loud and angry bray, And shook the central girders of the Bridge of Tay On the last Sabbath day of 1879, Which will be remember'd for a very long time. So the train sped on with all its might, And Bonnie Dundee soon hove in sight, And the passengers' hearts felt light, Thinking they would enjoy themselves on the New Year, With their friends at home they lov'd most dear, And wish them all a happy New Year. So the train mov'd slowly along the Bridge of Tay, Until it was about midway, Then the central girders with a crash gave way, And down went the train and passengers into the Tay! The Storm Fiend did loudly bray, Because ninety lives had been taken away, On the last Sabbath day of 1879, Which will be remember'd for a very long time. As soon as the catastrophe came to be known The alarm from mouth to mouth was blown, And the cry rang out all o'er the town, Good Heavens! the Tay Bridge is blown down, And a passenger train from Edinburgh, Which fill'd all the peoples hearts with sorrow, And made them for to turn pale, Because none of the passengers were sav'd to tell the tale How the disaster happen'd on the last Sabbath day of 1879, Which will be remember'd for a very long time. It must have been an awful sight, To witness in the dusky moonlight, While the Storm Fiend did laugh, and angry did bray, Along the Railway Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay, Oh! ill-fated Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay, I must now conclude my lay By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay, That your central girders would not have given way, At least many sensible men do say, Had they been supported on each side with buttresses, At least many sensible men confesses, For the stronger we our houses do build, The less chance we have of being killed.

Can you beat that?

McGonagall's always mocked but I reckon the last lines make a pretty good point.

I'm not mocking - I'm in awe of the man. I genuinely adore his simplicity and his goodness.

Bibbles by D.H. Lawrence- the audience will actually see the dog as you read it.