My Greatest Hit! Mr Moore
Mr. Moore Mr. Moore
Creaking down the corridor
Uh eh uh uh eh
Uh eh uh uh eh
Mr. Moore wears wooden suits
Mr Moore wears great big boots
Mr. Moore’s got hair like a brush
And Mr. Moore don’t like me much.
Chorus
When my teacher’s there I haven’t got a care
I do my sums I do gerzinters
When Mr. Moore comes through the door
Got a wooden head full of splinters.
Chorus
Mr. Moore I implore
My earholes ache my head is sore
Don’t come through the classroom door
Oh don’t come through the classroom door
Mister Mister Mister Moore.
Chorus
Mr. Moore wears wooden suits
Mr Moore wears great big boots
Mr. Moore’s got hair like a brush
And Mr. Moore don’t like me much.
Chorus.
A Poem They Dare Not Print!
(Too Rude and Yukky)
I gave my uncle Ronnie
A cup of tea I’d sneezed in
He didn’t seem to notice
In fact it seemed to please him.
I gave my auntie Lynda
A scrummy slice of cake
But a bit of coughed out spit
Dropped on it by mistake.
The pie I gave my sister
Had an appetising smell
But the plaster from my blister
Dropped in there as well.
I passed a plate of ice-cream
To my hungry mum
Who didn’t see the lumpy bits
Were spat out chewing gum.
I gave my cousin Simon
A sandwich made of chicken
That I noticed far too late
The cat had just been sick in.
They shouted and were angry,
I worried not a jot
Because I saw them drink the milk
In which I popped my spot!
A Poem They Did Print!
At Cider Mill Farm
I remember my uncle’s farm
Still in mid-summer
Heat hazing the air above the red roof tops
Some cattle sheds, a couple of stables
Clustered round a small yard
Lying under the hills that stretched their long back
Through three counties.
I rolled with the dogs
Among the hay bales
Stacked high in the barn he built himself
During a storm one autumn evening
Tunnelled for treasure or jumped with a scream
From a pirate ship’s mast into the straw
Burrowed for gold and found he’d buried
Three battered Ford cars deep in the hay.
He drove an old tractor that sweated oil
In long black streaks down the rusty orange
It chugged and whirred, coughed into life
Each day as he clattered across the cattle grids
I remember one night my cousin and I
Dragging back cows from over the common
We prodded them homeward through the rain
And then drank tea from huge tin mugs
Feeling like farmers.
He’s gone now, he sold it
But I have been back for one last look
To the twist in the lane that borders the stream
Where Mary, Ruth and I once waded
Water sloshing over our wellies
And I showed my own children my uncle’s farm
The barn still leaning over the straw
With for all I know three battered Ford cars
Still buried beneath it.
From The Works 4
chosen by Pie Corbett and Gaby Morgan
for Macmillans Children’s Books
Here are some poems from the new book(with Paul Cookson and illustrated by Carl Flint). It’s called
It Came From Outer Space.
Published by Macmillans Children’s Books
The Worst Place To Find An Alien
Didn’t know how it got there
Just knew it was true
The day that I discovered
The alien down the loo.
I shouted for my Dad
Not knowing what to do
He arrived and said ‘What’s that?’
The alien down the loo.
He stuck his head right in there
To get a better view
Saw a purple splodgy thing
The alien down the loo.
It had long scaly legs
Nipping crab claws too
Nobody could sit upon
The alien down the loo.
We depressed the flush
Yelled and shouted ‘BOO!’
It reso-loo-tley stopped there
The alien down the loo.
The more we tried to shift it
The more it stuck like glue
Glaring back with one big eye
The alien down the loo.
It started to get bigger
Grew and grew and grew
Waved its creepy feelers
The alien down the loo.
Dad bashed it with the brush
And a snooker cue
But out it clambered angrily
The alien down the loo.
It sprouted slimy wings
And round the room it flew
We hid inside the shower from
The alien down the loo.
It dived and tried to grab us
Squirted us with goo
It stung and stank, we didn’t like
The alien down the loo.
Just then my Mum arrived
To mount a brave rescue
‘Just go away!’ she yelled at
The alien down the loo.
It tried to bite her nose off
She hit it with her shoe
We saw it flap and then collapse
The alien down the loo.
Mum opened wide the window
Out through which she threw
The horrid, hairy body of
The alien down the loo.
Since then we’ve never seen it
But if I were you
I’d go and check you haven’t got
An alien down the loo.
Here we are with two more from the new book. The Alien Restaurant got in but the chicken one didn’t.
The Alien Restaurant.
Went down to the alien restaurant
Saw the menu there
Strange and slimy, it said ‘Try Me,
Eat Here If You Dare!’
Went down to the alien restaurant
Ate Grooblik-Grotgrunge curry
All wriggle and writhe, still alive
Slurped it in a hurry.
Went down to the alien restaurant
Ate Misty Martian soup
Glowing green in a steamy tureen
Inter-Galactic gloop.
Went down to the alien restaurant
Ate Venusian Swogglebat pie
Chunky, chewy, sticky and gooey
Hot as the sun in the sky.
Went down to the alien restaurant
Ate Splogglesplat spaghetti
Warm and wormy, really squirmy
I went all red and sweaty.
Went down to the alien restaurant
Ate crispy Gaggle Fly eggs
Lumpy, bumpy, made me jumpy
With shaking, quaking legs.
Went down to the alien restaurant
Ate Feathery Fuddlebird stew
All squeals and squeaks, claws and beaks
Really delicious too.
Went down to the alien restaurant
To eat some Siloobian swan
But in its place was empty space
And that’s just where it’s gone.
It’s Chicken, But Not As We Know It.
I bought some chicken pieces
From the fried chicken shop
When I opened up my bucket
My eyes began to pop.
Three legs and nine wings
In golden crunchy batter
But I couldn’t eat them up
Something was the matter.
A chicken never flies,
A chicken never sings
And a chicken hasn’t got
Three legs and nine wings
A chicken always has
Just two of these things
But this chicken’s got
Three legs and nine wings!
So if you buy a bucket
Of chicken that is fried
You might find a space-man
Sitting there inside
Saying ‘Don’t eat me please
Stop your lips from licking
I’ve come to find
My nine-legged chicken!’
A chicken never flies,
A chicken never sings
And a chicken hasn’t got
Three legs and nine wings
A chicken always has
Just two of these things
But this chicken’s got
Three legs and nine wings!
Don’t be tempted
To find an explanation
This is a warning
To the chicken eating nation.
Sometimes a chicken
Isn’t what it seems
It can bring you nightmares
Instead of tasty dreams.
A chicken never flies,
A chicken never sings
And a chicken hasn’t got
Three legs and nine wings
A chicken always has
Just two of these things
But this chicken’s got
Three legs and nine wings!
Paul, Carl and I collaborated on a book called It’s Behind You! and this poem is a big favourite with Infant children especially. Often I ask one of the children to come to the front of the hall with me and help me perform it.
Mason The Moody Monster
Mason the moody monster
Was in a gloomy mood
He wasn’t feeling happy
A really dismal dude.
He stuck out his tongue
Like all small boys
Tugged at his ears
Made a rude noise
Shouted ‘Knickers!”
Pulled a face
Stomped and stamped
All over the place
Threw his dinner at the wall
Began to bellow, burp and bawl
Growled and grunted
Kicked a chair
Slammed a door
Screamed ‘IT’S NOT FAIR!’
Yes Mason the moody monster
Was having a terrible day
And his lumpy-grumpy feelings
Would not go away.
But his dad sang a song
And his mum cracked a joke
They tickled his tummy
They gave him a poke
They let him play football
And he scored
He did a small dance
And he wasn’t so bored
And then he chuckled
Twinkled his toes
Scratched at his head
Poked at his nose
He hopped and he skipped
Drank some pop
Started to smile
And he couldn’t stop
Then Mason the moody monster
Laughed out loud with a roar
And Mason the moody monster
Wasn’t moody any more!
Scary huh?????????????
